The Man Behind the Pinstripes

by Melissa McClone

  Grams sighed, a long drawn out sigh he hadn’t heard since Courtney lost her passport in Prague when she was supposed to be in Milan.

  “Sometimes I wish you had a little more of your father in you instead of being so buttoned-down and by-the-book.”

  The aggravation in her voice matched the tension cording in Caleb’s neck. The tightness seeped to his shoulders, spilled down his spine. “This isn’t personal. I can’t afford to make a mistake, and you should be enjoying your retirement, not working in your lab.”

  “I’m a chemist. That’s what I do. You didn’t have this problem with the organic baby line.” Frustration tinged each of her words, matching the I-wish-you’d-drop-it look in her eyes. “I see what’s going on. You don’t like the dog care products.”

  “I never said that.”

  “But it’s the truth.” She studied him as if she were trying to prove a hypothesis. “You’ve got that look. The one you got when you said it didn’t matter if your father came home for Christmas.”

  “I never needed him here. I had you and Gramps.” Caleb would try a new tactic. He scooted his chair closer. “Remember Gramps’s marketing tagline.”

  “The fairest face of all...”

  “His words still define the company today. Fifty years later.” Caleb leaned toward her, as if his nearness would soften the blow. “I’m sorry to say it, but dog products, no matter how natural or organic or aromatherapeutic, have no place at Fair Face.”

  “It’s still my company.” She enunciated each word with a firm voice punctuated by her ramrod posture.

  Disappointing his grandmother was something his father did, not Caleb. He felt like a jerk. One with a silk noose around his neck choking him.

  “I know that, but it’s not just my decision.” A plane flew overhead. A dog barked. The silence at the table deepened. He prepared himself to say what he’d come here to say. “I met with the department heads before coming over here. Showed them your prototypes. Ran the numbers. Calculated margins.”

  “And...”

  “Everyone has high expectations for your baby skin care line,” he said. “But they agree—moving into animal products will affect Fair Face’s reputation, not enhance our brand and lead to loss of revenue, anywhere from 2.3 to 5.7 percent.”

  Caleb expected to see a reaction, hear a retort. But Grams remained silent, her face still, nuzzling the dog against her neck. “Everyone thinks this?”

  He nodded once.

  Disbelief flickered across her face. She’d looked the same way when she learned his grandfather had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. But then something sparked. A spark of resignation. No, a spark of resolve.

  “Well, that settles it. I trust you know what’s best for Fair Face.” She sounded doting and grandmotherly, not disappointed and hurt. “Becca and I will figure out another way.”

  “Another way for what?”

  Grams’s eyes darkened to a steely blue. “To manufacture the products. You and those suits at Fair Face are wrong. There’s a market for my dog skin care line. A big one.”

  * * *

  The sun’s rays warmed Becca Taylor’s cheeks. The sweet scent of roses floated on the air. She walked across the manicured lawn in Gertie’s backyard with two dogs—Maurice, a Norwegian elkhound, and Snowy, a bichon frise.

  The two show dogs sniffed the ground, looking for any dropped treats or a place to do their business.

  She tucked her cellphone into her shorts pocket. “Don’t get sidetracked, boys. Gertie is waiting for us on the patio.”

  Becca had no idea what her boss wanted. She didn’t care.

  Gertie had rescued Becca the same way she’d rescued the foster dogs living at the estate. This was only a temporary place, but being here gave them hope of finding a forever home.

  Maurice’s ears perked.

  “Do you hear Gertie?”

  The two dogs ran in the direction of the patio.

  Becca quickened her pace. She rounded a corner.

  Gertie and a man sat at the teak table underneath the shade of the umbrella. Five dogs vied for attention, paws pounding on the pavement. Gertie waved.

  The man next to her turned around.

  Whoa. Hello, Mr. Gorgeous.

  Tingles skittered from Becca’s stomach to her fingertips.

  None of the dogs growled or barked at the guy. Points in his favor. Dogs were the best judges of character, much better than hers.

  She walked onto the patio.

  The man stood.

  Another wave of tingles made the rounds.

  Most guys she knew didn’t stand. Didn’t open doors. Didn’t leave the toilet seat down. This man had been raised right.

  He was handsome with classical features—high cheekbones, straight nose, strong jawline. The kind of handsome women showed off to girlfriends.

  The man stepped away from the table, angling his body toward her. His navy pinstriped suit was tailored, accentuating wide shoulders and tapering nicely at the hips. He moved with the grace of an athlete, making her wonder if he had sexy abdominal muscles underneath.

  Very nice packaging.

  Well, except for his hair.

  His short, cookie-cutter, corporate hairstyle could be seen walking out of every high rise in downtown Boise. With such a gorgeous face, the man’s light brown hair should be longer, a little mussed, sexy and carefree, instead of something so...businesslike.

  Not that his hair mattered to Becca. Or anything about him.

  His top-of-the-line suit shouted one thing—Best in Show.

  She might be a dog handler, but she didn’t handle his type.

  They didn’t belong in the same ring. He was a champion with an endless pedigree. She was a mutt without a collar.

  * * *

  She’d tried playing with the top dogs, the wealthy dogs, once before and landed in the doghouse, aka jail.

  Never again.

  But looking never hurt anybody.

  Gertie looked up from the dogs at her feet. “Becca. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  He was tall, over six feet. The top of her head came to the tip of his nose.

  Becca took two steps closer. “Hello.”

  His green eyes reminded her of jade, a bit cool for her taste, but hey, no one was perfect. His eyelashes more than made up for whatever reserve she saw reflected in his gaze. If she had thick, dark lashes like his she would never need to buy mascara again.

  She wiped her hand on her shorts then extended her arm. “I’m Becca Taylor.”

  His grip was strong, his skin warm.

  A burst of heat shot up her arm and pulsed through her veins.

  “Caleb Fairchild.” His rich voice reminded her of melted dark chocolate, rich and smooth and tasty.

  Wait a minute. Fairchild. That meant he was...

  “My grandson,” Gertie said.

  The man who could make Becca’s dream of working as a full-time dog handler come true. If the dog products sold as well as Gertie expected, Becca would have the means to travel the dog show circuit without needing to work extra part-time jobs to cover living expenses.

  Caleb Fairchild. She couldn’t believe he was here. That had to mean good news about the dog products.

  Uh-oh. Ogling him was the last thing she should be doing. He was the CEO of Fair Face and wealthy. Wealthy, as in she could win the lottery twice and not come close to his net worth.

  “Nice to meet you.” Becca realized she was still holding his hand. She released it. “I’ve heard lots about you.”

  Caleb’s gaze slid over her as if he’d reviewed the evidence, passed judgment and sentenced her to the not-worth-his-time crowd. “I haven’t heard about you until today.”

  His formal demeanor made
Jane Austen’s Mr. Darcy seem downright provincial. No doubt Mr. Fairchild thought he was too good for her.

  Maybe he was.

  But she wouldn’t let it bother her.

  Her career was not only at stake, but also in his hands.

  “Tell me about yourself,” he said.

  His stiff tone irritated her like a flea infestation in the middle of winter. But she couldn’t let her annoyance show.

  She met his gaze straight on, making sure she didn’t blink or show any signs of weakness. “I’m a dog person.”

  “I thought you were a consultant.”

  A what? Becca struggled for something to say, struggled and came up empty. Still she had to try. “I...I—”

  “Becca is a dog consultant,” Gertie said. “She’s a true dog whisperer. Her veterinary knowledge has been invaluable with product development. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  If Becca wasn’t already indebted to Gertie Fairchild, she was now.

  Gertie shot a pointed look at Caleb. “Perhaps if you dropped by more often you’d know what’s going on.”

  Caleb directed a smile at his grandmother that redefined the word charming.

  Not that Becca was about to be charmed. The dogs might like him, but she was...reserving judgment.

  “I see you every Sunday for brunch at the club.” Caleb’s affection for his grandmother wrapped around Becca like a thick, warm comforter, weighing the scales in his favor. “But you never talk about yourself.”

  Gertie shrugged, but hurt flashed in her eyes so fast Becca doubted if Caleb noticed. “Oh, it just seems like we end up talking about you and Courtney.”

  “Well, I’m here now,” he said.

  Gertie placed her hand over her heart and closed her eyes. “To dash all my hopes and dreams.”

  Becca’s gaze bounced between the two. “What do you mean?”

  Caleb touched Gertie’s arm. “My grandmother is being melodramatic.”

  Opening her eyes, Gertie pursed her lips. “I’m entitled to be a drama queen. You don’t want our pet products.”

  No. No. No. If that was true, it would ruin...everything. Gertie wouldn’t go forward with the dog products without her company backing them. Becca forced herself to breathe. “I don’t understand.”

  Gertie shook her head. “My grandson, the CEO, and his closed-minded cronies at my company believe our dog skin care line will devalue their brand.”

  “That’s stupid and shortsighted,” Becca said.

  Caleb eyed her as if she were the bounty, a half-eaten mouse or bird, left on the porch by an outdoor cat. “That’s quite an opinion for a...consultant.”

  “Not for a dog consultant.” The words came out more harshly than Becca intended, but if she couldn’t change his mind she would be back to living in a singlewide behind Otto. Otto, her parents’ longtime trailer park manager, wore stiletto heels with his camouflage, and skinned squirrels for fun. “Do you know how much money is spent annually on pets?”

  “Billions.”

  “Over fifty billion dollars. Food and vet costs are the largest portion, but analysts project over four billion dollars are spent on pet services. That includes grooming. Gertie’s products are amazing. Better than anything on the market.”

  Gertie nodded. “If only my dear husband were still around. He’d jump on this opportunity.”

  “Gramps would agree with me.” Caleb frowned, not a sad one, more of a do-we-have-to-go-through-this-again frown. “Fair Face is not being shortsighted. We have a strategic plan.”

  Becca forced herself not to slump. “So change your plan.”

  “Where’d you get your MBA?” he asked.

  Try AA degree. “I didn’t study business. I’m a certified veterinary technician, but my most valuable education came from The School of Hard Knocks.”

  Aka the Idaho Women’s Correctional Center.

  “As I explained to my grandmother, the decision about manufacturing the dog skin care line is out of my hands.”

  Caleb’s polite tone surprised Becca, but provided no comfort. Not after she’d poured her heart and soul into the dog products. “If the decision was all yours?”

  His hard, cold gaze locked on hers. “I still wouldn’t manufacture them.”

  The words slammed into Becca like a fist to her jaw. She took a step back. But she couldn’t retreat. “How could you do this to your grandmother?”

  Caleb opened his mouth to speak.

  Gertie placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll help Becca understand.”

  He muttered a thank-you.

  “This decision is in the best interest of Fair Face.” Gertie sounded surprisingly calm. “It’s okay.”

  But it wasn’t.

  Becca had thought that things would be different this time. That she could be a part of something, something big and successful and special. That maybe, just maybe, dreams could come true.

  She should have known better.

  Things never worked out for girls—women—like Becca.

  And never would.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A FEW MINUTES LATER, Becca stood where the grass met the patio, her heart in her throat and her back to Gertie and Caleb. Dogs panted with eagerness, waiting for the ball to be thrown again.

  And again. And again.

  Playing fetch kept Becca’s shoulders from sagging. She would much rather curl up in the kennel with the dogs than be here. Dogs gave her so much. Loyalty, companionship and most importantly love. Dogs loved unconditionally. They cared, no matter what. They accepted her for who she was without any explanations.

  Unlike...people.

  “Come sit with us,” Gertie said.

  Us.

  A sheen of sweat covered Becca’s skin from the warm temperature, but she shivered.

  Caleb had multi-millions. Gertie had hundreds of millions. Becca had $8,428.

  She didn’t want much—a roof over her head, a dog to call her own and the chance to prove herself as a professional handler. Not a lot to ask.

  But those dreams had imploded thanks to Caleb Fairchild.

  Becca didn’t want to spend another minute with the man.

  She glanced back at her boss.

  “Please, Becca.” Gertie’s words were drawn out with an undertone of a plea. Gertie might be more upset about Fair Face not wanting to take on her new products than she acted.

  Becca whipped around. Forced a smile. Took a step onto the patio. “Sure, I’ll sit for a few minutes.”

  Caleb was still standing, a tall, dream-crushing force she did not want to reckon with ever again.

  Walking to the table, she didn’t acknowledge his presence. He didn’t deserve a second look or an “excuse me” as she passed.

  Gertie had to be reeling, the same as Becca, after what he’d said.

  I still wouldn’t manufacture them.

  Becca’s blood boiled. But she couldn’t lose it.

  She touched Gertie’s thin shoulder, not knowing how else to comfort her employer, her friend. The luxurious feel of silk beneath Becca’s palm would soon be a thing of the past. But it wasn’t the trappings of wealth she would miss. It was this amazing woman, the one who had almost made Becca believe anything was possible. Almost...

  “I’m so sorry.” A lump burned in her throat. Her eyes stung. She blinked. “You’ve worked so hard and wasted so much time for nothing.”

  Gertie waved her hand as if her arm were an enchanted wand that could make everything better. Diamonds sparkled beneath the sun. Prisms of lights danced. If only magic did exist....

  “None of this has been a waste, dear.” Gertie smiled up at Becca. Not the trying-hard-to-smile-and-not-cry of someone disappointed and reeling, but a smile full of
light and hope. “The products are top-notch. You said so yourself. Nothing has changed, in spite of what Caleb thinks.”

  He gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.

  Obviously he didn’t agree with his grandmother. But Gertie didn’t seem deterred.

  That didn’t make sense to Becca. Caleb was the CEO and had final say. She sat next to Gertie. “But if Fair Face doesn’t want the products...”

  “You and I are starting our own company.” Gertie spoke with a singsong voice. “We’ll manufacture the products without Fair Face.”

  Our own company. It wasn’t over.

  Becca’s breath hitched. Her vision blurred. She touched her fingers to her lips.

  The dream wasn’t dead. She could make this work. She wasn’t sure how...

  Gertie had always spoken as if working with Fair Face on the products was a done deal, but if going into business was their only option that would have to do. “O-kay.”

  “Your consultant doesn’t sound very confident,” Caleb said to Gertie. “Face it, you’re a chemist, not a businesswoman.” He looked at Becca. “Maybe you can talk some sense into my grandmother about this crazy idea of hers.”

  Becca clenched her hands. She might not know anything about business, but she didn’t like Caleb’s condescending attitude. The guy had some nerve discounting his grandmother.

  Forget jade. The color of his eyes reminded her of cucumbers or fava beans. Not only cool, but uninspiring.

  Change and taking a risk weren’t part of his vocabulary. But they were hers. “Makes perfect sense to me. I’m in.”

  “Wonderful.” Gertie clapped her hands together. “We’ll need an advisor. Caleb?”

  A horrified look distorted his face, as if he’d been asked to face the Zombie Apocalypse alone and empty-handed. He took a step back and bumped into a lounge chair. “Not me. I don’t have time.”