Acquiring Mr. Right. Laurie Paige
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been a shame, as she was easily one of the most intriguing people he’d met in a long time, whether male or female.
“I looked you up on the Internet last night,” she said. “There wasn’t a lot of information in the financial magazines. You’ve only given one in-depth interview that I could find.”
“That damned article,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “I should never have allowed it.”
“So why did you?” she asked, openly curious.
“It was for a friend. He needed to prove he had access to people the editor couldn’t otherwise get. We were roommates at college so I agreed.”
“An Ivy League college. Honors. Top ten percent of your class,” she reiterated as if reading his accomplishments on a tickertape.
A slight shifting in that cold place that existed deep within his psyche ruffled his enjoyment of sparring with this woman who watched him as closely as he did her.
He shrugged. “My grandfather’s alma mater. I had no choice.”
Into his mind’s eye sprang an image—that of a young woman, one who’d once been beautiful beyond compare but now looked weary and worn out.
His mother.
Sober for the first time in months, his parents had stood silently in the corridor outside the courtroom where his grandfather had just won custody of him.
His mother had stooped and looked directly into his eyes while his dad had stared stonily at his grandfather. “We’ll get you back,” she’d said. “Your father and I…we’ll change. Everything will be all right. You’ll see.”
“Okay,” he’d said, believing her.
“Be a good boy,” she’d whispered, squeezing his shoulders. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. You and Dad.”
She’d hugged him and kissed him, her tears spilling all over his face, until his grandfather had pulled him away and marched him out of the courthouse.
He would never forget that day. His tenth birthday. The last time he’d seen either of his parents alive.
Lance pushed the image into the place that, as a child, he’d imagined as a cold storage locker, a place where old memories could be safely hidden.
“CEO of your own company at twenty-two,” she continued. “Fortune has smiled on your every endeavor.”
Returning to the present, he assumed a mockingly cheerful air. “Yeah, I’m used to getting my own way. Don’t cross me. A tantrum isn’t a pretty sight.”
After the waitress gave them menus, his guest studied him for a minute. “I don’t think you’re the type for tantrums. You’re much more subtle than that. Like now.”
“Now?”
“You used a change in subject to distract me from further probing into your life. This morning you got exactly what you wanted, too. By having me introduce you to the managers, it sounded as if I’d checked you out and approved of the changes.”
She saw more than he liked, but then he’d already figured out how sharp she was. “So why did you let me?”
She shrugged. “My choice was walking out or sticking it out. I agreed on the latter.”
“And you keep your word,” he concluded.
“I try. Do you?”
Her manner was a cover, the surface amusement hiding her doubts about him. He reached across the table and laid a hand over hers for emphasis. “Always.”
When he settled back in his chair, he realized he wanted to touch her, to take her up to his room—
Damn, maybe it hadn’t been the most brilliant idea to bring her to the inn. This was where he spent his private hours, even if most of that time was dedicated to reading reports. Their lunch was business, part of his public persona. Those two things, the personal and the public, should never merge, in his opinion.
“Why am I now chief of operations as well as finance?” she asked, her mind obviously having no problem focusing on work and its problems.
The answer was easy. “You know the company.”
“So do all the other executives, six of whom have been there thirty years or more.”
The waitress placed tall glasses of raspberry iced tea on the table and told them the day’s specials.
“I’ll take the salmon. Mixed green salad, house dressing on the side,” he ordered, impatient with the interruption.
“The same,” Krista said in an identical tone.
The redhead rolled her eyes, jotted the info on her pad, took the unopened menus and left.
“Do you always order like that?” he asked.
“Like what?”
“With little thought.”
She studied him as if this might be a trick question, then she shrugged. “I enjoy good food, but it isn’t my reason for living.”
“But work is?”
“It’s a large part of most people’s lives. It helps keep body and soul together, you might say.”
The droll smile that touched her lips caused the slight dimples to appear. Her eyes were darker in the shade of the terrace’s white-glazed glass roof and mysterious, her true thoughts hidden as she observed him.
“So, do I get a raise along with the added responsibilities?” she questioned, a challenge in the amused tone.
“Yes.”
Her eyebrows went up at the flat statement.
“I believe in paying people what they’re worth,” he said. “I think you’re going to be worth a lot. To the company.” He wasn’t sure if the clarifying phrase was meant for her or himself.
The interest that had begun while studying her orderly financial statements and the many memos outlining her ideas for the company had blossomed into an attraction upon meeting her yesterday. Today her professional and personal sides had combined into one very interesting package.
He wondered if she kept those two parts as separate as he did…as he usually did. He mentally frowned and forced his thoughts to Heymyer Home Appliances, which was the reason they were here.
“If you could do anything you wanted at the company,” he began, “what would be the first change you would make?”
She was silent for a moment before she said, “There wouldn’t be one thing. Several changes would have to work together. New product lines. New equipment. New production processes.” She paused, her eyes on the tiny rosebuds in a vase on the table. The long, lovely sweep of lashes lifted as she looked at him. “New money.”
“Work up a proposal. I want the business turned around in six months.”
She stared at him, then a slow smile started at the corners of her mouth and ended with a sparkle in her eyes. “I can give it to you now verbatim.”
During the next two hours, they went over several of her ideas. As he listened, Lance found he liked her spunk, her enthusiasm, her wide-ranging intelligence.
If the owners of the company had listened to some of her “dingbat notions,” they might have saved the business from his takeover.
As far as Lance could determine, Heymyer’s wife, who held the title of secretary, was in Florida visiting her mother and sister. Their thirty-nine-year-old son operated out of their New York office. He’d been the vice president and in charge of marketing. Neither had done much good for the business that furnished their living, or so it appeared to him.
From going over