Big-city Bachelor

Leather groaned as Alexander Whitmore pushed away from his desk and leaned back in his swivel chair. The day couldn’t get any worse, could it? The presentation for the Starcourt account had bombed this morning. By noon the housekeeper had called with yet another threat to quit—this time the twins had painted her cat purple. Blood was throbbing at his temples in a prelude to one of his little-men-with-big-sledgehammers headaches, but somehow he forced himself to remain calm. Taking a deep breath, he regarded his lawyer warily. “How slight a problem?” he asked.

Jeremy Ebbet touched a hand to the knot of his tie and cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that Roland didn’t sign the papers before he…departed. It was so sudden, you see. No one could have foreseen this…occurrence.”

Roland. No. It wasn’t possible. The man was haunting him. “We had reached an agreement more than a week before the accident,” Alex said. “That was over a month ago.”

“Well, there was a letter of intent.” Jeremy repositioned his briefcase across his bony knees, pressing his feet together tightly at the ankles. His steel-rimmed glasses flashed opaque in the light from the window, giving the gaunt lawyer a distinctly insectoid appearance. “Unfortunately, when I met with Roland’s attorneys this morning I discovered that Roland didn’t sign the letter, either. He did initial the changes, so I’m sure he wanted to go through with the sale. The terms we had worked out were exceedingly generous.”

Generous? Alex ground his teeth. He would have been forced to liquidate more than forty percent of his assets in order to meet Roland’s exorbitant demands. But it would have been worth it to finally have complete control of Whitmore and Hamill, the company they had founded thirteen years ago.

Alex Whitmore and Roland Hamill. They were as different as two men could be. At first, the tension their conflicting management styles had created had been good, providing a stimulating, electric environment that contributed to their rapid success. With Roland’s flamboyance and Alex’s solid dependability, Whitmore and Hamill had become one of the busiest advertising agencies in Manhattan.

Yet as their success had grown, so had Roland’s restlessness. He’d gradually withdrawn from the day-to-day running of the business, leaving the tedious responsibility of making money to Alex. Aside from swooping in every now and then to pick up his half of the profits and exercising his fifty 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.”