After Hours (13 page)

Curtis held out his hand. “Give me the phone.”

“Why?”

“Because you haven’t given me mine back yet.”

“It was broken.”

“It doesn’t take this long to get a replacement.”

“I planned to give you one at home.”

Curtis wiggled his fingers with impatience. “I said give me your phone.”

“Why?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You know why.”

“I’ve told you what you need to know.”

“You know I like specifics. I’m not going to have us driving all the way there for no reason.”

“We have to see what’s going on.”

“No we don’t.” He spoke to the driver. “Head for home.”

“Keep going,” Amera corrected.

“I said go home.”

“Ignore him.”

“You’ll listen if you want to keep your job,” Curtis said.

Amera sighed, seeing the confusion on the driver’s face in the rearview mirror. “Pull over. I’ll get out. You take him home and I’ll get a taxi.”

“Just give me the damn phone so I can talk to Homer.”

“He’s stressed enough, he doesn’t need you barking at him. Plus, you need to stay as calm as possible. Thanks,” she said when the driver pulled to the curb.

Curtis grabbed her wrist and said in a soft voice, “You’re not going to win this.”

He was right. He was stronger and he’d hold on until he got his way. She glanced at the clock, precious minutes were ticking away. “We don’t have time for this.”

He held out his other hand. “Give me the phone.”

She sighed, then handed the phone to him.

“Get going,” he told the driver.

“Where to?”

“The factory,” he said as he dialed.

Amera kept her face turned toward the window. Handling him wouldn’t be as easy as she’d hoped. He seemed a lot more like the Curtis of before, but he treated her as his wife. The light kiss he’d greeted her with in the hospital still made her lips tingle. But that didn’t matter if she had no affect on him. They’d had their first battle and he’d won hands down. She should probably give up on the idea of changing him.

Amera glanced down at her stocking clad legs. Now her second pair of stockings was going to waste. She’d followed the instructions she’d received with the package, and matched this new pair of limited edition, pale blue, opaque geometric inspired boot tights, with her white tailored blouse, and a brown skirt. She had even gone out of her way, and purchased a pair of black leather ankle boots, to match. But now she wished she hadn’t gone through the effort. She had wanted to look the image of the sophisticated, cold wife of a tycoon, wearing the most expensive outfit she had in her closet, and she had received glances from every other man, except him. He didn’t even appreciate the effort, but that was nothing new. She glanced at him. He wouldn’t miss her if she disappeared. She decided, once he was back home, she would lie and say she had to visit family and then never return.

Amera tugged on a button on her coat. Yes, that was it. Her job was almost over anyway. Unfortunately, right at this moment Owen was having all her things moved into the guestroom. After they visited the factory, she’d stay one night then have everything moved out. She briefly thought of still trying to get money for Peale House and helping the factory stay open. She sighed, feeling her heart twist, now she knew her plan wouldn’t work.

She heard Curtis end his conversation with Bill, but when he handed her back her phone she didn’t ask what it was about. She’d find out when she got there.

“It’s a kid.”

Amera looked down at her hands. She didn’t want to know. She really didn’t want to talk to him right now.

“One of the worker’s children is caught in one of the machines.”

Amera turned to him alarmed, forgetting to be uninterested. “Oh, no.”

“There shouldn’t be any children there in the first place. They know the rules.”

“The mother probably couldn’t afford daycare. She probably was trying to save as much as she could, before the factory closed.”

“That’s the excuse Homer gave.”

“It was an accident.”

“Fortunately, we won’t be liable if the child dies.”

Amera stared at him horrified.

“You think I haven’t seen something like this before? I’ve seen people chop off limbs and fake grievous injuries to get coverage. I’ve witnessed people sacrifice their children for a little extra cash. Just three months ago, a worker at one of our plants overseas, tried to claim that their child had been born lame from exposure to something its mother had come in contact with while working in the factory. Since no other worker ever experienced the same outcome, we were able to win. Why do you think we have lawyers?”

“The workers at Valdan are not like that.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve seen the data. This factory is one of the highest performing, highly skilled group you have. I don’t think anyone there would risk a child’s life to get back at you, especially during the holidays.”

Forty minutes later they arrived to a scene in chaos--firefighters fought to free the child, EMTs stood by, workers stood huddled in groups off to the side. Bill Homer walked towards them, sweat pouring down his face, blood on his shirt, but halted when he saw Amera. He looked startled by her changed appearance.

Amera rushed up to him. “You’re hurt.”

He blinked at her then glanced down. “No, this isn’t my blood. I heard the cries of the child and sprang into action. I was able to get some of the bleeding to stop.”

Amera nodded in understanding. “You responded as a physician.”

Bill paused, surprised by her statement. “Yes, in my former life. How did you know that?”

Amera inwardly swore. That was information she hadn’t meant to let slip. “I...think you mentioned it once.”

“What happened?” Curtis asked.

Bill jumped as if he’d forgotten the younger Bishop was there. He wiped his forehead. “Somehow he got his hand caught in one of the machines.”

“Will he be okay?” Amera asked.

“Depends. They are still trying to free him. We’ll have to wait and see.” He turned back to the firefighters. “Let me go see if they need any more information about the machines.”

“I’ll go with you,” Amera said not giving Curtis a chance to stop her.

***

He could feel their hatred. Their blame. Their gazes hitting him like hard stones. Curtis leaned against a wall and watched the scene. He knew he could return to his car, but he didn’t want to leave Amera alone. He didn’t like how she’d run to Bill, as if they had a special relationship. He’d never noticed her being so attentive to him before. But he hadn’t noticed a lot of things, now he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop watching Amera’s lips when she talked, imagining the feel of them against his, and all over him. He noticed the dainty shape of her ears, the bright gleam in her eyes, the way her hips moved when she walked and her legs, he’d never paid attention before.

His fierce attraction to her was a distraction he didn’t want, but something he couldn’t escape. He saw Amera looking at Bill with intense interest and jealousy tightened its hold around him. He wanted her to look at him like that--only him. But he couldn’t think about that right now. A child’s life was in danger and he was eager to know the outcome, although he was careful to keep his expression guarded.

He caught the eye of one of the workers, who looked at him in disgust before turning away. He’d felt the workers’ animosity before, but it had never fazed him. He’d been taught not to care, but now every piercing, darting look seemed to cut him. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t owe them anything. They’d get work elsewhere.

“Mr. Bishop, sir?”

Curtis turned and saw a thin, young man holding his rumpled cap in his hand. “Yes?”

The young man gripped his hands together then fell on his knees. “Please don’t bring charges against my sister for what she did.” He lowered his head. “We know it was wrong, but she won’t be able to survive if you do.”

Curtis frowned, disturbed by the sudden emotion that gripped his heart. “Get up.”

“Please. We’re so sorry,” the young man said, his voice choked with tears. “Money was so tight this month and with us soon losing our jobs we were desperate to save some.”

Curtis bit the inside of his cheek, wishing that as he looked down at the young man’s bowed head, he could see a cockroach like his grandfather or a grasping rat like his father, but all he could see was a young man pleading for his family. “Fine,” he said in a curt tone.

The young man nearly collapsed in gratitude. “Thank you, sir.” He stood up then winced and lost his balance.

Curtis reached out and grabbed him before he fell. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Sorry, sir, old war wound. But I’m getting better.” He nodded his head. “Thank you again, sir.”

Curtis nodded, then watched the young man limp over to a young woman, speak to her for a few moments before they embraced. He wondered how old they were, and which war the young man had fought in. The wound couldn’t be that old if he was so young. And why were they so worried about getting jobs?
Cockroaches know how to survive,
his grandfather always used to say.
Don’t feel too sorry for them, they’ll turn around and stab you in the back.
Curtis lowered his gaze. Why couldn’t he believe that statement right now? Why did he hope that the child survived intact? That the young man’s leg healed completely? That the young woman find another job? Their lives were none of his business.
There are winners and losers.
His father’s voice echoed in his mind.
Domination is always about destruction.
Did it always have to be? He remembered the look of horror on Amera’s face when he mentioned the possible death of the child. He’d felt that horror as a child, but it had been beaten out of him.

His head shot up when he heard the crowd cheer. A firefighter pulled the child free and raced over to a waiting ambulance. He breathed a sigh of relief then gripped his hand into a fist. He couldn’t afford to care. Besides, no one expected him to.

***

“I’m not a good man, am I?”

Amera turned to Curtis surprised by the question and the soft tone of his voice. They hadn’t spoken since the child’s rescue and she’d anticipated a silent drive back. “I’m sorry?”

“No one from the office came to see me in the hospital and at the factory I could tell they despise me.”

“That’s bound to happen when you value power more than respect.”

He grinned. “I should have known you wouldn’t contradict me.”

“You’d know I was lying.”

“And you don’t lie to me?”

She hesitated. “I try my best not to.”

“But sometimes you have no choice,” he said watching her closely.

“Yes.”

He nodded.

She cleared her throat. It was risky, but maybe she could get to him in this sudden, reflective mood. “You were trying to change. Before your accident, you were going to reverse your decision about closing the factory.”

“I was?”

“Yes.”

Amera pulled out her tablet and showed him some data. “Not only is Valdan performing well, you’d scheduled to sign new contracts.” She showed him a spreadsheet she’d worked on with Owen, of projected revenue expected if Curtis decided to deal with three major companies he’d been interested in partnering with. But he hadn’t moved on the decision yet.

“Really?”

“Yes, not only will these contracts be lucrative, but they will help expand your markets without stretching you too thin and keep you in a field you dominate.” She showed him an elaborate chart.

“
I
thought of this?”

“Of course. You’re a brillant man.”

“And my father agreed to this?”

“You went to key shareholders and convinced them first,” Amera said prepared for the question. “Before approaching him.”

“People don’t usually make a move without my father’s approval.”

Amera bit her lip. He was right. “You came up with your strategy, but only told me. I’m sure an extension for Valdan, for a couple of months will give you time to remember,” she said, desperate to make things work. At least for awhile.

“Be specific.”

“Six months.”

“Six is not ‘a couple’.”

“I meant a few.” She bit her lip. “Maybe five.”

“Three.”

She nodded, trying not to appear overeager. “Yes, three that’s what you said.”

“I see.”

Amera inwardly cheered. “Oh, and I forgot to show you something.” She pulled out the bracelet Maya had given her. “This is for you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s from one of the girls at Peale House. You said you’d think about donating to them if she danced for you. Well, she did,” Amera pulled up the video on her phone and played it, hoping the new rouse would work. She couldn’t read his expression while he watched and felt her hope slipping.