by Ann Roth
Nick was impressed. “I don’t think anybody ever asked them to do that.”
“If they had, Tate’s wouldn’t be in the mess it is now. Employees are the experts. They’ll come up with far better ideas than I ever could.”
Nick never had considered that, but he certainly approved. He nodded. “What happens then?”
“We’ll research the best product ideas. Then we’ll add in the financial considerations and do some projections to make sure we’re on the right track.” She shrugged. “Then move forward.”
Talking about these plans, she oozed enthusiasm. He couldn’t stop a smile.
“What are you grinning about?” she asked, wrinkling her forehead.
“You look happy.”
“I do love this kind of work.”
“Ever consider going into business for yourself?”
Her eyes widened and he knew the question had caught her by surprise.
“Unlike you, I prefer a steady paycheck,” she said. “Self-employment can’t guarantee that.”
“If you’re trying to distract me with a dig, consider it heard and ignored. What are you scared of? With your attitude and brain it’s a safe bet you’ll have more work than you can handle.”
“That’s a risk I choose not to take,” she said, the defensive lift of her head warning him to leave the matter alone.
He’d hit a nerve, though, and he stored away the information for later.
Silence hovered between them, broken by the whir and clang of machinery. Ready to leave, Nick jerked his head toward the exit. “I’ll be going—”
“I found an attorney—”
They both spoke at the same time.
“What did you say?” Cinnamon asked.
“You first.”
“I found a lawyer to help with the employee buyout. He’s coming here on Monday. Vince and Andy offered to sit in and represent everyone.”
Nick nodded. “Sounds as if things are moving along.”
“I’m pleased. You should be, too, for doing your part.”
“You mean fixing the mixer? Piece of cake.” He made a flip gesture with his hand. “Anybody could do it.”
“That’s not true. You have a gift, Nick, and you shouldn’t dismiss it. I know people who’d kill to have your talent.”
Acutely embarrassed and at the same time pleased at what she thought of him, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Whatever.”
Her eyes flashed and she opened her mouth. Nick knew what that meant. She was about to nag him about building his business.
He narrowed his eyes. “We through here?”
“A second ago you were going to say something.”
“Not anymore.”
“Well, then, do you have a minute? I’d like to discuss something with you. In private.”
Damned if that last part didn’t stir both his curiosity and his blood. “Private, huh?” He studied her from top to toe, enjoying the way she sucked in her stomach and pulled up her shoulders. “I like the sound of that.”
The moment the words were out, he wanted to take them back. Damn, Mahoney, get a grip. No point flirting with a woman he’d never have.
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked more flustered than angry. Suddenly all business, she sighed. “I’m serious, Nick.”
Following her lead, he sobered. “Talk away.”
“Not here.” She gestured him forward. “They’re letting me use what was the general manager’s office.”
“What’s this about?” he asked warily, quickening his stride to keep up with her.
“Come on and I’ll tell you.”
He followed her into the office.
OUTWARDLY CALM BUT INWARDLY shaking, Cinnamon preceded Nick into the cinder block office, wondering at her resolve. The man was more than skilled at designing and building machines. Yet he brushed off all praise. Out of modesty, or a total lack of interest? A week ago she’d have guessed lack of interest. But after observing his uptight reaction to attention and praise at the town meeting and also a few minutes ago, she wasn’t certain.
He deserved recognition, money and more, and she was determined that he get it. Though what she was about to suggest could send him running, or make him as angry as when she’d mentioned building his business. Or maybe, being a laid-back male with no ambition, he simply wouldn’t care.
Determined to keep things cordial and businesslike, at least for now, she pasted a polite smile on her face and gestured at the coffeemaker on the waist-high counter lining one wall. “Would you like coffee?”
“No, thanks.” Mouth quirking, Nick sank onto the lone visitor’s chair across the desk, a sagging plaid-covered armchair that looked as uncomfortable as her wobbly, wooden desk chair. “I’ve tasted the stuff they call coffee around here. It’s nasty.”
As Cinnamon took her seat behind the scarred metal desk, she couldn’t help laughing at his expression of disgust. “There’s something we completely agree on.”
They exchanged friendly grins that quickly sparked into more. Awareness sobered Nick’s expression and smoldered in his eyes, and Cinnamon’s nerves shifted into a different kind of tension.
Arm hooked casually over the back of his chair, he boldly studied her lips. Her mouth tingled. His avid gaze dipped to her breasts, which suddenly ached. When he lifted his attention to her face, his eyes burned with naked desire impossible to resist.
One word from him and she’d slip around the desk, sit on his lap and kiss him until they both were hot and breathless and ready for more…. Powerless to stop the responding hunger burning through her blood and hardly aware of her actions, Cinnamon heaved a sigh of longing and invitation.
Nick swore, jerked his posture upright and glanced at the stained teal carpet. “What’s this about?” he asked in a gruff voice.
Dear God, she’d practically propositioned him! Self-conscious and embarrassed, she straightened the papers on her desk. He’s not what I want, she silently reminded herself. Besides, she was too busy for anything but her work with the factory. What happened in this office was business, period.
“The sorter you designed is impressive,” she said. “Simple yet ingenious. Wherever did you get the idea?”
His modest shrug was just what she expected. “The one Sharon operated kept breaking down, so I invented something better. To make her job easier.”
“You certainly did.” About to tread on delicate matters, Cinnamon posed a question she already knew the answer to. “I assume you were paid well for your work?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t do it for the money, I did it to help Sharon. Tate never even knew.”
“That’s not fair to you.” Fingers laced together atop the desk, she leaned forward. “Have you at least applied for a patent?”
The question earned her an are-you-crazy look. “No. Why?”
“You designed a piece of equipment that, from what my research shows, is more efficient than any other sorter in use. You ought to get paid for that.”
“Right. The factory can’t even pay you. How would it pay me?”
“Since the factory makes some of its money thanks to you, it should compensate you. Once the employees take over and the company begins to turn a profit, you deserve a percentage of that. This same scenario ought to apply to any factory in the country, or the world, for that matter, that uses the machine you invented. You can earn royalties, Nick, potentially a good deal of money.”
His turn to lean forward, his face reflecting confusion and disbelief. “I don’t see how.”
“The way it works is, if you hold the patent and this or any other business chooses to use your design, they pay you for the privilege. Otherwise they’re taking your genius and profiting from it, while you get nothing.”
“I’m no genius,” he said, flushing, “but I do want that money. How do I collect?”
The question meant he’d accept her suggestion and run with it instead of getting upset. Cinnamon jumped eagerly into consultant mode. �
�For starters, you file for a patent.” She handed him the papers she’d prepared earlier. “I downloaded the forms and printed off two copies of everything. All you have to do is read through the documents and fill them out.”
At his stricken look, she hurried on. “This is something you can do on your own, but if I were you, I’d get legal counsel before sending anything to the U.S. Patent Office. Now, I contacted Pete and Anne, and they suggested an attorney who—”
“You what?” Nick’s eyes narrowed ominously.
Uh-oh. Cinnamon swallowed, but it was to late to stop now. Besides, she saw nothing wrong with what she’d said or done, and refused to be intimidated.
She forced a calming breath. “I asked Pete and Anne for the name of a good patent attorney around here. The closest person they know lives about sixty miles away. That’s a long drive, I know, but at least you don’t have to go all the way to Portland.” She slid a slip of paper across the desk. “Here’s her number.”
Nick ignored it. Expression dark and forbidding, he crossed his hands over his chest. “Did I ask you to do that?”
“No, but I thought—”
“You didn’t think at all.” The small tic she was starting to know so well pulsed in his jaw. “If I wanted your help I’d ask for it.” He pushed to his feet. “I don’t.”
With a curt nod he snatched up the papers and phone number, then pivoted toward the exit. He strode from her office, slamming the door behind him.
“THEN HE STORMED OUT,” Cinnamon told Fran that evening over chicken and dumplings. Tonight they were eating in the dining room at home. “I seem to have a knack for making him mad.”
Recalling the harsh set of his shoulders and flash-ing eyes, Cinnamon winced. At least he’d taken the papers. Mission accomplished, right? And she felt awful.
Appetite ruined, she pushed aside her plate. “What should I do, Fran? I don’t want him angry at me.”
“Nick’s a very private person. Maybe he doesn’t like you nosing into his personal affairs. If the situations were reversed and he was poking into your life, how would you feel?”
A few days back, he’d posed a similar question. She should have listened more carefully, Cinnamon realized. “When you put it that way…” She gave a sheepish shrug. “Really, I was only trying to help. Nick deserves money and recognition for his invention. He won’t go after those things without a push.”
“All true,” Fran mused. A beat later she canted her head and narrowed her eyes at Cinnamon. “But are you sure about your motives?”
Cinnamon frowned. “What are you getting at?”
“You’re starting to care about him.”
“Only as a friend,” Cinnamon quickly assured Fran. She even looked her in the eye.
Yet deep down, she knew different. She really was starting to care for Nick as more than a friend. That scared her even more than not having a job lined up.
ALONE IN HIS SMALL KITCHEN, Nick hunched over the patent registration papers he’d been working through the whole evening. Yawning, he massaged his aching neck and glanced at the round clock that hung on the wall. Close to midnight. No wonder his neck had a crick in it.
He frowned at the papers spread out on the table. Four hours spent deciphering what looked like hieroglyphics and he’d plowed through a whopping two pages of instructions, reading and rereading until it made sense. He’d managed to fill out most of one page. Only a few million to go.
You’re not stupid, you just see words differently than most people. That’s what Mr. Edison had said back in high school. Maybe that was true, but at the moment Nick felt pretty damn thickheaded. And fed up.
At this rate he might finish by Christmas. If he was lucky. Unfortunately, that was ten months away and he didn’t have that kind of time.
Sharon could help. As soon as the thought entered his head he shut it down. His sister barely had time for her own bills and paperwork without taking on his, too. Then there was nosy little Abby, who might wonder why he wasn’t doing the work himself, or worse, tell somebody her uncle couldn’t take care of his own business.
Nick squirmed at the thought. He’d rather swallow battery acid than have his niece or anyone else know he found reading so hard. Especially Cinnamon.
In his mind he saw her face, warm and admiring as she praised his sorter invention and the mixer repair. That had felt good, and remembering the conversation now wasn’t bad, either. He smiled, until he considered what she’d do if she found out he couldn’t read. For sure she’d never look at him like that again. Likely she’d never look at him at all.
Damn her for poking her nose where she had no business sticking it and shackling him with work he had no time for. In a fit of frustration he swore, crumpled the nearly completed page into a ball and lobbed it into the trash can.
Instantly he regretted the action.
What about the money? Cinnamon said he stood to earn a bunch. If she said so, he believed her.
He sure as hell needed money, for Abby’s camp and her college tuition. He wouldn’t mind paying off Sharon’s debts, too, and making her life easier.
Not gonna happen without that patent.
His gaze homed in on the paper with the patent lawyer’s phone number. He’d ask the expert for help. Cinnamon had said she would, right?
But asking a lawyer to do what he should take care of himself would cost plenty. He’d save money and bring her the completed paperwork. Then get her advice.
Nothing to do but buckle down and finish the sucker. He retrieved the crumpled paper and smoothed it out. Rubbing his tired eyes, he bent again to his work.
Chapter Eleven
Late Monday afternoon, fresh from a trip to the patent lawyer’s and ridiculously pleased with himself, Nick strode toward Cinnamon’s office. The door was closed. He was in such good spirits he didn’t let that stop him. He knocked, then opened it.
She was squinting at her laptop sitting on the battered, old desk that should have been tossed on the scrap heap.
“Hey,” he said, pausing in the threshold. “You busy?”
Her eyes widened and she looked a little scared. “That depends on why you’re here. Are you going to bawl me out again?”
Nothing could dampen his high spirits. “Why, have you poked your nose into more of my business?” he asked, tempering the words with a half smile.
“I think I learned my lesson on that.” She closed the laptop. “I’m sorry, Nick. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
“As long as you learned your lesson,” he teased, no longer upset. “Now can I come in?”
She nodded, and he strode inside, closing the door behind him. Whistling softly, he sauntered over.
“Please, sit down,” Cinnamon said, indicating the chair across the desk.
Not wanting to take up her time, he shook his head. “I’m only here for a few minutes. I just got back from the patent lawyer,” he proudly announced.
“You did?”
Considering the way he’d stormed out of her office last Thursday, her obvious surprise made sense. “Based on your advice,” he said, feigning innocence. “The lawyer checked the application and said everything looked fine. She’ll do a search to make sure no one else holds a patent on my invention. Then she’ll mail it in.”
Cinnamon beamed. “That’s wonderful news.”
“Yeah, it is.” He grinned back like a fool. “I told her about some of my other inventions and she said she’d research them, too.”
“There are others?”
Her astonishment tickled him. “Six more,” he said, puffing out his chest. “Anyway, that’s what I came to tell you. I’ll let you get back to your work.”
“Wait.” She rose and came around the desk. “You’re an amazing and talented man, Nick Mahoney.”
The high praise felt damned good. “Thanks,” he said.
He let his gaze comb over her. As usual, she looked beautiful. His body stirred to life the way it always did around her.
He knew
he should fight his need, but he was flush with his success. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he drawled.
On cue her cheeks pinkened as she extended her hand. “Congratulations.”
Instead of shaking it, he threaded his fingers through hers. “I’m not some casual business associate,” he said, caressing her thumb with his.
Her eyes darkened, and he saw that this small touch aroused her as much as it did him. He tugged her hand, bringing her closer.
She raised her head and her lips parted, an invitation tough to resist. But moving forward could be dangerous. There was too much heat between them, and once they started, there was no guarantee he could stop—and no way to keep his heart from getting trampled when she discovered he was a fraud. And sooner or later she would.
“Nick?” She searched his face. “What’s happening between us?”
He’d never noticed the tiny silver flecks in her eyes. As he delved into those rust-colored depths, they seemed to shimmer and beckon him closer. Lust swirled in his head, fogging his common sense. He swallowed. “I don’t know.” With his free hand he cupped her chin, ensuring that her eyes met his. “But I can’t stop thinking about kissing you again.”
A shallow, rapid breath whispered from her lips, and under his palm her pulse jumped. A certain part of him stirred to life.
“Is that so?” she asked.
He drank in her open, yearning expression. “Admit it, you want the same thing I do.”
“This pull between us is dangerous. You should go,” her mouth said, but her flushed skin and hungry eyes told him something different.
Her flowery scent stirred his senses. He had to taste her. “Just one ‘congratulations’ kiss,” he urged, his thumb caressing the soft skin of her cheek. “Then I swear I’ll leave.”
Her head tilted back a fraction and her pupils grew big, silent but potent signs that she wanted what he did.
“One kiss, then,” she agreed in a breathy, husky voice.
Her eyelids dropped, shielding her eyes, and her palms slid to his shoulders. She settled against his chest, her cheek over his heart, soft curves tantalizing the hard planes of his body.