He’d caused an accident? The one he’d dreamed about?
The pregnant woman hadn’t been Katrina, he realized. She must have been driving the other car. Thank God her injuries hadn’t been serious.
As he leaned against the counter, relieved, he was struck by an almost overwhelming urge to pick up the phone and call Betsy, to tell her he’d definitely be coming back to Texas, that he wasn’t involved with anyone after all. He just had a few details to work out first.
A
Damn. Even if he managed to cut strings and smooth out all the rough spots in the road, how could he go back to Brighton Valley and tell Betsy how he felt?
She’d been very clear when she’d told him that what they’d had was nice, but that it was over.
And she’d never even shed a tear.
Chapter Twelve
After the limousine left, Jason spent the next couple of hours roaming the rooms of his house, scanning the furniture and artwork on the walls and checking out the shelf in the den that displayed a couple of golf trophies he’d won in the various Pro-Am tournaments in which he’d played.
As he did so, some of the spotty memories he’d been having began to weave together, making sense. He knew that Mike was eager to see him, but he found himself dragging his feet. For some reason, he wanted to be clear about who he was and how he fit into the family.
So he went to the refrigerator to find himself something to drink, settling on a can of soda. He flipped open the top, then took a sip as he sorted through a stack of mail on the counter, all of it postmarked prior to his trip to Texas.
His vehicle registration was due in a couple of days.
How many other monthly bills were now outstanding? His post-office box was probably busting at the seams, and playing catch-up wouldn’t be easy. He’d have to hire a personal assistant-unless he had one already.
Either way, his first priority was Alvarez Industries, as it always had been.
After placing his empty soda can in a recycling bin, he took a shower and changed his clothes. But instead of choosing one of the many suits that hung in his closet, he picked out a pair of khaki slacks and a golf shirt- considered too casual for the office by Mike’s standards. Then he took his car keys from the dresser and went out to the garage, where his black Mercedes was parked.
As he climbed behind the wheel, pictures of the past-some of the conversations he’d had, the people he knew- began to fall into place, providing him with a better understanding of who he was and how he fit into the family dynamics. Thankfully, with each passing moment, his life became more and more familiar.
After backing out of his garage and using the remote to close the door, he drove to the office and parked in his own reserved spot in the underground parking garage. Then he rode the elevator all the way to the top floor and entered the executive offices of Alvarez Industries, where wall-to-wall windows provided an amazing view of the Pacific Ocean on one side of the building and the downtown San Diego skyline on the other.
Suzy Walker, the thirtysomething receptionist, looked up from her desk and smiled brightly. “Mr. Alvarez, it’s good to have you back.”
“Thanks. Is Mike in?”
“Yes, and he’s been waiting for you. Do you want me to let him know you’re here?”
“That’s not necessary.” Jason was tired of all the formality, which had always felt like a facade to him.
Rosa Alvarez, whose recipes had set up future generations of the family for wealth and success, had been a down-to-earth woman who’d adored her husband and sons. Her smiling face adorned every label, every package, every box of Abuelita brand foods. And while she would be happy to learn of the success of the family business, she’d insist that they all remember just where they came from-hardworking immigrants, loving grandparents, with strong family values.
Jason strode right into his brother’s fancy office, briefly addressing Miriam, Mike’s executive secretary, yet bypassing her to let himself inside.
Mike glanced up from his computer screen, then brightened. “Jason! It’s good to see you, man. I wondered when you were going to get here. I’d thought that you would have Max drive you straight here from the airport.”
That might have been Jason’s routine in the past, but he’d spent too many evenings in Brighton Valley, listening to horses whinny in the corrals and cattle lowing in the pastures. And he’d enjoyed too many quality hours with a beautiful doctor who dedicated herself to her patients and to the community at large.
Being in Brighton Valley had changed something in him, although he wasn’t sure what it was. But he suspected that it had given him reason to believe that life didn’t always have to be lived in the fast lane.
“I had some things to take care of at home,” he said, realizing those “things” had included getting his memory in check, his feelings sorted and his priorities in line.
“Well, I guess you didn’t have time to change. But at least you’re here now. Why don’t I catch you up on our defense of the lawsuit?”
Jason took a seat in the brown leather chair in front of his brother’s desk, then listened as Mike told him the legal game plan.
In a nutshell, if they didn’t find Pedro, or if he couldn’t dispute Cheryl’s testimony, they would have to find some other way to discredit her. And if that didn’t work? They’d agree to a settlement and insist that she sign a nondisclosure agreement.
“We can do the same thing with the woman who was involved in your accident,” Mike said, “assuming she decides to sue. We’ll have the attorneys offer her a settlement so we can put it all behind us.”
Jason wasn’t the least bit opposed to paying out a fair settlement for an accident he’d caused, but it rubbed against his grain to think that money could easily solve any number of mistakes a man made, any consequences of his poor judgment.
Of course, there wasn’t a whole lot that could be done after the fact, other than pay the attorneys and…
What? Make things go away?
How would Rosa and her husband, Luis, feel about that? About the men their descendants had become- business execs, always looking at the bottom line?
Never stopping to smell the roses?
Before Jason could respond, Mike’s intercom buzzed.
“What is it?” he asked his secretary.
“Pedro Salas is on the line for Jason. Should I take his number and tell him Jason will call him back?”
“Beautiful,” Mike said, brightening and flashing a we’re-in-luck smile at Jason before answering Miriam. “Don’t put him off. Patch him through.”
“Wait.” Jason got to his feet. “I’d like to take that call in private.”
Mike’s brow furrowed, clearly surprised by Jason’s response. “Why?”
“I’d feel better talking to him without an audience.”
Mike seemed to ponder that for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay. Go ahead. I’ll tell Miriam to patch the call through to your desk.”
Jason headed out the door and down the hall. When he reached the privacy of his office, he let himself in, closed the door and took a seat behind a large, polished mahogany desk.
Only then did he answer the call. “Pedro, thanks for calling me. How’s it going?”
“It’s okay. I heard you were in Brighton Valley, looking for me. What’s up?”
“I wanted to ask you a couple of questions about a conversation you might have overheard between Cheryl Westlake and a couple of clerks from the mailroom.”
Silence stretched across the line until Pedro asked, “What conversation are you talking about? They used to chat a lot whenever Cheryl came downstairs.”
