The Magnate's Manifesto

by Jennifer Hayward

  He let out a muttered oath, his gaze on her face. “Tell me it wasn’t something illegal. Whatever it is you’re hiding.”

  Illegal? She stared at him in disbelief. What the? The flare of anxiety in his eyes, the frown furrowing his brow, made it hit home. His father. Of course he would be afraid of scandal…. Her stomach lurched dangerously. She wanted to tell him, to reassure him it had everything to do with her, but she could not.

  She put her hand on his arm, her gaze imploring him. “It’s nothing like that. It’s a personal matter Jared, that’s all. You need to trust me on this.”

  He stared at her long and hard. As if he wasn’t sure what to do with her. Then he let out a long breath. “Okay, this is how we’re going to play it. We are going to walk into that room, blow them away with our ideas and win this contract. You are not going to be distracted. You are not going to address Alexander in any way, shape or form unless he asks you a question. Play to Davide, play to the other two. But do not let Alexander shake you.”

  Relief flooded through her. He wasn’t going to push her. She could have kissed him except that had been a bad idea. “Got it,” she said firmly. “You can trust me.”

  His gaze singed hers. “Too bad that doesn’t go both ways.”

  She shook her head. “It does, I swear it. This is just…different.”

  The furrow in his brow deepened. “Someone’s done a number on you, Bailey.”

  How about her life? Did that count?

  He made a rough sound in his throat. “We have ten minutes. We should go set up.”

  She nodded and found her notes.

  * * *

  If Jared had expected Bailey to be shaky and off her game in the presentation, he was proven wrong. Something switched on in her brain when she walked into that room. Her survival instincts, he figured. She plowed through her slides with a steely determination and enthusiasm that made everyone at the table catch the spirit and engage. He watched that sharp brain of hers ignite, gather momentum as she fed off the feedback she was getting from the table and push her ideas to an even higher creative level. Not once did she look at Alexander, except to answer his pointed and often challenging questions.

  His own strategies had been solid, but they had been lacking the marketing savvy Bailey possessed. Together they made a formidable team.

  Don’t fight the exodus from retail, she was counseling now, pointing at the screen. Touch consumers where they work and play, show them what they are missing in a lifestyle setting like a yoga studio that drives it home for them, then sell to them on the spot with the kiosks.

  “Intriguing,” Alexander conceded, “if a bit sacrilegious to a retailer like me. You’re asking us to focus our marketing budget outside of the stores?”

  “Some of it, yes,” Bailey said, nodding. “It’s a reality that people are moving away from brick-and-mortar retail to the online space. You need to get ahead of the trend now.”

  Alexander got to his feet and started pacing the room, a technique Jared figured he used to intimidate. “Yoga is niche, however. How is this really going to impact our bottom line?”

  “You replicate it.” Bailey flipped to her next slide. “You train demo staff, send them not just to yoga studios, but to running centers, health and wellness clinics, gyms… You seed the instructors first, make them fall in love with the product, and then you capture their students.”

  Alexander didn’t look convinced. Bailey plunged on, undeterred. When she’d finished the last of the slides and Jared had closed with a “why Stone Industries” recap, they wrapped the presentation.

  Davide looked at his son. “What do you think?”

  “I like it,” Alexander said, nodding. “I think the direct-to-consumer ideas are the strongest, they fit with our strategy, our target markets, but I am skeptical they can be rolled out on a large scale. And,” he added, dropping a file folder on the table in front of Jared, “I am worried from this latest consumer research that you’ve alienated the target female consumer with your manifesto. You’ve dropped ten points in intent to buy with females since it happened.”

  Jared eyed the file in disbelief. “They’ll be back up by next week. This is a flash in the pan.” And you know it.

  “Perhaps.” Gagnon lifted a brow. “But the fact remains, the female demographic is our most important to capture right now. We can’t afford to partner with a company that’s alienated the market segment.”

  “It won’t last,” Jared repeated on a low growl.

  “Likely not,” Alexander agreed. “Your ideas are creative and sound. But I’m afraid I’m going to need market research to buy into them. So we’re not all having a little enthusiasm party here that isn’t based on reality.”

  Jared folded his hands in front of him, struggling to control his anger. “That will take time.” He had a board meeting in two weeks he needed this deal signed, sealed and delivered for if he wanted to maintain control of his company.

  Alexander shrugged. “We’d like you to repitch next week in Paris.” He lifted a brow. “You’re a busy man. If you have other engagements, send Bailey back to Paris with me. I can weigh in with what I know works and we can chew away at it.”

  Bailey turned gray. Jared’s blood heated to a dangerous level. So this was Alexander’s game? Taking care of unfinished business with Bailey? Whatever that was…

  He looked at Davide but the Frenchman’s expression was one of deference to his son. And Jared had nothing to work with but a botched attempt at humor instigated by a slightly wounded heart and a massive complication between his CMO and Maison’s soon-to-be CEO.

  He gathered the papers in front of him together with a viciously efficient movement, refusing to let the fury simmering in his veins find an outlet. “That’s very kind of you. But I have a friend with a villa on the outskirts of Nice. Bailey and I will regroup there, flesh the ideas out, and we’ll present in Paris.”

  “I should add,” Davide interjected, “that Alexander has indicated he’d like to hear from Gehrig Electronics as well.”

  Jared felt the earth tilt beneath his feet. “You’re adding another company to the mix?”

  Davide nodded. “We feel we need to do due diligence given some product launches we’ve been made aware of.”

  Due diligence. Jared felt the fumes rise off him. Gehrig hadn’t been a factor until Alexander Gagnon arrived on the scene. His gaze flickered to Davide’s son, sitting with his elbow on the table, jaw resting in his palm as he watched Jared with the intense interest of a hawk studying its prey. Davide had been right. His son liked to win. Except this had nothing to do with business and everything to do with Bailey.

  Frustration clawed at him like a knife. He needed to be back in the States massaging an antsy board. But unless he wanted to muddy the waters with everything he didn’t know, make accusations he wasn’t sure of, he had no choice but to play along.

  He forced what he was sure was a poor representation of a smile to his lips and stood up. “We totally understand. No problem, gentlemen. Let the best candidate win.”

  They answered a few more questions from the marketing team and made arrangements to pitch in Paris the week after. Then he and Bailey left to pack.

  She stopped him outside their rooms, her hand on his arm, her face devoid of color. “I’m so sorry, Jared. This is my fault. I should have taken myself out of the deal.”

  He lifted his head. “You heard his reasons. He thinks I’ve alienated the female demographic.”

  “Yes, but—” She hesitated, worrying her lip between her teeth.

  “He’s playing games, yes,” he growled. “We will talk more in Nice. Much more, Bailey. But if he wants to make this personal? Let him. I don’t intend to lose.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  BY DAY THREE in Nice, Jared was feeling good about the progress they’d made on the presentation. They were holed up in a villa in the hills overlooking the sea owned by one of his friends, where the outside world was a distant distraction and
pretty much everything else could wait.

  Bailey had been in charge of scaling the creative ideas and adding in the market research data Alexander had requested. Which had, thankfully, proved them extremely viable. Jared concentrated on countering the intent-to-purchase consumer data Alexander had magically come up with, while also carrying out a full analysis of their competition, Gehrig Electronics, to uncover weak spots they could exploit. Unfortunately, Gehrig was a strong prospect with a rich technological heritage, a company going through a hot streak. And consumers loved buzz.

  He tossed his pen down on Hans’s desk. They would beat Gehrig, because although the other manufacturer had good products coming, he had better ones. Inspired ones that would set the world on fire. And although he’d had a whole strategic plan in place to unveil those products to the world, maybe it was time to let the cat out of the bag.

  He got up and walked over to the window that overlooked the terrace. Bailey was sitting in a lounge chair in the sunshine, bent over her computer, hard at work as she had been for the past three fifteen-hour days. Invaluable to him. And his ticking time bomb all in one beautiful package.

  She wasn’t talking. She refused to address Alexander when he brought him up. It was a problem.

  His mobile pealed from the corner of the desk. He walked over and retrieved it. Sam Walters. Great.

  “Sam.” He cradled the phone to his ear as he sat down and swung his feet up onto the desk.

  “You didn’t call. What’s going on with Maison? I’m getting all sorts of questions I can’t answer.”

  Join the crowd. His jaw came together with a resounding crunch. “Davide’s passed the decision to his son, Alexander, who will become CEO next year. Alexander has decided he needs to do due diligence and give Gehrig Electronics a shot at the partnership. We’re revamping the presentation to pitch against them next week.”

  “Gehrig? I thought this was a one-horse race?”

  “Not anymore. Apparently my manifesto has dropped our brand rating with female consumers.”

  There was a long pause. Jared sighed. “Don’t say it, Sam.”

  “You know I have to…the next time you get inspired to philosophize, Jared…don’t.”

  His lips twisted. “I would heartily agree with you, but that horse is out of the gate. Now we have to win.”

  “Yes, you do. You know I’m doing everything I can to shore things up for you until you get those products to market. But this will make a statement.”

  The muscles in his head clenched like a vise, a deep throb radiating through his skull. “I’m ultra-clear on this, Sam. Mea culpa, my mess. We will win. Meanwhile, let me know if you’ve got anything on Gehrig. I have a week to pull them apart.”

  “I’ll make some calls.”

  “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

  “Jared?”

  “Mmm?”

  “You created Stone Industries. You’re the only man who should be leading it. That’s all the focus you need.”

  A smile curved his lips. “Thanks for having my back, Sam.”

  He put the phone down. Wondered what he would have done if he hadn’t bumped into Sam at a start-up conference in the Valley and begun a lifelong friendship with the mentor who’d taken him under his wing when his father had gone AWOL. Who’d taught him that sometimes you could trust a person, that sometimes they were always there for you. And for a young, hotheaded Jared with an astronomically successful start-up on his hands, it had meant the difference between being a dot-com failure and the solid, profitable company Stone Industries was today.

  An email brought his attention back to his computer screen. It was from his PI, Danny.

  Bingo. Can I say, this one was my pleasure?

  Why that made his insides twist, he didn’t know. He opened the report, printed it and threw it in a folder. He also didn’t know why he did that. Maybe he wanted to give Bailey a chance to tell him herself first. Maybe as he’d said from the beginning, trust was paramount to him. And maybe he knew what it was like to avoid the past because it only brought pain with it. And you couldn’t change it no matter how much you wanted to.

  Maybe he liked Bailey St. John far more than he was willing to admit.

  * * *

  Bailey was bleary-eyed by the time she dragged herself away from her computer to join Jared for dinner on the intimate little seaside terrace of the villa that overlooked the Mediterranean Sea. Smaller and cozier than Davide Gagnon’s showpiece of a home, it was luxurious but understated. The kind of place you could hide away forever in.

  If only she could.

  She pushed her hair away from her face and took a long sip of the full-bodied red Jared had unearthed from the cellar. You didn’t actually relax when your boss looked as if he wanted to toss you off the cliff you were sitting on into the glorious azure water below. When decisions you’d made in the past suddenly seemed questionable when at the time, they’d seemed like the only way out.

  Jared topped up her glass and stood up. “We’re taking a break from work tonight. Both our brains are fried.”

  True. She stifled a surge of relief as she surveyed him in jeans and a navy T-shirt. Then thought maybe it was a bad idea because work had meant there was no space in her brain to remember that kiss.

  “I think I might try to get some sleep,” she demurred. “I haven’t been doing so much of that.”

  He stared her down. “I built a fire in the pit. Sky’s perfect for star spotting.”

  “And here I did not figure you for a Boy Scout.”

  “The wood was there,” he said drily. “I piled it up. Come.”

  He picked up his glass and a blue folder he’d left on the chair and started walking down the hill. Hadn’t he said no business? Maybe there was a detail he wanted to chew over, and that was good because then they wouldn’t be diverging into the personal and Jared wouldn’t be prying for information on Alexander Gagnon.

  She stood up and followed him down to the fire pit with her wine. A series of big boulders with flat surfaces had been positioned around the pit to sit on. She lowered herself on one and watched as Jared lit the paper and coaxed the fire into a steady flame. “My father loved fires,” he said. “Used to see how big he could make them go.”

  “How old were you when your father embezzled the money?”

  He glanced at her, his profile hard and unyielding in the firelight. “More questions while you remain a mystery?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “You brought him up.”

  “I was in my second year of university.”

  “That’s why you dropped out?”

  “Yes.” He walked around and agitated the logs with a stick. “My parents had been helping me. I couldn’t afford it after we lost everything.”

  “What happened to your father when it was discovered he took the money?”

  He put the stick down and came to sit beside her on a neighboring rock. “He went to jail for three years.”

  Oh. She’d wondered if the more lenient laws on white-collar crime had kept him out of jail. “What does he do now?”

  He stretched his long legs out in front of him and looked into the fire. “While he was in jail, my mother divorced him and married the head of the European Central Bank. When my father got out, he disappeared. I had him traced to the Caribbean, where he’s been living in a hut on the beach ever since.”

  Wow. She tried to digest it all. “Do you have any idea why he did it?”

  His lip curled, emphasizing the rather dangerous-looking, twisting white scar that ran across it. “Why he stole money from his employer and his closest friends? I’d have to be a psychologist to diagnose, but it might have something to do with my mother. She bled him dry every day of his life. And it was still never enough.”

  She pulled in a breath. Well, there you go. When you had attitudes like his, they came from somewhere. “What do you mean, bled him dry?”

  He looked back at the fire. “She didn’t know when to stop. My father made a fortune i
n investment banking, but you could tell in the later years, he was done. He needed a break. But she never let him back off. Their wealth defined her. When she couldn’t flash the latest hundred-thousand-dollar Maserati in front of her friends, when my father failed to provide, she left.” His jaw hardened as he turned to her. “And if you’re going to ask what happened then, my father lost the plot completely. As in his mind.”

  She looked over at him in the silence that followed, as big as any she’d encountered. “Still? Is he still like that?”

  He kept his gaze trained on the leaping flames. “I haven’t talked to him in a long time. I don’t know. I send him money every month and he takes it.”

  She stared at him. How hard that must have been. How much it must have hurt. His manifesto made so much sense to her all of a sudden.

  “Not all women are like your mother, Jared. I’m not.”

  “See, here’s where I’m having a problem with that, Bailey.” His low, tight tone sent a frisson of warning dancing across her skin. “I don’t even know who you are. I have a multimillion-dollar deal tangled up in a woman with a past that could bring it crashing down around us. And you won’t talk.”

  She flinched. “I’ve told you all that’s relevant.”

  “Now you’re going to tell me the real story.” He picked up the folder sitting beside him and waved it at her. “This is where it ends.”

  She stared at the folder, her heart speeding up. “What is that?”

  “It’s your past, Bailey. In one convenient little package.”

  He was holding it with his far hand, far enough out of her reach that she never could have gotten to it. But she realized that wasn’t the exercise.

  “Who did it?” she demanded quietly.

  “My PI. And trust me when I say he didn’t miss anything.”