by Nalini Singh
Rising in a black mood, he showered, then got himself ready for work. Just because it was Sunday didn’t mean he didn’t have things to do—he wanted to put in a few hours on a small project he was fitting between bigger ones. And today was a good day for it; he had no other commitments—definitely no kissable redhead in his bed as he’d hoped for last night—and the weather was holding beautifully.
Once at the site, he put his back into it, worked like a demon, and was done by seven that night—an entire weekend ahead of schedule. Gabriel had invited him over for dinner with a couple of other rugby buddies, but Sailor told his brother he couldn’t make it.
He needed time to brood.
Which he did until he fell exhausted into bed.
Waking the next morning with his mood not appreciably better, he showered and shaved with care before dressing in the single business suit he owned. He’d bought it a couple of years back, taking Gabe’s advice and getting one good suit rather than three cheap ones; it was his go-to outfit for meeting with his loan manager at the bank. And today, for what might be his first major corporate client.
He paired the dark gray suit with a blue shirt that “made the most of his eyes,” according to his mom, who’d given him the shirt on his last birthday. He made sure his hair was neatly combed and his dress shoes polished. For a second, as he looked in the mirror, he could almost touch it, the goal that drove him, the need to prove himself a gnawing on his bones that wouldn’t stop until he’d done it.
Until he’d shown the world that he wasn’t anything like the man whose face he bore.
“Keep going, Sailor,” he told his reflection. “No excuses. No distractions.”
Especially not a redhead who’d already haunted him for seven years.
Grabbing some coffee with a scowl, he thought about the handcuffs as he ate four pieces of toast before heading out for his eight thirty meeting in the city. Most days, he’d already have done at least an hour’s work by now, but he hadn’t wanted to risk being late to this meeting—or being anything but sharply dressed. He’d done his research, knew that the CEO he intended to approach was always crisply dressed, the people she worked with the same.
That appearance counted for a lot was going to be part of Sailor’s pitch.
Speaking of which, his beat-up gardening truck, the bed full of bags of soil, looked utterly out of place in among the glossy BMWs and Mercedes in the parking lot of the building in Auckland’s central business district. He could—and would—do nothing about that. Sailor was a landscape gardener and proud to be one, and this company was looking for a man just like him.
They just didn’t know it yet.
“Balls to the wall, man,” he told himself, then picked up his large presentation folder and walked through the front door of the Crafty Corners headquarters.
12
Decapitated Teddy Bears and a Skeptical Dragon
SAILOR MIGHT’VE BEEN TAKEN ABACK by the sight of the two receptionists stitching together a fluffy brown teddy bear if he hadn’t already read up on the company. As it was, he smiled and said, “I have a meeting with Jacqueline Rain in ten minutes.”
“Mr. Bishop?” At Sailor’s nod, the Polynesian receptionist—dressed in gray pants and a pale pink shirt, complete with cheerful Crafty Corners cufflinks—put down the bear’s decapitated head and rose to his feet. “Please follow me. Jacqueline told us to bring you right up.”
Surprised by the courtesy, though perhaps he shouldn’t have been given Jacqueline Rain’s reputation in the industry, Sailor did as the receptionist had asked. Behind him, the other receptionist—a tanned blonde in a sky-blue dress—began pushing stuffing into the unlucky bear’s head with sharp, stabbing motions of her shiny red nails.
Crafting was clearly a far more bloodthirsty hobby than he’d ever imagined.
Two steps later, he came to the realization that Jacqueline was probably calling him up early so she could get rid of him before her day began in earnest. It had taken a lot of fast-talking on Sailor’s part to convince her to see him in the first place—and that was after he’d talked his way past two gatekeepers to be put through to her.
Sailor had no intention of letting all his hard work go to waste.
The receptionist led him to the left and up a curving flight of stairs to the mezzanine level. “This way,” he said with a smile as he took Sailor through to a smaller but just as colorful reception area where a brunette woman in a sleek black wheelchair sat working on what looked to be a jewelry box in the shape of a love heart.
Looking up, she smiled, and it was bright enough to compete with the sparkles on her craft project. “You must be Mr. Bishop.” She wheeled herself out from behind the counter. “I’ll take it from here, James. Thank you.”
The receptionist stepped back. “See you later, Ginny. That jewelry box is coming along great.”
Sailor had to fight not to burst out laughing; he wondered how many jewelry boxes and other craft items these poor people had to make during the course of a working week. And where did it all go?
“If you’ll come with me, Mr. Bishop.” Ginny’s words were accompanied by a subtly appraising look from a set of deep brown eyes.
Sailor kept his expression strictly neutral. Not only was he obsessed with a curvy bit of trouble who’d played him for a fool, he needed his head fully in the game this morning. The meeting with Jacqueline Rain could turbocharge his entire business plan, and Sailor had no intention of fucking it up.
Shoulders squared and the heat of battle in his blood, he followed Ginny to her boss’s office. It involved going a quarter of the way across the huge open space dotted with seating arrangements around tables set up with crafting sets, and what looked to be casual meeting areas bordered by potted plants.
Reaching a set of glass doors smoked just enough to blur what lay beyond, Ginny flashed her employee card over the scanner. When the doors slid open on a quiet swoosh, it was to reveal a craftless corporate setup that looked like it might be the domain of an executive assistant.
No candy pink or lime green here—the carpet was an elegant gray and the walls a soothing off-white. The color came from the large expressionist painting on one wall that burst with pigment without being overwhelming. The only pieces of furniture were a large glass desk decorated with a live white orchid in excellent shape and the sleek ergonomic chair behind it.
No one sat at the desk, but the computer was humming and a mug of coffee stood beside it as if the assistant had stepped away for a moment to do another task. Annalisa Rhymes, that was her name. He’d spoken to her when he called for Jacqueline.
And now here he was: the moment of truth.
Balls to the wall.
Knocking on the partially open door beyond the executive assistant’s desk, Ginny poked her head inside. “Ms. Rain, Mr. Bishop is here.”
She must’ve gotten a nod from within because a second later, she pushed the door all the way open. “Please go in.”
“Thank you.” Entering—and very conscious of Ginny leaving the door open in a not-so-subtle sign that his time with Jacqueline was limited—Sailor found himself approaching a heavy oak desk behind which sat an impressive woman with hair of darkest auburn. He’d seen her photo, but in person she reminded him forcefully of his cute, lying redhead; it wasn’t just the color of her hair but the structure of her face along with an indefinable sense of presence.
He’d half expected her to stay seated, a little power play, but Jacqueline Rain was classier than that. She rose and held out a slim but in no way fragile hand. “Mr. Bishop.”
Extending his own hand while forcefully wrenching his mind off the pleasurable memories that couldn’t be permitted to fuck up this chance, he said, “Thank you for agreeing to see me. I’m aware you’re busy, so I’ll keep this quick.”
Jacqueline raised a perfectly curved eyebrow and, retaking her seat, waved him into the chair across from her, the sprawl of aged and very expensive wood between them. “I’m listeni
ng.”
It looked as if his attempt to deflect her brush-off was working, but he knew he had to hold her interest. Jacqueline Rain hadn’t survived this long in business by being a slow decision-maker. He had three minutes at most before she cut him off. He had to make those minutes count.
As he’d made the most of his time in the water with a certain naked redhead.
Opening his presentation folder with a firm mental slap directed at his misbehaving brain, Sailor nonetheless didn’t immediately set out the visuals he’d created using crappy old software on an equally crappy laptop. It still worked, and if he got his job, he could afford an upgrade.
“I know Crafty Corners is launching a new business,” he began. “Fresh, organic, fully handmade fast food, with a customizable menu.”
It had seemed like a strange concept when he’d first spotted a report about it in the business pages, but the more he’d read up on it, the more he’d realized that it was a genius move once you factored in the demographics of the areas in which the fast-food restaurants were to be based.
“That’s hardly a secret,” Jacqueline said with a well-known coolness. “And, quite frankly, Mr. Bishop, I fail to see what it has to do with a landscaping company. Your initial pitch intrigued me enough to agree to a meeting, but on further reflection, I see no point in expanding our landscape budget on the project.”
Sailor didn’t back down or flinch.
“As I walked in here,” he said, “I saw a number of your employees working on craft projects. Clearly that’s designed to hammer home your Craft Is Family motto.”
Jacqueline leaned back in the black leather of her executive chair. “Go on.”
“But,” he said, “look at the sites you’ve chosen for your initial three Fast Organic outlets.” He laid out the images in front of her, images he’d printed off the web. “Here’s the parking lot out front.” He pointed out on the first site, then tapped the same on the others.
Jacqueline’s eyes cooled further. “I’m quite sure I can recognize a parking lot.”
“So will your customers.” Sailor had been raised by a strong woman, knew how to stand his ground. “But these particular customers are going to be paying ten dollars for a wheatgrass shot. And thirty dollars for a tofu burger on organic rye baked that morning.”
He didn’t let it throw him when Jacqueline picked up her phone and began to scan through it; he knew he was talking sense, and he also knew that if she wanted him gone, she’d have told him the meeting was over.
“There’s a high chance at least a quarter will be driving eco-cars that require charging stations,” he said. “These are people who will analyze the site’s entire look to see if it fits with their worldview—if they want to be caught dining there or carrying a take-out bag from it. And they have the money to stay or go.”
Putting aside the phone, Jacqueline leaned forward with her arms folded on her desk. “You have my attention now, Mr. Bishop.”
Sailor didn’t make the mistake of believing the deal was anywhere near done. “It’s all about perception,” he said. “With the Crafty Corners sites, the crafts themselves are the landscaping.” Each store was fronted by a whole bunch of jumbo-sized craft items that drew the eye. “Fast Organic needs the same type of tailored approach. Everything must give the impression of health and green and a commitment to the earth.”
He brought out a sketch. “Here’s my first concept,” he said. “Partially grassed-in parking spots, including two with charging stations, the entire area edged in living green walls. A water feature here, depending on the budget.” He indicated the spot on the sketch. “A small external seating area so that customers downing your thirty-dollar tofu burgers will feel as if they’ve also bought access to a refreshing piece of paradise in the middle of the city.”
“Show me more,” Jacqueline said, and it was an order.
Giving her a quiet smile, Sailor leaned back in his chair. “Not until we come to an agreement,” he said, putting a touch of steel in his own tone. “I’m not about to show you everything I’ve got without getting something in return.” Jacqueline Rain was a ruthless businesswoman whom Sailor admired but knew not to underestimate.
Piercing green eyes narrowed. “Or I could throw you out right now and pick up the phone to hire a much bigger company. I’m sure they’d come up with fantastic ideas based on the general concept.”
Sailor shrugged. “True, but are you sure you want to go with a settled enterprise when you can hire me and spin it in the media as all part of Fast Organic’s commitment to small businesses—like the mom-and-pop organic suppliers you intend to use? Also, a bigger company will probably charge you three times as much.”
Another raised eyebrow. “While you’re willing to do it for pennies?”
“Not so low.” Sailor had his own financial realities, and he knew exactly how far he could push things. “But I am willing to do it for a lot less than an established company, because if I get this project, my work will be front and center at all the Fast Organic stores.” The openings would unquestionably be covered widely in the business and foodie media. “That’s worth taking a hit on the profit margin.”
A smile curved Jacqueline’s lips. “I like you,” she said, tapping a manicured and polished finger on the oak. “Store one opens in two months. You get that up and running in time and do a good job of it, then we talk about the other two.”
Sailor didn’t grab at the offer. “Three stores or no deal,” he said. “I’m going to be doing this for very little margin. I need at least three to make enough of a profit that I can pay my workers.” He didn’t have any workers aside from his brothers right now—and they worked for free—but Jacqueline didn’t need to know that.
“I need to see a breakdown.” Jacqueline’s tone made it clear that was nonnegotiable.
Slipping out a piece of paper from his file, Sailor pushed it across.
Jacqueline scanned it, said, “You can really do it on this budget?”
“I can do an even better job if you give me a higher plant budget,” he said honestly. “It depends how high-end you want to go. What I’ve quoted is nice but not expensive. You want a more exclusive feel, really hit your target market, you’ll need a bigger budget.” He ran through a few specifics to give her an idea.
Jacqueline made a couple of notations on his quote before handing it back to him.
He saw that though she’d extended his supply budget, she’d cut his profit margin in half. Shaking his head, he said, “Look, I need this job, but it’s pointless if it’s going to put me out of business.” He held her gaze.
She held his gaze as well, judging him, assessing him…
Her smile was sharp, unexpected… and it reminded him all over again of his runaway redhead. Taking back the quote sheet while he struggled to corral his thoughts, she returned his original profit margin. “All right,” she said, “three stores.”
Sailor didn’t allow himself to celebrate. “We should sign a contract.”
Jacqueline laughed even as she pressed the intercom on her desk. “I really do like you,” she said, before instructing Annalisa to organize a contract from a contractor template they had on file. “Enter these changes. Also, I need finance up here in ten.”
While she went over the specifics—which he planned to inspect with a fine-tooth comb—Sailor scanned the office to get a better bead on the woman with whom he was dealing.
The wall to her back and left held the most personal items.
Framed awards that the business had won, a few photos with notable people, including the current prime minister. However, what caught his eye and sent his heart thumping was a small grouping of images set toward the center. In particular, the image of a woman with skin of moonlight and hair of a red so vibrant, he knew only one woman who possessed it.
“Your family?” he said to Jacqueline when she finished talking to her assistant. He took care to keep his voice even, though the light of battle was sparking in his gut.<
br />
Following his gaze, Jacqueline nodded. “Yes. Now, let’s hammer out certain details.”
By the time Sailor left the office forty-five minutes later, he had a signed contract in hand and Jacqueline had already ordered her finance department to pay his invoices as they came in. Though, of course Fast Organic would be keeping a close eye on his spending.
“We’ll be assigning you a point person,” Jacqueline had told him. “They’ll have the authority to make future calls on the finance front.” A pause. “You’re a new contractor for us, so you’ll be under extra scrutiny.”
“Understood.”
Flushed with success as he left Jacqueline’s office, Sailor was already mentally rearranging his schedule to carve out time to begin the project today. But, underneath that, he was thinking about fur-lined handcuffs.
His lips curved, satisfaction unfurling in his gut.
His spitfire thought she’d kissed him, seduced him, then made a clean getaway, but now he knew how to track her down. Of course, she was also the boss’s daughter, and he really shouldn’t be thinking about messing with her.
That was when fate laughed.
13
Sharp Kitten Heels and Fur-Lined Handcuffs
ÍSA COULDN’T BELIEVE WHAT HER mother had done.
So angry that she could burst, she barely managed to say hello to James and Lana. She knew them, of course; she knew everyone who worked for Crafty Corners, the business having one of the best retention rates in the industry. Because she did—and because they had nothing to do with Jacqueline’s latest chess move—she made an effort to be polite even though she wanted to kick the desk.
Today was the icing on top of the hideous cake that had been her Saturday night. A night she’d run through her mind over and over again as she stared at Sailor’s number. She’d almost pushed it a thousand times, almost called him just so she could yell at him for having awful taste in friends.