Clear as Glass

by Lynn Kellan

  He rolled his eyes. “Discussing the future would be a waste of time.”

  The toneless indifference in his voice disturbed her. “I don’t understand why you think laying the groundwork for your business’s future is a waste. Does your father own the controlling interest in the factory?”

  “No. We have equal shares.”

  “Then you have just as much say in the future of this company as he does.” Not waiting for him to contradict her, she strode across the hall to her new office. Even though the room was small, the old metal desk had plenty of space for her laptop, along with a roomy drawer to stow her camera case.

  Mitch appeared in her doorway and shook his head. “Two days ago, this was the broom closet.”

  “This is luxurious compared to what I normally get. At least, I have a view of the meadow through the window.” Her cell phone chimed. “Sorry, I should check this message. I’ve been waiting to hear from my real estate agent.” She felt guilty for interrupting the conversation to respond to a text, but Mitch didn’t seem to mind. Sliding the sleek cell phone out of her jacket pocket, she glanced at the screen.

  Your condo is officially on the market. I put the 4 sale sign up this morning. Don’t worry, I won’t tell your Dad or your ex what you’re up to, just like you asked.

  Her father wouldn’t be pleased when he found out she’d detoured off the carefully mapped road to her future and severed ties with her boyfriend. With any luck, she’d buy enough time in this quiet valley to heal before her father demanded answers.

  Her quest for peace wouldn’t be easy if she had to deal with a big glassblower with a chip on his brawny shoulder. Would a dose of humor jar him out of his bad mood?

  “Introduce me to some of your employees.” She rubbed her palms together in her best imitation of a consultant ready to wreak havoc. “I need to figure out whom to fire.”

  Blue eyes contracted into two menacing slits.

  She took an exaggerated breath and grinned. “I love leaving a trail of destruction in my wake. Makes me feel giddy. Consultants enjoy making heads roll, you know. The rush is addictive.”

  “Aw, hell.” Mitch left her office and stomped away.

  She caught up with him in the hallway, giving him a blatant once-over. “I’ve never met a glassblower before. I expected you to be more avant-garde, since you’re an artist and all.”

  “I’m not an artist.”

  “Doesn’t feel good to be lumped into a group, right?” She linked her hands behind her back and walked beside him. “I wish you wouldn’t assume I’m like every other consultant you’ve encountered.”

  The length of his stride shortened. He nudged up the brim of his cap, revealing the bunched muscles along his forehead. “Are you always so sharp in the morning?”

  “Yes. Are you?”

  “Not until I have caffeine.” He resumed walking at his normal speed. “Do yourself a favor and avoid talking to me until I’ve had coffee. That’ll make life more pleasant while you’re living under my roof.”

  Again, her stomach did that strange somersault. Did he want her to stay? “I promised to move into a hotel later today.”

  “Right. Good luck with that.” He grinned.

  Jaye’s steps faltered at the handsome sight. She’d fall flat on her face if he ever gave her a full smile. Leery of what other surprises this man had in store, she followed him into a large office flanked by a wall of inboxes.

  “How long have you been consulting?” he asked, flipping through several pieces of mail.

  “Five years.” After putting in so much time, she’d finally merited a job offer from her father. Once she finished working for Blake Glassware, she’d become her father’s right-hand man, so to speak. She wondered when she’d start feeling excited about stepping into the role of Davis Software’s heir.

  Mitch tossed a catalog into a garbage can. “You’ve been jumping from job to job for five years?”

  “Many of my assignments have been long term. I was in Richmond for almost a year.”

  “I see.”

  The note of censure in his voice indicated he thought her itinerant lifestyle little better than a clown wandering the country in a traveling circus.

  A woman waddled into the office, maneuvering so her pregnant belly wouldn’t bump into the filing cabinet. “You must be our new consultant. Don’t worry, I’m not about to give birth to an elephant. I’m Sarah, the administrator for Blake Glassware.”

  “I’m Jayson Davis, but please call me Jaye.”

  Sarah pursed her lips. “My gosh, you look familiar. Have we met before?”

  Jaye’s optimism wavered. Her family lived three hours north of here. Had their photo appeared in the local papers? If so, her anonymity was in jeopardy. During the next four weeks, she wanted the freedom to be herself—whoever that was. “A lot of people say I remind them of someone. I must have a twin running around. I hope she’s nice.”

  “This will drive me crazy. I’ll figure out why I recognize you.” Sarah looked at Mitch, who watched their interaction with a mild scowl. “Don’t move, mister. Girl with a big stomach coming your way.”

  The scowl tilted into a grin. “What did I do now?”

  “You fixed things, as usual.” She navigated around a desk and wrapped her arms around Mitch’s sturdy shoulders, patting him on the back. “My son threw two perfect passes at the football game. He felt so much better after you took him out for a catch last week. I don’t know what you two talked about, but it worked.” She stepped back, holding him at arm’s length. “I love you for helping him, you know?”

  A dull flush crept up Mitch’s thick neck. “I just showed him a few ways to evade a tackle, that’s all.”

  “You gave my kid more coaching than he’s gotten during the past month.” Sarah squeezed his arm. “You should have seen him last night. He played great.”

  “I was there, watching my brothers.” He poked her in the shoulder. “You said hi to me at halftime.”

  “Oh, right. I swear, pregnancy makes me stupid.” Sarah laughed, her chin-length blonde curls bouncing. She turned toward Jaye. “Don’t hesitate to ask me anything, but I can’t guarantee I’ll remember the answer until after this baby is born.”

  “No problem.” Sarah’s open display of affection for Mitch disconcerted Jaye. Nobody at Davis Software hugged her father. Heck, Jaye couldn’t remember the last time she’d embraced her father. When she was eight, maybe? Heat prickled across her chest, a warning that her thoughts had ventured into uncomfortable territory. She unbuttoned her blazer, nudging apart the lapels to get some air.

  Mitch’s gaze landed on the open collar of her white blouse. The dull flush on his neck turned a deep red.

  A middle-aged brunette entered the room and tossed Jaye a smile. “Hello. I’m Veronica.”

  “Watch out,” Sarah warned with a wink. “Veronica does our accounts receivable. She’s really good at taking other people’s money.”

  Veronica scrutinized Jaye’s navy skirt and tweed blazer. “We get together at my house on Tuesday nights to play poker. Want to join us tomorrow?”

  “Sure. I like playing cards.”

  “Great. We accept IOUs if you run out of cash.” Veronica grinned, showing a row of slightly crooked teeth. “I want to win enough to buy a new desk lamp.”

  “You’ll have one month to collect the money,” Mitch advised. “Jaye is leaving at the end of November.”

  “Oh, darn.”

  “I’m surprised you expected her to be here for much longer.” He tossed more junk mail into the trash. “Consultants never stay in one place for long.”

  Jaye’s spine stiffened. “A contract extension could keep me around.”

  “I’ve yet to meet any specialist who inspired me to extend their contract,” he countered, jamming a letter into the back pocket of his jeans.

  Sarah and Veronica traded a look.

  “Extending a contract is definitely your prerogative,” Jaye agreed, forcing a saccharin
smile. “Especially if you need help developing an online marketing plan.”

  He snorted. “I don’t need that kind of help.”

  “Given your aversion to technology, I’m stunned to see electric lighting in your factory.” Jaye met his piercing gaze with a cheerful shrug. “Shall we continue the tour?”

  “Might as well.” Shoving the rest of his mail back into his mailbox, he strode out of the office.

  Jaye turned toward Sarah. “Does he always growl?”

  “Not when he’s happy. Then again, he hasn’t been happy for years.”

  Veronica drummed her fingertips on a desk. “Perhaps a consultant can turn things around.”

  “You’d have better luck with a magician.” Jaye hurried after Mitch, who was striding down the corridor.

  “The hallway to the right leads to shipping.” He gestured toward a small room. “We keep the copier and office supplies in here. My glassblowers eat their lunch in the conference room to escape the heat from the furnace. Don’t plan on using that room in the middle of the day.”

  “I’m a little confused.” She flicked her gaze around the immediate area. “Where is Accounts Payable? Marketing? Sales?”

  “My father does those jobs.” Mitch walked past her.

  She lunged, grabbing his forearm. His skin was very warm, evidence his internal furnace ran ten degrees hotter than most. Heat traveled through her palm, up her arm, and zipped toward the tips of her breasts. Jaye snatched back her hand.

  Mitch frowned at the part of his arm where she’d touched him.

  Through the safe fringe of her bangs, Jaye looked at him. “Did a consultant recommend paring down your staff even though you have only four people staffing your offices?”

  “No. He believed reducing the number of glassblowers would increase our profit margin.”

  “Oh.” She leaned back, letting her shoulders thud against the wall. “No wonder you don’t like consultants.”

  “I can always count on them to screw up my life.” Mitch tilted the brim of his cap. A devilish smirk chased the tension off his face. “Come with me. I need to feed the dragon. Months have passed since the last consultant arrived.”

  “Was he the one who recommended you fire some glassblowers?”

  “The very one.”

  “Then I have nothing to worry about. I’d never suggest firing glassblowers in the pursuit of profit.” An impish smile curled her lips. “I’d get rid of whoever runs the studio.”

  Mitch deserved that wisecrack, considering how rough he’d been on Jaye all morning. Anxious to return to his natural habitat, he opened the studio’s heavy door. A rush of heat and sound flooded the lobby.

  A furnace the size of a large dragon stood in the center of the studio. The fire in its belly glowed a bright orange. Contrary to what Mitch told Jaye, the furnace lived on a steady diet of silica, lime, ash, and barium.

  Jaye walked into the expansive room and stood a respectful distance from the steel beast. “This must be where you make the molten glass.”

  “This is the heart of the factory,” he acknowledged, feeling a surge of satisfaction at what he and his family had built. “Ingredients are heated to two thousand four hundred degrees to make glass.”

  She pointed to the smaller furnaces flanking the large one. “Those aren’t as hot. You use them to keep the glass malleable, right?”

  “You’ve done some homework.” Damn. Pretty and smart—a deadly combination. He needed to wake up to stay a step ahead. To his relief, he spotted a steaming pot of coffee on the nearby counter. He filled a mug with the black sludge. “Want some?”

  Jaye shook her head. “Where is the lehr?”

  He pointed to a large oven near the back of the room. “We use the lehr to cool finished pieces slowly so they don’t shatter.” Mitch swallowed a mouthful of coffee. The bitter brew cleared the cobwebs out of his brain. “Glass can explode if it’s not treated right.”

  “How often do pieces shatter?”

  “Around here, not much. If someone gets cut, we have an EMT who works in our shipping department. He can patch us up, but I usually take my guys to the hospital for stitches. A sharp piece of glass can cut deep.”

  Jaye’s gaze flowed up his left arm and down the right.

  Looking for cuts, no doubt. A tendril of pride crept up his spine. “I’ve never needed stitches.”

  “Oh. Right.” She looked away. The hollows of her cheeks pinkened.

  Another blush. He could get used to this. The painful tension gripping his shoulders dripped away. Swallowing another mouthful of coffee, he watched the orange light from the fire play across her pretty face. He was so distracted by the sight, he didn’t realize she was asking him a question until he saw the frown beneath her chestnut bangs. He raised his voice over the furnace’s roar. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  She took a hesitant step forward, tilting her pink lips toward his ear. “Glassblowers work in pairs, right? Who is your partner?”

  “Freddie.” Having her this close made his gut feel like he’d just swallowed a lit firework. He pointed across the room to his friend, who gave a cheerful salute in return.

  For several moments, she watched the glassblowers. “Your customers would love to see you at work. May I take pictures in the studio?”

  “No. Distractions need to be kept to a minimum while my men work with dangerous materials.” She was a dangerous distraction, but he didn’t voice the thought. “I don’t want to temporarily blind my guys with a camera’s flash while they’re working.”

  “I can shoot without a flash.”

  “The answer is still no. The only people I want close to the hot glass are my men.” He waited, curious to see how far she’d push to get what she wanted. If she acted like any other consultant, she’d go to his father to get her way.

  “Okay. No pictures.” With a shrug, she opened her hands. “Let’s talk about where you’d like to see Blake Glassware in the next five years.”

  “We’re known for our stemware, but I want to produce more than glasses. Crafting items like pitchers, vases, and bowls will appeal to our current customers and attract new ones. I spelled out my thoughts in the report I wrote for my father.”

  “May I read your report? I’d like to keep your vision in mind when I have lunch with Nick.”

  “I can email you a copy.”

  “Great. Use this address.” She handed him a business card listing her name, cell number, and email address. “Thanks for letting me crash at your house last night. Today, I’ll find another place to stay.”

  He tucked her card into the back pocket of his jeans. “I hate to be a killjoy, Miss Davis, but you won’t find one.”

  Her lips pressed together. “There’s got to be something available.”

  “We’re wedged between the Allegheny National Forest and the Appalachian Mountains. Around here, there’s more wildlife than people. Shinglehouse is too small to have a hotel. The only accommodations you’ll find are in Coudersport or Olean, and they’re booked for hunting season.” He scanned her white blouse, classy skirt, and shiny black heels. “A city girl like you may have a ton of street savvy, but that won’t help you find a vacancy in these back woods.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  A slow, sexy smile appeared on her extraordinary mouth. The lit firework in his belly exploded, embedding shards of carnal excitement into every vital organ. “Hell, yeah. Name your terms.”

  “If I find a hotel room, you have to stop calling me a consultant.”

  “And what do I get when you don’t find a hotel room?” He smirked. “Besides a roommate for the month.”

  Jaye’s winsome eyes narrowed. “If I lose the bet, I’ll cook dinner tonight.”

  “For just one night?” He shook his head. Fully caffeinated, his mind came up with a brilliant alternative. “Providing one meal isn’t much of a sacrifice, considering you’ll be living in my house for the next four weeks. Fix me a few meals, at least.”

  “Fin
e. I’ll cook dinner three nights a week, but I’ll take off Tuesdays to play poker with Sarah and Veronica. I won’t be around on weekends, so I can’t cook then. Fair enough?”

  “Deal.” He extended his hand.

  Her slender palm slid into his with a firm grasp.

  The soft feel of her skin beneath his fingers sent a jolt of satisfaction deep into his bones. “By the way, I’d like beef tonight.”

  Shaking her head, she laughed. “I can’t wait to watch you eat your words.”

  If eating his words meant she’d stay in his house, he’d wolf down every syllable.

  Chapter Four

  “I’m losing this stupid bet.” Jaye lifted her hands off her laptop and rubbed her temples. The time was past four o’clock and she still hadn’t found a hotel room.

  Jaye’s cell phone buzzed on her desk. She glanced at the text.

  “Where are you? What the hell is going on?”

  This message was different from the chatty ones David had been sending. Jaye wondered if he had realized she wasn’t coming back. With a tap on the screen, she deleted the text.

  Within a few seconds, another appeared.

  “Talk to me, Jaye.”

  “I’m done talking,” she muttered. For the past five weeks, their conversations had widened the puddle of sadness at the base of her soul. Wasn’t talking to your boyfriend supposed to make you happy?

  “You and I belong together. Who else understands you like I do?”

  He was right. David was the only one who understood the stifling expectations of her birthright. No one else could relate to her situation better.

  “Don’t run away. I know I hurt you, but I hurt every time you said no.”

  A knot tightened in her midsection. She never should have given into the temptation to say yes to David. Had she not fallen prey to his charm, she might have believed their breakup was his fault, not hers.

  “I’m determined to get better. I won’t let this sickness ruin our chances for happiness...”

  With a hasty swipe, Jaye shoved the phone into her briefcase.