Chapter 7

On Thursday afternoon, Melanie took a seat at the conference table in the offices of Leatherberry and Schnell, having been summoned by the legal counsel for Westwind Feeds. Janine—the only other woman in Westwind’s administration wing—stared stonily down at the manila envelope on the polished mahogany in front of her and muttered a barely audible greeting.

Robert Schnell clasped his hands on the armrests of his plush leather chair and frowned at Melanie. “Let’s keep this as straightforward and civilized as possible under the circumstances, shall we? Westwind Feeds has accepted your resignation, effective immediately. Janine has the paperwork regarding your 401(k) and the continuation of your health insurance coverage, should you choose.”

Janine slid the envelope across, her gaze still firmly fixed on the wood grain. Melanie clasped her hands over the top of it without glancing inside. She kept her chin up, her feet planted firmly on the floor, projecting confidence and strength with every fiber of her being.

The attorney pushed another piece of paper toward her. “This letter outlines our position regarding Wednesday morning’s incident. There will be no criminal charges. However, Westwind does reserve the right to file a defamation suit if negative publicity results in harm to the reputation of the company or the loss of business.”

In other words, we’re going to overlook this little incident as long as you keep your mouth shut from here on out. She gave him a cool smile. “How will you prove it’s not my absence that’s causing the lost revenue? Westwind has seen a steady increase in visibility and profits since I was hired as marketing director. The newsletter I designed and produced was named last year’s best digital campaign by the Texas Marketing Association, and our CEO bragged in a recent interview that our innovative approach to educating livestock producers has been the key to our success. I was solely responsible for developing and implementing that education plan, and I was the lead contact with all our larger clients. I am not going to be easy to replace.”

His eyebrows rose. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, Miz Brookman.”

“Yes, I am,” she agreed. “If Westwind wants to generate even more publicity by taking this matter to court, I’m happy to oblige.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Just a little friendly advice. Before deciding how to proceed, you might want to consider who has the most to lose.”

Robert Schnell narrowed his eyes and tried to stare her down. She didn’t blink. Finally, he gave a curt nod and rose. “That’s all, Miz Brookman. For now. I’ll leave the two of you to deal with the paperwork.”

Of course. Didn’t the women always get stuck playing secretary? When he was gone, Melanie tried another smile at Janine. “I can fill these out right now and send them with you.”

Janine stood abruptly, shoulders stiff. “Put them in the mail. I need to get back to the office.”

What the hell? Melanie lowered her voice. “Janine! They can’t fire you just for talking to me.”

“I don’t have anything to say.”

“Excuse me?” Melanie took a couple of long, swift strides to cut her former coworker off at the door. “Are you mad at me?”

The woman shot a glare at Melanie, then dropped her gaze to a spot between them on the floor. “The past two days have been pure hell. The ruckus you caused, the embarrassment…all because Michael wouldn’t leave his wife for you?”

Melanie gaped at her. “You believe I would knowingly sleep with a married man?”

“I don’t know. Did you? Or are you pissed because he turned you down?”

Shit. How many different lies were they spreading?

“He made all the moves.” Melanie had to make a determined effort to keep her voice down. “We were being discreet because he was a client.”

“Exactly!” Janine jabbed a triumphant finger at the ceiling. “It was totally unprofessional.”

Melanie’s jaw dropped. “You dated the rep from our software vendor for six months!”

“That was different. It didn’t affect the business when we broke up.”

“Other than a two-week delay releasing the BIOGRO feed line because he accidentally forgot to order the new software for the mixing plant.”

“That had nothing to do with me.” Hard lines bracketed Janine’s mouth. “Leachman was impossible before, but now you’ve gone and proved everything he says about women being too emotional to hack it in upper management. I guarantee the next marketing director will not be female, thanks to you.”

“I…” Melanie was speechless. Her gut screamed that somebody had to put up a fight, or the parasites like Leachman and Michael would continue to thrive. During the long, dark hours that she’d paced her apartment, she had ultimately decided calling them out was worth the damage to her own career if, in the long run, it made life easier for the women who followed.

But her calculations had counted heavily on the goodwill of her coworkers. She knew they liked and respected her. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have sought her out with their suggestions, thanked her for ensuring that their contributions were noted, shared the photos of their babies, grandbabies, and weddings…and poured their frustrations with Leachman into her ear. He was dead weight, they complained, nothing but an overpriced figurehead propped in a cushy chair. He was so out of date he dictated paper memos instead of sending emails. He made outrageously inappropriate comments about the warehouse manager’s well-endowed wife. The list went on and on.

Melanie had stood in his office, going to bat on behalf of everyone from the forklift drivers in the warehouse to the lead researcher in the lab. Was it so naive to assume that they would jump to her defense? At worst, she’d figured some might swallow their tongues to protect their own butts.

She hadn’t dreamed they would turn on her.

“I have to get back,” Janine said again, and angled past Melanie to escape.

Melanie’s hands were steady as she stacked the letter neatly on top of the manila envelope, despite the fine tremble in her muscles. Not here.

She carved a smile onto her stiff face and added an aggressive tilt to her chin. Her stride was long and confident as she gave the receptionist a curt nod. Then she was out the door, down the street, and mercifully, around the corner. She ducked into a coffee shop and headed straight for the restroom, where she locked the stall door and collapsed onto the toilet.

Shit, shit, shit. She fisted her hands and beat them on her knees in time to the curses. Janine had exposed the fatal flaw in her plan. She’d put herself so firmly outside of Westwind that she had no chance to tell her side of the story.

But everything she’d said in that conference room was true. They would be hard put to replace her. In addition to her skills, she brought a lifetime of connections and the Brookman name to the table, and their mostly rural customers cared who your people were. Even if her coworkers didn’t defend her, they would damn well miss her.

She sucked in a steadying breath—ugh, this place could use an air freshener and some decent ventilation—and pulled herself together. Janine was only one person. Why rush to the conclusion that hers was the prevailing opinion?

Melanie paused in front of the mirror to smooth a hand over her white blouse, tug her navy jacket straight, and check her makeup for any stray mascara. There. She looked composed, respectable, and totally professional.

Out in the coffee shop, she paused to study the menu board. An iced coffee sounded heavenly. Hmm. Mocha, macchiato—

“Melanie?”

She turned at the sound of her name and found herself face-to-face with a diminutive woman in straight-legged distressed jeans, boots, and a floaty, sleeveless turquoise top, her blond hair an artful mess of shoulder-length curls, her smile wide and genuine.

“Claudia!” The other girl’s head barely came to Melanie’s shoulder when they exchanged a hug. “You look great, as always.”

“And you. Wow.” Claudia stepped back to arm’s length and made a head-to-toe gesture. “I barely recognized you in your business duds.”

Beside Claudia’s daisy-fresh femininity, Melanie felt stodgy and wilted. “I, um, just got out of a meeting. And you? Still tearing ’em up in the barrel racing, I assume?”

“You could say that. I finally found that horse I’ve been waiting for all my life. We won Denver and San Antone, and broke into the top ten in the world standings after the Memorial Day rodeos.”

“Are you kidding me? That is so great!” And no one deserved it more than Claudia, as hard as she’d worked. “I can’t believe I hadn’t heard.”

Claudia hitched one petite but well-toned shoulder, the result of hours on and around horses. “I suppose it’s hard to keep track once you lose touch with the rodeo crowd. You’re really not roping anymore?”

“No. I… It got to be too much, with work and all.”

“Mmm. It’s a shame, though. You were so good. But I guess it’s worth it, if you really love what you’re doing. And from what I hear…” Claudia’s voice faltered, and color flooded her cheeks as if she’d just remembered what she’d heard about Melanie. “It, um, sounds like you’ve been keeping busy,” she finished and blushed harder, obviously realizing how that might sound if she’d been the bitchy type.

Which she wasn’t. Her green eyes held nothing but sympathy…and she might as well have slapped Melanie right across the face. Her cheeks stung with prickling heat. Geezus. Claudia felt sorry for her. Poor, pitiful Melanie who’d obviously lost her way.

“Things have been pretty crazy.” Melanie’s voice was tight to the verge of squeaking.

“Well. We all get a little, um…off track, right?” Claudia gave Melanie’s hand a squeeze. “I’m sure you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

Melanie nodded and began to root in her bag, an excuse to duck her head. She pulled out her phone, turning it so the other woman could see the alert on the screen. “Damn. I’d love to stay and catch up, but I’ve been waiting for this email…”

“I understand completely. Duty calls and all that.” Claudia’s words echoed with relief.

Melanie sidled toward the door. “It was great to see you. I’ll be keeping an eye on the standings, rooting you on.”

“Thanks. And you…take care now, you hear?”

Melanie made some kind of noise in response and spun around to leave, plowing into a man who was coming through the door. She muttered an apology as she stumbled past him and onto the sidewalk.

Her car was parked a block down. Once inside, she had to jab twice at the ignition button to start the engine. Then she cranked the air conditioner full blast and just sat, staring through the windshield. Shit. Shit. She’d been prepared to stare down the lawyer’s scorn, to fight back against Janine’s antagonism, but Claudia’s genuine concern undid something vital in her chest. Her counterattack against Michael was supposed to be a show of strength. A public declaration of war on misogyny. Vengeance, thy name is woman.

She was not supposed to look pathetic.

She groaned and let her head drop until her forehead thumped against the steering wheel, turning the vents so they blasted directly in her face, then glanced down at her phone and got another jolt.

The email was from Wyatt. His proposal, or a note saying he’d changed his mind and what the hell was he thinking anyway? She dropped the phone on the passenger’s seat. At this particular moment, she wanted to be anywhere else so desperately that if he had repeated the offer, she might say yes.

Exactly what she needed right now—to put herself in proximity to Wyatt with none of their friends to run interference.

She pushed herself up, put the car in drive, and pulled out, drawing a screech of brakes and the blast of a horn from a car she’d cut off. Dammit! She couldn’t think, the doubts rattling off her brain like hailstones on a tin roof. Where was all that righteous anger when she needed it? The certainty that she could weather any storm? She raked a hand through her hair before she remembered it was pulled back in a barrette. The pain in her scalp snapped her back to the present. The traffic. And the sign on a familiar building three blocks ahead.

Panhandle Orthopedics.

Before she’d consciously made the decision to stop, her car had swerved into the parking lot. It struck her as odd that it would be Tori she ran to for help. Melanie, Shawnee, and Violet had not treated her well back in college—and Melanie still cringed at the memory. But the prissy rich girl who’d taken too much of their crap had come back to the Panhandle a kick-ass woman.

Then she’d married Delon Sanchez—the father of Violet’s son—and Shawnee had married Violet’s cousin, Cole. And Melanie…

Melanie was a hot mess.

The receptionist looked up as she walked in. Beth took in the suit, and her eyes went wide. “Did you actually go to work today?”

Naturally the older woman would be in the gossip loop. She and Tori had become good friends, bonding over a shared lack of give-a-shit.

“No. I had an exit interview—” To Melanie’s horror, her voice caught. She tried to clear her throat. “Is Tori…”

“I’ll get her.” Beth jumped up and hustled out into the clinic.

Melanie stood in the middle of the thankfully empty waiting room, incapable of deciding whether to take a seat.

The door opened, and Tori grimly looked her up and down. Then she tilted her head. “Come on.”

Instead of the office, which Tori shared with two other therapists, she led Melanie to a private treatment room and waved her inside. “Give me two minutes to boot my last patient out the door.”

Melanie nodded mutely. When Tori was gone, she went to the sink in the corner, wetted a paper towel and pressed it to her burning cheeks, then unclipped the barrette and finger-combed her hair so it slid forward, a long, brown curtain hiding her face as she leaned over the sink to douse the towel again and hold it to her forehead. She didn’t move when the door opened, then closed with a quiet click.

“Did I just take a giant step backward on behalf of womankind?” she asked.

“Whoever told you that has been drinking the Good girls keep quiet Kool-Aid for too long.”

No hesitation. No bullshit. Tori was rarely less than brutally honest. And that, Melanie realized, was why she’d come. To get an unbiased answer…and advice.

She straightened to meet Tori’s steady, gray-blue gaze. “I need a good lawyer.”

And who could give a better recommendation than the daughter of a former U.S. senator whose family owned, among God knew how many other things, a law firm?

Tori gestured toward a blinking light on the wall phone. “Line three. Beth has her on hold.”