An office door opened. Emily stood quickly, dropping her small purse on the floor in front of her. Because the universe had a mischievous sense of humor, most of the contents spilled out onto the rug at her feet. She scrambled to pick everything up and groaned when she saw her wallet had bounced beneath the chair she’d been sitting on. She bent but couldn’t reach it, so she went down onto her knees and grabbed it, stuffing it back into her bag before standing.
As she straightened she noted the polished pair of shoes standing less than a foot away. Her eyes scanned their way up a pair of charcoal trousers, a stark white shirt, and an expensive looking tie before landing on the face of the man the suit had obviously been tailored to fit. Her artistic eye missed nothing. Not the breadth of his chest, the strong lines of his jaw, nor the boldness of his hazel eyes. Mr. Barrington was not the soft suit she’d expected to meet after speaking to his mother. As much as the artist in her appreciated his symmetry, the woman in her was rocked back by the power emanating from him. Although they had yet to exchange a single word, Emily knew she was in the presence of a man who demanded instead of asked. She didn’t want to be, but for just a second or two she basked in the desire that kind of masculinity sent tingling through her. She knew she should say something, but the exact reason for her meeting with him temporarily eluded her. One of her curls sprang free and fell across her face. She swayed and continued to take in the perfection of the man before her.
His smile was cold and that helped remind Emily why she was there. He held out a hand toward her as he gave her another head-to-toe evaluation. “Emily Harris. It’s always a pleasure to meet one of my mother’s friends.”
Emily hesitated before placing her hand in his. Lying didn’t come easily to her. “I’m not actually—” Emily started to admit then stopped herself. She could only imagine what he’d say if she said the truth. I needed to talk to you, and you wouldn’t see me, so I asked my hair stylist if she could help. She knew someone who knew the nanny of a woman who plays bridge with your mother. A few phone calls. More than a little begging and explaining why I had to speak with you, and here I am. Right here. Holding on to your hand and wondering what the hell I can say to make you care about my plight. Emily pulled her hand free, squared her shoulders, and said, “Thank you for seeing me.”
Emily spent a good deal of time studying the faces of strangers and honing her skill when it came to capturing their essence in the clay sculptures she created for a living. Although she was far from famous, her work brought her a steady income, and that was more than many artists could say. She searched the expression on the man before her. His face was carefully devoid of emotion. He was a man in control, even of himself.
He glanced at the wall behind Emily, then down at her again. “You have ten minutes of my time. Follow me.” He walked back into his office without waiting to see if she would.
She met the eyes of the male assistant briefly. If she was hoping for some encouragement, there was none there. He looked away and started typing. Emily raised her chin and hoped she looked confident as she walked into what represented her first foray into the world of big business.
Mr. Barrington was sitting on the corner of his desk with his arms folded intimidatingly across his chest. “If you’re coming in, close the door behind you.”
“Sorry, of course,” Emily said more apologetically than she meant to. Damn it, I’m not sorry. I’m angry, and I have every right to be. She walked over to the chairs just in front of his desk.
He looked at her for a long moment. “Have a seat.”
Be strong. She swallowed hard and met his eyes again. “I’d rather stand.”
A spark of something lit his eyes briefly before his expression became guarded again. “What are you doing here, Ms. Harris?”
Emily clasped her hands in front of her and said firmly, “I came to give you a warning.”
His eyebrows rose ever so slightly in surprise, and a faint smile pulled at his lips. He lowered his hands to the desk on either side of him and leaned forward. “Really?” He glanced down at his watch. “This should be interesting.”
What a self-centered bastard. Emily’s back straightened with pride. Laugh now, but you won’t be amused when you realize how serious I am. “You may think you won in Welchton, but you haven’t. You don’t have my land yet, and you won’t get it. If you take me to court, I will win, no matter what your army of lawyers tell you.”
Asher leaned back and pressed a button on the phone on his desk. “Ryan, are we buying property in Welchton?”
The assistant’s voice came across on speakerphone. “Yes, sir. You wanted a northern New England research facility. We chose New Hampshire. You signed the paperwork to move forward with it.”
“I did. How far along is the project?”
“We have all the permits. We’re waiting to resolve one minor issue.”
“Is that issue a reluctant seller?” Asher’s eyes held Emily’s as he spoke.
“Yes, but we don’t foresee it being a problem for long.”
“Nor do I,” Asher said firmly. “Ryan, interesting fact about Ms. Harris. She’s from Welchton.” He hit the button on the phone again, ending the call. He rubbed his chin and studied Emily. “Let me guess: You feel your property is worth more than we offered.”
There it was, the opening for her to explain the reason she refused to sell. She had to believe he was a reasonable man. Once he heard the history of the property and her plans for it, he’d surely change his mind about buying it. “There is no amount that would convince me to sell. My family—”
He straightened to his full height and looked her over again. “No amount? How about double what they offered you?”
Emily clenched her hands at her sides. It wasn’t what he said, but how he said it, that was insulting. “Do you know what their proposal was?”
“No.”
Anger burned and grew within Emily. She took a deep breath, though, and told herself to remain calm. There was a chance he didn’t know what he was about to destroy. “If you’d give me a minute to explain, I think you’d feel—”
Asher stepped closer to her, watching her expression closely. “How I feel is irrelevant when it comes to business.” He stopped less than a foot in front of her, forcing Emily to crane her neck to look up at him. “Why don’t we end this little game now? Tell me what you’re holding out for, and I’ll tell you if you have a chance in hell of getting it.”
“This isn’t a game. The Harris Tactile Museum is six months from completion. Maybe if you came up to see it, you’d understand how important it is.”
He didn’t look the least bit interested. “I’m sure our offer took your relocation cost into account. If not, counter with an amount that would, and my people will crunch the numbers.”
“I’m not selling, Mr. Barrington. Period. I won’t let you steal my land, and that’s what you’d be doing, even if you did it in a court of law. Having enough money to buy the outcome you want doesn’t make it right.”
His smile was indulgent and Emily, who considered herself a non-violent woman, was tempted to smack it off his face. “I like your spirit, Ms. Harris, but that doesn’t change that you’re standing between me and something I want. If I were you, I’d put together a counterproposal you can live with. I’ll give you my email. You can send it to me personally, and I’ll make sure it’s at least considered.”
She leaned toward him and threatened, “I may not have money, but I care about this museum, and other people will, too. I won’t be sending you a counteroffer, because I’m not selling.”
A corner of his mouth curled in a way that sent waves of heat through Emily. “I always get what I want, Ms. Harris.”
Emily stepped back. “Not this time.” She walked out and closed the door firmly behind her, taking a brief moment to lean against it for support before pushing off. She defiantly moved her wayward curl off her face and held her head high as she walked past the desk of Asher Barrington’s snooty a
ssistant.
Chapter Two
‡
I can’t believe I thought he’d care. What a pompous jackass. “I always get what I want.” Well, not this time, buddy. My mother didn’t let anything stop her from following her dreams, and I won’t let someone like you stop me from building a tribute to her. As she drove out of Boston and into one of the surrounding suburbs, she rehashed her heated meeting with Mr. I’ll make sure it’s at least considered Barrington again and again. Jerk.
I should have kept my cool. I should have spoken more about my mother and the reason the museum needs to be where I’m building it.
Not that he probably would have cared. Bastard.
I was hoping to do this the easy way, but it looks like I have to go with plan B.
Obstacles are opportunities if you’re brave enough to take them on. That was what her mother had always said. Emily refused to give up. Determination was in her genes just as surely as art was.
Her mother, Wendy Harris, had lived a life that had inspired everyone who knew her. Born blind, she hadn’t let that stop her from becoming an artist, a painter at that. Her works were uniquely tactile. She’d pushed the limits of what was considered a painting and had developed a technique that brought a three-dimensional element to her artwork.
Emily’s own appreciation for art had been acquired at her mother’s knee. They’d spent countless afternoons in museums. Her mother would ask Emily to describe a painting, first with what she saw, but then with greater detail about how the painting made her feel. Eventually Emily began to use clay to make the paintings her mother loved even more accessible to her.
Her mother had dreamed of creating a museum where people could run their hands over every piece of artwork displayed. A place where those who could not see were not banned from experiencing masterpieces. Nothing would stop Emily from making that museum a reality.
Determination made it possible for Emily to consider the unthinkable. Plan B was bold and more than a little underhanded. To some degree she felt like a snitch, but she steeled herself against her doubts. She was desperate.
She hit redial on her phone. A woman answered. “Mrs. Barrington?”
“Emily? Do call me Sophie. Mrs. Barrington sounds like I’m one hundred years old.” Sophie’s next comment was directed to her husband, Dale. “It’s the woman from New Hampshire who is building a museum.” She paused as if listening to a response from her husband before saying, “Did you make it to Boston?”
“I did. I’m actually driving back to my hotel in Newton.”
“That’s only a town over from us.”
I know. “What a coincidence,” Emily said instead.
“My husband and I are just about to have lunch. If you have time, we’d love to meet you in person. You could tell us all about your meeting with our son.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Emily said with just the right amount of pleased surprise.
Emily pulled into a highway rest area and typed the address into her GPS. She told Sophie she’d be there in less than an hour. After hanging up, she stayed in her car, taking deep breaths and telling herself she was doing the right thing.
When her nerves had settled somewhat, she called her best friend for support. It rang through to voice mail the first time, but Emily called back. Come on, Celeste. Pick up.
When Celeste finally answered, she said, “I’m in a meeting with a client. Can we talk later?”
“This is an emergency.”
“I need to take this call. Tim, could you take over for a minute? I’ll be right back,” Celeste said. A moment later, she asked, “Did you break down on the side of the road? Are you hurt?”
“My car is fine. I’m fine.”
“Then what’s the emergency? I’m meeting with a new client right now who has flown in from New York. This could be big, Em.”
Emily instantly felt badly about interrupting her, but they’d been best friends since kindergarten and, although Celeste had moved to Boston after college, they’d kept that friendship close by staying involved in each other’s lives. “Remember how I told you I was going to go see Asher Barrington? I just left that meeting. It didn’t go well. So, I’m moving onto Plan B.”
“Wait, is that the crazy idea you had about befriending his parents and guilting him into moving his facility?”
“It’s not crazy. Some people listen to their parents. It’s worth a shot, anyway.”
“Don’t do this. I know a few lawyers. I’ll call one tomorrow.”
“I don’t have money for a big-city lawyer. All my money is tied up in the museum. You know that.”
Celeste sighed. “I could try to talk one of them into doing it pro bono.”
Emily gripped the steering wheel tightly. “You think they’d take on B&H for free?”
Celeste made a frustrated sound. “No, probably not. You really went to see Asher Barrington?”
“Yes, and you would have been proud of me. I didn’t let him intimidate me. I made it clear I wouldn’t sell my land at any price.”
“That must not have gone over well. What did he say?”
“He said he always gets what he wants.”
“Oh, boy. And then?”
“I told him he wouldn’t this time. And I walked out.”
“And now you’re off to meet his parents?”
Emily looked around at the parking lot she hadn’t yet built up the nerve to leave. “It’s the only way, Celeste. He doesn’t care who he hurts or even about the facility he’s building up there. He didn’t even know how far along the project was. Maybe he won’t care what his parents think either, but what other choice do I have? The museum is so close to being ready to open its doors. I can’t let him take that from me, from everyone who would enjoy it.”
“Em, this has trouble written all over it. I don’t like it.”
“That’s not good. I was hoping you could give me one of your pep talks. I’m more nervous than I thought I’d be.”
“That’s because you know this is wrong. Emily, you don’t have a manipulative bone in your body. You’ve never been a good liar. Oh my God, remember that time you accidentally walked out of a store with an extra item in your cart and almost got arrested because you had to return it and confess? Anyone else would have left it there or taken it with them and not thought twice about it, but you couldn’t. It’s part of what I love about you, but it’s also why this will never work.”
Emily put her car in drive and pulled back out onto the highway. “I can’t be that person right now, Celeste. I have to be stronger than that. Tell me this can work. Even if you don’t believe it. Just say it. I need to hear it.”
After a long quiet moment, Celeste said, “If anyone can get someone’s parents to love them, it’s you, Emily. Just be careful. Yes, your mother wanted you to finish her dream, but your safety would have mattered to her more than any building ever could.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“You’re way out of your league, Em, and I’m saying this as a friend who loves you like a sister. You’re not a fighter; you never have been. Do you remember when Donnie Allan tried to rough you up for your lunch money? I told you to punch him in the face. You sold brownies from the end of your driveway for a week to raise enough money so you could both have lunch.”
“Yes, and it worked. I gave him the money, but I was firm that it was a one-time deal. He never bothered me again after that.”
“That’s because I threatened to tell everyone he wore his sister’s underpants if he didn’t leave you alone.”
“Oh my God, you never said a word.”
Celeste made a strangled sound. “You’re a nice person, Em. There’s nothing wrong with that. You like to believe there is good in everyone, but sometimes there isn’t. Donnie was a bully. Your way doesn’t win against that. I’m afraid nice won’t win with B&H either. I wish I had the connections to help you with this, but I don’t.”
A lump of emotion clogged Emily’s throat and m
ade it difficult to get the next words out. “I don’t have a Plan C. This is it. If I go home now, it’s over. I’m doing this, Celeste. Even if it’s the craziest idea you’ve ever heard, tell me it’ll work. I need my best friend to believe in me right now.”
In a tone that revealed how much Emily’s plea had moved Celeste, she said, “You’ve got this, Emily. Call me after you win his family over.”
After a long jog along the Charles River, Asher took the elevator up to his penthouse apartment in Beacon Hill. He downed a glass of water and checked the messages on his phone while heading toward his bedroom. His mother had called but hadn’t left a voice message.
He threw his phone on his bed and stripped. He’d shower, have something quick to eat, then deal with whatever manner of family crisis she wanted his help with this time. As the oldest of six children, there was always something.
He turned on the shower and stepped beneath the hot spray. Six children. If he’d ever doubted his parents’ sanity, the number of children they’d decided to have was evidence enough they were both crazy. Five boys and one girl. He wasn’t sure if his parents had stopped having children because they finally had a little girl, or if more hadn’t been possible, but either way they had done more than their fair share in populating the planet.
Asher turned his back so the water massaged his shoulders. It had been a very long day, but he’d done what he’d set out to do. He’d made contact with the man Dominic had directed him to, and if all went as planned the rebels would have a nasty fight on their hands very soon. It was an expensive and dangerous course to take, but he’d been down that road in other countries and won. Being a hammer had its advantages. He won again and again because he’d built a reputation for smashing through whatever was in his way. In business, few people had the nerve to stand up to him and those who did were quickly, decisively, shown why they shouldn’t attempt it again.
Everything would be a hell of a lot easier if he could apply the rules of business to his private life. Both his parents and siblings were as frustrating as trying to walk across a floor covered with marbles. He’d fought for a life where things made sense and he was in control, but he had no control over his family.
Always Mine (The Barrington Billionaires, Book 1) Page 2