for a price cut,” his father said.
“It’s our bottom price. I made that clear.” They’d gone with a razor-thin profit margin to seal the deal, buying components from a new plant in Tennessee with rock-bottom prices. Once the Wharton batteries hit the market, demand would skyrocket, and Ryland Engineering would be rolling in orders. He hoped to hire some of the workers Wharton had been forced to lay off two months before. Talk about coming full circle. His father wanted that, too, no matter how much he groused.
All along, Dylan’s mission had been to redeem his father in his own eyes and, if possible, end the feud between the two men. They’d finally begun to warm to each other. Now Abbott was gone and his father was dredging up the old resentments to ease his grief and loss.
Dylan longed for the father he’d known growing up—a kind and patient teacher, a brilliant engineer with boundless curiosity and a total reverence for science. Dylan’s best memories were the hours they’d spent in the workshop on projects—building a battery, a potato radio, a fighter kite, even a hovercraft, which took top honors at a science fair.
He hoped that once he had some distance from his father, he could go back to admiring the man, appreciating him for his good points.
His father looked up at him. “Any change with Faye?”
“She’s still in ICU, still unconscious.”
“That’s got to be hard for a mother, though with Rachel, you’d never know she’s suffering. She’s prickly as a cactus.”
“Maybe you could give her a call. Express your concern.”
His father frowned, shaking his head. “It’s on her to reach out. I’ll pay respects at the funeral.”
“Up to you.” His father was as uncompromising with people as Tara had been. That wasn’t Dylan’s way. People were flawed. You accepted that and made the best of the good in them.
“It’s a damn shame about Faye. She’s the best of the bunch over there. Smart and fair and she works hard. Without her, the place just might fall apart. Her husband’s useless.”
“Joseph’s good at what he does. They’ve got good people. They’ll bounce back.” Dylan was concerned, though. A lot was riding on the success of the batteries for both companies. Deadlines were approaching. The too-tight specs were only part of the problem. For the past six weeks, Wharton had reported high test failures on the Ryland units. Dylan had to resolve the problem and quickly.
“And while we’re on the subject, there’s not a damn thing wrong with those units,” his father said, glaring up at him. “You tell those Wharton thieves that in that meeting. I put one on my own car.”
“I will. Don’t worry. Did you look at the data Victor collected?” Victor was their factory operations manager, the man Dylan was grooming to take over for him.
“Haven’t had time. I’ve been looking at the new circuitry they’re working on in R&D. This could be big—a totally new direction for us.”
“They’re a long way from a prototype, Dad. Manufacturing is our bread and butter. You have to keep your eye on the target.” Dylan worried that Victor wouldn’t be able to keep his father on track once Dylan left. That might be the fly in the ointment of his plan.
“You’ll pick me up for the funeral?”
“Yeah,” Dylan said. He hoped to skip the reception, wanting to minimize his father’s contact with the Wharton managers who’d be there. There was no telling how his father’s grief and frustration would play out in a public setting. He’d be damn glad when he could stop managing the man.
He’d see Tara again at the funeral. His heart thumped at the prospect. Tara had been his port in the storm of his parents’ breakup. He’d been so wrecked, he’d made his relationship with her seem better than it was, ignoring their differences, her all-or-nothing personality, the superhuman standards she set that he could never meet. If they’d stayed together, they’d have battled constantly. The hell of it was that holding her for that moment in the hospital, all he could remember was the wonder of love, of pure desire, the miracle of intimacy, and he’d wanted it, no matter how temporary, no matter how false, no matter the whiplash of pain that would follow.
Looked like his father wasn’t the only one who should keep his exposure to the Whartons to a minimum. They should definitely skip the reception.
CHAPTER THREE
AS SHE TURNED onto the brick driveway that curved up the hill toward the Wharton house,