percent control by hiring an assortment of loose cannons and prima donnas, Roland hadn’t been part of Whitmore and Hamill for more than two years. The buyout had been inevitable.
But then Roland Hamill had tried to race a freight train to a crossing and had lost.
Alex raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the confused emotions that arose whenever he thought of Roland. Analyzing his feelings was something Alex had never had the time nor the inclination to do, yet he knew that he felt the loss of his partner on more than a business level. Sure, he’d wanted to be rid of him, but not like this.
It was a senseless death. Reckless, irresponsible and completely avoidable. And spectacular. Like most things about Roland.
“That fifty percent is mine,” Alex said, clenching his jaw.
“I’m sorry,” Jeremy said, holding up a copy of the agreement. “Without a signature on this paper, we would have a difficult time proving our case in court.”
“In court? It won’t come to that, will it?”
“For the sake of the business, we should try to avoid a legal challenge at all costs.”
Alex stretched forward and picked up the paper by one corner. If only he’d insisted that Roland sign the paper before he’d left that day. If only it hadn’t been foggy and the road hadn’t been slick. If only the freight train had reached that crossing ten seconds later.
If only Alex had followed his instincts and had said no to Roland Hamill thirteen years ago.
But Alex rarely allowed himself to follow his instincts. He didn’t act impulsively or let spontaneity interfere with logic. All that was better left to the Rolands of the world.
So even though he wanted to crush the useless paper in his fist and pitch it across the room, even though he wanted to kick something, hard, instead he controlled his frustration and scanned the printed lines once more, hoping he would find some way to salvage this mess. “What about our original partnership agreement?” Alex asked. “Can’t I get control through that?”
“I checked the contract very carefully before I came here today.”
“And?”
“Since all the original loans have been paid off, Roland owned his shares outright. They are considered part of his estate.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“What happened to his estate?”
“He bequeathed the entire thing to his last surviving blood relative.”
“I thought he didn’t have any family. No one came to the funeral.”
“Evidently there had been a falling out three decades ago.”
“Knowing Roland, that doesn’t really surprise me,” Alex muttered.
“It took the entire three weeks since his accident to track down and verify his beneficiary. Clarke, Parker and Stein, who are acting as Roland’s executors, notified her only yesterday.”
“Her?”
“A niece.” Jeremy shuffled his papers again and traced the name that was printed on the top one. “A Miss Elizabeth Hamill of Packenham Junction, Wisconsin. As I understand it, she is the only child of his deceased older brother.”
The hammering in Alex’s temples spread to the back of his head. Had he really thought the day couldn’t get any worse? “Do you mean to tell me that half my company, fifty percent of this business, is now owned by some stranger in Hicksville?”
“Uh, Packenham Junction. It’s a dairy farming area. Evidently they’re famous for their cheese.”
“Cheese. Cheese?”
“And dairy products.”
“If he wasn’t already dead, I might kill him myself,” Alex muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“Roland. I think he did this deliberately.”
“As a matter of fact, he did. There was no question of his competence at the time he made his will. Once it is out of probate and all the appropriate papers are signed, Miss Hamill will be…uh…”
“My new partner.”
“Correct.”
Alex tossed the useless agreement onto his desk and tightened his hand into a fist. “I don’t suppose she knows the advertising industry? Has a degree in business? Experience in marketing?”
“I’m sorry, Alex. I haven’t had the opportunity to investigate her background. We only became aware of her existence this morning.”
Alex rose slowly, moving with the unnerving grace and the deceptive patience of a big cat. With a sound disconcertingly close to a growl, he paced across the room. He looked at the framed awards that decorated the wall, testimony to the life he’d built. He’d come a long way since he’d scrawled his plans on a grimy basement windowpane.
Success bought wealth, and wealth bought security. Not just for him, but for his sons. The twins would never have to go through what he did. They’d never have a moment’s worry about the food they ate or the clothes they wore. Their playroom alone was larger than the place he’d lived in as a child. There was nothing they didn’t have. And once complete control of Whitmore and Hamill was in his grasp, their future would be assured.
“I don’t care if she’s a Nobel laureate in economics,” he said finally. “I won’t share my company with another Hamill.”
Jeremy cleared his throat. “But according to the law—”
“We’ll make her an offer.”
“Excuse me?”
“For Roland’s shares. Make her an offer as soon as possible.”
“And if she won’t sell?”
“We’ll soften her up first. Woo her. Dazzle her. Do whatever it takes. But we need to move quickly before she has a chance to consider alternatives.” He strode to the window and clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ll approach this like one of our campaigns.”
“That would solve our problem, wouldn’t it?”
“And it would also make Miss Elizabeth Hamill a very wealthy woman.”
Jeremy snapped his briefcase shut. “I’ll get started on this right away.”
“Fine. Keep me informed.”
“I certainly shall. But in the event that we aren’t successful…”
Alex twisted around, fixing the lawyer with a steady glare. “She’ll sell.”
“Well, if she’s anything like her uncle…”
Alex pressed his fingertips against his temples. “God, let’s hope not. There couldn’t be two of them in the world, could there?”
Chapter One
Curling her fingers around the ends of the armrests, Lizzie Hamill counted backward from ten, willing herself to turn her head when she reached zero. Statistics showed that this was the safest form of travel possible. People did it all the time. The laws of aerodynamics weren’t about to be repealed. It was downright cowardly not to look out the window at least once.
“Two,” she whispered. “One.” She took a deep breath. “Zero.” Nothing happened. “Zero,” she repeated, lifting her hands to her cheeks and forcing her head to move.
Air rushed from her lungs in a high-pitched squeak. There was so much sky. Bluer than a morning in January, wider than the horizon from Hanson’s Bluff, brighter than a sunrise on the ripples at the