His Illegitimate Heir. Sarah M. Anderson
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leader who changed his mind. He allowed the managers to submit a report by the deadline, but he still wanted to see résumés. He informed everyone that the hiring freeze was over but he needed to know what he had before he began to fill the empty cubicles.
As he’d anticipated after his conversation with Casey, the news that the hiring freeze was over—coupled with the announcement that he would prefer not to see his staff working ten-to twelve-hour days—bought him a considerable amount of goodwill. That was not to say people weren’t still wary—they were—but the overwhelming emotion was relief. It was obvious Casey wasn’t the only one doing the job of two or three people.
The brewhouse was the last stop on their tour. Zeb wasn’t sure if that was because it was the logical conclusion or because Delores was trying to delay another confrontation with Casey.
Unsurprisingly, the brewhouse was warm, and emptier than he expected. He saw now what Casey had meant when she said most of the process was automated. The few men he did see wore white lab coats and hairnets, along with safety goggles. They held tablets and when Zeb and Delores passed them, they paused and looked up.
“The staffing levels two years ago?” Zeb asked again.
He’d asked that question at least five times already. Two years ago, the company had been in the capable hands of Chadwick Beaumont. They’d been turning a consistent profit and their market share was stable. That hadn’t been enough for some of their board members, though. Leon Harper had agitated for the company’s sale, which made him hundreds of millions of dollars. From everything Zeb had read about Harper, the man was a foul piece of humanity. But there was no way Zeb ever could’ve gotten control of the company without him.
Delores tapped her tablet as they walked along. The room was oddly silent—there was the low hum of machinery, but it wasn’t enough to dampen the echoes from their footfalls. The noise bounced off the huge tanks that reached at least twenty feet high. The only other noise was a regular hammering that got louder the farther they went into the room.
“Forty-two,” she said after several minutes. “That was when we were at peak capacity. Ah, here we are.”
Delores pointed at the floor and he looked down and saw two pairs of jeans-clad legs jutting out from underneath the tank.
Delores gave him a cautious smile and turned her attention back to the legs. “Casey?”
Zeb had to wonder what Delores had thought of Casey bursting into his office earlier—and whether or not Casey had said anything on her way out. He still hadn’t decided what he thought of the young woman. Because she did seem impossibly young to be in charge. But what she might have lacked in maturity she made up for with sheer grit.
She probably didn’t realize it, but there were very few people in this world who would dare burst into his office and dress him down. And those who would try would rarely be able to withstand the force of his disdain.
But she had. Easily. But more than that, she’d rebuffed his exploratory offer. No, that wasn’t a strong enough word for how she’d destroyed him with her parting shot.
So many women looked at him as their golden ticket. He was rich and attractive and single—he knew that. But he didn’t want to be anyone’s ticket anywhere.
Casey Johnson hadn’t treated him like that. She’d matched him verbal barb for barb and then bested him, all while looking like a hot mess.
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued.
“...try it again,” came a muffled voice from underneath the tank. This was immediately followed by more hammering, which, at this close range, was deafening.
Zeb fought the urge to cover his ears and Delores winced. When there was a break in the hammering, she gently tapped one of the two pairs of shoes with her toe. “Casey—Mr. Richards is here.”
The person whose shoe she’d nudged started—which was followed by a dull thunk and someone going, “Ow, dammit. What?”
And then she slid out from under the tank. She was in a white lab coat, a hairnet and safety goggles, just like everyone else. “Hello again, Ms. Johnson.”
Her eyes widened. She was not what one might call a conventional beauty—especially not in the hairnet. She had a small spiderweb scar on one cheek that was more noticeable when she was red in the face—and Zeb hadn’t yet seen her not red in the face. It was an imperfection, but it drew his eyes to her. She was maybe four inches shorter than he was and he thought her eyes were light brown. He wasn’t even sure what color her hair was—it had been under the hat in his office.
But she was passionate about beer and Zeb appreciated that.
“You again,” she said in a tone that sounded intentionally bored. “Back for more?”
He almost laughed—but he didn’t. He was Zeb Richards, CEO of the Beaumont Brewery. And he was not going to snicker when his brewmaster copped an attitude. Still, her manner was refreshing after a day of people bowing and scraping.
Once again, he found himself running through her parting shot. Was he like his father or like his brother? He didn’t know much about either of them. He knew his father had a lot of children—and ignored some of them—and he knew his half brother had successfully run the company for about ten years. But that was common knowledge anyone with an internet connection could find out.
Almost everyone else here—including one prone brewmaster with an attitude problem—would have known what she meant by that. But he didn’t.
Not yet, anyway.
Delores looked shocked. “Casey,” she hissed in warning. “I’m giving Mr. Richards a tour of the facilities. Would you like to show him around the tanks?”
For a moment, Casey looked contrite in the face of Delores’s scolding and Zeb got the feeling Delores had held the company together longer than anyone else.
But the moment was short. “Can’t. The damned tank won’t cooperate. I’m busy. Come back tomorrow.” And with that, she slid right back under the tank. Before either he or Delores could say anything else, that infernal hammering picked up again. This time, he was sure it was even louder.
Delores turned to him, looking stricken. “I apologize, Mr. Richards. I—”
Zeb held up a hand to cut her off. Then he nudged the shoes again. This time, both people slid out. The other person was a man in his midfifties. He looked panic-stricken. Casey glared up at Zeb. “What.”
“You and I need to schedule a time to go over the product line and discuss ideas for new launches.”
She rolled her eyes, which made Delores gasp in horror. “Can’t you get someone from Sales to go over the beer with you?”
“No, I can’t,” he said coldly. It was one thing to let her get the better of him in the privacy of his office but another thing entirely to let her run unchallenged in front of staff. “It has to be you, Ms. Johnson. If you want to brew a new beer that matches my tastes, you should actually know what my tastes are. When can this tank be back up and running?”
She gave him a dull look. “It’s hard to tell, what with all the constant interruptions.” But then she notched an eyebrow at him, the corner of her mouth curving into a delicate grin, as if they shared a private joke.
He did some quick mental calculating. They didn’t have to meet before Friday—getting the press conference organized had to be his first priority. But by next week he needed to be working toward a new product line.
However, he was also aware that the press conference was going to create waves. It would be best to leave Monday open. “Lunch, Tuesday. Plan accordingly.”
For just one second, he thought she would argue with him. Her mouth opened and she looked like she was spoiling for a fight. But then she changed her mind. “Fine. Tuesday. Now if you’ll excuse me,” she added, sliding back out of view.
“I’m