Sara Archer, who stood a head shorter than her son, went over to him, patted him lightly on the cheek and reminded him in a sassy tone, “Well, you’ll always be Junior to me.”
Leon grimaced, and then broke into a smile, both annoyed and flattered by his mother’s display of affection. As her only child, he had learned long ago that it did no good to protest her overprotective ways. As long as he lived, he would be her little boy and there was nothing he could do to change that.
“And I don’t want you to worry about checking on the house while we’re gone,” Sara continued. “I gave Nona my keys so she can come in and water my plants and check on the aquarium. You’ll have more important things on your mind than tending my African violets and feeding the fish.”
“If that’s what you and Nona arranged, it’s fine with me,” Leon conceded, aware of how much his mother liked and trusted Nona James, who was not only Archer Industries’ operations manager, but also a longtime family friend.
“I think that’s it,” Gerald Ayers stated as he snapped his briefcase closed and handed a packet of legal documents to the elder Archer, who put them into his safe.
Gerald leaned over to shake Leon’s hand. “Congratulations, Junior,” the lawyer said, beaming his approval.
Leon pumped the attorney’s hand, “Thanks, Gerald.”
“No problem. You’re going to do fine.” Turning to Leon Sr., the lawyer said, “If that’s all you need from me, I’ll be going. I’ve got to leave for the airport in an hour.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re leaving the country, too,” Leon remarked, concerned.
“No, not at all. Going to visit my daughter in Baton Rouge. I’m only a phone call away if you need me, Leon. Call anytime, and I’ll be here…. Just as I’ve been for your father over the years.”
“Whew! That’s a relief,” Leon said, knowing how much he was going to need the seasoned attorney’s advice.
After Gerald left, Leon and his father reviewed the transition process, and then conducted an in-depth examination of the current production schedule.
“Next up is a women’s swimsuit line for Leeman’s,” Leon Sr. informed his son.
“A swimsuit line, huh? That ought to be a pretty simple run. Steve Hadley’s company out of New York, right?” Leon said, remembering the previous orders Hadley had placed with Archer Industries.
“Right. But this one might be a bit tricky. The designer wants to use a fabric that’s gonna take some serious negotiating to get down to the price Hadley wants to pay. Some kind of a specialty blend they sourced out of China.”
“Could be pricey,” Leon said.
“Exactly what I thought, so I put our man in New Delhi on it. Hopefully, he’ll find a better price in India,” his father offered.
“Sounds good. Where do we stand on the Leeman’s contract?” Leon asked.
“All done. I finalized everything with Steve Hadley. Here’s the name of the rep from his store who is due here this afternoon to consult on the project,” he said, handing Leon a piece of paper on which he had written the name. “Make sure everything comes off without a hitch, you hear? We can’t afford to lose this account. We’re doing fine, but profits were down a point last quarter.”
“I know,” Leon agreed, reading over the note, which read: Mr. Kacey Parker, Leeman’s. “Don’t worry. Leave all the business problems to me,” Leon advised. “You and Mom go have fun in Africa.”
“We plan to,” his father replied. “But don’t you have too much fun while we’re gone, okay?”
Leon rolled his eyes in exaggeration. How much fun could I possibly have if I’m busy turning triangles of exotic fabric into swimsuits for curvy females? he wondered with a smile.
Chapter 4
The two-lane highway leading to Rockport, Texas, was bordered by flat coastal plains on one side and the surging Gulf of Mexico on the other. The black ribbon of asphalt stretching out before Kacey pulled her along, bringing her ever closer to her destination. Few cars passed hers on the highway, and most of the buildings she encountered were either low-slung ranch houses surrounded by acres of green pasture or weather-worn beach cottages raised high on stilts. Kacey had to admit that the sudden sense of isolation that hit her was eerily disturbing, yet peaceful.
Continuing northward, she shifted her gaze from the road to the sky, where not a single white cloud marred the huge expanse of blue that seemed to go on forever. This kind of openness, emptiness and lack of population was a definite contrast to what Kacey was used to. An Easterner born and bred, she considered herself a typical urban working woman who thrived on deadlines, pressure and competition in a fast-paced environment that included long hours at the office, lots of take-out dinners and hitting the live entertainment circuit with her friends to relax. Leaving all that behind to hole up in this small town was going to require a great deal of patience, flexibility and trust.
When Kacey’s cell phone rang, she checked the screen and saw that Linette was calling her back. Kacey answered, intending to keep it brief.
“Hey. Where are you?” she asked, knowing Linette was never in the same place for very long.
“At the airport. LAX,” Linette sputtered, sounding out of breath. “Just got here, and wouldn’t you guess…one of my bags is missing. This sucks. I’m shooting stills for Roberto Rogales’s new outerwear campaign tomorrow and I need my equipment!”
“Right,” Kacey replied, recalling the assignment Linette had accepted with the former Ralph Lauren protégé. “Glad that job worked out for you. But don’t worry. Your bag will show. Happens all the time.”
“It had better,” Linette tossed back. “The schedule Roberto sent looks pretty scary and I’ve got a lot to do. Anyway, I got your message. What’s up with you?”
“Well, right now I’m driving down a two-lane highway along the Texas Gulf Coast, on my way to the factory that is going to manufacture SunKissed by Kacey.” She paused to let Linette absorb her good news. “Can you believe it?”
“Get outta here! For real? Hadley accepted your swimsuit line for Leeman’s?”
“He did,” Kacey confirmed with a smile, eagerly filling Linette in on the details of her meeting with her boss and her upcoming stay in Rockport.
“That’s sooo exciting,” Linette said, clearly happy for Kacey. “Your swimsuits are the bomb! They’re gonna be a huge hit. I’ve never seen any like them.”
“Your photos played a big part in winning Hadley over. And once the manufacturer’s samples are finished, I want you to shoot those, too. My plan is to convince Hadley to send our models to Rockport for the fittings and the promotional photos. Think you can squeeze in a trip to Texas when I get to that point?”
“Of course. Count on it,” Linette assured Kacey. “I should wrap up this job by the end of the week. Just give me a call and I’ll be there.”
“Great. By the time the samples are ready to be photographed, I’ll be more than ready for some company. This temporary exile to Texas is not what I expected to be doing right now.”
“Hey, I hear you. Just focus on your work and time will fly by,” Linette advised in a rushed voice. “Hey, gotta go. My bag is here! We’ll talk later, okay?”
“Right,” Kacey agreed, ending the call and already missing her friend.
While Linette was rubbing shoulders with Hollywood types in Los Angeles, Kacey would be stuck with an old man in a factory in Texas. But it’ll be worth it, she reminded herself, refocusing on the road, surprised to see that a herd of black and white cows had gathered along the barbed-wire fence running parallel to the highway, their large brown eyes trained on her. Shaking her head in disbelief, she turned up the volume on the CD player and let Whitney’s new album fill the car.
Half an hour after leaving the Corpus Christi airport, Kacey finally came to a billboard splashed with large red and blue letters that announced, Welcome to Rockport. Home of Archer Industries. Slowing down, she leaned over and scrutinized the huge sign, which showcased a two-sto
ry industrial building constructed of dark red brick, flanked by groves of leafy palm trees. A mature man was posed in front of the structure, chin raised high, a big smile on his face, his deep brown skin burnished like polished wood. In his dark business suit with his arms crossed at his chest he exuded the aura of a successful businessman.
“Old man Archer,” Kacey decided, thinking the older man looked pleasant enough. Maybe working with him wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Driving on, Kacey arrived at the center of town where a gas station, a convenience store, a beauty shop and a hardware outlet anchored the four corners of the old-fashioned square. Beyond the hub of the town, Kacey caught glimpses of lacey Victorian homes on broad green lawns, as well as modest bungalow-type homes facing each other across grassy esplanades. The quaint scene that greeted her was picturesque, charming and serene. Pretty to look at but not a place where she wanted to spend any more time than was absolutely necessary.
“I’d be bored out of my skull if I had to live here,” Kacey murmured as she inched along the town’s main street, where a scattering of people were busy running errands or chatting in clusters on the wide cement sidewalks.
At the far end of the main street, she saw Seaside Suites, the economy motel where she’d booked a room for the duration. The exterior of the nondescript building was in desperate need of a paint job and there were only three other cars in the parking lot, which adjoined a rundown apartment complex surrounded by a chain-link fence.
I’ll check in after I meet with Mr. Archer, Kacey decided, glad she’d worn her Donna Karan navy suit and comfortable heels on the plane, so she could go straight to her meeting. She checked her makeup in the rearview mirror, pressed her shapely burgundy-tinted lips together and fluffed her honey-brown curls with one hand. Satisfied that all was fine, she nodded at her image. After all, she was representing Leeman’s, one of the most exclusive retailers in the country. A good first impression was essential, and she planned to let Mr. Archer know from the get-go that she was not some underling who was there to take orders from him, but a designer whose swimsuit line was going to become the hottest fashion label in swimwear.
Slowly passing the motel, Kacey eyed the drab appearance of her future home and sighed. The thought of living there made her heart sink, but she refused to let it get her down.
“Oh, well, at least it’s not raining,” Kacey remarked, resigned to toughing it out for as long as it took to finish the job she’d come to do.
The woman who met Kacey in the lobby of the Archer Industries building greeted her with a vise grip of a handshake and a hearty hello.
“Welcome to Archer Industries. I’m Nona James. Operations manager,” she said in a flat Texas accent that seemed to solidify her connection to the small-town plant.
“Hello, Nona. Kacey Parker. Good to meet you,” Kacey said, eyeing the woman closely. She was at least a head taller than Kacey—big-boned, buxom and very statuesque. The makeup on her buff-hued face was flawless, but a bit heavy-handed, as were the intricate chandelier earrings dangling from her ears. An African-print headband held an explosion of natural hair off her face, creating a dark halo of frizz that translated into an inspired resemblance of a young Diana Ross.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Nona said, her red lips widening into a full-blown grin. “Did you check into the motel? I assume you’re staying at the Seaside. It’s the best we have around here.”
“I drove past on my way through town. It looks fine. I’ll check in after I finish here,” Kacey replied, taking care not to imply that the accommodations might not be up to snuff.
“Okay. If you need anything, let me know. The manager of the Seaside is my cousin, so I’ll be on his case if you have any complaints.”
“Sounds great. I’m anxious to get settled and started on production,” Kacey replied, glancing around the sun-splashed lobby where large Lucite boxes showcased some of the clothes produced by Archer Industries. On display were activewear, all-weather jackets, chlorine-resistant swimsuits and water aerobic wear, which included pool shoes, sun hats and beach towels.
“Mr. Archer isn’t here at the moment, but he’s on his way in,” Nona said. “He’s eager to meet you. Come on back. You can wait in his office,” Nona said, leading Kacey down a carpeted hallway toward a cluster of offices at the back of the building. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked after escorting Kacey into a very spacious room where an oval conference table took up a good portion of the space. The table was crowded with papers, fabric samples, pattern books and cutting tools. Clearly, this was more of a workroom than an executive suite.
“Some cold water would be great,” Kacey replied, before settling into a gray suede chair.
“No problem. Be right back,” Nona said as she left the room.
Left alone, Kacey looked around, curious to learn what she could about Mr. Archer before he showed up. Groupings of framed certificates, awards and permits hung on the wall behind his desk. One family photo caught her attention. It was of a much younger Mr. Archer, seated on a sofa with an attractive woman whom Kacey guessed was his wife. On her lap sat a young boy holding a puppy, grinning into the camera.
He’s a family man, Kacey mused, beginning to feel more comfortable about working with the man who had promised Steve Hadley that he could turn her dreams into reality.
“One bottle of cold water, right?”
The deep tenor voice forced Kacey’s eyes from the photo. She turned toward the door and quickly saw that the person at the entryway was definitely not Nona James, but a drop-dead gorgeous man who was grinning at her as if pleasantly surprised to find her sitting in Mr. Archer’s office. The man slanted his slender body against the doorframe and proceeded to trace a less than businesslike gaze over Kacey, emitting bold signals of more than a casual interest in her.
Since he seemed in no hurry to speak, Kacey countered by taking her time inspecting the guy. He had jet-black hair with a hint of waviness, cut close with a razor part. The angular planes of his face accented his vibrant pecan-brown skin and made his intriguing gray eyes impossible to ignore. His light blue oxford shirt was open at the collar. His crisply creased tan khaki pants were held in place by a beautiful leather belt that Kacey immediately recognized as one of Cole Haan’s most popular designs, and the soft Italian leather shoes on his feet matched his ultraexpensive belt.
Not bad, Kacey decided, pleased to find such a put-together, preppy-looking brother in the middle of nowhere. He was attractive, in a sexy, clean-cut way, sending out signals of a conservative dresser who certainly had good taste.
“Oh. The water. Yes. Thanks,” Kacey replied in a breathy voice that sounded as if it were coming from some one else. She stood, accepted the bottle of water and waited for him to speak, wondering what department this brother worked in at Archer and if she would be lucky enough to work with him.
The man stepped fully into the room. “So I can see that you’re not Mr. Parker?”
Kacey laughed, watching as he analyzed her reaction. “Oh, yes, but it’s Ms. Kacey Parker.”
“Well, I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting…” he stuttered, pulling out the piece of paper his father had handed him. “I guess…”
“You assumed I was a man?” Kacey finished with a hint of a challenge.
He gave her a sheepish smile and nodded. “Yeah. Guess we all did.”
“Happens all the time,” she concluded, shaking the man’s hand. “Hope you’re not too disappointed,” she finished.
“Not at all,” he replied with appreciative emphasis. “I’m Leon Archer. Good to meet you.” Then he walked around the desk, keeping his eyes riveted on Kacey as he eased into the chair, clearly as if he belonged there.
Kacey slipped back into her seat, crossed her legs as well as her arms, and blinked, confused. “You’re Mr. Archer?” she started, fishing for an explanation.
“Right. I’m Leon Archer.” A beat, and then he added with a heart-pounding grin, “Junior.”
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“Ahh…then you must be Mr. Archer’s…”
“Son,” Leon finished. “As well as the new owner of Archer Industries,” he clarified his statement with a downward tilt of his head. Looking up at Kacey, he said, “As of this morning, in fact.”
“Oh, well…” she stammered. “Really? Then I guess congratulations are in order,” she offered, sensing a definite increase in her pulse. So, the grumpy old man was out, and his superfine son was in? How’d she get so lucky? All of her worry about having to work with a crotchety old man had been wasted. Now, she had to worry about keeping her composure while his son’s metal-gray eyes devoured her!
“Thanks,” Leon said in a pride-filled manner. He propped his left elbow on the desk to rest his chin on curled fingers, which Kacey noted bore no rings.
“When did this change of leadership happen? I was prepared to meet with your father,” Kacey stated, feeling her professional façade begin to melt under Leon Jr.’s disturbing stare. He certainly wasn’t trying to hide his personal interest in her, and Kacey was definitely feeling flattered.
Breaking his gaze at last, Leon grinned. “Happened this morning. Dad unexpectedly decided to step down to enjoy his golden years traveling with my mom. They’re leaving for Africa tomorrow.”
“Oh, so soon?”
“Yeah. But don’t worry about your swimsuits. You’re in good hands.”
“I’m sure I am,” Kacey murmured, sensing a wave of heat surge through her stomach and ease down between her thighs, initiating a hint of dampness in her panties. Get a grip, girl, she silently admonished, forcing back a smile. “So you’ll be working with me on production, then?” she had to clarify.
“Absolutely,” Leon confirmed in a much bigger voice. “I’m totally familiar with the project, so you’re stuck with me. Unless you’d prefer to work with Nona, my operations manager. She’s been here almost as long as I have and can handle every stage of the process.”
“No, that’s all right,” Kacey offered, a tad too quickly. Composing herself, she folded her hands together. “If you’re on top of everything and can deliver what I want, that’s all that counts.”
Boardroom Seduction Page 3