The Man Behind the Pinstripes. Melissa McClone
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a smile. Took a step onto the patio. “Sure, I’ll sit for a few minutes.”
Caleb was still standing, a tall, dream-crushing force she did not want to reckon with ever again.
Walking to the table, she didn’t acknowledge his presence. He didn’t deserve a second look or an “excuse me” as she passed.
Gertie had to be reeling, the same as Becca, after what he’d said.
I still wouldn’t manufacture them.
Becca’s blood boiled. But she couldn’t lose it.
She touched Gertie’s thin shoulder, not knowing how else to comfort her employer, her friend. The luxurious feel of silk beneath Becca’s palm would soon be a thing of the past. But it wasn’t the trappings of wealth she would miss. It was this amazing woman, the one who had almost made Becca believe anything was possible. Almost …
“I’m so sorry.” A lump burned in her throat. Her eyes stung. She blinked. “You’ve worked so hard and wasted so much time for nothing.”
Gertie waved her hand as if her arm were an enchanted wand that could make everything better. Diamonds sparkled beneath the sun. Prisms of lights danced. If only magic did exist …
“None of this has been a waste, dear.” Gertie smiled up at Becca. Not the trying-hard-to-smile-and-not-cry of someone disappointed and reeling, but a smile full of light and hope. “The products are top-notch. You said so yourself. Nothing has changed, in spite of what Caleb thinks.”
He gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.
Obviously he didn’t agree with his grandmother. But Gertie didn’t seem deterred.
That didn’t make sense to Becca. Caleb was the CEO and had final say. She sat next to Gertie. “But if Fair Face doesn’t want the products …”
“You and I are starting our own company.” Gertie spoke with a singsong voice. “We’ll manufacture the products without Fair Face.”
Our own company. It wasn’t over.
Becca’s breath hitched. Her vision blurred. She touched her fingers to her lips.
The dream wasn’t dead. She could make this work. She wasn’t sure how …
Gertie had always spoken as if working with Fair Face on the products was a done deal, but if going into business was their only option that would have to do. “O-kay.”
“Your consultant doesn’t sound very confident,” Caleb said to Gertie. “Face it, you’re a chemist, not a businesswoman.” He looked at Becca. “Maybe you can talk some sense into my grandmother about this crazy idea of hers.”
Becca clenched her hands. She might not know anything about business, but she didn’t like Caleb’s condescending attitude. The guy had some nerve discounting his grandmother.
Forget jade. The color of his eyes reminded her of cucumbers or fava beans. Not only cool, but uninspiring.
Change and taking a risk weren’t part of his vocabulary. But they were hers. “Makes perfect sense to me. I’m in.”
“Wonderful.” Gertie clapped her hands together. “We’ll need an advisor. Caleb?”
A horrified look distorted his face, as if he’d been asked to face the Zombie Apocalypse alone and empty-handed. He took a step back and bumped into a lounge chair. “Not me. I don’t have time.”
His words—dare Becca say excuse?—didn’t surprise her. The guy kept glancing at his watch. She’d bet five bucks he had his life scheduled down to the minute with alarms on his smartphone set to ring, buzz or whistle reminders.
“You wouldn’t leave us on our own to figure things out.” Gertie fluttered her eyelashes as if she were some helpless female—about as helpless as a charging rhino. “You’ll have to make the time.”
His chin jutted forward. Walking across burning coals on his hands looked more appealing than helping them. “Sorry, Grams. I can’t.”
Good. Becca didn’t want his help any more than he wanted to give it. “We’ll find someone else to advise us.”
Gertie grinned, the kind of grin that scientists got when they made a discovery and were about to shout “Eureka!” “Or …”
“Or what?” Becca said at the same time as Caleb.
“We can see if another company is interested in partnering with us.” Gertie listed what Becca assumed to be Fair Face’s main competitors.
Caleb’s lips tightened. His face reddened. His nostrils flared.
Well played, Gertie.
Becca bit back a smile. Not a scientific breakthrough, but a way to break Caleb. Gertie was not only intelligent, but also knew how to get her way. That was how Becca had ended up living at the estate. She wondered if Caleb knew he didn’t stand a chance against his grandmother.
“You wouldn’t,” he said.
“They are my formulas. Developed with my money in my lab here at my house,” Gertie said. “I can do whatever I want with them.”
True. But Gertie owned the privately held Fair Face.
Becca didn’t need an MBA from a hallowed ivy-covered institute to know Gertie’s actions might have repercussions.
Caleb rested his hands on the back of the chair. One by one, his fingers tightened around the wood until his knuckles turned white.
Say no.
Becca didn’t want him to advise them. She and Gertie needed help starting a new business. But Becca would rather not see Caleb again. She couldn’t deny a physical attraction to him. Strange. She preferred going out with a rough-around-the-edges and not-so-full-of-themselves type of guy. Working-class guys like her.
Being attracted to a man who had money and power was stupid and dangerous. Men like that could ruin her plans. Her life. One had.
Of course, Caleb hadn’t shown the slightest interest in her. He wouldn’t. He would never lower his standards. Except maybe for one night.
No, thanks.
Becca wanted nothing to do with Caleb Fairchild.
Caleb was trapped, by the patio furniture and by his grandmother. This was not the way he’d expected the meeting to go. He was outnumbered and had no reinforcements. Time to rein in his grams before all hell broke loose.
He gave her a look, the look that said he knew exactly what she was doing. Too bad she was more interested in the tail-wagging, paw-prancing dogs at her feet. No matter, he knew how to handle Grams. Her so-called consultant was another matter.
Becca seemed pleased by his predicament. She sat with her shoulders squared and her lips pursed, as if she were looking for a fight. Not exactly the type of behavior he would have expected from a consultant, even a dog one.
He would bet Becca was the one who talked Grams into making the dog products. Nothing else would explain why his grandmother had strayed from developing products that had made her and Fair Face a fortune.
It had to be Becca behind all this nonsense.
The woman was likely a con artist looking to turn this consulting gig into a big pay off. She could be stealing when Grams wasn’t paying attention. Maybe a heist of artwork and jewelry and silver was in the works. His wealthy family had always been a target of people wanting to take advantage of them. People like Cassandra. Grams could be in real danger.
Sure, Becca looked more like a college student than a scammer. Especially wearing a “No outfit is complete without dog hair” T-shirt and jean shorts that showed off long, smooth, thoroughbred legs.
She had great legs. He’d give her that.
But