Winning Over Skylar. Julianna Morris
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best to keep it alive.
“What do you want, Dad?”
“I... Hang on. We’re having a spot of trouble with a champagne cork.”
A feminine laugh sounded in the background, and Aaron shook his head. His father was between wives, so his companion could be anyone from a London society deb to a belly dancer. Spence liked his ladies young, beautiful and endowed—and since he had an abundance of charm and wealth, they liked him, too.
“Sorry, son. I wanted to know if you’ll join my crew in next year’s America’s Cup race.”
“I haven’t been on your yacht since I was nineteen and foolishly took a semester off from college to train and compete.”
“Foolish? Nonsense. That was a damn good race—we won two of the heats, so I know you’re the key to the Sea Haven finally getting the trophy. Will you do it?”
Aaron practically snorted. Spence wasn’t into effort; he ran a yacht in the America’s Cup because he loved the publicity and being seen as a sportsman. He’d particularly reveled in the media coverage the year his eldest son was a crew member. On the other hand, Aaron was still fighting the dilettante image he’d earned.
“Not a chance, Dad.”
“But you can’t save that place. What’s the point of trying?”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. By the way, Melanie is fine. I’m sure she’ll appreciate you asking,” Aaron said, his voice laced with irony.
None of S. S. Hollister’s kids had any illusions that he was especially concerned about them. You could be sure he didn’t even remember your name, and five minutes later he could make you feel as if you were the most important person in the world. As a kid, Aaron had craved the moments when his father focused on him and would have done almost anything to get his attention. Now he was mostly wary. When S.S. called, he wanted something, and it usually wasn’t to your benefit to give it to him.
“You would have let me know if Melanie had a problem,” Spence said easily. “Are you sure you won’t be a member of the Sea Haven’s crew? I’d make you skipper, but I’ve finally gotten Bill Driscoll to sign on and we have an ironclad contract. I do get to pick one crew member, and you’re the one I want.”
“Why don’t you ask Matt? He doesn’t have anything to do.” Aaron’s second brother was almost as much a playboy as their father, except he avoided serious relationships and was scrupulous about birth control. “Or Tamlyn or April or Oona?”
“Yachting isn’t their thing.”
Aaron snorted, suspecting his father had gone first to Matt and his three adult sisters before calling him. Spence wouldn’t have asked Jake, though. Even Spence knew his second son couldn’t be pried away from risking his neck in pursuit of the next great photograph—Jake’s photography was stunning, but his pictures weren’t taken in safe, convenient locales. It wasn’t any wonder that some people speculated whether Jake had a death wish.
“Yachting isn’t my thing, either, Dad. Give the choice back to Driscoll and let him win for you.”
“Ah, well. Let me know if Melanie wants anything. I’ll buy her a car as soon as she has her driver’s license.”
“No, you won’t,” Aaron insisted, a surge of adrenaline going through him. He did not want Melanie to have a car—he had good reason to know that teenagers did insane things when they were driving, and he had no desire to see his sister wrapped around a tree. She was going to have a top professional driving instructor and lots of practice before getting her own car was an option.
“Oh? I gave you a Mustang when you were sixteen. A sweet job. Just what a teenage boy needed to get girls.”
“And you gave me another when I was seventeen. I totaled the first one, remember?” Aaron knew it was a miracle he hadn’t killed himself when he’d spun out and slammed into a telephone pole—instead he’d gotten off with bruises and minor cuts. “Anyhow, Melanie is young for her age and I want her to have experience driving before she’s handed her own set of keys.”
“Fine, fine, just let me know when. Bye for now.” Spence didn’t sound upset—few things ruffled S. S. Hollister.
Aaron dropped the receiver in its cradle and looked around the office. He’d made a few modifications since returning to Cooperton, shifting the desk and adding file cabinets, but it remained furnished with his grandfather’s ponderous mahogany furniture and deep red carpet. Redecorating was out for a while though; other things were needed more.
On a sturdy new worktable by the window was his proposal for updating and expanding the factory. To finance the project he would have to sell some of the land the Cooper family had held for generations throughout Northern California, but he was convinced the company wouldn’t survive otherwise.
“Mr. Hollister?” Peggy said from the door. “The foreman in the tortilla chip division says there’s still a problem with the repairs he phoned you about yesterday. It seems a part in the machine is no longer replaceable—the company that used to make the equipment is now manufacturing air conditioners.”
“That’s what happens when you’re operating with antiques,” Aaron muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing. Have them assign additional employees to tape the boxes, then get the records on the equipment and special parts needed. I’ll research the matter.”
Peggy left, and Aaron tried to unclench his jaw. His grandfather hadn’t invested in significant capital improvements at Cooper Industries for almost three decades. The company needed so much, and here he was, spending time on an ancient machine that sealed boxes for shipping.
Perhaps if he got it taken care of quickly, he could get on with what he’d planned to do with his day. Three experts had reviewed the plans he’d worked up with an industrial engineer and now he needed to submit them to the Cooperton City Council for their approval—the town was so small they didn’t have a planning department. Besides, there was a zoning issue.
It was frustrating that elected officials, rather than trained professionals, would have a hand in deciding the future of Cooper Industries, but it shouldn’t be hard to get their support. After all, his company was the biggest employer in town.
* * *
“MELLIE, WASN’T THE game awesome?” Karin asked as they waited in line at the cafeteria to pay for their lunch. Her mom wasn’t crazy about the food the school served, but didn’t make her bring a sack lunch or anything. Thank God. Only the dorky kids ate sack lunches. It would be nice to eat at the Nibble Nook, but the school didn’t allow them to leave the grounds except with a parent or written permission.
“Yeah, but I’ve never watched baseball before,” Melanie confessed. She gave the cashier a fifty-dollar bill; the woman looked at it twice and glowered as she started counting out the change.
“How come?”
“I guess because I’ve moved around so much. A long time ago, before my mother got married again, one of her boyfriends was a football player, but I never knew what was happening when we went to his games. Baseball is easier.”
“I don’t get football, either, though some of the players are okay.” Karin nudged her friend, and they gazed longingly at Nick Jakowski as he talked to his friends across the room.
Nick was the yummiest guy in school and the captain of the football team. He was nice, too. He’d stopped the team from hazing a new boy who’d transferred from their biggest rival, Trident High, and he was friendly to freshmen, unlike most of the other seniors.
“Do you think he’s really going steady with Tiffany Baldwin?” Melanie said wistfully.
Tiffany was a cheerleader and thought she was, like, the most beautiful girl who’d ever lived. Most of the time she wasn’t too unbearable, except for an annoying, high-pitched