“Follow me,” she said.
Aiden walked after her around the reception desk and down a short, wide hallway. On either side of him were glass walls through which he could see people working in their cubicles or gathered together around conference tables. At the end of the hallway was a solid wooden door with M. JORDAN FITZGERALD printed on it in gold letters. The receptionist opened the door, slipped through, and shut it again, leaving Aiden standing, and rather surprised, in the hall. Soon she reappeared, slipping back through in the same manner and closing the door behind her again.
“You may go in now,” she said formally, stepping aside to allow him access to the door. “You are actually early. Your appointment is for eleven o’clock.”
Aiden found her comment strange as he reached for the handle of the door, making him wonder what Fitzgerald would be like. “Thank you,” he said pleasantly to the receptionist as he gripped the handle.
He pushed down, opened the door, and stepped into the room.
Aiden felt the shock hit him between wind and tide. A young woman who appeared to be not yet thirty stood behind a large desk. Her dress might have been too casual for office wear, except for the blue linen blazer she wore over it.
“He” was a “she.” Fitzgerald was a woman. Aiden grappled visibly with his surprise, having assumed something entirely different.
“Welcome, Mr. Stewart,” she said, extending her hand over the desk. She didn’t smile, but her expression was not unfriendly.
Aiden blinked and closed the door behind him. He crossed the room, offering his hand in reciprocation. She took it in a firm grasp. He noticed she wore no rings. She gestured with an open palm to a seating area at the end of the long room. On an oriental rug, two wing chairs faced floor-to-ceiling windows that proffered a beautiful view of the river as it flowed between the old factory and the wooded bank on the opposite side. A bottle of Pellegrino, an ice bucket, and two crystal glasses sat on a low table between the chairs.
“Let’s have a seat over here. It’s so pleasant to look out on the river,” she said and then she smiled warmly. “It helps the powers of concentration.”
Aiden was having problems with his powers of concentration at that moment. As she came around from behind her desk, he tried to remain professional and not stare at her long, shapely legs complemented by high heeled pumps. He tried to keep his eyes fixed on her face, but there was little relief there for a man trying to keep his mind on business.
He hadn’t imagined it. She was beautiful. Her eyes were bright blue, like the sky, and her deep auburn hair, worn pulled back in a conservative twist, was so thick that her head seemed to tilt backward ever so slightly with the weight of it. Her skin was fair without being pale, yet it seemed to glow with an inner blush. Her mouth was soft with inviting full lips.
“Why are you staring at me?”
Her remark jolted him, and he felt the heat of embarrassment creeping up his neck. He quickly recovered his composure. “I’m sorry,” he said smoothly, “I wasn’t staring. I was only—”
“Surprised I was female?” Jordan Fitzgerald gave a hint of a smile. She had been here before.
Aiden chuckled self-deprecatingly and looked down at the floor. “Well, to be honest, yes. I had you pegged as a cranky old man on the verge of retirement.”
This time her smile was spontaneous. “I can assure you I am not on the verge of retirement.”
“And you’re obviously not a cranky old man. Jordan is an unusual name,” said Aiden as he followed her across the room to sit down in one of the wing chairs. “What does the M. stand for?”
Jordan continued to smile sweetly as she answered him. “That’s really not what we’re here to talk about, is it?”
“Ah,” Aiden countered as he took his seat in one of the chairs. “Put in my place. Fair enough. Let’s get down to business, then. I’m here representing Trade Winds, the communications company. We’ve admired ChatDotCom for a long time now. Its successful growth over the past five years is a testament to a solid foundation and talented management.”
Jordan sat gracefully in the other chair and smoothed her dress over her lap. She leaned forward to open the Pellegrino, and Aiden caught a brief glimpse of ample cleavage sheathed in black lace. It was the black lace that would keep him awake later that night.
Jordan smiled a little as she plunked a few ice cubes into a glass and poured the sparkling water. Aiden took it from her. “Go on,” she urged, pouring the second glass for herself.
Aiden swallowed a sip of water. “As I was saying, your company’s success is exceptional, and we at Trade Winds would welcome the opportunity to work with ChatDotCom in this rather mercurial business.”
Jordan gave a little half-laugh, half-snort. “Mr. Stewart, you needn’t waste your time buttering me up. I know what ChatDotCom is, where it’s been, and where it’s going. You don’t want the opportunity to work with us. You want to acquire us. Isn’t that right?” She stared at him with those clear blue eyes, and now she wasn’t smiling.
Aiden glanced down into his glass, then looked up and met her gaze. He was silent for a moment, trying to pigeonhole her, trying to gauge the best way to continue the conversation. He set his glass down, sighed deeply, and ran his hand through his hair. The best way, he decided, was to meet her head-on. “Yes, you’re right, of course. Trade Winds is prepared to offer a sizable amount of cash in order to merge with ChatDotCom. We feel your company is the perfect vehicle for our own expansion. The merger would be beneficial to both parties.”
“That’s rather presumptuous of you,” said Jordan, a noticeable edge to her voice.
And now, Aiden’s temper flared a little. Her beauty had taken him off guard, and he had been acting foolishly. It was time to get tough. “Look,” he said, trying to keep his voice low and calm, “just hear me out. Everybody in the industry is looking at Chat right now. It’s strategically located. Its track record with its clientele is extraordinary, as are its profits. And—” Aiden paused to give his words emphasis before he delivered the punch. “And,” he repeated slowly, “everyone knows Gene Palmer is fighting cancer and wants to retire.”
There was a flicker in her eyes, a nanosecond as a shadow crossed her face. He was not mistaken. She recovered almost immediately, however. Folding her hands demurely in her lap, she met his gaze fearlessly.
“Mr. Palmer has never tried to keep his condition a secret,” she said quietly, steadily. “Everybody in the industry in this part of the country knows about it. Isn’t it strange how people like to spread bad news? Or take advantage of someone else’s misfortune?”
Aiden’s teeth clenched instinctively. What was it about this woman that she could cut him down to size so effectively and with so little effort?
Aiden collected his thoughts. “I assure you, Trade Winds is not out to take advantage of anyone’s misfortune. I’m sure we would have approached ChatDotCom in any case. The truth of the matter is, we’re expanding. We started in Portland. Our headquarters are there. We want to expand into northern New England, and we see your company as the perfect partner in such an expansion. Now, would you like to hear our proposal?”
Jordan seemed to relax. “I would be very interested to hear your proposal, your offer, and to pass it on to Mr. Palmer. As you know, ChatDotCom is a privately held company. Mr. Palmer owns the company flat out. In his absence, he’s appointed me to handle all the details of these offers as they come in. He knew as soon as word got out he was sick that this would happen, but I can tell you I think he’s rather looking forward to retirement. His illness seems to be under control at the moment, and his outlook on life is a little different now. He has a close family—wife, children, grandchildren. He’d like to spend more time having fun with them. I don’t mind saying that I think very highly of Mr. Palmer. He has been more than generous to me, and I’m honored to have the opportunity to oversee ChatDotCom. We—we work closely together. I know him quite well, and therefore I’ll ask my questions and ma
ke my decisions based on my perception of what his actions would be. I must tell you, though, there’s another offer on the table as we speak, and I will be presenting that to Mr. Palmer as well.”
Her last statement took Aiden by surprise. He was sure Trade Winds would be the first to step up. He smiled a little. “May I ask who beat us to the punch?”
“I see no reason why you shouldn’t know that Fenton Industries emailed us a proposal late last week. I have a meeting with Christopher Fenton later today.”
Aiden was once again reminded that his father was almost never wrong about a business scenario. “I believe you received our proposal late last week,” he said, taking another drink of his water.
Jordan laughed. “It was really quite funny,” she said lightly. “They came within an hour of each other, but Fenton’s came first.”
Hilarious, thought Aiden sarcastically. “Well, then you know that our offer is ten million cash up front, followed by five installments over the next four years of four million each. That’s a total of thirty million. That’s a lot of money for a small company in a backwater town.”
“I’ll just ignore that last remark, Mr. Stewart,” Jordan replied. “I will tell you, however, that Fenton Industries has offered fifteen million up front, followed by two installments of ten million each over the next three years. I think you’ll agree that’s a significantly more attractive bid. I guess our backwater location wasn’t as much of a concern to Christopher Fenton. Do you have any more questions, or are you prepared to raise your bid?”
Aiden had lots of questions. He wanted to ask her how old she was. He wanted to ask her how she had happened to be hired by Gene Palmer. He wanted to ask her where she came from, where she went to school, how it was she was so self-possessed and cool in the face of brokering multimillion-dollar deals. And he wanted to know why she had to be so maddeningly beautiful. Instead, he consciously thought of his father and said, “Very interesting, Ms. Fitzgerald. Your company seems pretty high on everyone’s popularity meter, and it’s nice to be wanted. I see we’re outbid at the moment, but I’d like the chance to get back to my father and our board. We want the affiliation with ChatDotCom. I’d like to discuss the situation with them and have the opportunity to talk this over with you again. You see, my father and Gene Palmer were cut from the same cloth. Trade Winds is a privately owned company too. There may be points to Fenton’s deal that we could trump, and I’m not saying we couldn’t raise our offer.” Anything to keep Fenton out of our territory, he thought to himself.
“Competition is a healthy thing, Mr. Stewart,” Jordan said, and she laughed again. “I certainly would talk over the matter with you again. The only thing I must encourage is speed, however. Mr. Palmer did say to me that any offers were to be weighed, analyzed, and decided upon within the month. His mind is made up, Mr. Stewart, and when that happens, he moves ahead. He’s not one to drag his heels.”
“That presents no problem to me,” answered Aiden. “I’ll talk with my company this afternoon. I can meet with you later today.”
“I’m afraid the rest of the day is booked for me, as well as the evening. I could meet tomorrow sometime. I’d have to ask Ashley. She’s the receptionist you met on the way in. She keeps me organized.”
“Is there a place to stay here in town? I can reschedule my day tomorrow. I’ll meet you at your convenience.”
“The Inn On The Green in the center of town should have a room. It’s a good choice because they have a dining room and a bar. There’s also a bar across the green if you feel like stepping out. If the Inn doesn’t have a room, there are a couple of bed and breakfasts where you could stay.”
“Thanks,” Aiden said. “I’ll drive into town and look around.” He put his glass down on the table, sensing their meeting was over—for now.
He was right. Jordan Fitzgerald rose from her chair. “And I should tell you,” she said as he stood also, “the Inn is almost two hundred years old. It’s a nice old place, clean, good food, but it’s probably not what you’re used to. It’s kind of, well, in your own words, small town.”
There was a playful twinkle in her eyes that Aiden couldn’t miss. He hung his head for a second in mock self-reproach. Then he looked up and smiled back at her. “I wasn’t being derogatory,” he said. “Your town is beautiful. I grew up in Portland. That’s not a big city, even today. I just meant—”
She laughed her musical little laugh as she met his eyes. “I know exactly what you meant, Mr. Stewart. No offense taken. Have a good rest of the day. I’ll see you at some point tomorrow. Ashley will call you with a time. Oh, and call Ashley if you can’t find a room. We’ll arrange something.”
“Thanks,” said Aiden, holding out his hand. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I know we can work this out to our respective advantages, Jordan.” Her first name just slipped out. He cringed inwardly, waiting for some kind of repercussion but she let it slide.
“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Stewart,” she said quietly as she took his hand, all the while maintaining her formal demeanor. He felt it light and cool within his own, and he held on a little longer than was professionally necessary. She didn’t pull away.
“Nice meeting you, too,” he replied. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.” He relinquished his grip on her hand and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Jordan stood still, watching Aiden Stewart leave the room. A minute later, Ashley opened the door again and stuck her head in a little way. “He’s gone, Jordan.”
“Thanks, Ashley. Crap! These meetings are hard. I’m so tired. And it’s only noon. Did you call my mother and tell her I’ll be home for lunch?”
“Yes, I did. Don’t worry, Jordan. You look fantastic today. I know you just bowled him over. You gave him something to think about, I’m sure. He was really cute, though, wasn’t he?”
Jordan laughed. “Yes,” she said, shaking her head and returning to her desk, “he was very good looking. It just makes things harder, though.”
“Jordan, you’re lonely. You’ve got to have some fun. You need a guy.”
“Ha! Not now! Not with what I have on my plate. No way! It’s not the time.”
“Maybe a significant other would make things easier. It does for me.”
“Well, that doesn’t seem to be the way it’s worked out for me.” Jordan sighed. “Besides, I do have what you could consider a significant other.”
Ashley smiled. “Yes, I suppose you do.”
“Okay,” said Jordan, grabbing her purse, “I’m going to take a quick lunch at home. I’ll be back in about an hour. If Christopher Fenton calls, tell him to call me back at two.”
“I will.”
The warm sunshine of the spring day bathed Jordan’s face when she opened the big front doors. The scent of lilacs was in the air. As she walked to the parking lot, her mind whirled. This Aiden Stewart had really gotten to her. True, he seemed a bit arrogant, but he certainly was handsome. Maybe Ashley had been right. Maybe she was finally caving in to loneliness. Most days, she didn’t feel she even missed having a boyfriend. Her life was so busy, so full of things to do for the business and her personal commitments, sometimes it seemed she barely had time to brush her teeth, let alone take on the responsibility of a relationship. If it wasn’t for her mother and father holding the fort and helping her at home, she would be adrift. And if it hadn’t been for Gene Palmer’s faith in her head for business, she would be in the poorhouse, too. As it was, she wasn’t doing too badly. She made good money running the business alongside Mr. Palmer. She was able to contribute to the financial commitments of herself and her family, and she was currently in charge of putting together a multimillion-dollar merger which would benefit so many people.
Still, Jordan thought, sighing again as she got into her car, a dinner date with a handsome man who picked up the tab would be nice once in a while. Every girl likes to be taken care of sometimes. She smiled ruefully to herself and drove out of the parking lot.
S
he turned left, crossed the river over the little cement bridge, and took the next right. The pavement ended, and the road turned to dirt. A quarter of a mile more and Jordan slowed and swung the car into the driveway of the modest, ranch-style house where she had grown up. The house sat back against the rise of a small hill. It was painted brown, the windows adorned with red shutters. A wooden deck stretched out from the back door, and a stone walk led across the neatly kept lawn to the front door. Jordan brought the car to a stop in front of the attached garage. She stepped out and walked up the side path into the breezeway. Just as she was reaching for the interior door that led to the kitchen, it opened. Jordan saw her mother standing there, smiling broadly.
“We have such a surprise for you!” she said.
Jordan smiled back quizzically. “What is it?” she asked.
Her mother stepped back. Jordan peered past her into the kitchen. Her father was standing across the room, holding a plump little girl with a riot of curly red hair. “Watch this,” he said as he set the barefoot child down.
The little girl teetered momentarily as Jordan’s father let go of her hands, smiling as she caught sight of Jordan. Slowly she took a step, then another and another.
“She’s walking!” exclaimed Jordan, kneeling down and holding out her arms to the child. “Grace, you’re walking!” Jordan encouraged the little girl.
Corporate Affair Page 2