12. David
12
David
“ D avid. Honestly, you donated the food. You didn’t have to come and unload the truck.” Anna indicated the full shed I’d just put the final case into.
I wiped the sweat from my eyes. “Happy to do it.”
If she thought I was going to let her and the other woman who worked there unload the truck alone with the driver, she didn’t know me at all.
But my motivation came from more than the way my momma raised me. I needed some good hard labor to get my mind off that bullshit interview—interrogation more like—at Drew’s.
“Well, we appreciate it. Please, come inside for some cold water.”
“ That I will accept. Thanks. Right after I wash up.”
“Rest room is right past the manager’s office door.” She pointed to the back as I opened the door of the shelter for her to walk through before me.
“Thanks. Be right out,” I said.
The water was cold and seemed to wash more than the sweat off my face and arms. It washed away a little bit of the stress of this morning as well.
At least it had, until I opened the restroom door and heard Heather’s voice out in the front. I didn’t catch all the words, but I did hear her say my name.
“I trust him,” Anna replied to whatever Heather had said. “More than just writing a check for a million dollars, the man donated a truckload of food and came to help us unload it.”
Heather said something else, a bunch of mumbled words ending in the word scandal.
I scowled. So now her hatred of me would be complete.
“What happened was horrible, no doubt,” Anna said. “But that hasn’t affected my view of the company or the man. From what I’ve learned it wasn’t at all what the press let on. If you’re concerned, you should talk to him about it.”
“I’m not sure he’s open to talking about it,” Heather said. I heard that loud and clear as I walked down the hall and emerged into the front part of the shelter.
Heather’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.
“It’s okay,” I said, eerily calm considering all I’d heard during my eavesdropping. “I’m happy to talk about it.”
“I’m—I didn’t—” she stuttered.
“Don’t apologize. You have every right to your opinion. But I would like a chance to explain so you can base it on facts.”
The color draining from her face, she nodded. “Okay.”
Anna walked over with her wallet in her hand. “Here.” She shoved a gift card to the coffee shop next door in my hand. “Go sit, have something to drink, and talk. On me.”
I tried to wave off the card but she wasn’t having it.
“Please. I’ve got a pro bono client who sends me these all the time as a thank you. I’m more than happy to share.”
“Thanks.” It was easier to just take it than argue. I had more to worry about. Namely Heather. I glanced at her. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
I opened the door for her and we walked to the coffee shop in silence. I swept my arm toward the counter for her to go ahead and order first.
“Uh, the frozen caramel mocha latte, please. The name is Heather.”
I raised a brow at that order but restrained myself from commenting as I said, “Coffee. Black.”
“Name and size?” the guy behind the counter asked.
“David. And the biggest you got.”
If I couldn’t have a shot of bourbon, which was what I really needed if I was going to be able to deal with this, caffeine would have to do.
I swiped the gift card, then pocketed it and leaned on the end of the counter to wait for however long it would take them to make Heather’s creation.
The lack of conversation, even small talk between us, didn’t bode well for the rest of this discussion but I was going to try anyway. At least I would head back to Texas knowing I’d had my say, whether it changed her mind or not.
We settled in a back corner table away from any other patrons and I drew in a breath. “So, last year my dad started to show signs that something wasn’t right. We talked him into going to the doctor and it seemed he’d had a series of micro strokes, I think they called them. Not big enough for him or any of us to notice the event when it happened, but enough it was starting to affect his work as CEO of Strickland.
“He’s a stubborn man, so of course he didn’t slow down any. He took the meds the docs told him to but he didn’t cut back on work. I should have made him. I didn’t.”
I glanced up from where I’d been staring into my coffee and not drinking it. I half expected to see Heather shut down. Unreceptive. And I wouldn’t have blamed her. I wasn’t happy with how my story was going. It sounded like I was blaming my father for what had happened and I wasn’t.
If anything, I blamed myself for thinking I could be living the easy life running the chicken farm and ignoring that he needed help operating the damn company.
But Heather was leaning forward, listening intently. I grabbed onto that and the hope maybe I wasn’t fucking this up and continued.
“Things started to go to shit all about the same time. Dad had a massive stroke and while he was in the hospital unable to even talk, forget about walk, we started getting reports of pets getting sick. And dying. From our food.”
The acid backed up my throat from saying it. A visceral reaction because I remembered it all like it was yesterday.
“I took over for Pops. I was the only one who could. My sister Amy has got her hands full raising a kid while her husband’s deployed. But hell, I was newer than wet paint. I didn’t know what I was doing. But with the help of some really good staff, we managed to trace the shipment that was bad. We recalled it immediately, of course, but it was too late. Two dogs died. Countless were made sick by it.”
I sighed then shook my head at the ridiculousness of what I was about to admit to her.
“One of our people had gone with a new oversees supplier. Because they came in at fifty cents less per case.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Fifty cents.”
I raised my gaze to her. “I personally fired him. Then I canceled every order we had outstanding with China, even from the suppliers we’d been using without any problems for years. I had no faith in anyone anymore. That day I instituted a policy that Strickland food would only come from the US. From places I could inspect personally.”
“That’s admirable,” she said.
“Not really.” I snorted. “We should have been doing it for years. I learned that quick enough. That change in sourcing was challenging and eye opening. Strickland moves a lot of product. There weren’t enough US suppliers to keep us in business. So I started investing in small farmers, helping them grow their places.”
“Like Drew’s,” she said.
I nodded. “We had the—” I remembered how she felt about me being a chicken murderer and changed my wording. “Raw materials. But we still needed places to—” Again I avoided the word processing in deference to Heather. “Places to produce and package it all. So I started to buy up old abandoned factories. It took a solid six months of round the clock work for everyone on staff, myself included, but as of now we are able to produce enough in our own facilities to supplement what the US suppliers can’t to meet our demand.”
“That’s amazing.”
I laughed again. “Well, our demand is also down thirty-seven percent from before the scandal, so . . .”
She shook her head. “Do you know how many people you put to work moving manufacturing to the US?”
Heather was trying to make me feel better about things, which was incredibly sweet. But I was starting to wonder if Strickland would ever outlive the black mark against us.
“I know. But it still doesn’t?—”
“No, David. I mean do you have the actual number of how many people your factories employ? And how many additional farm workers those small farmers hired when they expanded?”
I frowned. “No.”
“Can you get that number for me?” she asked, looking excited.
I admit to being clueless when it comes to women, but this woman in particular had my head spinning. “I don’t understand.”
“Do you know what I do for a living?”
“You work for Millennia on such stellar shows as Trashy Weddings and Hot Chicken Farmers of California ,” I answered, knowing I was being a smart ass but not in the mood for a guessing game after this emotionally draining discussion.
“ Trash to Treasure and no, I usually have nothing to do with actual production. What I am on staff for is to promote the company, and the shows, and to clean up any public relations messes that hit in the media. And believe me, there have been a few.” Her eyes widened. “Don’t you see? I can help you.”
“How?” As far as I knew, we had a marketing department at Strickland. The main thing I’d seen come out of it was them sending to the press the letter of public apology the lawyers had me sign.
Heather had a faraway look in her eyes. “I’ve got a few ideas.”
“Um, okay.”
“Can I have a couple of days to work things out?” she asked.
I let out a laugh. “Sure. Take all the time you need.”
This had been going on since last year. What were a few more days?
She nodded. “Okay. Good.”
I could see she’d checked out of the conversation already, thanks to visions of marketing plans dancing in her head, no doubt.
“You want to go and start, don’t you?” I asked. It wasn’t a question. I was pretty sure I was right.
“Would you mind?” she asked.
“No. Not at all.”
Cup in hand, she stood, then looked back toward me. “Will you be in town a couple of more days?”
I’d been planning on leaving, the sooner the better. Now, as I saw the excitement in her—excitement to help me, work with me—well, my plans seemed to have changed.
“Yeah. I’ll be around a few more days.”
“Good. I’ll get something preliminary to you as soon as I can.”
“All right. Thank you.”
She smiled. “My pleasure.”
The most amazing part was, she looked like she actually meant it. The woman who’d hated me on sight was happy to be helping me.
I still didn’t understand women. But I wasn’t opposed to letting Heather keep me on my toes. Not one little bit.