Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  A wince crossed Fletcher’s handsome face. The photos depicted his brother, Griffin, with his hands on either side of a pony’s head, gentling it while Fletch himself sat on a split rail fence watching with a grin. The shot clearly depicted the Fletcher’s Gear logo on the front of the T-shirt he wore.

  “Looks pretty good on you, Mr. Wolf,” I said, smiling. “Maybe I should hire you for the next ad campaign. By the way, Mr. Muckenmyer, sales figures show that Fletcher Tool and Gear purchased twenty thousand dollars worth of product from my company. That’s a lot of T-shirts. Seems a mite inconsistent.”

  AnnMarie took over the argument. “Unclean hands, Mike. Fletcher Tool and Gear cannot, in good faith, complain about Fletcher’s Gear while making volume purchases thereof.”

  “Mr. Wolf really didn’t have a choice. He’d alienate his customer base if he didn’t make some attempt to meet their demands. We’re sure the court will accept this explanation. You can’t claim bad faith when a businessman merely gives the customers what they want.”

  “Yeah, but why’s he wearing my shirt?” I asked.

  “I like your shirt,” Fletch said calmly. “And I like this photograph. Is this my copy? My mother will love this shot of Griff. You remember my brother Griffin, don’t you, Cara? You met him in Ithaca in June.”

  Ann nailed me with a hard, level stare. Her brows lifted so high they merged with her clipped, silvery bangs. Consorting with the enemy, said her steely gaze. I squirmed, then relaxed as Muckenmyer shot Fletcher an equally nasty scowl. Fletch kept a mild smile on his face as he watched the interactions. He was amused, the wretch. More than anything else, that scared me.

  He continued, “Griff helps out at the Assateague Pony Penning, when the wild ponies of the barrier islands are given exams by local vets, and excess stock sold at auction. We go every year. It’s an exciting event. Surveillance, huh, Cara?”

  I couldn’t meet his gaze, but stared straight ahead. “I’m being stalked and victimized. It isn’t fun.”

  “Yes, and it’s cost you a lot of money. Upwards of a quarter million, right? But that’s not the end of your financial problems.” He nodded at Mike to continue.

  “The documents discovered to us were both complete and instructive.” Mike opened a notebook, removing a stack of papers.

  “Let me see that!” Seated between the attorneys, I was in an excellent position to grab the stapled stack from Mike. “Good God, Ann, you gave him everything!” I glared at Ann, then stood. “I’d like an opportunity to speak with my attorney privately.”

  Mike waved his hand. “You can use my office. It’s at the end of the hall.”

  I stalked out, Ann following.

  Chapter 10

  Slamming the door of Muckenmyer’s office shut, I wheeled to face my lawyer. “Ann, you sent him everything! Didn’t you read Maggie’s note?”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know exactly what happened. I was in trial in D.C. on a major patent case when the response to the document demand was due. One of the other attorneys in the firm took care of it. He must not have seen the letter. What did it say?”

  I sagged into a chair, drawing a deep, shuddering breath. “I couldn’t figure out exactly what they wanted, so we sent everything over to you. All of our financial reports and current records. The note told you to cull out the parts relating to Fletcher’s Gear and to send only that!”

  She swore. “How bad is it?”

  “Awful. He knows exactly how vulnerable we are right now. Things are worse than ever, and I’m clueless. I just don’t know where the hell the money goes. Maggie doesn’t have any explanations, either. The clothes are selling like hotcakes, but we’re more in debt than ever.”

  “This is bad. Everything we’ve learned today erases the advantage we had by winning the first hearing.”

  “He’s closing in.” I couldn’t keep my voice from rising in panic. “He’ll bring me down as though I’m a crippled doe.”

  “I’m sorry, but try to be calm. We’re anticipating a disaster which doesn’t yet exist, and may never. Let’s just go back in there and listen to their settlement proposal. Avoid reacting in any way. We’ll tell them we’ll consider their offer and get back to them in a few days.”

  ~*~

  I made a point of re-entering the conference room with a straight back and squared jaw. Finally, I wished I’d worn a suit. My casual garb may have affected the tenor of the meeting. Eying Wolf and his attorney, who sat with similar expressions of watchful patience, I changed my mind. The fanciest outfit wouldn’t have made a difference. They’d meticulously crafted their presentation. Nothing had been left to chance.

  After Ann and I sat, Mike picked up from where he’d left off. “We were about to embark upon a discussion of the precarious financial condition of your company, Ms. Fletcher.”

  “The financial condition of Cara Fletcher Couture is not your concern,” I snapped, feeling like a caged tigress. “Get to the point. What’s your settlement proposal?”

  “In a moment. First let’s discuss your losses, which are, er, stunning. Although you’ve sold ten million dollars worth of stock during the first two quarters of this year, you were unable to make a dent in your indebtedness of four point five million. Although payments are current, your debt actually grew to five point two million. The fact is, Cara Fletcher Couture is unable to prosper long term and, at this moment, won’t survive a direct frontal attack.”

  I tried not to throw up as Muckenmyer brutally described what I already knew. The financial health of the company had gone from unhealthy to terminal. As he droned on, I began to loathe his professorial smugness. “Fletcher’s Gear is the most successful line that your company produces. You’re to be congratulated, Ms. Fletcher. In less than a year, your men’s sportswear division has garnered an appreciable market share in a targeted, upscale group. However, we believe that we can show that the popularity of the Fletcher’s Gear line is not just due to the admittedly high quality of the clothes and the designs. The fact that the Fletcher Gear name was recognized by a large portion of the public contributed to the success of the clothes. Mr. Wolf intends to share in that success.”

  “If all I have are debts, Mr. Wolf is welcome to share in them.” I kept my fists under the table. I might clobber one of the lawyers if I didn’t keep myself under control. How could Ann have screwed up so bad?

  Mike Muckenmyer ignored her comment. “Structurally, it’s not possible to split off the Fletcher’s Gear line and eliminate it, partially because it’s so successful and also because of the integrated structure of your company.”

  “The structure of my company is, again, none of your concern.”

  I had been uneasily aware of Fletcher hovering around this meeting, present but not quite participating. What’s his game? I wondered yet again. Now he moved restlessly, spoke impatiently. “Mike, we’ve been arguing for what seems like hours. The only people who gain are you and Ann. Let’s end this, now.”

  I tensed as Muckenmyer tossed a sheet of paper at me. I recognized his rudeness as a deliberate ploy to make me feel small, to demean me. What a jerk.

  “Here’s an estimate of the annual value of the Fletcher’s Gear name to Cara Fletcher Couture, based on the comparative net sales of Fletcher’s Gear and the other divisions. One million dollars, every year, give or take a few grand. So the damages to Fletcher Tool and Gear are one million dollars annually for an unknown period of time. That’s legal damages, Ms. Fletcher, not damage or hurt in a literal sense.”

  One million dollars! The man was daft.

  “Here’s our settlement demand.” Michael Muckenmyer lounged back into his seat. I leaned forward, then caught myself looking too eager. I made a show of flipping back my hair as I propped my elbows on the table.

  “We will license the Fletcher Gear name to Cara Fletcher Couture for an annual fee of one million dollars, rising to one point three million in five years. Thereafter we’ll renegotiate based upon the same comparative sales data w
e’ve used today.”

  I laughed with disbelief, then rose. I bit my lips, trying to avoid letting loose every colorful expletive I’d learned from Manhattan’s endearing street people. “If that’s your best offer, we’re outta here. Come on, Ann.” I turned and made for the door, my vision clouding with tears and shock. That rat bastard knew I couldn’t do it!

  As I touched the doorknob, Muckenmyer spoke again. “Ms. Fletcher, I imagine you don’t relish the thought of adding to your debt load. But consider this. Purchasing the name is productive. You spend money, you make money. The tens of thousands you waste on this litigation is unproductive and, in the end, futile.”

  Compressing my lips, I tugged open the door, eager to leave before I fell into complete hysteria. As I stepped out, I heard Ann ask, “Mike, for how long is this offer open?”

  In the hall, I fumbled for a tissue and dabbed my eyes while I listened for Muckenmyer’s response. “Until midnight tonight.”

  “What?!” Ann’s voice jerked up so high it squeaked. In another situation, I would have thought it funny. Instead, I tottered down the hall while Ann continued to protest. “You well know that we need more time than that to evaluate the proposal and run the numbers. Forty-eight hours at minimum!”

  “There is another alternative.” Fletcher’s soft, southern tone intruded like a gentle summer rain during drought. “Ann, sit back down.”

  I stopped and leaned against the wall. That voice. That beautiful voice never failed to grab me by the guts.

  He stuck his head out the door. “You too, Cara. Come back in, honey.”

  Honey. Yikes. I frowned. What’s that devil up to now? But I allowed him to take my elbow and, with an almost courtly grace, reseat me at the table. Fresh out of good ideas, I felt that an alternative—any alternative—would be welcome, regardless of the source.

  Fletcher poured a glass of water for me, offering it with a tender smile. “There’s no need to fight, Mike, and there’s no need to destroy Cara’s company. We all know she can’t afford to pay me a million dollars a year. That’s an absurd demand.”

  I blinked. Perhaps there was some hope, if client and attorney didn’t agree. Maybe a chink had developed in the armor-clad fastness of Fletcher Tool and Gear’s case in the form of a dispute between Wolf and Muckenmyer. A small thread of excitement began to wend its way up my spine.

  He wandered the room, ending up at the window. He stared out a moment as though marshalling his thoughts. He turned. “Cara, I have a lot of respect for you. I have a lot of respect for the clothes you make.” His molasses voice hardened. “I do not respect the way you do business.”

  Youch. That hurt. “I’m an honest person, Mr. Wolf. What’s not to respect?”

  “Most people are in business to make money. You’re losing money, year by year. It’s not the clothes or the designs.” He sat across from me, pinning me with those amazing eyes. “Now, I can’t make clothes. Hell, I can’t even design tools or gears! But I do know how to make money.”

  I wouldn’t be impressed. The man had mastered the game, but big deal. “What’s your point?”

  His intense gaze touched me, withdrew, touched me again, palpable as his hand on my arm. “We can make this a win-win situation for everyone. Do you know what a joint venture is?”

  “Umm, when two people get high on pot?” I produced a weak smile.

  “Very funny.”

  “Sorry. What I know about high finance could be written on a Chiclet leaving room to spare.”

  “Precisely my point. You’re an artist, not a businesswoman.”

  “That was supposed to be Maggie Andersen’s job.” I slouched into my chair, sighing.

  He shook his head. “Your personal assistant is out of her depth.”

  “She has an M.B.A. from Harvard.”

  “So what? A lot of people do. That and a dollar will get you a cup of coffee at a cheap diner. She has no track record.” He leaned forward. “But I do.”

  “What do you mean? I wish you’d stop beating around the bush. What, exactly, do you propose?”

  “Accept my financial expertise in exchange for dropping the lawsuit and a small stake in your company.”

  “What?” I jerked upright. “You want my company! This is what it’s always been about, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a great solution for both of us. I can turn your firm around, but I won’t do it for free.”

  “Corporate acquisitions, didn’t you tell me, Ann? At our first meeting, you said Fletcher Wolf is a corporate raider.”

  He beetled his brows, anger shadowing his features. “That’s an unfair accusation. Every firm we’ve acquired has prospered. I haven’t put a single employee out of work. I don’t steal companies and suck them dry. I do the opposite.”

  “What about my job? If you own my company, what happens to me and my designs?”

  “I won’t own your company. I’d be willing to limit the deal to only Fletcher’s Gear for the first year, with an option to renegotiate annually. When you see what I can do, you’ll be more than happy to turn the business aspects over to me.” He gestured expansively. “As for you and your designs, I’d consider you the most significant asset of the company. True talent is a precious commodity. Think of yourself as a flower. You need room to grow, unfurl your petals. I can clear the clutter out of your life. Pull the weeds, so to speak, and give your talent space to bloom. That’s the essence of joint venture. It’s a team effort.”

  “This seems very vague.” Rising, I began to pace back and forth, feeling trapped by the uncomfortable realities of the situation. I couldn’t help my suspicions, sure that Fletcher hadn’t become successful by being the touchy-feely cultivator of talent he wanted to appear. He radiated “predator,” not “nurturer.”

  He shrugged. “Right now, yes. That’s a valid point. How ’bout this? I’ll retire your debt or pay it off within three years.”

  Turning, my mouth dropped open. “The entire company’s debt? All five million?”

  “Five point two, actually, but what’s a coupla hundred grand between friends?”

  “What’s the catch?” I studied him, totally perplexed. I was as far out of my world as Twain’s Connecticut Yankee at King Arthur’s court.

  “No catch, but if that’s part of the agreement, you have to let me be C.F.O. of your entire company, not just Fletcher’s Gear.”

  “What?!”

  “As I said, I can turn your company around, but I won’t do it for free. And, to be honest, you have no alternative. You can’t recall thousands of pieces of clothes and put new labels in. Plus, you spent more money on a print ad campaign using the Fletcher’s Gear name. My name.”

  Another voice distracted me from my focus on Fletch. Muckenmyer. “I’m gonna win this lawsuit, and you’ll lose so big your company and your dreams will be destroyed. Fletch is right. Settle or die.”

  Fear clawed at reason, reducing my world into a tight little tunnel with failure and bankruptcy at one end and Fletcher Wolf at the other. I took a deep breath, banished panic, and leaned on the window frame. “This is a big step for me. I’ve never thought about sharing my company with anyone. Letting the wolf in the door isn’t part of my plans.”

  He grinned without appearing insulted by the jab. “Most companies aren’t owned by just one person. Mine included. You already share power and decision-making with Maggie Andersen, who, quite frankly, isn’t competent to run your firm.”

  “Maybe.” I felt like a starving woman offered rattlesnake stew. The stuff seemed strange, and I didn’t want it, but consuming the foul potion was inevitable. I guessed I’d pick up the fork and chow down, but I didn’t want to commit myself right away. “How long do I have to consider this?”

  “I don’t know about you, but it’s almost lunchtime and I’m tired of being in this stuffy office. Mike, why don’t we get a bite to eat? We can talk some more, maybe hammer out some details.”

  I hesitated, seesawing between distrust and doubt on the one han
d, and a dawning sense of hope on the other. True, I’d been disappointed and mystified by the quarterly reports. But why would Fletcher Wolf want to take on the problems of a small, struggling company whose product was so far outside his expertise?

  I needed space, a moment of privacy to collect my thoughts and perhaps get some advice from people I could trust. “Where’s the women’s room?” I asked Muckenmyer.

  “I’ll go with you,” Ann said.

  Fletch rolled his eyes. “Women,” he remarked to his lawyer. “Can’t go to the gal’s room alone, always gotta be a social occasion.”

  Mike nodded solemnly. “It’s programmed into the chromosomes.”

  ~*~

  I used the facilities, then washed my hands. “Well, Ann?”

  “It has some possibilities. We can tweak the specific terms so they’re more favorable to you.”

  I tore off some paper towels. “I need additional input. Ann, could you excuse me? I need some privacy for a few minutes.”

  Ann stepped out, and I retrieved my cellphone to call my parents. Funny how we turn into little kids under stress, but I needed my dad’s level-headedness in a crisis and my mom’s calm common sense. I got them on the line and explained the situation, minimizing the danger to the firm as best I could. I didn’t want to worry them, but they needed enough facts to advise me.

  “Remember, honey, you’ve never enjoyed the financial aspects of the business,” Dad told me.

  “But I’m afraid he’ll steal my company right out from under me.” I tried not to sound teary.

  “Can’t your lawyer prevent that?” Mom asked.

  “She thinks she can, but she’s really botched this case. What if she messes this up, too?”

  “Trust the expert you hired,” Dad said. “Put limits into the joint venture agreement that’ll protect you. You might even consult another firm for a second opinion.”

  “That’s a good idea.” I found myself calming down. Dad had that effect on me. Always had. “I guess I just have to decide what I want.”