Sweet Talkin' Lover EPB

by Tracey Livesay

  And that included the town’s sexy mayor.

  She opened the door, strode into the lobby, and skittered to a halt, surprised to find the vestibule empty. Where was everyone? There was no excuse this time. It was a weekday during business hours.

  She looked around. The once-bright blue walls were dingy and stained, and the linoleum flooring had seen better days. Where were the displays of the various products they manufactured? Where did they exhibit the products they sold? Save for a counter where a receptionist should sit and another door that probably led into the factory, the space was empty.

  As if on cue, the door opened and Wyatt stood there. Her breath seized in her throat. It should be a cardinal sin for a man to be that attractive, especially standing in a building that manufactured products to enhance a woman’s looks. He needed no improvements. She bit her bottom lip and took in the view: dark denim shirt, olive khaki pants, sharp, stubbled jaw. Even the white nylon hairnet he wore, which should’ve looked silly on him, added to his dark appeal. He looked rugged, stylish, and sexy as hell.

  That’s the last time, Caila. Stop noticing he’s sexy.

  “So glad you could join us, Ms. Harris,” he said, his hazel eyes sparkling and a smug smile twisting his kissable lips.

  She clutched the strap of her tote bag with both hands. “What are you doing here?”

  “Where else would I be? Your assessment of this plant is the most important item on my agenda. As long as you’re in town, your . . . exploits are my top priority.”

  Great! So much for avoiding distractions.

  He leaned a hip against the counter. “I guess ‘bright and early’ means something different in the city?”

  “I blame your lackadaisical roosters. I didn’t hear them crowing and I was counting on them to get me up.”

  His heated gaze captured hers. “It’d be my pleasure to get you up anytime you need me.”

  Her knees actually wobbled. She locked them in place and swallowed. “No thanks. Now that I know they’re unreliable, I’ll use the alarm on my phone.”

  Good Lord, the man was potent. Did this mean her reaction to him couldn’t be explained away by exhaustion?

  It didn’t matter. She was stronger than some unwanted attraction.

  She straightened her shoulders. “While this witty back-and-forth has been charming, I have a long day ahead of me. Can you direct me to Nate Olshansky’s office?”

  The sooner she could get away from this man and meet with the plant manager, the closer she’d be to her goal of leaving. Olshansky would be able to give her access to the reports she required and introduce her to other members of management she’d need to interview.

  “Sure. But he asked me to give you a tour of the facilities first.”

  She shook her head. “That isn’t necessary.”

  Especially if he was her tour guide. What she really wanted was to get the paperwork in her hands. Something concrete and definite that would center her and help her get back on track. Spending time with Wyatt had the danger to do the exact opposite: scatter her focus and derail her progress.

  “No, it isn’t. But Nate’s on an important phone call at the moment. The tour won’t take long, and by the time we’re finished, he should be done.”

  So taking that call was more important than promptly meeting with the person who held the future of your company in her hands?

  Good to know.

  But in the meantime, what was she going to do? Stand around for fifteen or twenty minutes looking like an idiot? Especially when she’d need a tour of the plant at some point anyway?

  “Fine.” She took the hairnet he offered and placed it over her hair.

  He reached behind him and opened the door to the inner portion of the factory, motioning for her to precede him. When she passed . . . God, he smelled amazing! His intoxicating fragrance was a mixture of cologne, fabric softener, and him. It made her want to grab him by his open collar, pull him close, and nuzzle his neck to see if that deliciousness clung to him everywhere.

  Yeah, she needed to get away from him as soon as possible.

  The drone of the machines on the main floor startled her at first, coming as she had from the quiet vestibule, but it didn’t take long before she grew accustomed to it, relegating it to white noise. The air actually smelled nice. Not Wyatt-nice. More sweet, like vanilla and cream.

  He directed her to an area where blue and white barrels, shrink-wrapped shipping containers, and large brown sacks were piled high on wooden pallets.

  “Here’s where we keep inventory for the products we make.”

  She almost snorted. “Is that the royal ‘we’?”

  As if Wyatt had ever worked a day in this manufacturing plant.

  “Bradleton is a small town. We are like family. We’re very proud of the work done here. We all feel like we have a hand in its success.”

  If they were that successful, she wouldn’t be here.

  Wyatt was popular. He stopped to speak to everyone and shake hands with many of the workers. They all seemed genuinely happy to be in his presence.

  “Hey, Mayor, are you coming to the game on Friday? Henry might actually get some playing time.”

  “Are you doing the color run?”

  “Looking forward to seeing you lead the parade.”

  “We can count on you at the bake sale, right?”

  She followed him across the large main floor, observing the mixing vats of colorful creams and powders and the enormous metal shelving stands with trays of product racked on them. Though the place was immaculate, the machinery was old, at least a generation behind, and almost half of the machines weren’t in use. At that realization, she noticed there were less than half the number of people working that she’d expected, based on their annual output. What was going on here? How did they expect to make any money when they didn’t work at full capacity?

  “The offices are up there,” Wyatt said, indicating a set of stairs visible through a half-glass steel door.

  The space on the other side was tight, as she learned when Wyatt closed the door behind them. He stood so close, the heat from his body threatened to singe the hairs at the nape of her neck.

  She didn’t move, feeling it begin to form again. That cocoon that wove around them until they were the only two people in the world and nothing else mattered. It had happened last night at the diner. And as her heart raced and her lids inched lower, she knew it was happening again. She’d broken the spell the last time. What would happen if she just did nothing? If she let it be? Would they eventually emerge as something new and beautiful?

  “After you,” he finally said, his voice a deep rumble from his chest.

  Guess they’d never find out. Which was for the best.

  But by waiting and getting caught in her feelings, she’d now have the indignity of walking up the steps with her ass practically in his face.

  Hefting her bag higher on her shoulder, she said a prayer that her skirt wouldn’t hike up and climbed the metal staircase.

  “Fuck. Me.” A barely audible hiss.

  Her toe caught on the tread of the ascending step and she stumbled. She reached out and grabbed the railing. Had she imagined the tortured utterance or had he actually said it?

  There was another entrance at the top of the steps. Having learned her lesson, and not wanting another close encounter, she didn’t wait for him.

  Instead of the wall she expected, a pane of glass stretched the entire corridor, showcasing the main factory floor beneath them.

  For a brief second she thought she was stepping into air.

  A swell of instability and anxiety nearly overwhelmed her. Startled, she stumbled backward—into Wyatt’s broad chest. His hands came up to grab her arms, his touch searing through the thin cashmere of her gray sweater.

  “Whoa. I got you.”

  And he did. Have her. He felt warm, solid, safe. And he smelled So. Damn. Good.

  But it wouldn’t last. It never did.

&nbs
p; Despite still feeling light-headed, she pulled away from his embrace. “Thank you for the tour, but after you take me to Mr. Olshansky’s office, you can go.”

  “Trying to get rid of me?”

  Yes! “Of course not,” she said, flustered, feeling heat pool in her cheeks. Her gaze bounced around like a trapped insect: off the glass, off his gorgeous face, eventually landing on the concrete floor. “I don’t want to keep you from your duties.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but as I told you before, there’s nothing on my agenda more important than securing the solvency of this factory.”

  As they started down the long walkway, Caila tried not to focus on the panoramic glass meant to provide an unobstructed view of the work area.

  Or the thirty-foot drop to the cement floor below.

  “Are you okay?” Wyatt asked from behind her.

  Before she could stop herself, she flicked a quick gaze to the vista of bright lights and air on her right . . . then wished she hadn’t. Beads of sweat popped out on her upper lip.

  If this messed up her flawless makeup application . . . “I’m fine.”

  You are not fine.

  She stopped and squeezed her eyes tight. She took several long, deep breaths, claiming a moment to compose herself. She wasn’t afraid of heights; she could stand on a chair, drive over bridges, fly in a plane. It was the fear of falling that scared her. The risk of impact, the loss of control. The last time she’d felt this way was five years ago when she’d taken Ava to Willis Tower in Chicago and had refused to get off the elevator onto the building’s all-glass observation deck on the 103rd floor.

  She sensed movement in her vicinity and opened her eyes. Wyatt stood next to her, his tall, broad body essentially blocking her view of the open space. Her chin trembled but she pressed her lips tight to stop it. She nodded briskly, unable to meet his gaze, and they continued on in silence until they reached a door at the end and Wyatt knocked on it.

  A short, reed-thin man, wearing a colored smock with “Chro-Make Manufacturing” stitched on the right pocket and his name on the left, came to greet them.

  “Miss Harris, I’m Nate Olshansky. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the tour myself but I had to take that call.” He bared his teeth in what Caila assumed was a smile. “But I’m sure the mayor here did a great job.”

  Olshansky wiped his hand on the side of his faded jeans before holding it out to her.

  Back on emotional terra firma, she accepted his handshake.

  “It’s Ms. And I understand when business calls. Mayor Bradley was an adequate tour guide.”

  She saw Wyatt smile slightly and shake his head at her statement but Olshansky reclaimed her attention.

  “Let’s go into my office.”

  His boots echoed on the floor as she slid her hairnet off and followed him into a small, cramped room where a large round table with six metal folding chairs competed for space with two desks and several filing cabinets.

  Olshansky must’ve noticed her expression. “We don’t have a lot of available enclosed space, so our office doubles as a conference room.”

  Caila placed her bag on the table and looked at Wyatt. “I think we’ll be fine now.”

  “Nice try.” He pulled out a chair and sat down, tossing his hairnet on the table and crossing his arms over his chest. “I think I’ll stay around. In case Nate needs my help. Remember, I’ve seen you in action.”

  Great! She forced a smile and sat down, doing her best to ignore Wyatt’s distracting presence and focus on the plant manager.

  “Mr. Olshansky—”

  “Nate,” he supplied.

  She tipped her head in acknowledgment. “Nate. Has anyone from Flair talked to you about why I’m here?”

  Nate nodded. “They sent me a letter saying they were in the process of selling the company to Endurance.”

  Caila pulled a monogrammed leather folio from her bag. “As part of our due diligence in acquiring Flair, we’re looking at their assets and inventory, including their contracts with vendors. When analyzing your financial reports we noticed your costs have skyrocketed twenty percent in the last four years.”

  “Well,” Nate began, shifting in his seat, “it’s been a tough economy and we employ a lot of people. We’ve done our best to work within the limits of both.”

  “I appreciate that, but your expenses have increased, your profits have decreased, and you’re not working to your full potential. I stopped by here yesterday when I first arrived and the entire plant was closed. How can you meet your orders if you’re not running around the clock shifts?”

  Nate’s brows dipped and he shot a look at Wyatt before responding. “We’re not running full shifts because we’re in turnaround.”

  What the fuck? Had Endurance known this when they’d sent her here? Why hadn’t she been informed?

  During turnaround, plants either closed down or worked with an extremely reduced staff while they inspected, tested, and revamped their machinery and procedures. The extensive undertaking could take several weeks or drag on for several months, but it was conducted as quickly as possible because the lost revenue, as well as the direct costs associated with its execution, made turnarounds an expensive process.

  This wasn’t an ideal time for her visit. How was she supposed to assess the plant if it was shut down for all intents and purposes?

  But you’re not here for a true evaluation, are you, Caila? This may work in your favor.

  “The rise in costs can be explained by the increase in price of raw materials. We also had to get creative when Flair cut orders. Our choices were to lay off people or reduce shifts so everyone could keep their jobs. Unlike some, we value our people,” Wyatt said.

  Caila tilted her head. “I’m sorry, Mayor Bradley, but do you have a position in this plant that I’m not aware of?”

  “My job involves managing the day-to-day operations of this town as it relates to its long-term planning.”

  “Doesn’t that have to do with infrastructure and real estate development?”

  “The viability of a major employer in my town plays a large role in our long-term planning. I’m here to lend any help I can to Nate and the entire Chro-Make team. It could be seen as a breach of my duties to not keep up with this. And I take my responsibilities seriously.”

  “I do as well, and it’s my job to figure out the reason behind the increasing costs and determine a way to bring those costs down.”

  “And if there’s not?” Wyatt asked, in a tone that made her clench her teeth.

  “All I do is provide Endurance with the information. They’ll make the final decision.”

  “And that would be?” he pressed.

  She pursed her lips. “They may decide to pull their contract and look for a co-packer that can function within the budget allotted.”

  Nate leaned back and ran a hand over his balding head. “Shit. I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  Caila braced her elbows on the table. She hadn’t been a part of discussions like this for a long time and they had never been her favorite part of the job. What she wouldn’t give to be back in her office in Chicago coming up with plans for the new organic makeup line.

  It won’t be long. Just do your job.

  Right.

  She inhaled. Based on the preliminary numbers she’d seen, Chro-Make was a liability. Saying so in her report would just be telling the truth. Whatever Endurance did with that information wasn’t her fault. Just a few days in town to give the appearance of propriety, a week on the report when she got home to show her thoroughness, and then life could get back to normal.

  “What should we have done?” Nate asked, distress ravaging his already haggard features. “Flair may have cut its orders, but we were still responsible for the people who work here.”

  Wyatt scooted forward in his chair, his palms flat on the table, his hazel eyes beseeching. “A third of this town depends on this plant for their livelihoods. Do you know what losing their jobs
will do to those families? To this town?”

  Caila hardened her heart. Their choice to run the plant as a charity and not a business had led to these problems. It wasn’t her job to help them figure out the consequences of their decisions.

  Opening the folio, she pulled out a sheet of paper and slid it across the table to Nate. “Here’s a list of the reports I’ll need. I’ve also noted the department heads I’ll need to speak to.”

  The muscle in Wyatt’s jaw twitched at her avoidance but he didn’t comment on it.

  The ensuing seconds passed in a heavy and uncomfortable silence. Nate scratched his cheek. “I can’t help you with this.”

  Caila frowned. “I’m not asking you to prepare anything special. These would’ve already been done in your normal course of business.”

  “I understand, but—”

  “May I?” Wyatt interrupted. At Nate’s nod, he pulled the paper closer and scrutinized the details. “Ah, I see what the problem is.”

  He didn’t elaborate, and his slow smile suggested he knew she’d rather chew glass than ask.

  She flicked her gaze upward. Lord, save me from sexy, incorrigible men. Dammit! She was supposed to stop noticing his sexiness!

  “And?” She made sure her voice advertised her annoyance.

  “This is accounting information.”

  Was the click of her upper and lower molars meeting audible?

  “Yes. I need to see the financial records, including the profit and loss statements beyond the four years I already have. This is about the profitability of Chro-Make. It’s the reason I’m here.”

  “But you requested a meeting with the manager of the plant.”

  “Of course I did. I wanted to speak to the person with the sole responsibility of running the day-to-day operations.”

  “Nate is responsible for the day-to-day operations with regards to production quality and shipping orders out on time. He deals with manufacturing, not accounting.”

  Manufacturing, not accounting . . .

  Was she being Punk’d? Other shows were coming back and it was the only thing that made sense. How else to explain this forced semi-demotion and exile to a small town, where normal words meant something different, than that she was on a revival of the hidden-camera practical joke reality TV show?