Sherman Pritchard gazed down the long conference table. The polished oak surface gleamed like a mirror, reflecting the combatants on either side. Mexican stand-off be damned, this was war. A cold war, but war nonetheless. Victory could go to either side. Both waited for one final event—his death. When that happened, one would annihilate the other. The hell of it was, Sherman knew who would win and he didn't like it one single bit.

His gaze shifted to the left to his family, the enemy. All in all, they were a rag-tag motley bunch of hangers-on that guilt forced him to hire. Nieces, nephews, cousins, and brother, and not a one loyal to anything but the promise of money in their pocket. All waited his demise like the vultures they were. His heirs by law, and they'd fight to the last body to control what he owned. A team of lawyers waited in the wings for the word to activate. With it, all Sherman had worked his life to build would lay in ruins. The reputation of Pritchard Electronics would go in the crapper.

A glance to the right where his loyal staff stared down the family calmed him. They'd worked long hours to help keep the company on solid ground in this rough economy. This was their battle, too. Sherman owed them something for their dedication; certainly something more than to have to fight after his death to keep PE alive and prosperous.

He closed his arthritic hand around his pencil. Gone were the days when he could twirl it through his long fingers while pondering a briefing by the department heads. Gone were the days when he could do a lot of things. Gone were the days…forever.

He never should've hired family. He'd been advised against it. But the thought that someone would go hungry because he was too selfish to give them a job had never set well with him. And look what his good deeds had gotten him. Even knowing all this, he didn't have the heart to fire any of them. They weren't bad workers, just greedy. As long as his staff was there to take the major reins, everything ran smoothly. But there was too much to lose and it wasn't a risk Sherman was willing to take. A slick lawyer could argue next of kin rights, then where would it all be?

Sherman gave a soft sigh and settled his tired bones into his leather chair. There was one who clearly fit the bill as next of kin—confident, loyal, dedicated, with a head on his shoulders that combined both common sense and business acumen. Again, Sherman's conscience wouldn't allow him to reveal that heir. It would involve too much explanation, too much hurt for everyone involved. There had to be another way.

A movement to his right caught Sherman's gaze. Tracie Edwards sipped at her ever-present bottle of water while his nephew droned on about his latest statistical analysis of heaven-only-knew what. Finally, she'd had enough. Her green-eyed laser stare silenced him.

"Did you or did you not verify the shipping status of the microprocessors from Taiwan?"

George slumped into his chair. "No."

"This after not only I but Sherman and Wyatt asked you and you indicated it was…and I quote ‘a done deal?'"

He slumped farther as if hoping to make himself a smaller target. Impossible considering his girth and the depth of his mistake. At least there was one relative Sherman wouldn't have to worry about anymore. Tracie was going to make mincemeat of him.

"This is the third time in six months something like this has happened, George. We have twenty-five thousand orders we can't place because of your ineptitude." She flipped a paper. "Last year you were sick ten to fifteen days out of each month. That would equate to two weeks each month. We won't go into your vacation days."

He straightened as he drew breath to defend himself.

Tracie held up her beautifully manicured hand. "Yes, I know. It was your vacation and you had the right to take it."

She dropped her hand and laced her fingers before her. "But not at the expense of this company. We are a team, George, and you don't seem to want to be a part of it. All of us are overburdened, then to have to take up the slack in your absence… Well, that's inexcusable. It's time you moved on to pursuits more in line with your talents, whatever those might be. A severance check awaits you in accounting."

"But…my desk—"

"Your personal items will be sent to you." With the flick on her red nail, Tracie punched the buzzer on the phone next to her. Seconds later a pair of security guards entered the conference room.

George looked around for someone, anyone to leap to his defense. Family stared at the table. Staff stared at him. There was little more he could do. Shoving his papers together, he slunk from the room.

Anxious to have Tracie's favor, Sherman's niece jumped in. "I'll get on those microprocessors."

"No need." Frank Wilson snapped his daybook closed. "We went to an alternate source."

A frown tugged her eyebrows together. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "And you let my brother—"

"He had more than enough chances," Frank said.

Tracie followed her co-worker's action and closed her notebook. "You're the one who brought his mistakes to our attention, Cynthia. You knew the ramifications. No one has complained more than you. What else were we to do?"

Silence descended.

Sherman hid a smile behind his hand. God, she was great. He'd hired her right out of college and never regretted it for a second. The youngest CEO in the business and she clearly deserved that honor. Beautiful, intelligent, savvy. She'd given up a lot, too much perhaps. But she never once complained and she never would. She certainly deserved to keep all she'd worked for.

A glimmer of an idea slammed into him. A thought so ludicrous, Sherman nearly laughed out loud. But with each second that ticked by, it changed into a full-fledged, if not crazy, idea.

It might work. He nodded slowly. Yes, it just might work. He curled his fingers over the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet. "That's it for today, people. It's time for lunch."

Family scattered like rats deserting a sinking ship. Staff lingered.

"Tracie, I'd like you to join me for lunch today."

The others chuckled.

"I don't think you could keep up with Tracie at lunch," Frank said. "She's a machine on that treadmill."

Sherman smiled. She never ate, always worked out what she called her stress. Claimed it made her more agreeable the rest of the day.

"Maybe she'll make an exception today and pick over a salad with me."

If she minded, it didn't show. "Let me grab my purse and I'll be right with you," she said with a smile.

More than a few heads turned to watch her walk out the door. And who could blame them? She was a looker, even with her dark blonde hair twisted into place on her head. Her body was killer perfect.

If I was a younger man…

Sherman pulled in a breath to stoke his resolve. He'd need a dead-on sales pitch to pull this one off.

* * *

Tracie tried to not let her disappointment show as she marched to the office adjacent to Sherman's corner suite of rooms. After the nasty business this morning, she'd looked forward to pounding out her frustration on the treadmill.

She scolded herself almost instantly. Sherman asked for little and she owed him a lot. He'd taken a chance on a fresh-faced kid right out of college. Supported her during that disastrous two-year marriage. Given her every opportunity to excel in the ten years she'd known him. She wouldn't be where she was right now if not for Sherman, even with all her hard work. Chances like she'd been given didn't come every day. She owed him everything. What was one lunch going to hurt?

The silent lecture softened her mood and lightened her spirit. Lunch might be fun for a change. To have a leisurely meal and talk over business tactics, plans for the future. They might be able to get a lot accomplished without the constant distractions of phone calls and visits from other co-workers.

Tracie set her portfolio and folders on her desk while hauling her purse from the bottom drawer. She briefly considered changing into street shoes, then decided against it. Sherman didn't walk so fast any more, so her low heels would be just fine. Chances were they'd go no farther than the deli around the corner. He liked to keep things simple.

You don't make money just to spend it on frivolous things.

No, just frivolous people. But Tracie would keep that opinion to herself until her dying day. It wasn't her business to stick her nose into Sherman's personal life. He could hire all the family he wanted as long as they did their job. If not, if anyone did anything to hurt this company, they answered to her.

She slung her purse strap over her shoulder and zipped into the hallway. Sherman was already waiting for her.

She flashed him a smile. "Deli?"

He smiled back. "Actually, I think the Mexican place across the street. It's a little quieter. There are private booths where we won't be disturbed."

Oh, this had to be a good one. Anticipation coursed through Tracie's veins. What was he planning this time? Something exciting, just like always. She loved the challenge. All he had to do was throw the ball and she and the others got to run with it. Pure adrenaline rush!

"Mexican food it is." She wagged her finger at him. "But easy on the cheese. The last thing we need is another lecture from the doctor."

"No, we certainly can't have that."

His light brown eyes crinkled at the corners with his chuckle. Glimpses of the young man he once was flickered her way despite the wrinkles, age spots, and thinning thatch of gray hair. She bet he was a heartbreaker in his younger years. Who knew? Maybe he still had his way with the ladies.

Tracie knew little about the man's personal life. His wife had passed away long before she came to Pritchard Electronics. From the way Sherman spoke, they'd had a rather successful marriage. He loved her dearly. Their only regret was the inability to have children.

Sad. Here he was all alone. His family was worthless. Nothing more than a bunch of helpless and hopeless leeches. Sherman would have made a great father…a wonderful grandfather. He loved to nurture, help people realize their goals. His business became his child.

A twinge of guilt snuck up on her. She was no better and she didn't have an excuse. Tracie let one divorce yank her off the singles scene permanently. Children she'd once longed for were more out of her reach than ever. Her biological clock was winding down and she'd never heard it ticking.

"Shall we?" He swept his hand toward the elevator and they made their way down the hall.

They were nearly there when Frank and Wyatt stepped from their respective offices. Matching smiles spread across sun-bronzed features. Flecks of gray were sprinkled in their dark brown hair. Both married. Both with two college aged children. Both avid golfers. The two spent so much time together they not only resembled each other, but also finished each other's sentences. In a social environment, it was a hoot. In a business environment, wonderful. When they got the energy going, the two could sell anything. They, like she, were Sherman's proteges.

"You two heading out for lunch?" Wyatt punched the down button.

Tracie smiled. "Yeah. Want to join us?"

Sherman's fingertips barely touched her arm. "Sorry, gentlemen. I wanted to speak with Tracie alone."

Neither blinked much less took offense. Frank held the door until they all stepped in. Then the two launched into their plans for a weekend trip to Catalina.

"Ever been, Tracie?" Frank asked.

"No. I always wanted to, but…"

She let the sentence die. How many times had she uttered those words? It was beginning to sound like a mantra. When had she turned all business? A better question was—when hadn't she been?

She stole a glance Sherman's way. All she had was her parents. No pets. No hobbies. No life beyond this office. How long before she found herself in Sherman's shoes?

They parted ways outside the glass doors. With a wave, Wyatt and Frank strode around the corner to the deli. She and Sherman waited at the crosswalk for the light to change.

It was another beautiful spring day in southern California. The sky was fresh today, clear and blue. It bolstered her sinking morale as it lifted her spirits. She was happy, loved her job, and was paid very well. Wasn't that all that mattered?

I don't know. Is it? Tracie silently damned her interfering conscience.

They picked up their pace to make it across the street in the allotted time. It had to exhaust Sherman, but he pulled the energy from somewhere. Tracie had always admired that about him. He never complained; he just got the job done. Once perched back on the safety of the curb, his step slowed. Consuelo's beckoned a few yards away.

Always the gentleman, he caught the handle before she could grab it. Cool, dim interior in shades of black and red greeted them, as did the host.

"Welcome again, Mr. Pritchard. Your booth is all ready in the back." A wave of his arm invited them to follow.

The place was filling fast. Obviously it was a popular place. Chips, salsa, and queso dotted every table. Pitchers of water as well. Smiles all around.

They slipped into a corner booth tucked in a row of private alcoves. Instantly the obligatory chips appeared.

"Drinks?"

"Margarita," Sherman replied. "And you?"

"Just water." She tapped the pitcher.

"Someone will be by to take your order in a minute." A slight bow and they were alone.

Tracie tucked her forearms on the table. "I have to say you have me curious, Sherman."

"I bet I do."

She snagged a chip and scooped up salsa thick with chunks of onion and tomato. The taste kissed her tongue. Perfect. Not too spicy, not too bland.

"I'll get right to the point."

She nodded and helped herself to another chip.

"Tracie, I'd like you to marry me and give me a child."