by Judy Teel
"Good thing my hangover's better, then."
"Somehow he's gotten wind of the merger," she said, turning the conversation back to their real problem. "We have to make him understand how good it will be for Kazners."
"And how much you need me working there?"
"That's not his decision." Which was a lie. As the owner of Kazners, The Captain could legally do anything he wanted with the company. As the last living member on her grandfather's side of the family, she was safe from getting the boot. But not Ryan.
The thought of her grandfather firing him sent uneasiness curling around in her stomach like a snake. She pushed the feeling aside. They had to focus on how much he'd improved the company since she'd hired him. Even The Captain could appreciate higher profit margins.
"You spearheaded the merger and a dozen other improvements," she said as she attacked the doorbell again. "We'll just have to make him understand it's in his best interest to not interfere."
Ryan took a step back and looked up at the sparkling arched windows and soaring castle-like architecture of the Kazner mansion. "So this is where you grew up, huh? It doesn't look so bad. No trolls lurking on the parapets or anything."
"All a facade. The Captain lives to keep people off balance. Thinks it gives him the upper hand."
"The difference between nuts and eccentric is about a million dollars, I hear."
"Now, you're getting personal."
He tossed her one of his heart-melting, quirky grins. "My apologies."
"Keep it up, Anderson, and I'll make you go first."
CK reached for the enormous brass door knocker. The door swung open and she nearly grabbed the nose of her father's most loyal employee and friend. The aging butler spryly ducked her hand and opened the door wider. CK closed her eyes and did her best to suppress a sigh.
She'd really been hoping that her grandfather wasn't in "one of his moods." She reluctantly opened her eyes, again.
The ever solemn Winston stood before them barefoot, wearing flared white pants, a white vest, navy blue coat thick with brass buttons, a scarf and a flat-brimmed hat styled along the lines of a short top hat.
"Good morning, miss. Sir," Winston said, politely.
Ryan slid his sunglasses down his nose and stared at the older man.
Deciding denial was the better part of valor, CK pretended nothing was out of the ordinary. "We were summoned. Where is he?" she asked, proud of how calm she sounded.
"In the garden."
"In one of his moods?"
"Always, miss."
"Jeez," Ryan whispered.
Winston's pale brown eyes shifted to him. "No, sir. Napoleonic Seaman First Class." He stepped back and motioned for them to come in.
CK mentally fortified herself and stepped into the cavernous foyer. Ryan trailed behind her radiating curiosity with a healthy dose of reluctance. She couldn't blame him for either.
They trekked across the marble floor behind the shuffling butler, through the grand salon, took a right into the billiard room, and finally emerged into the vaulted splendor of the library. She barely noticed the collections of war memorabilia and antiques that stuffed her grandfather's mansion, but Ryan seemed openly fascinated by the vastness of it all. For someone who had never been there, she supposed the cases of rare items from all over the world and original paintings might be quite remarkable. To her it was just another twenty minutes of light exercise.
Winston reached the row of glass doors that led out onto the terrace and the labyrinth of gardens beyond. He gazed at CK with sad eyes, and the worry gnawing at her belly took an extra big chomp.
"May I say, miss, that I'm extremely sorry for what your grandfather is about to do to you."
"It's bad?" Ryan asked in the tone of voice people usually reserved for funerals.
"Oh, the worst, sir."
CK swallowed the tiny amount of spit left in her dry mouth. "Didn't the Napoleon thing clue you in, Anderson?" she gritted out, straightening her shoulders. She would not let him do this to her. She was twenty-seven and had managed Kazners on her own for nearly three years. He wasn't the boss of her anymore. She could do this.
As Winston swung open the doors, CK lifted her chin defiantly and stepped outside.
"Anderson?" she said, sharply when Ryan didn't follow her.
"Are those winged lions?" He focused on the life-sized statues on either side of the stairs.
"Where did you say he was, Winston?" she asked.
"Third elephant on the left," the butler provided.
Reaching back, she grabbed Ryan's thick wrist and pulled him up beside her. The warmth of him soaked into her palm and skated up her arm in a comforting buzz of energy.
Standing on the edge of the doorway, Winston brought himself to attention and cleared his throat. "Your good-for-nothing, blight on the family name granddaughter has arrived!" he shouted. His voice flowed down the terraced lawn and into the greenery beyond with surprising force. "And Mr. Anderson!"
"Wow," Ryan muttered.
"My apologies. It was required of me." He gave them a short bow and backed away.
The doors swung shut and Winston's shadowed form disappeared back into the depths of the house. CK's stomach gave a lurch and she had to push down the urge to throw up and run. Maybe all those years ago, Tim had the right idea.
From the far corner of the garden rolled a booming voice. "Front and center, Seaman. Front and center!"
* * *
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