Читать книгу His Shy Cinderella - Kate Hardy - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

‘MISS MCKENZIE? THANK YOU for coming in.’

James Saunders gave her a very professional smile which did nothing to ease Angel’s fears. When your bank asked you to come in to the branch for a meeting, it didn’t usually mean good news. She’d been hoping all the way here that it was just a courtesy meeting for him to introduce himself as their new account manager, but she had a nasty feeling that it was nothing of the kind.

‘My pleasure, Mr Saunders.’ She gave him an equally professional smile. ‘I’m assuming that today is simply to touch base, as you’ve just taken over from Miss Lennox?’

‘I’m afraid it’s a little more than that. May I offer you some coffee?’

Funny how that sounded more like, ‘You’re going to need a stiff gin.’

‘Thanks, but I’m fine,’ she said. ‘So how can I help?’

‘I’ve been going through your published accounts,’ James said.

Uh-oh. She’d heard that from someone else, very recently. And that hadn’t been a good meeting, either.

‘I need to be frank with you, Miss McKenzie. We’re really not happy with the way things are going. We’re not sure you’re going to be able to pay back your overdraft.’

‘I can reassure you that I have a deal in the pipeline,’ she said. ‘Obviously I’m telling you this in strictest business confidence, because you’re my bank manager, but Triffid Studios is sending me a contract because they want to use our new design in their next Spyline film. Once the film comes out and people see the car, our waiting list will be full for at least the next year. We’ll have to expand to meet demand.’

‘And you’ve signed this contract?’

‘I’m still waiting for them to send it. The film industry seems to drag its heels a bit where paperwork’s concerned,’ she admitted. ‘But we’ve built the prototype, tweaked it and they’re happy with it, so it’s really just a formality.’ She just wished they’d hurry up with the paperwork.

‘I’d be much happier if I could see that signed contract,’ James said.

So would she.

‘Because,’ he continued, ‘I’m afraid I can’t extend your overdraft any more.’

‘You’re calling it all back in? Right now?’ Angel went cold. She had no idea where she’d get the money to pay back the overdraft. Even if she could negotiate a breathing space before it had to be paid back, and put her house on the market so it was priced to sell, she still wouldn’t make that much money once she’d cleared the mortgage. Nowhere near enough to prop up McKenzie’s. And, unlike her father in the last recession, she didn’t have a valuable private car collection to sell.

So how else could she raise the money?

‘I’ll give you a month to get that contract signed,’ James said. ‘And then I’m afraid I’ll have to call the majority of the overdraft in. In these times, banks have to be seen to lend responsibly.’

And businesses like hers that were going through temporary difficulties—despite being good clients for decades—ended up as the scapegoats. ‘I see. Well, thank you for your frankness, Mr Saunders.’

‘I’m sorry I can’t give you better news.’

To his credit, he did look a little bit sorry. Or maybe that was how bank managers were trained nowadays, Angel thought. Though he didn’t look quite old enough to manage a bank.

‘I’ll keep you posted on the contract development,’ she said.

Her next stop was at her lawyer’s, to see if they could get in contact with Triffid’s lawyers and persuade them to firm up a date by when they’d have the contract.

She brooded all the way back to the factory. There had to be a way out of this. The last thing she wanted to do was worry her father or burden him with her problems. He’d trusted her to run the company, and she wasn’t going to let him down.

If her parents rang in the next couple of days she’d either miss the call deliberately and blame it on her deafness—she’d been in the shower and hadn’t heard the phone ring—or she’d distract her father by talking car design. It was the way she dealt with the shyness that had dogged her since childhood: switching the conversation to cars, engines or business, where she was confident in her abilities, meant she didn’t have to worry about the personal stuff.

But she was really worried about this.

If the bank called in their loan before the contract was signed...

She’d just have to be more persuasive. She could put a presentation together quickly enough, with sales projections, based on the new Frost. Though she had a nasty feeling that only the signed contract would be enough to satisfy James Saunders.

The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if she should’ve taken up Brandon Stone’s offer after all. He’d said that every job at McKenzie’s would be safe. He’d implied that they’d keep the McKenzie name on the road cars. He’d even offered her a job, heading up his research and development team, though it wasn’t a part of the offer she could bring herself accept. Selling to him was probably the best thing she could do for everyone else.

But how could she live with herself if she threw away seventy years of her family’s history and sold out to the company started by her grandfather’s ex-best friend?

There had to be another way, beyond selling the company to Brandon Stone.

Plus there was something else she needed to address. Cambridge was a reasonably small city; if anyone had seen her with Brandon the other day and realised who he was, rumours could start circulating. The last thing she wanted was for her team to be unsettled. She needed everyone to pull together.

When she got back to the office, she called a team meeting on the factory floor. Everyone looked anxious, and she knew why. ‘First of all,’ she said, ‘I want to reassure everyone that it’s business as usual. Things are a bit slow, right now, but once that new contract’s signed and the PR starts, it’s going to pick up and the bank will be happy again.’

‘Do you want us to go on short time?’ Ravi, one of the engineers, asked.

It would be another solution, but Angel didn’t think it was fair for her staff to bear the brunt of the company’s problems. ‘No. We’ll manage,’ she said firmly. ‘The other thing is that Stone’s has offered to buy us out.’

There was a general gasp. Ernie, the oldest member of her team, stood up. ‘It might not be my place to say this, but I hope you said no. I worked for your grandfather. No way could I work for a Stone. They don’t do things like we do.’

‘I heard their staff’s all on zero-hours contracts,’ someone else said. ‘I can’t take that risk. I’ve got a mortgage and kids.’

‘I can’t comment on how they run their business,’ Angel said, ‘but I’m not selling. McKenzie’s will continue to do things the way we always do things. The only change is that we’ll be producing a new model, and I know I can trust you to keep everything under wraps.’

‘What can we do to help?’ Jane, one of the leather cutters, asked.

She smiled. ‘Just keep doing what you do. Make our cars the best they can be—and leave the worrying to me. I just wanted you all to know what was going on and hear the truth from me. If anyone hears any rumours to the contrary, they’re probably not true, so come and talk to me rather than panic, OK?’

‘If things are tight,’ Ernie said, ‘you could always use our pension fund to plug the gap.’

‘That’s a nice offer,’ she said, ‘but using that money for anything except your pensions would get me slung straight into jail. And I’m not asking any of you to take any kind of risk.’

‘I’ve got savings,’ Jane said.

‘Me, too,’ Ravi said. ‘We could invest in the company.’

It warmed Angel that her team trusted her that much. ‘It’s not going to come to that, but thank you for offering. It’s good to know that my team believes in me. Well, you’re not just my team. You’re family.’

‘Your grandad would be proud of you, lass,’ Ernie said. ‘Your dad, too. You’re a McKenzie through and through.’

Tears pricked her eyelids. ‘Thank you. All of you.’ She swallowed hard. ‘So is anyone worried about anything else?’

Everyone shook their heads.

‘OK, You know where I am if you think of anything later. And thank you all for being so supportive.’

Though after she’d left the team she found it hard to concentrate on her work. She just kept coming back to Brandon Stone and his offer to buy her out.

What really bothered her was that she couldn’t get the man himself out of her head. The way he’d looked standing up in the swimming pool, with the water barely reaching his ribs: his shoulders had been broad and his chest and biceps firm. He’d looked just as good in the restaurant, clothed in a formal suit, shirt and tie. Those grey eyes had seemed to see everything. And that beautiful mouth...

Oh, for pity’s sake.

She didn’t do relationships. Her parents had pretty much wrapped her up in cotton wool after her deafness had been diagnosed, and as a result she’d been too shy to join in with parties when she’d gone to university. Once she’d finished her studies, her focus had been on working in the family business.

But when Brandon Stone had accidentally-on-purpose bumped into her in the pool, her skin had actually tingled where his touched hers. And, even though she was pretty sure that he turned that megawatt smile on anyone with an X chromosome, she had to admit that she was attracted to him—to the last man she should date.

Was he really the playboy she suspected he was?

She knew he had a dossier on her, so she had no compunction about looking up details about him.

He’d started heading up the family firm three years ago. Something about the date jogged a memory; she checked on a news archive site, and there it was. Sam Stone killed in championship race.

Brandon hadn’t raced professionally since the crash. There had been no announcements about his retirement in the press; then again, there probably hadn’t needed to be. Sam’s death had clearly affected his younger brother badly. And the rest of his family, too, because Brandon’s father had had a heart attack a couple of weeks after Sam’s death—no doubt brought on by the stress of losing his oldest child. Poor man.

Angel continued to flick through the articles brought up by the search engine. Eric Stone—Brandon’s uncle—had sideswiped him a few times in the press. Then again, Brandon had walked into the top job with no real experience; Eric probably thought he was the one who should be running Stone’s and was making the point to anyone who’d listen.

Angel felt a twinge of sympathy for Brandon. Everyone at McKenzie’s had supported her when she’d taken over from her father. Brandon had barely had time to settle in before his father had been taken ill and he’d taken over the reins, and it wouldn’t be surprising if a few people resented him for it. She’d had the chance to get to know the business thoroughly before she’d taken over, whereas he’d had to hit the ground running. Despite what she’d thought earlier about his background not really qualifying him for the job, he’d done well in running the company, using the same concentration and focus on the business that he’d used to win races in his professional driving days. From the look of their published accounts, Stone’s was going from strength to strength. They certainly had enough money to buy her out.

The rest of the newspaper stories she found made her wince. Even allowing for press exaggeration, Brandon Stone seemed to be pictured with a different girl every couple of weeks. Most of them were supermodels and high-profile actresses, and none of the relationships seemed to last for more than three or four dates. His personal life was a complete disaster zone. He really wasn’t the kind of guy she should even consider dating. She should be sensible about this and stop thinking about him as anything else other than a business rival.

* * *

Brandon scrubbed his hair in the shower on Sunday morning after his run, hoping to scrub some common sense back into his head.

This was ridiculous.

Why couldn’t he stop thinking about Angel McKenzie and her violet eyes—and the smile that had made him practically want to sit up and beg? It had been three days since he’d met her, and he still kept wondering about her.

It threw him, because he’d never reacted to anyone like this before. Angel was nothing like the kind of women he normally dated: she was quiet and serious, and she probably didn’t even own a pair of high heels. He wasn’t even sure if she owned lipstick. Though he also had the feeling that, if they could put aside the family rivalry, he’d have a better conversation with her than he usually had with his girlfriends. She wouldn’t glaze over if he talked about cars and engineering.

Oh, for pity’s sake. Why was he even thinking like this? He didn’t want to date anyone seriously. He really wasn’t looking to settle down. Seeing the way that Maria, his sister-in-law, had fallen apart after Sam’s death had cured him of ever wanting to get involved seriously with anyone; even though he didn’t race now, he still didn’t want to put anyone in Maria’s position.

But he just couldn’t get Angel McKenzie out of his head.

Or the crazy idea of dating her...

And then he smiled as he dried himself. Maybe that was the answer. If he dated her, it would get her out of his system; plus he’d be able to charm her into doing what he wanted and she’d sell the business to him. It was a win-win scenario.

So how was he going to ask her out?

Sending her a bouquet of red roses would be way too obvious. Too flashy. Too corny. Besides, did she even like flowers? Some women hated cut flowers, preferring to see them grow rather than withering in a vase. None of that information was in his dossier.

He could ring her PA and talk her into setting up a meeting, though he was pretty sure that Angel had given her strict instructions to do nothing of the kind.

Or he could try a slightly riskier option. He was pretty sure that Angel McKenzie spent all her energies on her business; so there was a very good chance that she’d work through her lunch break and eat a sandwich at her desk.

If he supplied the sandwich, she couldn’t really refuse a lunch meeting with him on Monday, could she?

The more he thought about it all day, the more he liked the idea.

Gina’s dossier didn’t tell him whether Angel was vegetarian, hated fish or had any kind of food allergies. So at the supermarket on Monday morning he erred on the side of caution and bought good bread, good cheese, heritage tomatoes, a couple of deli salads and olives.

Though he had to be realistic: Angel could still say no and close the door in his face, so he needed a plan B to make sure she said yes. And there was one obvious thing. Something that, in her shoes, he wouldn’t be able to resist.

He flicked the switch to trigger his car’s voice-control audio system, connected it to his phone and called Gina as he drove home. ‘I’m not going to be in the office today,’ he said, ‘and I won’t be able to answer my phone, so can you text me if there’s anything I need to deal with?’

‘You’re taking a day’s holiday?’ She sounded surprised: fair enough. He didn’t take many days off, and he normally gave her a reasonable amount of notice.

‘This is work,’ he said. Of sorts.

‘And it involves a girl,’ Gina said dryly.

Yes, but not quite how she thought. And he could do without the lecture. ‘I’ll check in with you later,’ he said.

Back at his house, he collected a couple of sharp knives, cutlery, glasses and plates from the kitchen, dug out a bottle of sparkling water, put the lot into a picnic basket and then headed out to his garage. He backed one of his cars into the driveway and took a photograph of it, then put the picnic basket in the back. If Angel refused to have lunch with him or even talk to him, he was pretty sure that the photograph would change her mind.

* * *

Angel’s PA gave Brandon a rueful smile. ‘I’m afraid you don’t have an appointment, Mr Stone, and Ms McKenzie’s diary is fully booked.’

Brandon glanced at the nameplate on her desk. ‘If I didn’t already have a fabulous PA who also happens to be my mother’s best friend,’ he said, ‘I’d definitely think about poaching you, Stephanie, because I really admire your loyalty to Ms McKenzie.’

Stephanie went pink. ‘Oh.’

‘And, because I think you keep an eye on her,’ he said, ‘I’m pretty sure you’re the one who actually makes her take a break at lunchtime, even if it’s just five minutes for a sandwich at her desk.’

‘Well—yes,’ Stephanie admitted.

‘So today I brought the sandwich instead of you having to do it,’ he said, gesturing to the picnic basket he was carrying.

‘I really can’t—’ she began.

‘Stephie, is there a prob—?’ Angel asked, walking out of her office. Then she stopped as she saw Brandon. ‘Oh. You.’

‘Yes. Me,’ he agreed with a broad smile.

‘What do you want?’

‘I brought us some lunch.’ He focused on charming her PA. ‘Stephanie, if you’d like to join us, you’re very welcome.’

‘I, um...’ Stephanie went even pinker.

‘Don’t try to use my PA as a pawn,’ Angel said grimly. ‘And I don’t have time for lunch.’

‘The same as your diary’s allegedly fully booked, but there’s nobody actually sitting in your office right now having a meeting with you?’

She frowned. ‘You really are persistent, aren’t you?’

‘We’ve already discussed that. Persistence is a business asset.’

‘Wasn’t it Einstein who said the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?’ she asked coolly.

‘That’s been attributed to quite a few other people, from ancient Chinese proverbs to Rita Mae Brown,’ he said, enjoying himself. Sparring with someone with a mind like Angel McKenzie’s was fun. ‘Actually, I’m not doing the same thing over and over again. This is lunch, not breakfast.’

* * *

If Brandon had driven to Cambridgeshire from his family’s factory near Oxford, that would’ve taken him at least a couple of hours if the traffic was good, Angel thought. He’d made an effort. Maybe she should make a little effort back. If she talked to him, maybe she might get him to understand that she was serious about not selling her company. ‘Do you want some coffee?’

‘Thank you. That would be lovely.’

And his smile wasn’t in the least bit smug or triumphant. It was just...nice. And it made her spine tingle.

‘I’ll make it, if you like.’

Had her hearing system just gone wrong? The man was used to women hanging on his every word. He hadn’t even been invited here and yet he’d walked in. And now... She blinked. ‘You’re offering to make coffee?’

‘Is there something wrong with the idea of a man making coffee?’

Ouch. She’d just been sexist and he’d called her on it. Fairly. ‘I guess not.’

‘Don’t make assumptions,’ he said softly. ‘Especially if you’re basing them on what the press says about me.’

Was he telling her that he wasn’t the playboy the press suggested he was? Or was he playing games? Brandon Stone flustered her. Big time. And she couldn’t quite work out why. Was it just because he was so good-looking? Or did she see a tiny hint of vulnerability in his grey eyes, showing that there was more to him than just the cocky, confident racing champion? Or was that all just wishful thinking and he really was a shallow playboy?

What she did know was that he was her business rival. One who wanted to buy her out. She probably shouldn’t even be talking to him.

On the other hand, if Triffid didn’t get that contract to her and the bank carried out its threat of calling in her overdraft, she might be forced to eat humble pie and sell McKenzie’s to him, no matter how much she’d hate it. Short of winning the lottery, right now she was all out of ideas.

‘So where’s the coffee machine?’ he asked.

‘The staff kitchen’s next down the corridor on the left as you go out of the door,’ Stephanie said. ‘The mugs are in the cupboard and so are the coffee pods.’

‘Thank you.’ He smiled at her, and turned to Angel. ‘Cappuccino, no sugar, right?’

She nodded. ‘Thank you.’

‘How do you like your coffee, Stephanie?’ he asked.

His courtesy made Angel feel a little bit better about Plan C. If he treated junior staff well rather than ignoring them or being dismissive, that was a good sign for the future if he did end up taking over McKenzie’s. Maybe he wasn’t as ruthless as she feared, despite his family background. Or maybe he just wanted her to think that.

‘I’m not drinking coffee at the moment,’ Stephanie said, and rested her hand briefly on her stomach.

Angel could see from the change in Brandon’s expression that he’d noticed the tiny gesture, too, and realised what it meant. Stephanie was pregnant. Was it her imagination, or did she see pain and regret flicker briefly over his expression? But why would a pregnancy make him react like that?

None of her business, she reminded herself.

‘What can I get you, Stephanie?’ Brandon asked.

‘Fruit tea, please. There’s some strawberry tea in the cupboard.’

He smiled. ‘Got you. Is it OK to leave my basket here on your desk for a second?’

‘Sure,’ she said.

As he walked out, Stephanie mouthed to Angel, ‘He’s nice.’

Yeah. That was the problem. He wasn’t just an arrogant playboy. There was another side to Brandon Stone—a side she could let herself like very, very much. Which made him dangerous to her peace of mind.

* * *

Brandon returned to Angel’s office, carrying three mugs. He put Stephanie’s strawberry tea on her desk, then picked up the picnic basket. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to join us, Stephanie?’

She went very pink again. ‘No, but thank you for asking.’

‘Is it OK to put the coffee on your desk?’ he asked when he followed Angel through to her office.

‘Sure.’ She looked surprised that he’d asked. Did she have a downer on all men? That would explain why Gina hadn’t been able to find any information about Angel dating anyone. But she was reportedly close to her father, so maybe it wasn’t all men. Maybe someone had hurt her badly and she hadn’t trusted anyone since.

And how weird was it that the thought made him want to bunch his fists and dispense a little rough justice to the guy who’d hurt her? Angel McKenzie seemed quite capable of looking after herself. She didn’t need a tame thug. Besides, Brandon didn’t settle arguments with fists: there were much better ways to sort out problems.

Angel made him feel slightly off balance, and he couldn’t work out why.

He scanned the room. Her office was super-neat and tidy. There were photographs on the walls; some were of cars he recognised as being iconic McKenzie designs, but there was also a picture on her desk of a couple who were clearly her parents, and one more on the wall of someone he didn’t recognise but he guessed had something to do with the business—maybe her grandfather?

He unpacked the picnic basket, put the bread on a plate and cut a few slices, then handed her a plate and his other sharp knife. ‘Help yourself to cheese.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It’s not much of a choice, but I wasn’t sure if you were a vegetarian,’ he said.

‘No, though I do try to do meat-free Mondays.’ She paused. ‘It’s nice of you to have brought lunch.’

There was definitely a hint of suspicion in those beautiful violet eyes. She was clearly wondering what he wanted, because there was no such thing as a free lunch.

He wasn’t quite sure he could answer her unasked question. He wanted McKenzie’s. That was the main reason he was here. But he also wanted her, and that threw him. ‘Think of it as a sandwich at your desk,’ he said.

She took a nibble of the cheese and then the bread. ‘A very nice sandwich, too.’

‘So who are the people in the photographs?’ he asked.

‘The one on the wall over there is my grandfather Jimmy, back in the early days of McKenzie’s.’ She gestured to her desk. ‘My mum and dad, Sadie and Max.’

Just as he’d guessed; but there were no pictures of Esther, who’d been at the centre of the rift between Barnaby Stone and Jimmy McKenzie. He wondered if Angel looked anything like her. Not that he was going to ask. He kept the conversation light and anodyne, then cleared away when they’d both finished.

‘So,’ he said. ‘We managed to have a civilised meal together.’

‘I guess.’

‘We’ve done breakfast and lunch.’ But the next words out of his mouth weren’t quite the ones he’d intended to say. ‘Would you like to come to a gala dinner with me?’