by Day Leclaire
“Arizona, Uncle Cletus,” Jordan and Rainer corrected in unison.
Cletus snorted. “Whatever. I was winning, you know. Three more moves and I’d have done it.”
“Six,” came the grumbling retort. Walker poked his head from behind Cletus, a pineapple in one hand, an eggplant in the other. He looked at Jordan. “Me, too?” he asked in a hopeful voice.
Before Uncle Cletus could say a word, Jordan took Walker firmly by the arm and pulled him into the warmth of their circle. “You, too,” she said. “This picture is history. And history has to be accurate. Which means it’s going to have all the family.” She laid a gentle hand on her well-rounded stomach, smiling with satisfaction and a deep contentment. “And with any luck, we’ll soon need a bigger picture wall. A much bigger wall.”
The End
A Wholesale Arrangement
Book #2 in the Nordic Heroes series
by
Day Leclaire
USA Today Bestselling Author
Dedication
Special thanks to: Bjarne and Judy Anthonsen, Liv Dahl and Roy Everson, Sons of Norway Viking Magazine, Esther Dyer and Karin Larsen, and Ron Rosella, Rosella’s Fruit and Produce. Your help was invaluable!
Chapter 1
“ S he’s what?”
Thor Thorsen kicked aside his chair and surged to his feet, his impressive size instantly dwarfing everything and everyone in the room. He slammed his palms onto the desk in front of him and leaned across it. His voice dropped to an ominous rumble. “She’s what?” he repeated.
“You heard me,” Rainer responded, not the least intimidated by his older brother’s wrath. He lifted a scruffy sneakered foot and rested it on the edge of the gleaming mahogany desk. “Andrea’s price gouging. You know the term price gouging, don’t you? That’s when one party has another party at a financial disadvantage and puts the screws—”
“I know what it means.” Thor returned fire. “Give me proof. Evidence. You know the term evidence, don’t you? That’s when one party can substantiate their accusations against another party with documentation.” He switched his furious gaze to Rainer’s companion. “What do you have, Red? Fair warning. It better be good.”
The fifty-year-old man lifted a nervous hand to hair gone iron gray. “Calling it price gouging might be a tad strong. I think. Maybe.”
Rainer snorted and tilted his chair to a precarious two-legged angle. “Yeah, right. Andrea Constantine is as innocent as a lamb and I wear eggplants for slippers.” A backhanded swipe knocked his foot off the desk and he scrambled to keep from falling.
“Let him speak or you’ll be eating those eggplants, as well as wearing them,” Thor informed his brother. “Go on, Red.”
The older man cleared his throat. “That term, er, price gouging, does suggest a certain deliberation on Miss Constantine’s part. And, well, we don’t know for certain it is. Deliberate, I mean. I think maybe it could all be a little misunderstanding.”
“A little misunderstanding,” Thor repeated softly. “Rainer says Andrea’s billing our stores twice what her father, Nick, charged us six months ago. That’s a little misunderstanding?”
Red gulped. “I think maybe . . . yes?”
“I think maybe no!” Thor glared at his brother. “Evidence I said. Where’s the evidence?”
“You want it? I’ve got it.” Rainer’s demeanor changed abruptly. He tossed a bulky folder marked “Constantine’s Wholesale Produce Market” onto Thor’s desk. “Here’s a little evidence for you. These are the produce invoices from a year ago, six months before Nick Constantine’s death.”
Thor picked up the folder, extracting the pertinent files. They brought back bittersweet memories—memories he’d prefer to forget. Memories he couldn’t forget. With bleak determination, he focused on the papers, swiftly absorbing the necessary information. “This would be the month after our contract with Constantine’s first took effect.”
“Right.” Rainer sent another folder spinning onto the desk “And this next piece of evidence is seven months ago, immediately before Nick’s death. You’ll note some minor fluctuation in prices. But overall, it’s within acceptable parameters.”
“Lettuce and cucumbers up. That was mid-December. The freeze in central California and the heavy rains in Mexico would account for the increases there.”
Rainer’s gaze hardened. He heaved the final folder onto his brother’s desk. “This is last month’s invoices. My last bit of evidence and proof positive.”
Thor could guess what was coming, but he glanced through the invoices, anyway. They confirmed his worst fears. “Damn.” He took a seat and rocked back in his chair. Why, Andrea? Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone? You had to hit out at me, didn’t you?
The increases were huge. He knew simple inflation couldn’t come close to accounting for them. No, the reason had nothing to do with business. A hot penetrating wrath seeped into his veins and spread like quicksilver. He fought to control it, his mouth firming into a taut line. Andrea always managed to rouse a strong reaction one way or the other.
“There’s more.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Thor rested an elbow on his desk and rubbed a finger across his jaw. “Finish it.”
Rainer handed him a graph. “I’ve charted some of our standard purchases over the past twelve months and compared them to last year’s. Just a few of the basics—lettuce, potatoes, things our retail produce markets and Milano’s Restaurants get from us on a daily basis.”
Thor studied the sharp upward slash of the red line on the graph. “Prices began to skyrocket right after Nick died and are headed straight through the roof.” He tossed the chart onto the desk and glanced from Red to his brother. “We can’t let this continue. We have to act. Suggestions?”
Red spoke first. “She’s a woman, you know.”
Both Thor and Rainer stared at the older man.
“She’s . . . she’s a woman, you know,” he repeated with dogged determination. “I think maybe that could mean something.”
Thor fixed his attention on the nervous man with barely concealed impatience. “Such as?”
“A woman in this business . . .” Red’s brow puckered. “Don’t know. Don’t seem right somehow. Think maybe we could check to be sure there’s been no mistake?”
Thor considered the possibilities for a minute. Andrea deserved the benefit of the doubt. But facts were facts. What legitimate excuse she possess?
“He’s right,” Rainer reluctantly conceded. “We should make certain before we act.”
“Agreed.” Thor thought for a moment before speaking. “Have my secretary call Constantine’s main competitor, Produce, Inc. Don’t mention Thorsen’s. She’s a woman calling out of the blue. Have her get the price on a box of bananas, a flat of strawberries and a carton of lettuce.”
Rainer lifted an eyebrow. “Clever. If Produce, Inc., gives a better deal to a complete stranger than Constantine’s gives to their best customer, we’ll know for sure Andrea’s price gouging.”
“Red,” Thor prompted. “Take care of it right away.”
The older man’s expression turned gloomy. “Yes, sir. Won’t take no time at all.”
“Thanks.” Thor waited until he was alone with his brother before continuing. “So, tell me the rest. The part you weren’t saying in front of Red.”
“Never could put one over on you.” Rainer leaned forward, his voice grim. “I’ve heard rumblings from other retailers. It isn’t Andrea’s prices alone. The quality of the produce is down, too.”
Thor’s eyes narrowed. “That would explain the phone calls I’ve received of late. Three different wholesale houses, in addition to Produce, Inc., are after our business. And they’re willing to give some major concessions to get it.”
“Too bad we can’t take advantage of their offers. At least, not while our
contract with Constantine’s forces us to buy exclusively from them.” Rainer’s brows drew together. “If we go anywhere else, we lose the right to service their Milano account.”
“We entered into that contract because we could make major bucks supplying produce to Milano’s restaurant chain.” Thor thumbed through the files on his desk, then decisively flipped them closed. “Unfortunately our contract is with Constantine’s, not with the Milanos. In order to keep that account, we have to go through Andrea.”
“Can’t we sidestep her and cut a separate deal with Milano’s?”
Thor shook his head. “I tried that over a year ago and again after Nick’s death. Caesar made it clear his contract’s with Constantine’s and he isn’t interested in any other arrangement.”
Rainer didn’t hide his annoyance. “Despite the fact we provide him with faster, round the clock service?”
“He’s been friends with the family for too long to tolerate change.”
Rainer grimaced. “Which takes us back to first base. We buy only from Constantine’s, and their good friend Milano buys only from us.” He paused. “Still, everybody does make a profit.”
Thor tapped the documentation. “You’ll notice the last few months our profit’s headed straight for Antarctica.”
“I agree we can’t keep paying top dollar for second-rate produce.”
“Damn right!” Thor cut in. “If something doesn’t change, and soon, we’ll be lucky to keep the reputations of our retail markets intact, let alone satisfy the Milano’s Restaurants account. Tell me where the profit is in that.”
A knock at the door interrupted than, and Red stepped into the room. His expression told the story. “I think maybe price gouging is the right word, after all,” he muttered. With a sorrowful sigh, he turned and left.
Thor’s piercing gaze rested on Rainer. “You were supposed to keep an eye on this situation. Why wait so long to tell me?”
“I needed hard facts before I brought it to your attention. Evidence, remember?”
“Evidence?” Thor questioned. “Or the fact that Andrea is your wife’s best friend?”
“Leave Jordan out of this. She isn’t involved,” Rainer snapped. Then he shrugged. “Your relationship with Andrea is. I don’t like having to carry tales about your fiancée.”
“Former fiancée,” Thor corrected roughly. “And that’s no excuse for keeping this information from me.”
Rainer smiled skeptically. “You don’t think so? Perhaps not. I don’t know. But I also waited for the same reason you would have. To give Andrea a chance. What with Nick’s death and the amount of work involved in taking sole control of Constantine’s, she needed time to get a handle on the business.”
Thor swept the papers littering his desk to one side. “She didn’t get a handle on business. She got a handle on a knife and shoved it in our backs.”
“What now?” Rainer asked.
Thor rose to his feet and strode to the window. He leaned against the casing and stared down at the busy Seattle traffic. Why hesitate? He knew the choices available to him. And they were damned few. “Either we pull out of the contract, or I . . . discuss the matter with Andrea.”
“What’s to discuss?”
Thor ignored his brother’s impatience. “Plenty. Like why she’s playing games with us, for one.”
“Right.” Rainer paused. “By the way. Why is she playing games with us?”
“I can think of two reasons. It’s personal. Or it’s personal.” He frowned. “I want to be fair. There is one other possibility.”
“What’s that?”
“The woman could be totally incompetent at running a wholesale produce business.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Thor turned and faced him. “I think I’ll go have a little chat with Andrea.”
B ills, bills, bills, and more bills. Andrea Constantine studied the listing stack of invoices piled on her desk and fought off an overwhelming sense of panic. Panicking wouldn’t do her any good. It might make her feel ten times better, but it wouldn’t help. Money would help. Lots of money would help even more. And several truckloads of some large-denominational green stuff would benefit her most of all.
The telephone at her elbow shrilled, and the trucks in her daydream pulled away from the loading dock without having deposited so much as a single penny. She glared at the phone. Thirty more seconds and she’d have been stinking rich. Life, she decided in disgust, had a warped sense of humor. She snatched up the receiver.
“Constantine’s,” she announced with professional briskness. “Andrea Constantine here.”
“Where’s my money?” the caller snarled, not wasting time on pleasantries.
There was that annoying, distasteful, repetitive money word again, used by an equally annoying, distasteful, repetitive nuisance. “Mr. Hartsworth, I presume,” she said, her lips turning down at the corners.
“Damn right! Now where’s my money? And no more excuses. I shipped you a truckload of corn and I expect to be paid for it!”
“You shipped me a truckload of worm-ridden mush,” she contradicted in a firm voice. “You neglected to ice the corn properly, and your driver took two full days to get it here.”
“How can that be? Yakima’s only 140 miles from you!”
“Which makes the trucker’s arrival in Seattle forty-eight hours after departing your farm an incredible feat. How’d he go, by way of Hawaii? The heat coming off the tail end of his trailer was unbelievable. It’s a wonder we didn’t have popcorn!”
“You watch your mouth, little girl.”
Little girl? Andrea couldn’t help smiling, despite the gravity of the situation. She and Mr. Hartsworth had never met face-to-face or he’d have chosen a different description. At five foot eight, she couldn’t be called anyone’s “little girl.”
“Mr. Hartsworth, the federal inspectors looked at your corn and they agree with me. It’s worthless.”
“Buffalo chips! Now you listen here. I was supplying your pop with cobs since before you were born. You’re lucky I’m willing to work with you at all. So don’t try and tell me my business. This isn’t some girlie tea party, you know.”
“I quite agree—”
He bulldozed on. “If you don’t pay up, you’ll regret it, inspection or no inspection. I’ll see to it that your name is blacker than tar at midnight in a coal mine.”
She sat up straighter. That sounded fairly black, all right. And having her name so abused wouldn’t help her financial situation any. Still . . .
The man had dumped bad produce on her, and no one did that. If her father were still living, Hartsworth wouldn’t have tried such a stunt. The knowledge brought a sharp pang of loss. The knowledge also brought home the painful truth. If her father had taught her the rules of this particular game, she wouldn’t be in her present predicament.
Her hand clenched into a fist. One thing she did know with absolute certainty. If she allowed even one supplier to take advantage of her, they’d all start stacking up at her dock ten deep to follow suit.
“I refuse to pay for rotten produce,” she announced in no uncertain terms. “And you’re not the only one capable of a little tar-tossing and name-blackening.”
“Don’t give me your lip! You’ll pay all right. Because if I put out the word you don’t honor your debts, no farmer or broker will ever ship to you again. They’ll offload you clear into tomorrow. And I’ve half a mind to see that they do, maybe more than half a mind.”
“You don’t have more than half a mind!” She let loose before common sense—or any sense—could prevail. “And don’t threaten me. I don’t operate well under threats.”
“Maybe you’ll operate better under promises. Because I promise you, either have a certified check on my desk by five tonight or my lawyer’s gonna pick your bank account cleaner than a melon patch after a gleaners
’ convention! You got that?”
“But—” She winced as his receiver crashed down, ending any further discussion. “That gleaners’ convention went through my bank account last week. And believe me, they didn’t leave a dime, let alone a melon.”
She stared at the phone. Maybe, just maybe, she shouldn’t have lost her temper. And maybe she shouldn’t have antagonized the man. And she definitely shouldn’t have allowed her old nemesis, pride, to do all her talking. She rested her chin in her hand. One of these days she’d remember that.
Andrea considered her options. Things were fast going from bad to real bad. If Mr. Hartsworth succeeded in his threats and blacklisted her wholesale market with the other farmers and brokers, she’d go bankrupt, something that was a distinct possibility, regardless.
She had to get it together. Where was her gumption? Her drive and ambition? Her get up and go? She groaned. It couldn’t have got up and went. It couldn’t have. Not now. Not when she needed every ounce of skill, determination, and finesseful finagling she possessed.
She ran a finger over the prisms hanging from her desk lamp, watching their glittering reflection dance on the walls of her office. All her life she’d searched for the bright side to even the gloomiest of disasters. She’d taken special pride in knowing that somehow, somewhere, she’d find one positive in amongst all the negatives.
Until now.
The only positive she could find was the absolute, positive fact she’d landed herself in deep, deep trouble. Matters were fast worsening, leaving her helpless to prevent the threatened demise of her company.
She sighed, admitting the sad truth. If Constantine’s Wholesale Produce Market were a dike, she wouldn’t have enough fingers, toes, and elbows to plug all the leaks. She’d better do something quick, or her father’s business would go under.
“If only . . .” She broke off and shook her head. If only her father hadn’t died. If only he hadn’t borrowed so much money from the bank. If only she wasn’t a woman in a man’s world. But Nick did die, he had borrowed money, and she definitely wasn’t a man. Which left her with one choice and one choice only, to swim fast or drown.