“A book?” A frown furrowed his brow as he read her card. “I know nothing about this.”
“I’m pretty sure you will today. I have a series of meetings with family members, and I hope Brock has you on that list.”
“Oh, wait, yes. I forgot.” His gaze dropped over her, a quick assessment, a moment to think, and then he nodded, sliding the card into his suit jacket pocket. “Ollie Hazlett mentioned this to me when we golfed a few weeks ago.”
Her stomach dropped a little, and not just because the car started its climb up fifty-three floors. How much had Ollie Hazlett told him?
“He’s my publisher,” she confirmed, hoping Hazlett wasn’t so stupid that he’d tell Graham Blackthorne that Jenna’s last project had been killed while the book was actually being printed. “Would you be able to find a few minutes to talk to me, Mr. Blackthorne?”
“Depends on what you want to talk about.”
“You,” she said simply.
He huffed a quick breath. “Don’t expect family dirt from me.”
“I don’t want dirt,” she assured him. “I want to know one thing.”
Expressionless, he waited to hear what it was.
“I mean, I want to know a lot of things, like history and big events and turning points for the Blackthorne family and company, but from you, just one thing.” She inched closer and held his gaze, channeling her inner Charlotte May.
“Yes?” he asked.
“What is the single moment in your life that gave you the most joy?”
He stared at her, still no smile, but she sensed the wheels spinning in those dark and foreboding eyes. “Joy?” The worded sounded gruff on his lips.
She nodded, hoping that the question, which she’d heard her mother ask many times on television, would be the catalyst for something he really wanted to talk about, enough that he’d guide her right into his office for a cup of coffee and a real interview.
Joy was the secret to get people talking, she’d heard her mother say. Joy was family, security, home, hearth, and holidays. Joy was a great door opener, much better than regrets or do-overs or legacies.
“Joy,” he said one more time, his voice a little wistful that time. He shifted his gaze from her face to the keypad, staring at it for a long time. Long enough that chills rose on her arms, and her throat grew tight. Finally, just as the car came to a stop, he pointed at the pad where she’d typed in his anniversary date. “That,” he said softly. “That was pure joy.”
Obviously, he didn’t mean the moment she’d used the keypad.
“Would you tell me about it?”
“No.” The doors opened, and he stepped out without offering her to exit first, disappearing around the corner without so much as a goodbye.
What was going on with Graham and Claire?
Something was very wrong in Blackthorne Land, and if she could figure out what it was, there was no way she’d lose this book deal.
Chapter Eight
Brock looked at his watch and frowned, surprised that Jenna would be even one minute late. Had the kiss been…too much?
No. That kiss was not enough. And they both knew it.
He should have known the minute the idea occurred to him that the cliché distraction would have a bigger benefit than just stopping the questions about Claire. He should have known that the very minute he kissed her again, they’d both want to go flying back to the night before when they’d been strangers…and lovers.
Good idea? Guess it depended on who was asking. It sure felt right to him, but he obviously had the power in this relationship. For that reason, if nothing else, anything that happened between them would have to be her call. But this morning, he was tense, waiting to see her.
Walking out of his office to Karen’s desk, he looked around and down the hall toward reception, surprised at the thud of disappointment when he didn’t see Jenna’s bright blue eyes and blond hair. Maybe she got lost. Maybe she got detoured. Maybe she was on another floor digging up whatever she could find on his family.
“Has she checked in downstairs yet?” he asked Karen when she turned from a filing cabinet.
“Oh, Hoyt just texted that she’s in the private express elevator.”
He drew back at that. “I didn’t give her the code. Did you?”
“Nope.”
Then Hoyt must have, which was a testament to just how much that woman could worm out of people. Even people he’d trust with his life, like Hoyt Ashgrove. Yeah, he better—
“I need you, stat.” Trey whipped around the corner into Brock’s office area with an expression that was more serious than usual. His dark eyes were tapered to concerned slits, his voice tense with control. No matter what had his cousin and the oldest Blackthorne riled this morning, it had not, of course, taken one business-short hair out of place or made him so much as loosen the Windsor knot at his throat.
But Brock would expect nothing else from the man long ago anointed to take over the reins of Blackthorne Enterprises.
“What’s going on?” Brock asked, momentarily forgetting Jenna and the meetings he’d lined up with her today.
“Riverfront just canceled their most recent PO, and the rep says they have no plans to open another one,” Trey said.
Brock processed everything about that cryptic news, instantly recognizing why it rose to the level of a fire that had to be extinguished immediately. Riverfront Liquor was the largest chain retail store in the Midwest and a big Blackthorne customer. A critical loss, but something like that didn’t usually concern Brock. “And this involves brand management how?”
“The rep said something about ‘company issues’ and concerns that the spirits division might not be under the ‘best management’ at the moment.” Along with air quotes, he added a look that spoke volumes, and instantly Brock understood. Karen must have, too, since she immediately stood and stepped into Brock’s office to leave the two men alone.
Management of the largest and most wildly profitable division in the company would mean Graham, his uncle and Trey’s father. Doubts would mean…Claire. Oh yeah, the rumor mill was in overdrive in the liquor industry since his aunt had taken off. The brand was most definitely in jeopardy.
“Okay,” Brock said, glancing in the direction of the express elevator. “I have a meeting about to—”
“Reschedule.” Trey pointed to his office with just enough demand in his voice to remind Brock that not only was the man his cousin, he was his boss. “We’ll get the rep on the line and fly out to Chicago if we have to.”
Chicago? This week? Of course, Trey would put life, family, and his next breath second to a corporate crisis. And Brock wouldn’t normally argue, but something just as pressing was on his agenda, and she had yet to show up this morning.
“Are you sure I need to be there?”
Trey’s dark brows shot up. “The brand is on the line with a major customer.” He sounded a little disappointed, or maybe surprised, that he’d even have to remind Brock of that. “See you in two minutes. I’m going to get my dad.”
Just as Trey disappeared around the corner, Brock heard a woman clear her throat behind him, making him turn to see Jenna. How much of that had she heard?
“Something wrong?” she asked.
He took a moment before answering, taking in the impact of her fair hair spilling over a navy-blue dress that was businesslike enough to blend in, but something about the crisp white collar managed to look sexy, too.
Damn it, Trey. Chicago? This week?
Except…he should want to leave town. Work was way more important than some silly tell-all biography, no matter how pretty the package that came with it. Fact was, he should be relieved to go take care of business and send Jenna off with a good excuse. Trey’s lost purchase order was a gift, and he should take it. Not stand here and…imagine that dress on the bedroom floor the same way he’d flung off that little yellow T-shirt thing she’d worn.
And under it…
“I’m very sorry,” he
said, mentally punching back the image. “We just had a crisis arise, and I don’t know how long I’m going to be out of pocket.”
“Oh, that’s fine.” She flicked her hand, not remotely fazed by this curve ball. “I’ll just poke around, talk to people, make friends.” She added a reassuring smile. “I’m fine on my own, Brock.”
Oh, no, she wasn’t. “Well, my admin can—”
“Help you with anything you need,” Karen said, breezing back to her desk. “I have her schedule, Brock, and I’m happy to escort Ms. Gillespie to the meetings you’ve arranged, except the first one doesn’t start for an hour.”
“I planned to take her on a tour.”
“Of offices?” Karen shot him a look, because, really, a tour of corporate cubes was pretty damn dull. “You deal with Trey, Mr. Blackthorne. I’ll escort your guest.”
But his guest didn’t need an escort. She needed someone to rein in talkative people and put the right spin on everything she heard. With her keen questions and innocent-sounding prodding, she’d have more information about this company, his family, and God knows what than if she were plying the staff with Blackthorne Gold.
“No,” he said simply. “Jenna can wait for me.”
Jenna choked a soft laugh. “You think I should just sit in your office like a prisoner?”
“Why don’t I take Jenna down to see Logan?” Karen interjected, giving Brock a glance that said she understood his concerns and that Logan could be trusted.
Sure, his cousin could be trusted to talk the Blackthorne talk and walk the Blackthorne walk. But one look at Jenna, and Logan would whip out his famous charm and humor and…then Logan would be the one imagining her dress on the floor.
“I didn’t realize Logan was here,” he said, but then, the youngest of all the Blackthorne brothers and cousins had the kind of schedule—and job—that made it difficult to keep track of the man.
“He’s working with some of the product development team on a potential new product aimed at women. Jenna would be welcome in that meeting, I think.”
“Oooh.” Jenna stepped forward, blinding him with a smile. “Product development. That sounds interesting.”
No doubt she’d be asking about ancient myths and stolen recipes. “You can’t sit in on product development. It’s top secret.”
Her eyes widened like he’d just waved steak in front of a dog. “I’ll sign a nondisclosure for product stuff. I’d love to soak up the process, not the latest announcement about chocolate salted bourbon, or whatever you’re dreaming up for women.” She held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
He considered that for a moment, studying her pretty face and silently cursing Trey again. He was the damn CEO-to-be, not Brock. Trey should be going to the mat with Riverfront.
“You don’t have to sign anything,” he finally said. “I trust you.”
Jenna angled her head and slayed him with those baby blues. “Thank you, Mr. Blackthorne.”
“After all,” he added, “I get to preview and approve anything you write.”
All the sweetness disappeared, and her jaw dropped so hard and fast, he could have sworn he’d heard it crack. “What?”
“Any day, Brock!”
At the sound of Trey’s impatient call, Jenna gave him a nudge. “Crisis calls,” she said. “You go. I’ll hit the product development meeting, and we’ll discuss that preview thing later.”
Wait a second. Who was calling the shots around here? “This won’t take long,” he said, but even as he promised that, he knew it could take hours.
Karen put a hand on Jenna’s shoulder. “Product development is down a floor. Come with me.”
Even though Trey called one more time, Brock stayed right where he was and watched Jenna walk away, knowing in his gut that Blackthorne Enterprises was chock-full of people who loved to gossip, spread rumors, and ply outsiders with inside information. This really was the worst place for her to be.
Down in product development, she’d be surrounded by loose lips and new faces eager to chat up the company biographer.
And just forget the fact that she’d be spending time with Logan. From the time Brock had moved into the Blackthorne house in Weston at nine years old, he and Logan, as the youngest of both families, had shared a bedroom. Brock knew his cousin’s secret weapon was humor. And brains. And that boyish charm that could melt the pants off…most women. And frequently did.
As he walked toward Trey’s office, Brock made a quick and easy decision. Screw Chicago. Trey was the one in line for the most coveted job in the company, not Brock. Hell, as the youngest nephew, not a son of the CEO, Brock was the very last of the seven Blackthorne men who’d ever get that honor, no matter how much he secretly yearned for the job.
He’d help Trey and Graham with the damage control, then he wanted Jenna to think she was learning everything about the Blackthornes but really see only the best side of the whole family.
There was only one way to do that. He had to get her out of here and to a place where he could keep her by his side every minute of every day. And, maybe, night.
* * *
Jenna didn’t know which hurt more after two hours in Logan Blackthorne’s hilarious and brilliant meeting. Her cheeks from laughing, or her hand from writing notes. Not only did the man seem to know everything about every aspect of a massive business, he had his finger on the pulse of the culture, millennials, and the bar scene they were selling their product to.
As the room emptied, she rubbed the knuckles of her right hand with her left, shaking her fingers to ease them while she watched Logan finish up a one-on-one conversation with the distillery operations manager, who’d spent much of the meeting helping the team understand what could and couldn’t be done with whisky.
But her gaze stayed on Logan, who was as easy on the eyes as the other Blackthornes she’d met, and just as fascinating. Like Brock, and even Trey and Graham, though her encounters with them had been brief, the men in this family seemed to have an underlying grit and steel that blended with that constant hum of pride and confidence in everything they did.
“You should try this new invention called a laptop.” Logan sauntered toward Jenna after the other man left. She’d taken a seat on the side of the room, not that staying away from the conference table had kept her from answering the “outsider” questions the group of five professionals had thrown at her during the meeting. “It really beats the old stone and chisel.” He gestured toward her notebook and winked.
“I’m old-fashioned that way.” She capped her pen, but purposely left her notebook open in case this one-on-one revealed anything worth nothing.
“Not so old-fashioned you don’t understand what young women like to drink.”
She smiled at him. “You sure understand it.”
He laughed easily, dropping into the chair next to her. “Did it sound like I know my way around the bar scene just a little too well for a man eight years out of college?”
“You sounded like a man who knows his way around a product that is all about fun and the women he’s trying to get to buy it.”
His dark eyes sparked as he leaned a little closer to whisper, “Don’t tell Brock. He sees the brand as all about ‘taste, tradition, and two hundred years of Blackthorne pride.’”
“He has a deep and abiding respect for the Blackthorne brand,” she said, not quite sure why she felt she had to defend Brock, but she did.
“It’s more than that,” he told her. “With Brock, everything is about the brand, the business, and the image portrayed by that damn barrel-and-thistle logo he likes to slap on everything from bottle labels to cocktail napkins in the tasting bar, whether they need it or not.”
Intrigued to learn anything about Brock, she inched closer. “You think that’s what’s most important to him? In life?”
He thought about the question for a moment, then lifted an impressive shoulder and slipped into a smile that seemed to be very much a part of who this casual, easygoing man was.
“His respect for the brand is more like…” He trailed off with one more shrug, but Jenna put her hand on his arm to ever so gently prod more out of him.
“Like?”
But she saw a sudden protectiveness in his eyes. “Let him tell you his story, Jenna.”
“He has a story?”
He angled his head, seeming surprised she didn’t know. “Brock, Jason, and Phillip are our cousins. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And they lived with us since my aunt Julie and my uncle Mark died in a plane crash twenty years or so ago. Brock was nine.”
She nodded, aware of this history, but not any of the details. He’d carefully kept their conversation last night focused on business not family, and nothing about his own childhood. That would have been too personal, and personal would lead to…intimate. But she so wanted to know more—both for the book and for her own interest in Brock.
“And you think that childhood history is why he’s so protective of the brand?” she asked.
“Of the family. Of the name. His brothers are older, and they have their own issues where their parents’ deaths are concerned. But Brock has always been…grateful.” He was quiet for a moment, then shook his head as if he’d made a mental decision. “Let Brock tell you.”
“Let Brock tell you what?”
She turned at the sound of Brock’s voice and saw him standing in the conference room doorway, looking imposing and maybe not thrilled with his cousin at that moment.
Instantly, Logan stood. “Hey, man. How are you?” He walked over and gave Brock an easy handshake and brotherly pat on the back. “How the hell can I thank you for this wonderful gift?” He gestured toward Jenna, impressing her with his ease at shifting the conversation from serious to light.
“Gift?” Brock asked.
“I know Jenna was supposed to be scooping up intel for this book she’s writing, but I’m afraid I didn’t give her much.”
Brock gave him a dubious look, making Jenna wonder just how much of her conversation with Logan he’d heard.
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