Take a Chance on Me

Tyler reread the text in bed, and then headed to the kitchen to make coffee, and read it again.

He called his CEO but his call went straight to voicemail. “Bill, it’s Tyler. Got your message but I’m unclear about a few things. Call me.”

Bill didn’t return the call for almost an hour. By then, Tyler had several cups of coffee and more time to process the news, but not enough time to process his shock or disbelief.

“That’s it?” Tyler said, when Bill called. “I’m just… done?”

“They want the games, Tyler. They don’t want you.”

“Why?”

“You know why. They’re going to want to change things, and you wouldn’t be good with that. You’re protective of your games—”

“Absolutely.”

“But they want to make money, not protect your creative integrity.”

“They’re going to destroy Justice Games.”

“They’re going to be giving us—and you—a great deal of money. You could retire off this, live a comfortable life. It’s a win-win for everyone.”

“Not for me. And not for those that love my games.”

“I love your passion, Tyler, I do. But that’s the piece that has always held you back. You still think with your heart, not your head. Justice Games is just a revenue stream for us, and it’s going to be a revenue stream for Sheenan Media.”

Sheenan Media. Tyler knew that name. It rang more than a few bells, but didn’t know why. “Is that the company that you’re selling my company to?”

“Justice Games hasn’t been your company for over two years now. You don’t work for yourself. You work for us.”

“You promised me control when I sold Justice Games to you. You assured me I would remain at the helm.”

“For as long as we owned the company, yes. But we’re selling—”

“I want to buy it back.”

“I’ve already accepted their offer.”

“Change your mind. I’ll pay you more than whatever they offered.”

“They’re paying me cash, and I doubt you have that kind of liquidity. We close by the end of this week. I’m sorry, Tyler, it’s essentially a done deal. I’ll have Jess pack up your office and drive everything to you this afternoon. Better not to have you in the office. There is no point in upsetting your team.” Bill hesitated. “Let me say that another way. You cannot mention this to your team. They work for me, not you.”

“And if I came up with the cash? What then?”

“I still wouldn’t sell to you. I made a deal, and I’m not going to pull out now. It’d be disastrous for our reputation.”

Tyler was twenty minutes into his run when he realized why he recognized the Sheenan name.

Troy Sheenan.

Troy was big in the Bay Area in high tech. Tyler had met him at a number of charity events, those black tie affairs where everyone was committed to doing good and giving back. Someone had introduced the two of them, casually remarking that both had ties to Montana. “My father’s from there,” Tyler had said.

“Mine, too,” Troy answered with a smile. “And maybe that’s why we’re both here in California.”

As Tyler ran, he played the conversation over in his head, a conversation that had taken place years ago. Six or seven years, maybe more.

Was Troy behind the buy-out?

Back home, Tyler showered, changed into comfortable Levi’s and a soft hoodie, better for sitting down at his desk to do some research.

But when he typed in Troy Sheenan, and Sheenan Industries, he didn’t just pull up Troy, but links to a Cormac Sheenan, founder of Sheenan Media.

Sheenan Media. There it was.

Tyler clicked on a link to Sheenan Media and it led him to the landing page for the company’s website, based out of—wait for it—Marietta, Montana.

Impossible.

He leaned back, and shook his head as he continued to read. The West Coast media conglomerate only recently relocated all corporate offices to the hometown of company founder, Cormac Sheenan.

It didn’t take a lot more research to discover that Cormac was the younger brother of Troy Sheenan, and older brother of New York Times bestselling crime author, Sean S. Finley, and Austin bio-tech brain, Dillon Sheenan.

Interesting family. The Sheenans seemed to be everywhere. High-tech, bio-tech, media, publishing. And it all started in Crawford County, Montana.

Tyler turned off his computer and pushed away from his desk. It looked like he was going back to Marietta sooner than he expected.

By Tuesday, Marietta’s lovely unseasonably warm weather was gone, chased away by a new cold front that had dropped temperatures by thirty degrees. Amanda had to crank up the heater in the salon that morning, especially as she knew Bette was coming for her usual Tuesday appointment and Bette had a tendency to get chilly.

Bette was quiet, though, during her appointment, and missing her usual sparkle.

“Are you feeling alright?” Amanda asked, concerned.

“Just worried about Tyler,” she answered.

“I honestly can’t see him making you move if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, it’s not that. I think something has happened. I’m not sure what it is, but he sounded rather despondent on the phone when we spoke Monday. He was not at all like himself.”

“Maybe he’d had a stressful day.”

“Maybe.” Bette fidgeted with the strap of her purse resting in her lap. She never liked to hang her purse up on the hook, preferring to keep it on her lap. “He said he’s coming back to Marietta. Should be here this weekend.”

Amanda froze, comb hovering midair. “That soon?”

“I know. That was my first thought, too. Why so soon?”

“Maybe he misses all of our snow and ice.”

“Or our wind.”

“The wind is delightful.”

They smiled at each other in the mirror, and for a moment the mood lightened, but then Bette’s smile slipped, and faded. “I don’t want to be a worrywart, but I think something’s happened. Call it female intuition, or grandmother ESP, but something has happened and I don’t think it’s good.”

“Well, knowing you, you’ll soon get to the bottom of whatever it is, and then, knowing you, you’ll know exactly how to make everything better.”

Amanda couldn’t stop thinking about Tyler, and how he was returning to Marietta, and she knew it wasn’t smart to feel so hopeful, but that was exactly how she felt. Hopeful and excited.

He made her want more again, not in terms of work, but in terms of dating and relationships. He made her want to be in a relationship. He made her imagine how wonderful it would be to have a boyfriend again and someone who cared about her day, and someone who’d dress up and take her to dinner, someone who’d think a movie night sounded romantic, someone who’d hold her hand, and kiss her good night.

Someone who’d love her.

Someone who’d be proud of her.

Someone who’d celebrate her successes and encourage her when everything seemed to go wrong.

And she wanted someone she could be there for, too.

Her sisters and friends were wonderful, but having that special guy, would be wonderful, too.

Someone who might one day be the “one.” The one who’d put a tux on and marry her in front of a hundred guests. The one who’d want to start a family with her and cared so much for her that he wanted to be there to grow old with her.

She’d kind of given those dreams up, and had focused her energy and attention on her business, but suddenly Tyler had her thinking again and dreaming again…

She tried to rein in her imagination and heart, knowing she was just asking to be disappointed, and not even sure how everything had gotten so out of hand in the first place. He lived out of town. He thought the worst of her. Why would she be thinking of him all the time?

Was it because she loved Bette?

Or was there something else, something bigger, something deeper that was p

ulling her to him?

Either way, she’d know soon enough because, from the sound of things, Tyler would be back in just days.

When he left Marietta last week, Tyler had promised his grandmother he’d be back within two weeks. Instead, he was back just a week later. Crazy how things worked.

He left the Bozeman airport in his rental car, a big four wheel drive SUV this time as he planned on doing some exploring while in Montana. On reaching Marietta, he took a drive down Main Street, and then a detour past the Wright Salon on his way to his grandmother’s. He’d only meant to drive past. Instead he found himself braking hard in the middle of Church Street.

She’d done it.

She’d painted the house pink. Bubble gum, cotton-candy-pink.

He frowned, and then sighed, and then laughed, because the house was now a Pepto-pink monstrosity. All she needed to do now was hang a sparkly unicorn flag, or perhaps plant some plastic flamingos in the barren front yard, to confirm her insanity.

And yet, her insanity suddenly appealed to him. He had to give her points for being original. He admired her style. It might not be the smartest business decision, but at least she was true to herself.

Still smiling, still shaking his head, he continued on to Gram’s on Bramble, but his smile faded as he parked his car in front of her house.

He wasn’t looking forward to telling her he’d lost his company, but far better she heard the news from him, than some cynical outside source.

It didn’t take long to break the news to her, either.

“I’m unemployed, Gram. I’m sorry,” he told his grandmother, as they sat at her dining room table having milk and apple pie twenty minutes later.