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“I am not hard to deal—”
“Let’s talk about it in private.” Wyatt picked up one of the cardboard rounds from a pizza box and chose three slices from the various leftovers.
One of the guys whispered to another, “A buck says he talks her around.”
Robbie glared at him. “No betting on the premises, Karl.”
Melanie led the way back to the office. Scruff sat up in his basket and begged, and Wyatt pulled a scrap of ground beef off the pizza and tossed it to him. He set the makeshift plate on her blotter and perched on the corner of the desk.
Melanie walked around behind it and claimed her chair. She’d better, she figured, or he’d have his name engraved in the back before sundown. “I’m amazed you’re still here. Surely you have other interests which require your attention.”
“Not today. Now that you’ve had some time to think about it, Melanie…”
“What’s to think about? It appears I’m stuck with you.” She sat down. “You’re right about the attorney, by the way. He read me a lecture about not getting a partnership contract drawn up a long time ago, but since Jackson and I have never agreed to any specifics about how to split up the business, he’s perfectly free to sell his half to the first chump who comes along. Sorry—I meant, he’s free to sell it to anybody he chooses.”
“Thank you for telling me that.”
“Why?” Melanie asked dryly. “Because it saved you the trouble of paying your own lawyer?”
“You could have strung me along.”
“Would it have done me any good to try?” She picked a piece of pepperoni off the pizza and munched it absently.
“None at all. But your being honest makes things a little easier. Look, Melanie, this is the way it shapes up. You don’t want me as a partner, but you can’t afford to buy me out.”
“That’s about the size of it. And you don’t want me as a partner—”
“And I don’t want to buy you out. Which leaves both of us in a pickle.”
She fiddled with a strand of cheese. “Are you summarizing for the fun of wallowing in pain, or do you have a plan for what we can do about it?”
Wyatt looked down at her, his eyes almost hooded. “We look for another buyer—and sell the whole thing.”
“Easier to say than to do. Have you got any idea how long Jackson’s been trying to sell out? Besides, I never told you I wanted to sell.”
“Not in so many words, no,” he agreed. “And of course I can’t force you to. But the alternative is that you keep your share and I look for a buyer for my half.”
Melanie shrugged. “Go ahead. I don’t see that I’d be any worse off.”
“Are you certain of that? You just pointed out yourself that without a signed agreement on how to handle a breakup, there’s nothing preventing me from selling it to the first—how did you put it? Oh, yes—the first chump who comes along.”
Melanie shook her head. “Nobody’s going to buy it unless they’re interested in old cars. Well, it’s true you did, but even you have to admit you’re not the average guy running around acquiring businesses.”
“I wondered if you’d think of that. Your next partner might actually be the hands-on type.”
“And even more trouble to have around than you are? That’s hard to believe.” He was right, however, and Melanie knew it. She’d thought Jackson was the world’s worst partner because he hadn’t been involved in the business. Now she was feeling nostalgic for the good old days. “Anyway, your chump will need to have half a million dollars to spend, too. The combination cuts the field down quite remarkably, I’d say.”
“I never told you what I paid for my share. And I never said what I’d sell it for.”
Melanie bit her lip.
“If I don’t find a buyer soon,” Wyatt went on, “I might even cut my losses entirely and give my share to the state prison system.”
She couldn’t stop herself. “What?”
He shrugged. “It’s a natural. Some of those guys are already experienced at stripping cars down for parts. Of course they’d have to get used to the idea of buying the cars first, but I feel sure that you—as their partner—could persuade them to adjust.”
She shivered. Which was silly, of course—he was only goading her to make his point.
At least, she hoped that was all he was doing.
Suddenly the room seemed stifling. She pushed back her chair, and Scruffy sat up in his basket and whined softly, the way he always did when he needed to go out. Good old Scruff comes through again. “I’m going to go walk the dog,” she said.
“Great,” Wyatt said genially. “You think about it and let me know. I’ll be right here, getting up to speed on the business end of things. Which file drawer do you keep your records in?”
The bottom line was better than Wyatt had expected, though of course it was nothing which would excite a tycoon. And the cash flow was respectable, though there were times when the checkbook reflected a bank balance so low it would have kept Rip van Winkle awake at night.
He wondered if Melanie tossed and turned sometimes, worried about the business. He was dead certain Jackson hadn’t.
The books were neat and clear and precise. Every part she’d ever sold—to a walk-in customer or at auction on the Internet—was documented. Every car that she had handled had its own code and its own file. Every piece which had been added to it and every hour’s work were annotated, and with a glance Wyatt could tell precisely how much each job had cost and how much it had brought in. She didn’t make a lot on any given car, but as far as he could see, she’d had only a couple that had been unprofitable. And they’d been early on—she learned from her mistakes.
But she hadn’t been stretching the truth when she’d said she couldn’t afford to buy him out. The wonder was that she’d managed to keep going, and keep growing the business, even with Jackson pulling his share of the profits out month after month.
Wyatt found himself puzzling not over the books, but the bookkeeper. The records she kept looked like a labor of love. They were meticulous, painstakingly complete. Yet when he’d asked if she wanted to sell, Wyatt had thought for a minute that she was going to leap at the chance.
He slapped the ledger closed. It was none of his concern whether she wanted to sell or not. And it was even more certain that he didn’t care why.
He figured there were only three things she could do: Be sensible enough to throw in with him and sell the whole thing. Or be halfway sensible and not get in his way while he sold his share. Or lose her mind entirely and try to sabotage the sale.
It would be interesting to see which way she jumped.
He put the books away, glanced at his Rolex, and went out to the showroom to get another cup of coffee. Where had Melanie disappeared to, anyway? Was she walking the dog all the way to Oklahoma?
He inched his way around the end of the Cadillac and stopped dead. A woman was standing near the door to the parking lot, her back turned to the room as if she was uncertain whether to stay or leave. She was young, she was very blond, and she was dressed in the tightest black leather pants he’d ever seen.
We need a buzzer on that door, he thought.
The woman’s head was tipped to one side as she surveyed the bulletin board between the entrance and the office. It was full of photos of twenty, thirty, and forty-year-old cars, tacked up almost at random, and she was looking at the board as if she didn’t believe what she was seeing.
She glanced over her shoulder and said, “It’s about time someone showed up.”
Lucky me. “I beg your pardon, but I didn’t hear you come in.”
She turned around then, her eyes wide as she soaked in the sight of him. “Do you work here?” She sounded astonished.
Wyatt stifled a sigh. “Not exactly. But I’ll try to help.”
She smiled and tossed her long hair. “I was looking for Melanie Stafford—but believe me, you’ll do nicely instead. I’m Erika Winchester.” She held out her hand.
“Wyatt Reynolds. Melanie will be back soon. She’s just out walking her mop. I mean, her dog.”
“I see.” Erika’s eyes narrowed. “The Wyatt Reynolds?”
A movement outside the front window caught Wyatt’s eye. “Here comes Melanie now. That’s a piece of luck.” Especially for me.
The door burst open and Melanie came in on a swirl of wind. Her hair had come down out of its bun and was curling exuberantly around her shoulders. Her cheeks were pink, as was the tip of her nose, and her eyes were bright. She bent to release the dog’s leash. “I hope you’re not going to tell me that the black Mercedes out front is now a part of the inventory, because—” She stood up, caught sight of the woman, and broke off. “Erika?” She sounded almost as if the name had been forced out of her.
With obvious reluctance, Erika took her gaze off Wyatt. “Hello, Melanie. It’s been a long time.”
“A while, yes. What brings you all the way out here?”
Erika wrinkled her nose. “Now that you mention it, you are rather in the sticks, aren’t you? I had no idea there were still little twisty highways like this one anywhere near Kansas City.”
“Oh, we have all sorts of hidden treasures on this side of town.”
Erika’s gaze drifted back to the bulletin board, and then slid on to the Cadillac. “Whatever happened to all of your plans? The alumni office told me you were in the used-car business, but I didn’t realize they meant such very used cars.”
The rest of Melanie’s face went as pink as her wind-reddened cheeks. Wyatt couldn’t help seeing it. Unfortunately, he noted, Erika hadn’t missed it either. Her eyes widened just a little.
And they say women are the gentle sex. “It’s more like recycling,” Wyatt said gravely. “You see—”
Melanie wheeled around to face him. “Thanks, Wyatt. But I don’t think we need an explanation right now.”
I was only trying to help, he wanted to say. But it was fine with him if she didn’t want a hand. She was probably right anyway. Reynolds, you have got to stop letting your Don Quixote impulses get the best of you.
“So what can I do for you, Erika? Obviously you’re not shopping for a car, if you’re driving that black Mercedes.”
Erika laughed. “No, of course not. Actually I’m not at all sure…” She started over with determination in her tone. “I’m working with the girls in the sorority house this year. Their project is raising money for the victims of domestic violence, and they’ve set up a charity auction for next week.”
“So you’re asking for donations?”
“Yes. Merchandise, services, vacation packages—of course, I thought of you and I knew if there was any way you could help, you would. It is your old sorority too, after all, even if you were only there for a couple of years.” She turned back to Wyatt. “Tell me, is Melanie still a grind like she was in college? Always with her nose in the books. Biology and chemistry and…” She shivered. “Of course the rest of us all appreciated her, because she singlehandedly pulled up the house grade point average.”
Interesting, Wyatt thought.
Erika looked around again, and put a hand out tentatively to brush the fender of the Cadillac as if wondering whether it could be real. “Honestly, it feels like a time warp in here.”
“Thank you,” Melanie said gently. “That’s what we try to do—make every car look and drive as well as when it was brand-new.”
Erika looked puzzled, then she shook her head and smiled. “Right. Anyway, that’s why we’re asking for donations. Though I’m not quite sure if you have anything…Well, perhaps you’ll think of an idea.”
The mop, who’d been sniffing the Cadillac’s tires, stiffened and growled.
“Sit,” Wyatt ordered him.
To his surprise, the dog sat.
“Well, I can’t exactly donate a car without consulting my partner,” Melanie said. “Let us talk about it and I’ll get back to you. If you leave a number when I can reach you, Erika—”
Erika turned to stare at Wyatt. “Partner? You’re a partner in this operation? You’ve actually got money in it?” She smiled. “No wonder you said you didn’t exactly work here. I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s not what it looks like, since you’re involved, Wyatt.”
Wyatt said, “I’m sure we could do something, partner—since it’s for such a good cause.”
Melanie glared at him. “And what do you have in mind—partner?”
“How about the Model T the guys are working on?”
Melanie gasped. “That’s sold. You can’t just give it away.”
“How about giving it away for an evening?”
“If a musty old rattletrap is the best you can do—” Erika turned up her nose.
“I mean the use of a genuine antique car, restored to perfection, for an evening. If not the Model T, then perhaps this Cadillac.” He patted the fender.
“Are you out of your mind?” Melanie’s voice was low and almost hoarse. “Loaning out a car? I don’t even let people test-drive these things without someone riding along. You can’t take the chance of putting this car into the hands of a hot-rodder. It’ll do a hundred and thirty on a straightaway—”
Wyatt cut across her. “A chauffeured antique car for an evening. And we’ll throw in…let’s say…dinner at Felicity’s.”
Melanie was sputtering. Between the red hair and the sparks she was putting off, she looked like a firecracker that was about to explode.
“We’ll get back to you with the details, Erika,” Wyatt said. “But in the meantime—you can count on us for dinner for two at Felicity’s, with chauffeur service.”
Erika smiled at him. “Make it a really nice car,” she murmured, “and I’ll bid on the package myself.”
She drifted out, and a couple of minutes later the Mercedes spun gravel in the parking lot.
Wyatt leaned against the Cadillac’s fender, folded his arms across his chest, and waited.
“Well, it’s obvious those leather pants of hers got to you,” Melanie said.
“What? Oh, come on. It’s a good cause.”
“Maybe. But dinner at Felicity’s? I thought you were going to look over the books. Surely you realize there is no money anywhere in the budget for dinner at Felicity’s.”
“I’ll toss it in as my contribution to the cause.”
“But why?”
“Just think of the attention it’ll get when one of our cars pulls up in front of Felicity’s. It’ll cause quite a buzz. In fact, we should make a point of regularly getting the cars off the lot and out where they can be seen.”
“I do,” Melanie said. “I drive a different one every day.”
“Where?” he asked shrewdly. “Back and forth to work? To the grocery store and the dry cleaner’s?”
He’d got her, and it was clear that she knew it. “Not the dry cleaner’s,” she admitted, “because if a piece of clothing isn’t washable, I don’t buy it. Fine—it’s your idea, you take care of it. Just think hard about which car you choose. Since Erika doesn’t seem to be enthusiastic about vintage Cadillacs, you might try one of the Corvettes. Be careful, though—the transmissions can be tricky on those if you’re not used to a stick shift.”
“Oh, I’m not going to be driving it.”
