Читать книгу The Playboy's Protegee - Michele Dunaway - Страница 13

“Megan? Is that you?”

“It’s me.” Megan’s purse landed with a thump on the side table. She took a moment to calm herself down. The meeting with Harry still had her totally keyed up.

The look on his face! Never in her life had she wanted to slap someone as much as she had wanted to smack Harry Sanders. Heck, she’d have kissed him if it would have given her back the control she’d lost in that meeting.

Of course, kissing him…Control. Harry always made her so furious, mostly at herself for being so unprofessional and out of control.

She strode into the living room of the shotgun flat she shared with her mother down in the area of Saint Louis known as the Hill. Her mother, propped up by pillows, was watching the evening news. Megan leaned and kissed her on the cheek. “How are you feeling today?”

Barbara MacGregor smiled weakly. “Okay. Today is much better than yesterday,” she said. “I’m not as numb in my legs as I was.”

“Then that’s good news,” Megan said. She pushed the wheelchair aside and took a seat next to her mother. “Maybe the medicine is working.”

“I hope so,” Barbara said, her face clouding for a moment. Megan felt the familiar pang shoot through her. Her mother, the bravest woman she knew, did not deserve to have a primary-progressive case of multiple sclerosis. It had left Barbara needing a wheelchair most of the time. While her mother could still walk, her muscles were so weak that she used the wheelchair mostly to conserve precious energy.

“You just missed Bill. He brought me dinner before he went in to work.” Barbara mentioned her fiancé of the past year. “He’s tending bar tonight.”

Ironically, her mother’s fiancé, a wonderful retired gentleman with lots of spare time on his hands, worked for mad money at Henrietta’s, Jacobsen’s five-star, five-diamond restaurant.

Located only a few blocks away on Southwest Avenue, Bill often brought Barbara gourmet carryout dinners since she rarely left the house herself except for a doctor’s appointment. It was just too much effort to go anywhere besides the general area of her home.

“So how was work?”

If one forgot about Harry Sanders, it was, “Great,” Megan answered. “Mr. Jacobsen came by to tell me about a new program he’s launching in two weeks called Jacobsen Stars. He wants me to participate.”

“Honey! That’s fantastic! Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Megan replied as she told her mother about it, except of course, about Harry.

“I’m so proud of you,” her mother said. She moved her hand slowly and finally covered Megan’s. “You’re the best daughter I could have asked for.”

“Mom,” Megan said. Tears brimmed in Megan’s eyes and she bit her lower lip to keep from crying.

Barbara’s voice suddenly sounded weary. “You shouldn’t be having to take care of me, Megan. I’m only fifty. I should be fine.”

A lump lodged in Megan’s throat. She tried to lighten the moment. “Well, set a date with Bill and I’ll pass you off on him.”

Her mother’s features clouded. “You know I can’t do that. He’s been too terrific and I can’t take advantage of him. I’m thinking of calling off the engagement. He needs a woman who can get around, not one that is bedridden.”

“Mom! He loves you!”

“Sometimes love isn’t enough.” A tear went down Barbara’s cheek. Megan reached for a tissue and wiped it away.

Her mother was referring to Megan’s father, who had dumped Barbara when she’d first been diagnosed with MS fifteen years ago. Barbara smiled brightly, as if the matter was concluded.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” her mother said. “There’s some dinner for you too. Bill even brought you some of that five-layer chocolate suicide cake you love so much.”

“He’s going to make me fat. I’ll split it with you,” Megan said. She rose to her feet. “In fact, I think I’ll go get it and eat it first.”

“You’re not fat,” Barbara called after her. “Girls who are five-foot-eight like you need a few pounds on them or they look too scrawny. But you are perfect. Any man would be thrilled to have you.”

Maybe, until they learned that her mother came with the package. Not many men wanted to date her after discovering her invalid mother lived with her.

Personally, though, after seeing how Bill loved her mother, Megan wanted no part of any shallow, superficial man either. So, in essence, she’d given up dating. Right now, working at Jacobsen Enterprises and supporting her mother were much more important priorities.

Megan went into the tiny kitchen and took the carryout container from the refrigerator. She lifted the lid, her mouth watering at the sight of five layers of chocolate cake with milk chocolate frosting sandwiched between each layer. A dark chocolate frosting, sprinkled with grated chocolate, covered the entire cake. Nestled in the corner of the white container was a small cup containing the special chocolate sauce.

As always, Henrietta’s chef had been more than generous with the portion. Megan took out a fork. Nothing like chocolate to make a girl feel better. She took a bite and walked back into the living room. Delicious.

“No offense, Mom, but you need to keep Bill just so we can keep getting this cake.”

“I guess he does have his uses.” Megan heard the love in her mom’s voice, meaning that Barbara’s early melancholy had lifted. She was one of the most up people Megan knew, but even her mother did get depressed occasionally. How she remained as chipper, after needing to sell her home and move in with her daughter, was beyond Megan. Her mother was her hero.

“So any idea who is to be your mentor?” her mother asked after Megan fed her a piece of cake.

Megan wished she could lie, but she’d never been able to, especially to her mother. “Harry Sanders.”

Barbara looked impressed. “The grandson?”

“One and the same.”

“You don’t sound so thrilled about it.”

“I’m not. He hates me.” Megan filled her mother in.

Barbara ate another bite of cake. “Actually,” she said finally, “I think he will be a perfect choice for you. If you can deal with him, then you can deal with anyone.”

Her optimistic mother would see the silver lining. “As usual, you’re probably right,” Megan said. “I didn’t think about it that way.”

Barbara smiled. “Joe Jacobsen must really think you’re special if he gave you his grandson as a mentor. I think you’ll discover that this works out better than you had ever hoped.”

Megan forked the last bite of cake into her mouth to keep from answering. That remained to be seen.

TWO WEEKS LATER Megan stepped out of her cubicle and one last time attempted to smooth the wrinkles out of her skirt. It was her best suit, but the stubborn wrinkle at midthigh refused to budge.

“Good luck,” Cheryl, the floor receptionist, called as Megan stepped into the elevator that would take her upstairs and to her first executive-level meeting as part of the Jacobsen Stars program.

“Megan, welcome,” Joe Jacobsen greeted her as she stepped off the elevator. “We’re in the large conference room. Just follow Sally.”

And Joe passed Megan off on Sally as he waited for the next person.

Megan made a quick mental note. This was why Jacobsen was one of the best places to work. It was class personified. Knowing each “Star” would probably be nervous, Joe Jacobsen had greeted them personally and then had his secretary show them to their respective seats. His foresight eliminated what could have been many awkward moments.

Sally showed Megan to a seat between Jill Benedict and Alan Dalen, other Jacobsen Stars. Harry was across the table from her. His eyes narrowed as she pulled her chair out. “Harry,” she said as she sat.

“Megan,” he acknowledged before he reengaged the executive sitting to his right. It was the first time she’d seen him since their ill-fated meeting two weeks ago.

“I’m too excited,” Jill confided to Megan.

“I know. It’s a great opportunity,” Megan replied as Joe Jacobsen came to the head of the table.

“Welcome, everyone. I’m excited to announce that this meeting marks the first of many for our new Jacobsen Stars. Today’s session is a think tank on the acquisition of Evie’s Pancake Houses that we are planning. The information is in the folders in front of you.”

Like everyone else, Megan opened the folder and studied the pages as Joe Jacobsen kept talking. “We’ve run into a problem, though.” Everyone turned their heads to look at their boss.

“We never went after this as a merger. Evie’s is a privately held chain of ten restaurants in the New York City market. Most of their value is in the actual real estate of the buildings themselves. Anyway, we now have competition. Odyssey Holdings has come along and proposed a merger. Whereas we would have been refurbishing the restaurants and replacing the Evie’s name, they’ve proposed to keep it. Thoughts?”

Conversation began flying as people began tossing out ideas. Megan half listened but at the same time she started to really study the portfolio in front of her. Evie’s, named for the owner’s wife, was only being sold because the owner wanted to retire and none of his children wanted the business. Whereas Jacobsen Enterprises wasn’t offering any stock, just cash, Odyssey had proposed stock options in its company as well. Odyssey had also proposed to keep all the restaurants open.

“I think we need to offer them more money,” Harry said. “After all, we only want half of the locations and the rest can be sold to recoup some of our initial investment. Several of the restaurants are actually not showing a profit anymore.”

Megan tapped her pen on the binder. She was missing something.

“That idea has merit,” someone else said. “Some of the neighborhoods are not experiencing urban renewal. We should get out while we can before property value drops further.”

Megan watched Harry nod his agreement, a strand of blond hair falling into his face. He pushed it back. “Exactly what we should do,” he said.

“But it’s the wrong thing to do.” The room got quiet and Megan realized she’d spoken her thoughts aloud.

“And just why is that? Do you have a reason to back your thoughts up?” The words, of course, came from Harry.

Megan glared at him. She would not let him get to her. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

She turned and directed her comments to where Joe Jacobsen sat. “Mr. Jacobsen, Evie’s is a chain of restaurants named after the owner’s wife. It’s her legacy. No amount of money is going to sway him. Sure he wants financial freedom for the rest of his life, but not at the expense of his wife. It would have been like Dave Thomas selling Wendy’s and it suddenly being called Sandy’s. You have name recognition. That comforts people. It’s why travelers on highways often go to McDonald’s instead of the truck stop. They know what they’re getting.”

“And how is this important?”

Megan shot Harry another dirty look. Hopefully he’d get the message and keep his mouth closed, although she doubted it. “It would be like Grandpa Joe’s Good Eats suddenly being called something else. Mr. Jacobsen, could you just give up Grandpa Joe’s knowing it was going to be torn down or sold for something else?” She looked back at Joe Jacobsen. He looked thoughtful. “It was your very first business venture, the one that gave you the capital to launch Henrietta’s and Jacobsen. It’s the company cornerstone. Well, could you give it up? Sir?”

Grandpa Joe shook his head. “No, which is why I haven’t even considered the option even though the land value has quadrupled. The restaurant is like a baby. It even predates my children.” He leaned back in his chair, his blue gaze fixating on her as he waited for her reply.

“Exactly. I’m sure neither can Mr.—” she checked the folder “—Althoff. While he wants out, he also has a bond with these neighborhoods. It’s a private company, not public. It has no stockholders but himself and people he chose to sell shares to.”

“But what about the restaurants that are losing money?” Harry asked. “What proposal do you have for them?”

Megan tapped her pen on the folder again. “We need to see why they are losing money. Is it that the neighborhood is in decline? Maybe there is too much competition in the area. Maybe the factory has closed. That’s research we need to do. We may be able to move an Evie’s restaurant down the block a ways and discover that it becomes an overnight sensation in its new home.”

“Can you prove that works?” Harry asked.

“Absolutely,” Megan turned back to Harry. If looks could kill. She pressed on anyway. “Remember when the Chicken Clatch found it wasn’t successful in Eureka’s fast-food row? So the company closed the store and built one five miles west in Pacific. It’s a runaway success. We need to consider these types of things before we up our offer, or decide to kill the Evie’s name.”

Joe Jacobsen signaled his approval by nodding. “Excellent thoughts, Megan. Those are points we need to consider. Keeping ten successful venues, even if we have to move some down the block as Megan says, would be more income to Jacobsen than five. Jill, will you look into those possibilities?”

“Yes, sir,” Jill replied. “I’d be delighted.”

“Good,” Joe said. “Next item.”

As his grandfather moved on to the next item, Harry wanted to spit. Perfect little Megan MacGregor. Even though a brainstorming meeting wasn’t a competition, once again she’d bested him. He brushed aside the begrudging respect he had for her performance. Her performance didn’t matter. His did.

Would his grandfather ever see him as a valid player? Harry fumed, hating himself for even taking a moment to wallow in self-pity. But after all, when had he been good enough? He’d gone to the wrong college, failed Grandpa Joe’s indoctrination into the company—no way had Harry wanted to spend two weeks cooking in Grandpa Joe’s Good Eats—and now he hadn’t even had decent ideas in a brainstorming session.

Megan’s ideas were dead on, and what miffed Harry was that they’d come from her, not him. If he didn’t get his act together, despite his MBA and being family, he’d never get promoted to any type of vice president. Too bad he was too driven and actually wanted to work. If not, he could have just lived off his trust fund and been a playboy like his cousin Shane.

He suddenly realized he hadn’t been paying attention to what was going on. Panic filled him and he tried to focus. The last thing he needed was to be caught off guard in a meeting. Thankfully everyone was still talking about the New York trip. Jacobsen Enterprises was sending a team in one week to hopefully finish and wrap up the negotiations with Smith and Bethesda, the legal firm representing Evie’s Pancake Houses.

“And of course, Megan, I want you as part of the team.”

The chair hit Harry in the back as he sat up. Megan had just been added to the negotiation team? He had missed something. He was leading the team, and his nemesis had just thorned her way into his side.

To conceal his irritation, Harry focused on an oil painting on the wall above Megan’s head. Suddenly everyone began clapping. Great. Obviously not his day. Now what had he missed?

Something major from the way everyone was smiling at him. Harry smiled automatically, hiding his lack of a clue.

“Congratulations,” someone said.

“What a great pairing,” the executive to his right said. “You and Megan MacGregor. She’s talent extraordinare. Think of what you two can accomplish.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. He glanced up at his grandfather. Grandpa Joe looked smug and instantly Harry knew what he’d missed. Grandpa Joe had just announced at the meeting that he, Harry, was Megan’s mentor. His beloved grandfather had just caught him in a corner and used it to his advantage. There was no way Harry could retaliate or back out now. He was stuck. Grandpa Joe arched his white eyebrows at Harry, the movement and his twinkling blue eyes saying what words could not.

Harry had been had. He was stuck. He’d have to play along. His sister’s words came into his head. They were the ones she’d often repeated when frustrated during her tenure at Jacobsen’s, “If I didn’t love Grandpa Joe.”

His grandfather came over to his seat and leaned down to speak just so Harry could hear. “It’s for your own good, and that of Jacobsen’s. Keep that in mind. I will expect you to accomplish this with no problems.”

“I understand,” Harry replied. He watched his grandfather leave the conference room. Four years of acting in high school theater allowed Harry to keep his face schooled into a neutral mask that hid all of his raging anger.

His only consolation was that across the table Megan looked shell-shocked. And for once she was speechless as people began leaving the meeting, each telling her congratulations as they walked by.

“HOW’D IT GO?” Cheryl looked up from sorting the mail as Megan returned to her office.

“Great,” Megan lied as she walked toward her cubicle. “Just great.”

Normally she would stop and chat with Cheryl. As a co-worker, she liked Cheryl. Because of poor performance, Megan had needed to fire the previous receptionist.

“I’m glad it went great,” Cheryl called after her.

Yeah, Megan thought. Most of the meeting had gone great.

The meeting had been going well, even after she’d made the major blunder of opening her mouth and blurting out her opinion of Harry’s idea.

After all, the meeting had been a brainstorming and that’s what think-tank brainstorming was, a shouting out of ideas so that people could look at all sides of the issues.

But she’d crossed Harry Sanders, again. Why did she keep doing that? This was the second time her politically incorrect semantics had discredited his ideas.

And then Joe Jacobsen announced to everyone that Harry was her mentor.

“I didn’t accept the job, you know.”

She’d recognize his voice anywhere. Its husky baritone washed over her, and she whirled around in her chair, finding Harry Sanders standing at the entrance to her cubicle, his presence filling the small opening. “So we can find some common ground and manage to work together on this project, know that he poleaxed me too.”

“I see,” Megan said. She bit back her anger. If he’d only backed out when she’d asked. But that didn’t matter now. They were stuck. Fighting like at their last encounter in his office would do both little good.

So instead she took a good look at him. Tiny hints of strain etched lines around his blue eyes. They were Jacobsen blue eyes, just like his grandfather’s. The only thing missing was the warmth Joe Jacobsen always had in his.

But there was no doubt about it, Harry Sanders was a beautiful man. His hair, almost the color of wheat with natural highlights washed through, was short and cropped into the latest fashion. His eyes were set deep—the top lid hidden, sunken into his face like Paul Newman’s or Simon Baker’s. And his lips, Megan didn’t want to think about those, or the number of women they’d kissed. Everyone at Jacobsen knew Harry’s playboy reputation. While he never dated anyone at work, the switchboard fielded enough of his calls, more than triple anyone else’s.

He smiled suddenly, and it lit up his whole face. Laugh lines creased around those generous lips, and Megan sucked in her breath. If he looked like that when he smiled politely, what would he look like when he really smiled, smiled with pleasure or wanting?

That was dangerous ground she didn’t need to tread. Harry Sanders was business, that was all. Averting her gaze from his straight white teeth, she tried to concentrate on what he was saying as he sat in a chair at her small table. Instead she saw paisley socks that perfectly matched both his suit and his shoes. The man knew how to dress. She blinked.

“…so my grandfather again gets what he wants. I’ll expect you to have the full proposal read by tomorrow. Even though Jill is researching your ideas, you need to be certain she gives you a full report before you board the plane. And lastly, buy yourself an updated wardrobe. Those clothes need to go.”

“What?” Had she heard him correctly? Her mouth opened a little in surprise.

“Clothes,” Harry said without missing a beat. She had heard him correctly. “You look like a dowager duchess. Prim. Proper. Not quite the look we want. You’re what, twenty-something?”

“Twenty-seven.” Her voice was indignant.

“Right. Well you should dress sleek. Young. Professional. Not frumpy. We’re going into the fashion capital of America and you aren’t sixty.”

“There is nothing wrong with my clothes,” Megan repeated, reining in her anger. After all, her clothes were designer labels, she’d just found them in an upscale consignment shop.

Harry folded his hands into his lap and leaned forward. The movement allowed her to glimpse the muscles under the suit jacket and her mouth went dry. “I’ve been given the task of being your mentor. Why don’t you assume I do know some things and follow my advice. Since I am your mentor, you are now a reflection of me and my tutelage. Thus, I’d prefer you listen.”

He leaned back and put his hands behind his head. That movement emphasized other muscles. Megan resisted the urge to lick her lips.

What was it about him? Other men had sat in her cubicle, but why was Harry’s presence affecting her like this? Megan attempted to focus, her gaze instead watching Harry as he shrugged, his jaw flexing as he spoke.

“But, if you don’t want to update your wardrobe I suppose that’s fine. When you discover I’m right, it will come at your expense.”

She attempted to regain control of the situation. Harry Sanders, who always looked perfect, was in her cubicle telling her how to dress. The thought rankled, giving her some of the bite she needed. “I’ll see what I can do. Anything else?”

Harry took what seemed like forever to study her. Megan felt her body heat as his blue-eyed gaze roved over her. It took all her mettle not to move a muscle. Whatever this test was, she would pass.

He finally spoke, his voice a bit lower, huskier, than before. “No. There’s nothing else. Everything else, hair, makeup, is fine. Just fine. Make sure you lose the frumpy clothes. My sister usually shops at…”

He rattled off the names of some stores and then he was gone.

Megan stared at the empty chair. Had he really been there at all? She knew he had, but it seemed so improbable. Harry Sanders, extending an olive branch of sorts?

If that’s what it actually was? And if it was an olive branch, it was probably only because he was stuck with her, and her with him. But he was correct about one thing. He did know how to dress, and he always looked impeccable no matter what designer suit he wore

New clothes. Buying clothes would break her tight budget, but as much as she hated to admit it, Harry was right. She needed a young professional wardrobe.

New York, here I come.