by Diana Palmer
“Not at all,” she said, and grinned. “Thanks for the...instruction.”
“As the saying goes,” he murmured, “you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
“That’s what scares me,” she murmured, and with a soft good-night, quickly closed the door.
He was cheerful and pleasant at breakfast for a change, looking rested and sexy and altogether too attractive in a brown pinstriped vested suit that gave him a tigerish appearance. Probably that was deliberate, too, she thought, but wondered absently how he’d picked out the color when he was blind.
“It’s simple,” he returned when she asked him, “I had Mother buy some of those plastic puzzles for infants. I put a different shape on each color. Square is gray.” He chuckled. “Triangle is brown, circle is blue, and so forth.”
“You,” she said, “are a genius.”
His white teeth flashed for an instant. “I try, baby, I try. What are you wearing?”
“A gray skirt, a white blouse, and a navy-blue blazer with black accessories,” she replied.
“What does the blouse look like?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “Is it low-cut?”
“I’ll have you know, I’m dressed very conservatively,” she returned. “The blouse has a modest V neck slashed to the waist, and the skirt has a slit all the way up to my thigh.”
He chuckled delightedly. “Try again.”
“Well, actually the blouse has a jabot collar, and the skirt only has a kick pleat in back,” she told him. “But my wrists are shamelessly exposed,” she added in a whisper.
“Brazen hussy,” he accused.
“Only in bed with sexy men,” she retorted.
“Only then if they teach you what to do,” he accused.
“Well, I’m learning,” she said defensively.
“Whew!” he said wickedly. “Are you ever!”
She grinned and picked up her fork. The ham and eggs looked delicious.
Bilings Sportswear was located on the outskirts of Spartanburg, a nice medium-sized company with over two hundred employees. It was strictly a manufacturing company, not a vertical-mill operation like the Tremayne Corporation. But it boasted a level of quality that any corporation would be proud to claim.
Its neat cutting room featured a conveyor belt to carry the huge bales of cloth to the stockroom, and long tables where spreaders and cutters worked to produce the pattern cloth pieces that were assembled on the shirt and pants lines by hardworking seamstresses. Everywhere there was the sound of sewing machines, a loud hum that drowned conversation. Conveyor belts were installed in both divisions, running between the sewing machine operators to carry piece goods in baskets as they passed through each operation in their assembly into clothes.
The office was a bright cheerful place with smiling women who did payroll and reception work and nattily dressed executives in suits who worked at administrative tasks and public relations.
Maggie was fascinated with the plant. Textiles had been one of her interests long before Saxon Tremayne stormed into her life, and the process of clothes-making had never bored her.
She clung to Saxon’s big warm hand as the plant vice president Gordy Kemp escorted them through the operation. He was a tall man, very slender, with small green eyes and a thin smile that was all too ready.
Maggie couldn’t help remembering what she’d heard about the man in Saxon’s office.
“I’d like to have all the workers assembled in the shirt line now,” Saxon said curtly when the tour was finished and they were standing at the swinging doors that separated the plant from the offices.
“Now?” Kemp burst out.
“Right now,” was the cold reply.
Kempt shrugged, looked vaguely uneasy, and went into the office to have the announcement made over the plant’s intercom.
Saxon’s fingers tightened on Maggie’s. “Stay right beside me,” he said in her ear.
“What are you going to do?”
“Wait and see.” His dark eyes gleamed with challenge and something else.
The sewing machines gradually came to a halt and the employees slowly grouped into a semicircle facing the doors where Saxon, Maggie and the young Kemp were standing.
Kemp looked more nervous than ever. “They’re all here, Mr. Tremayne,” he told the older man.
Saxon nodded. “Good morning,” he began, addressing the workers, raising his deep voice so that it carried with a faint echo through the cavernous plant. “For the benefit of those who don’t know me—and very likely that means most of you—I’m Saxon Tremayne. My corporation is in the process of absorbing Bilings Sportswear, as you’ve no doubt heard by now.”
There was a low murmur among the employees that sounded faintly antagonistic.
“I understand,” Saxon continued calmly, “that some of you are under the misconception that my immediate priority is the dismissal of the older employees here on some kind of trumped-up excuse.”
That almost brought the house down. Kemp tugged at his necktie. “Mr. Tremayne...” he began in a strangled whisper.
Saxon raised a curt hand, stopping him. “I also understand,” he added, “that this misconception has been promoted by certain management personnel within this organization.”
Kemp stiffened, and Maggie glanced away before he noticed her interest.
“I want you all to know that we have no intention whatsoever of trying to cheat our older employees out of their well-deserved retirement benefits,” Saxon said firmly, lifting his face as if he were staring straight at the onlookers. “Indeed, you may expect an immediate raise in salaries, increased insurance benefits and paid holidays. All of which I was amazed to learn that you weren’t already getting. How does that sound?”
There was a loud roar, a lot of laughter, and some whistles. Saxon grinned. “I thought you might like that. And you senior employees will be interested to learn that we also plan to increase your retirement benefits.
“Here’s what’s going to happen within the next two weeks. Our administrative people have been working with Bilings’s executives to formulate some new company policies. One of them is going to include monthly listening sessions—bull sessions, if you prefer. Two days a month you’ll have the opportunity to sit down and talk with a designated executive if you have any complaints or suggestions for improvements. We’re also installing a suggestions box, so that you can gripe and suggest improvements between listening sessions. Any improvements we implement because of an employee’s suggestion will result in a nice bonus for the employee who suggested it.
“We’re also going to update the operation here—add some new equipment and replace some of the older machinery.”
There was a hush in the big room, and Kemp looked as if he were searching out a hole to jump into.
“Any complaints so far?” Saxon asked dryly.
“No!” several employees chorused, followed by another roar of laughter.
Saxon grinned. “That’s just the beginning. I’ll have more to say on the subject of changes later, and notices will be posted on the bulletin boards. When we get some of these improvements going, we’ll have another plant-wide meeting and review what’s been accomplished. Meanwhile if any of you has any reservations about the takeover, I want to know it. And from now on,” he added darkly, “if you hear any rumors, bring them straight to me. I’ll get to the bottom of it, and the perpetrator is going to find himself in a hell of a fix.
“One more thing,” he added, “I’m not offering you any handouts. These added benefits aren’t a bribe to keep you sweet. They’re an advance against your continued attention to detail and your pride in production of a superior line of clothing. I understand that the quality-control people here are bored to death because they can hardly find enough seconds, thirds and wash garments to keep them working. That says a hell of a lot for you people, and I appreciate it
. That’s why you’re getting raises. And if you keep putting out that kind of work, the raises will keep coming. If I make money, you make money, and later on we’ll even discuss some stock-sharing programs. Now let’s all get back to work.”
With a rumble of happy, startled conversation the employees began to disperse, while Maggie watched with a faint smile and shook her head in bewilderment.
“Kemp?” Saxon asked curtly.
The young executive cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Yes, Mr. Tremayne?”
“Come into the office with me. You and I have a little business to discuss.”
Saxon allowed Maggie to help him into the office and seat himself behind the big desk. “Okay, honey,” he told her, “go read a magazine or something. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Okay.” She grinned.
It was several minutes before the door to the office opened, and Kemp came out, his face pale. Maggie put down the magazine she’d been reading and went inside to help Saxon find his way back out.
“Now take me down to the cutting room,” he told Maggie. He looked big and confident and faintly triumphant, and not the least embarrassed about letting her guide him around. It was such a change from their first encounter since his blindness that she smiled.
“What did you do to him?” she asked as they walked down the long, wide aisle past the smiling women on the assembly line. “He rushed straight out the front door.”
“I put him in charge of the order department,” he told her, “and sent him off to lunch. The cutting-room foreman has been here for twenty years, and he’s been consistently passed over for promotion because of a disagreement he had with management over salaries. Apparently he’s the only department head on the place who wasn’t afraid to complain about the low pay.”
“Going to pat him on the back?” she teased.
“I’m going to give him Kemp’s job,” he said, smiling. “I need a man I can trust running things here, and he’s the shop foreman’s friend as well. Always remember, honey, if you delegate, be damned sure of your choices. A bad manager can cost you an arm, figuratively speaking.”
“Is there a union here?” she asked. “You mentioned a shop foreman, but—”
“There’s a union forming,” he replied. “The employees got desperate enough to vote it in, and even though I’m in management, after reviewing the operation here, I can’t honestly say I blame them.”
“Will Mr. Kemp stay on, do you think?”
“I don’t know. He’s been here for six years, Maggie, I couldn’t just boot him out the door without giving him a chance. He’s young yet, and making mistakes, but he’s got the opportunity to learn if he takes it.” He frowned. “Are we anywhere near the cutting room?”
“Just about. I’ve got homing pigeon instincts,” she added with a grin, squeezing the big hand she was holding as they turned the corner into the cutting room. “Trust me.”
“I’m beginning to see one of the benefits of this damned shrapnel,” he said with a faint smile. “I get to hold hands with you all the time.”
“You could do that if you weren’t blind,” she said.
“Could I really?” His voice was quiet and deep. “Or would you pack up and run if I regained my sight? You’re a lot less nervous of me now than you were when I could see, Maggie.”
She moved closer to his side, feeling a surge of warmth that made her want to throw her arms around him and hold tight. “When you had your sight,” she reminded him, “you could have had any woman you wanted.”
He drew in a sharp breath. “My God, you don’t think I’d want you if I could see? And you say I’m blind!”
She looked up, wanting to pursue that, when a big, husky man with red hair came walking toward them from the office nearby.
“Morning,” he said pleasantly, going to pass them.
“Good morning,” Saxon replied. “Can you tell me where to find Red Halley?”
The other man, every bit Saxon’s size, grinned. “You just did.”
Saxon stretched out his hand toward the man’s voice, “I’m Saxon Tremayne.”
“Glad to meet you,” Red said with a firm handshake. “That was a nice speech you made.”
“It wasn’t just a speech,” Saxon said quietly. “I meant every word. How would you feel about ram-rodding this operation for me?”
Red looked as if he’d tried to swallow a watermelon. “Me?”
“Mr. Kemp has just accepted the position of head order clerk. I’m offering you his old job.”
“Why?” Red burst out.
“Because you’re a fighter,” he replied. “I admire courage, Mr. Halley. I like executives who don’t dive under their desks when I start raising hell about production. I don’t think you will.”
“But I never finished technical school,” came the protest. “I lack three quarters—”
“There’s an excellent technical school less than ten miles away,” Saxon said, unabashed. “I’ll foot the bill while you complete your training at night school.”
Red sighed. “I’ll have to accept now, won’t I?” he asked with a sheepish grin.
“Don’t bother to thank me,” Saxon interrupted when the other man started to do just that. “You’ll earn every penny you get.”
“When do I start?”
“How soon can you get to the office?” Saxon asked. “Hand over your job to the man you feel is best qualified to replace you. Now I’ve got to get going. I’ve a pretty full schedule. Good luck.”
Red shook hands with him again and went off looking thunderstruck.
“Shall we go, Maggie?” Saxon asked after a minute.
She caught his hand and led him off toward the rear exit of the building. “I just stand in awe of you, Mr. Corporation Executive,” she told him. “Talk about grit.”
“You’re not exactly lacking in that department yourself, wildcat.” He chuckled. “Shall I wave goodbye to the girls as I go out the door?”
“It wouldn’t be good business,” she assured him. “They’re already drooling over you, you gorgeous hunk. If you give them any encouragement, you’ll be mobbed on the way out.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? Are they pretty?”
“Every last blessed one of them,” she grumbled, and meant it—even the plumper employees had attractive, smiling faces.
“Hmmm.” He laughed delightedly and put his arm around her, drawing her close. “Jealous, honey?”
“Murderously,” she agreed, going along with him.
“I wish that was the truth,” he said quietly, and his arm contracted. “But I suppose I expect too much. Take me home, Maggie,” he added before she could ask him what he meant.
“Have you ever considered writing a book on textile management?” she asked on the way home.
“A book? I’ve done articles,” he admitted. “But not a book.”
“It might be an interesting project,” she suggested. “The market isn’t flooded with them, and you’ve been in the business for quite some time.”
He leaned his dark head back against the seat with a frown. He felt in his pocket for a cigarette and lighted it. “My God, you’re full of surprises,” he murmured. “I seem to have come back to life since you got here.”
“I’ll agree with that,” she said. “But all you needed was a prod. You aren’t the type of man to sit down and go to seed.”
“Are you so sure of that?” he asked. “If you’ll remember, I’ve done very little for the past few months.”
She stopped at a traffic light on the outskirts of Jarrettsville. “Perhaps it was all that concerned kindness that clogged you up,” she teased. “You just needed a nurse who’d hit you over the head with a brick twice a day.”
He laughed. “What a way to treat a poor blind man!”
“You? Poor? Blind?” she excl
aimed.
“A man at least, surely,” he murmured.
She grinned, watching the light go green. “I’ve never had any doubts on that score.”
“Especially at certain times?” he murmured.
She was glad he couldn’t see the color in her cheeks. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she commented. “Trying to seduce innocent women in public places.”
“As I recall, I almost made it too.”
“I can’t deny that,” she admitted quietly. “I was more than willing. And I hope you aren’t going to take advantage of that,” she added. “I can’t help the way I respond to you. I’m too new at it to be very good at restraint. Especially when you’re offering me a kind of pleasure I’ve never experienced.”
His hand felt across the seat to catch hers and clasp it warmly. “That’s one thing I’ve always liked about you,” he said gently. “Your total lack of guile. You never lie to me, even when it embarrasses you to tell the truth.”
“Wouldn’t you know the difference?” she asked warmly.
“I think I would,” he murmured. He sighed and squeezed her hand. “All right, I’ll do my best not to back you into any corners. But I want you desperately. Surely you know that?”
“Yes,” she said. “I know.”
“Men are notoriously shrewd when their emotions take over. I wouldn’t consciously make you give in—but I can’t promise that I won’t ever lose my head. You’ve already had blatant proof that I’m not always in perfect control of myself.”
“Do you really want...just me, and not just a woman?” she asked, needing reassurance.
“You asked me that once before, and I blew up,” he recalled. “No, Maggie, I don’t just want a warm body. And even if I did, I’ve too much respect for you to use you that way. Satisfied?”
“I reckon,” she drawled. Her eyes slid sideways to study his face. If his life was changing, so was hers. She felt a part of him, a very necessary part. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d ever need another human being when he was all in one piece. He was self-sufficient and stubbornly independent. But now, without his sight, he was necessarily dependent on Maggie, and she loved being necessary to him—even in a small way.