Chapter Three 5 страница. Sheridan seemed to ponder Dimitri's words

Sheridan seemed to ponder Dimitri's words. "So, you would argue that it's easy, inevitable, even, that a person who has recently suffered a serious illness would make mistakes?" she asked slowly.

"Yes, ma'am," Dimitri said, sounding relieved. "Completely human, of course."

"Of course." To Dimitri's left, two men covered their eyes, shaking their heads. Sheridan went in for the kill. "Well, considering I hired you for the job as CFO only two weeks after I came out of the coma, then might that prove to be the biggest mistake of all?" She raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Dimitri was several shades paler now. "That wasn't what I was... I mean, I didn't..." He stopped talking, probably realizing that he'd painted himself into a corner. "Point taken, ma'am."

"Thank you." Sheridan relented. "So, we're in agreement, ladies and gentlemen? The stockowner festivities commence as usual in October?"

"Aye," the assembled group of people said in unison.

"Meeting adjourned." Sheridan released the brakes and backed the wheelchair away from the table. "See you in two weeks. Lark, come with me. I have a working lunch and you might as well tag along."

Lark sighed inwardly. "Nothing like a cordial invitation," she muttered and walked up to Sheridan's left side. She had learned the last few days that Sheridan was more comfortable with people standing on that side. Lark had filed the point for future reference, since it might be helpful information to factor into how she planned Sheridan's physiotherapy. "Where are we going?" she asked out loud.

"Hotel Valencia."

Lark had never been to the large, contemporary hotel on the famous Riverwalk. "Sounds nice. Posh."

"It is. I stayed there for a few months when my quarters at the mansion were being renovated. I enjoyed it. Great location."

A few months at the Valencia was bound to cost more than most people made in a year—before taxes. The casual tone in Sheridan's voice annoyed Lark. To spend that amount of money so casually, just because you can't stand some hammering at your house...Lark kept her facial expression neutral. It wasn't her place to criticize her employer.

"What?" Sheridan said when they sat in the luxurious minivan. "I can tell there's something."

"How could you possibly? You don't know me." Lark wasn't going to be baited like that Dimitri fellow. "I'm fine."

Sheridan looked at her from where she sat, strapped in, wheelchair and all. "One thing that the meningitis didn't take away was my inner radar," she insisted. "I can tell something's bothering you." Looking genuinely interested now, Sheridan leaned forward, obviously not about to drop this subject. "You were fine until I said...that we were going to the Valencia. What's the matter, not your kind of place?"

"The Valencia is a beautiful building."

"But?"

Pretty sure that Sheridan would pester her with questions until she screamed, Lark pursed her lips before responding. "Well, I just think places like the Valencia, expensive hotels, represent a life that most people never see, other than on TV."

"So you think it was a poor choice for me to stay there?"

"Poor isn't the word I'd choose." Lark wrinkled her nose, trying to make light of a conversation that was quickly turning into a Q&A session.

"What would you call it then? Did you have the same issues with all your wealthy employers? Your dossier indicates that you've mostly worked for the rich and sometimes even famous, although no names were mentioned."

"Am I being accused of anything here?" Lark asked, her voice sharp. She was angry now, for Sheridan to put her on the spot like this.

"Not at all, but you have to admit, if money is an issue with you, I have a valid reason to question if you're suitable for your position." Her dark gray eyes cold and calculating, Sheridan didn't look away once.

"You yourself deemed me suitable for your needs by examining the exact documents that you're quoting now. And surely you went by my well-documented expertise as a physical therapist?" Larked fumed, but fought to remain calm. "I have no problems with money as long as it's not in only one person's pocket."

"Then you ought to be happy that I take my business to the hotel and restaurants as often as I do, considering that many of the Hispanic citizens of San Antonio and its surroundings work there, at all levels."

Lark felt her cheeks color. What was I thinking? Going against a strategic thinker like Sheridan who had fought off much harder resistance. "I guess." She quieted and tried to sort her thoughts. Knowing better, she had to try again to get her point across. "The truth is also that nobody who works as maids, waitresses, or bellboys at these places can ever afford to stay there."

Sheridan looked oddly pleased. "True," she admitted. "I think the same goes for the ones who work as janitors, receptionists, etc. at Ward Industries. That's why I send my staff on cruises or vacations at the small chain of hotels I own in Puerto Rico, when possible. Like a bonus of sorts. God only knows how much I shell out to the brass in bonuses every Christmas."

Game, set, and match. Winner, Sheridan Ward. Lark realized that she should have checked her facts, since Sheridan hadn't stopped surprising her since the day she began this assignment.

"You're right, however," Sheridan continued. "Most people never see the inside of a hotel like the Valencia, unless there's a major discount or they work there. The question is, does the yearning for such glamour inspire people to excel, or does it leave them feeling hopelessly behind? Who knows?"

Reluctantly charmed by the way Sheridan, with unexpected grace, handed over an olive branch, Lark said, "My mother has said often enough that she wouldn't want to be caught dead in such a place. I guess she influenced my opinion."

"Where do your parents live?"

"My mother and stepfather live above their store in Boerne. We moved there from Houston when I was fifteen. Not a moment too soon. The neighborhood we lived in was more or less taken over by gangs back then. I don't know what it's like now."

"San Antonio has more than its share of gangs. It's a big problem, but our police force does a lot to keep track of them."

"Wish that had been the attitude in Houston twenty years ago." Lark pressed her lips together as she felt them tremble.

"What happened in Houston?" Sheridan asked mildly. "Did you get in trouble?"

"No, not me. My sister, Fiona, however—"

"We're here, Ms. Ward," the chauffeur's voice said over the intercom.

"Thank you, Ned." Sheridan said and smiled regretfully. "We'll finish this later."

"All right." Lark doubted Sheridan would even remember what they talked about ten minutes after she wheeled out of the car.

Sheridan stopped just below the ramp that allowed her to maneuver the wheelchair in and out of the minivan, looking apprehensive.

Lark slipped into her professional role. "What's up, Sheridan?"

"Nothing." Sheridan still didn't move.

"Want me to push you, ma'am?" Ned asked after rounding the vehicle.

"No!" Sheridan cleared her voice. "No."

Lark realized something and spoke quietly, so Ned wouldn't overhear. "This your first time here after the illness, Sheridan?"

"Yes."

"First time doing a lunch like this, too, perhaps?"

"Yes." The short word emerged through gritted teeth, and Sheridan's hands trembled where they rested on the hand rims of the wheels.

"You'll be fine. For what it's worth, I'll walk right next to you when we go inside."

At first it took so long for Sheridan to answer that Lark thought she was going to prevent herself from taking this step. If I had memorized more from her charts, I might have realized this. Instead I let my pet peeve make her have to justify her actions, which are her business, not mine.

"Thank you." Sheridan gripped the rims hard enough for her knuckles to grow whiter. "Let's go."

Lark strode next to her as Sheridan rolled in through the main doors.

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