Gwen was first and foremost a survivor.
Amy prayed nightly she could be half as strong.
“I’ll call tomorrow evening,” she said as she stacked the Kramer Industry papers, shuffling the files into order. “Tell Becky I love her, and that I know she’s going to do better with the other kids at school tomorrow. She’ll be fine.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“So do I.” Amy closed her eyes against the doubt she couldn’t keep out of her voice. “I love you both.”
Her mother’s “I love you, too,” had barely sounded when her office door jerked open. Amy pushed to her feet and hung up the phone.
“Mrs. Ree— Ms. Loar.” Phillip Hutchinson frowned in displeasure at his continued difficulty keeping her name straight. Even though she’d legally changed it back to Loar the same day she’d signed her divorce papers, he was still having trouble calling her anything but Reese. “I’ve got the Kramer IT director on the phone, and he wants to discuss the payout schedule.”
“Those papers are right here.” She shuffled through her folders, wincing as the one she needed slid from under the others. Papers fluttered to the floor between her and the desk. “Um, why don’t you transfer the call down here?”
“Pick up what you need,” he said with a shake of his head. “Leave the rest. I already have Jed conferenced in on the speakerphone in my office. If you’re too overwhelmed to handle a client’s unexpected requests, maybe we need to get you some backup on this project.”
Amy returned the remaining folders to her desk with a slap and a cool stare.
She’d managed every detail of this project from day one. This was her baby, and no one was taking this opportunity away from her.
“I’ll be right there,” she said in as close to a civil tone as she could muster.
Mr. Hutchinson’s eyebrow twitched upward, then he turned to leave. One final glance behind him at the disorganized mess covering Amy’s normally immaculate desk told her he hadn’t missed a single detail.
“Damn it,” she muttered once he was out of earshot. She dropped to her knees to re-sort the five-year payout schedule for the computer system and HR applications she was determined Kramer Industries would purchase.
Damn Phillip Hutchinson. Damn Richard. And damn Josh White, while she was at it. Why couldn’t they just let her be? Why couldn’t they let her win for a change?
With fear of failing yet again nagging at her, she marched through her doorway and down the wide hall that doubled as offices for the executive secretaries.
Everything around her looked expensive. Smelled expensive. Mahogany furniture glistened. She caught the subtle aroma of the polish the cleaning crew applied to keep everything sparkling. State-of-the-art computers and other office systems dominated each work space. Even the exquisitely maintained potted plants atop the desks had been arranged to present just the right image.
This was where the powerful worked. The world of success to which Amy had always dreamed of being a part of. The Enterprise Consulting Group was where you wanted to entrust the future of your company’s computer systems and human resource applications. Yet every square inch of the place was a prison Amy had never seen coming.
She mentally squashed her introspection and the melancholy that always followed close behind. So what if she wanted to be anyone but herself right now. So what if she wanted to be anywhere but where she was, doing what she was doing.
She was going to make this work, and she was bagging her promotion. She and Becky were coming out on top this time. They were going to be safe and out of Richard’s control once and for all.
Unless you fail again, the little voice chimed in, right on cue.
No…not a chance. Not this time.
She was getting it right this time. Becky wasn’t going to pay the price for her mother’s mistakes. No matter what Amy had to sacrifice to get them through this.
CHAPTER TWO
“YES, MR. WESTING.” Amy nodded to herself, making adjustments to the project plan she was walking the Kramer Industries IT director through. “I’m confident your CEO will be more than pleased at the closing meeting on the thirtieth.”
She withdrew a spreadsheet from her folder and slid it across the desk toward Phillip Hutchinson. The senior partner’s slow nod as he reviewed the plans she’d sacrificed months of her life to produce, and his begrudging, “It all looks on target to me, Jed,” were as good as a standing ovation.
“Good.” Papers shuffled on Westing’s end of the line. “Now, let’s walk through the support contract again.”
“Yes, sir.” Amy dug out another set of papers. Lord, it felt incredible to be on top of her game. To be staring down the pressure and to have the right answer at every turn. To finally be in control of something, when the rest of her life was such a disaster.
“Let me fax you the schedule that details the two options.” She handed Mr. Hutchinson the paperwork. “Take a look at—”
The cell phone at her hip started doing the cha-cha.
She grabbed it, grateful beyond words that she’d remembered to turn the thing to Vibrate. At the top of Phillip Hutchinson’s list of meeting dos and don’ts was no, absolutely no, cell phone interruptions. But her cell was her connection with Becky and Gwen until she could bring her daughter back to Atlanta. Forget Hutchinson’s rules.
The man’s annoyed stare locked on to Amy. Her heart chose that moment to begin beating in her throat. She yanked the phone from her waistband, giving up any pretence of subtlety.
“Ms. Loar?” Mr. Hutchinson prodded.
The display revealed Sweetbrook’s area code, but it wasn’t her mother’s number.
“Ms. Loar!” he demanded under his breath.
Damn. What was it she’d been saying to Westing?
The phone buzzed in her hand.
Becky! Something must have happened. Was that the number for the Sweetbrook hospital?
“I’m sorry.” She passed her notes to Hutchinson. “I have to take this call.”
“I’m faxing you those support schedules now, Jed.” Hutchinson activated the fax machine at his elbow, his voice resonating professionalism. His eyes, however, raged with disapproval.
She forced herself to walk calmly from the room. She closed the door behind her and thumbed the Talk button on the still-shuddering phone, leaving her flawless spreadsheets, the countless hours she’d spent running and rerunning the Kramer numbers, to speak for themselves.
“Hello?” she said.
Please God, let Becky be okay.
“Hello?” an oddly familiar masculine voice echoed. “I was calling for Amy Loar… Reese. Amy Reese?”
“This is Amy Loar.” She garbled her words as she sank into every mother’s nightmare. Something might have happened to her child, and Amy was hundreds of miles away. “What’s wrong?”
“What? Nothing’s wrong, everything’s fine,” the man reassured her. “I mean, not exactly—”
“Who is this?” She finally took a full breath, as the initial edge of panic receded.
“Amy, it’s Josh…. Joshua White.”
She stared at the phone, a rush of childhood memories consuming her.
There was Josh, smiling and forever young, surely the handsomest senior class president