Meltdown

“Would you like some coffee while you’re waiting?”

Melanie Rollins shook her head. Though the matronly secretary had no way of knowing it, coffee was the last thing Melanie needed. She pulled at the collar of her high-necked blouse, hating its stiffness, but knowing that its severe design added authority to her waiflike appearance. Authority she’d need if she wanted Mr. Sheffield to take her proposal seriously. Duncan Sheffield ruled Sheffield Industries with an iron hand, having built the Florida electronics company into one of the largest in the world.

Mrs. Sawyer must have noticed her discomfort, for she gave Melanie a broad, reassuring smile. “He’ll be with you in a moment, I’m sure,” she said soothingly, and continued with her work.

Melanie tried to return the older woman’s encouraging expression, but failed miserably. She could manage only a tight grin. She shifted in the hard office chair, trying to forget the anxiety that was slowly knotting in her stomach. She’d been waiting fifteen minutes for her Friday afternoon appointment with Duncan Sheffield. It felt like fifteen years.

She ran her fingers along the edge of the black laptop computer she held, taking comfort in its smooth design and clean, hard edges. A slight smile touched her lips. The computer case’s unassuming appearance gave no hint of the wealth of possibilities contained within.

She’d spent the last five of her twenty-six years designing and constructing the contents of this nondescript case. She’d spent the last four months in a data-entry position at Sheffield, even though her master’s in systems design entitled her to a more senior position somewhere else. Hell, she’d have swept floors if that’s what it would have taken to get this case in front of Duncan Sheffield. Anything.

“He’ll see you now, Miss Rollins.”

She froze, unable to recall a single word of the carefully constructed argument she’d practiced for hours in front of her bathroom mirror.

“He’ll see you now,” Mrs. Sawyer repeated.

She had no choice. More than her reputation was at risk here. A life was at stake. She cradled the computer case in her arms like a child. “Don’t worry,” she whispered to the featureless cover. “I won’t let you down.”

She stood up, smoothing the straight lines of her navy skirt like a knight adjusting his armor. Prepared for battle, she took a step and was about to take another when the outer door flew open. A bellowed greeting thundered through the waiting room. “Angela! My love!”

Startled, Melanie watched as a tall, broad-shouldered man burst in, radiating life the way the sun radiates heat. He strode across the room with the easy confidence of the blessed—or the damned. Everything around him seemed to shrink into insignificance by comparison, and Melanie felt herself fading into the shadows.

He lighted on Mrs. Sawyer’s desk like a white-gold angel, taking her plump hand in his. “Hello, doll. You get more gorgeous every time I see you.”

Mrs. Sawyer was neither gorgeous nor doll-like, but she blushed with delight at the compliment. “Chris, the things you say. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Oh, I am. I am. But love makes me bold. Is he in?”

“Yes, but—”

“But he’s busy,” finished the man. “He’s
always
busy. ‘Busy’ is my father’s middle name. Is he alone?”

“Yes, but—”

“My own, you’re worse than a lioness with her cub. I’ll take only a moment of his time, I promise.” He stretched his long arm across her desk and pushed down the intercom switch. “Hi. It’s me. I’m coming in, so hide the booze and women.” He released the switch immediately, cutting off the answer mid-growl.

Mrs. Sawyer shook her head. “Chris, you shouldn’t have done that.”

“If I didn’t, I’d never see him at all,” the charmer reasoned. He sprang off her desk, pausing only to plant a kiss on her hand. “Say hello to that lucky husband of yours for me, will you?”

“Chris—” she began, but it was already too late. He was through the door. Melanie heard the angry baritone of Sheffield’s voice before the door closed out the sound.

Mrs. Sawyer, the celebrated Angela, recovered first. She filled a cup of water at the cooler, and took it to Melanie. “He’s quite an experience, isn’t he?”

Experience? Try explosion, Melanie thought. She felt hot all over, as if she’d been swept by the tail of a fiery comet. She lifted her hands to her cheeks, almost surprised to find them unburned.

Mrs. Sawyer handed her the paper cup. “In case you were wondering, that was Chris Sheffield, the president’s son.”

“I know,” Melanie said, too quickly. She noticed Mrs. Sawyer’s sharp gaze on her and looked down, unwilling to let the other woman read her eyes. “I’ve … heard about him.”

Melanie had been hearing about Chris “Casanova” Sheffield since her first day on the job. He was a major topic of conversation in the data-entry department. Every week brought some new story about the fascinatingly wicked exploits of the president’s playboy son. Young or old, married or single, it seemed no woman could resist his deliciously shameless charms, or so they said. He was sin and seduction wrapped up in a sweet honey smile. Sugarcoated dynamite.

Melanie had scoffed at the stories—until she caught a glimpse of him in the company cafeteria three months ago. She experienced instant nuclear meltdown. No logical explanation could account for the immediate, potent, and very unscientific effect he had on her. She only knew that from that moment on, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep Chris’s image out of her mind.

“Miss Rollins? You
are
all right, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Melanie answered, forcing a smile. She lifted the cup and took a long, steadying sip. “Is he always that … abrupt?”

“Always,” confirmed the older woman, her troubled voice at odds with the smile on her lips. “He’s just as single-minded as his father. I doubt anyone or anything could have kept him out of that office.” She paused, hesitating. “Don’t take it personally. I doubt if he even saw you.”

Men rarely did, Melanie thought. The knowledge no longer caused her pain. Her brain was by far her
greatest asset, and that tended to chase men off rather than attract them. “Well,” she said with a sigh, “I’ve waited this long. I guess I can wait a few minutes longer.”

“You’d be wasting your time,” Mrs. Sawyer said. “It’ll be dinnertime before those two get out of there. I’m afraid we’re going to have to reschedule your appointment.”

“To when?”

Mrs. Sawyer walked over to her desk and picked up her calendar. “Let’s see … there’s an opening on the tenth of next month. I can squeeze you in then.”

Next month! She couldn’t wait that long. Einstein couldn’t wait that long.

Chris Sheffield had ruined her one chance to convince his father that her project deserved funding. A month might not seem long to some people, but her experiments had almost depleted her bank account. Her electric bill was three times that of a normal household, and her equipment wore out three times as fast. Many parts already needed upgrading, or replacing. If she didn’t replace them soon, the decaying circuitry would become a safety hazard to both herself and her prototype.

She wouldn’t have a choice in the matter. She’d have to shut him down. A death sentence for a computer.

A small sound reached her ears. Melanie looked down and saw the crumpled shape of the paper cup in her hand. She’d crushed it unconsciously, as Chris Sheffield had unwittingly crushed her dreams. Correction,
their
dreams.

Perhaps it was the vision of the paper cup, or the frustration of the wasted years, or her quirky brand of courage, which surfaced at the oddest moments. Whatever the reason, Melanie Rollins decided to
fight. Casanova Sheffield had interrupted her meeting. Let’s see how he liked it when she interrupted his.

Instinct, more than logic, steered her feet toward Sheffield’s door. She held her case in front of her like a knight’s shield, and placed her hand on the large brass knob. Then, with all the fortitude she could muster, she pushed open the office door, and plunged in.

Chris figured his father would be angry with him for his interruption. He was right. Duncan Sheffield took one look at his son’s white polo shirt emblazoned with the Royal Oaks Country Club insignia, and assumed the worst. “God bless it! You can’t just waltz in here between golf games and expect me to drop everything—”

“Cool your jets, Dad. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.” He strolled over to his father’s immense mahogany desk and tossed a thin binder onto it. “Take a look.”

Duncan Sheffield continued to grumble, but he picked up the binder and looked at the pages it contained. Chris took advantage of the pause to grab a beer from the wet bar. He leaned back, sipping his drink while he watched his father read the document. Silently he started to count to ten, figuring it would take that long for his father to react.

He got to eight.

“Good God. Abernathy Chemicals. Sales has been trying to set up a deal with them for three months. How in the world …?”

“It’s in the wrist,” Chris conceded. “Really. I just spent the afternoon on the links with Joe Abernathy, carving up the fairway. The man could start a nursery
with the divots he dug out of the course. I had a hard time losing to him.”

Duncan shook his head in disbelief. “Abernathy Chemicals,” he said, scanning the pages. “We’ll save twenty percent on their acid wash this year alone. This is an amazing deal. Did Sales work up the figures?”

Chris sighed. When, he wondered, was his father going to give him credit for having a brain? “I do have an MBA. I can work up a contract on my own.”

“I’ll say you can,” Duncan said, too delighted to hear the sting in his son’s words. “You’re going to be a real asset to this company one day.”

One day, but not now
. Long practice enabled Chris to swallow his frustration along with his beer. “I’m glad to hear it, because there’s something I want to talk over with you—the future of this company.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again.” Chris raked his fingers through his sun-bright hair, fighting frustration. Trying to steer a runaway truck was easier than changing his father’s mind. “We can’t ignore the facts. Our customer base is eroding. Market uncertainty will shrink it further. We need a new, multipurpose product, one which can meet the changing needs of a broad segment of the population.”