Harlequin Special Edition October 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 (40 page)

It was possible that Daddy had financed her hobby of home flipping and just asked her to put in an appearance from time to time to keep up the family-owned business image. Either way, Willy Ray should have made his daughter at least get an MBA before he dropped the company into her lap.

“You don't know anything about me,” she said. “Or this company.”

“I know plenty,” Mac countered. “And the numbers don't lie. Profits have dropped thirty-five percent since you took over. You've lost two of your biggest customers in the last month alone. Your line of credit was yanked by the bank after you were late on your last—”

She wheeled around. The pencil tumbled from her hair and landed on the carpet. “Are you spying on me?”

“Merely doing my research. I like to have all the facts before I buy a company.”

“Well, go dig up dirt on someone else.” Her cheeks flamed. “Hillstrand Solar is not for sale to your...chop shop.”

He arched a brow. “Chop shop?”

“Isn't that what you do? Buy up companies and sell off the pieces? Regardless of how many people lose their jobs because you had to swallow one more little fish in your quest to be the biggest fish in the ocean.”

The truth stung a little, but Mac shrugged it off. Many of these companies were better off once he was done. And many of the owners were grateful to walk away with some money in their pockets. Soon, Savannah Hillstrand would be one of them. It was a matter of time before she agreed with him. “You are a fan of the simile, I see.”

“I just call it like I see it. Like my dad did.” She waved toward the door. “See yourself out. I don't have time to argue with you.”

“You don't have time
not
to listen to me.” The pencil lay on the carpet, a bright slash of yellow against slate gray. It seemed...lonely somehow. “Every day you insist on running this place is another day you are losing money. Let me guess...about twenty thousand a week?”

She stiffened and he knew he'd guessed correctly. “I have work to do. Work that pays the salaries of the people who work here, people who depend on me to keep that income rolling in.”

“Last I checked there was a classified section in the back of the newspaper. They'll find other jobs.”

She jerked out of her chair and marched up to him now, her green eyes on fire. “Are you really that cold and callous?”

“I'm neither, I assure you. I'm a realist.”

“A realist.” She scoffed. “Another word for a corporate shark.”

He put up a hand. Her barbs weren't anything he hadn't heard before—and from his own father, at that. But for some reason it bothered him that Savannah thought he was that cold. “Before you condemn me as the devil incarnate, let me make this clear. This isn't about your family legacy or some romantic notion of keeping a company afloat just because you inherited it. This is about business, plain and simple.
My
business is buying and selling. It's smart financial sense for me to buy and for you to sell. You know that, deep in your heart. The company is struggling and it's going to sink if you don't climb in the lifeboat I'm offering.”

“But it's my father's legacy. Part of our family history.” Her voice wavered a little, her composure wobbled, a momentary break in the businesslike facade of Savannah Hillstrand. “He would be heartbroken if I sold it off.”

“And like I said, this isn't personal.” He said the words, but there was something in him that was bothered by the tears welling in her eyes, that forlorn pencil on the floor. It had to be being back in the Stone Gap, because never before had Mac been so bothered by the decisions he made. Or the condemnation of one stubborn CEO. Stubborn and beautiful, he amended.

“The best time to sell is before the company runs itself into the ground,” Mac said, his tone growing gentle. “I understand you are trying to keep it afloat, and I admire you for that. I really do. But it's better for you to give it a chance to keep on going with me than to watch it dissolve in the next few months.” He hesitated. “Look, I'd like to make you a fair offer based on the financials. Why don't we go over the books together?”

Then he could deal with columns and numbers, instead of this heartbroken woman who wanted to hold on to an already-fading family legacy.

Her face fell, and Mac felt like a jerk. “I'm not saying you're right, because I don't think you are. But...” The fight had gone from her shoulders, the fire in her eyes extinguished. For a second, Mac wanted to take it all back, get on his motorcycle and leave town. But then he remembered his own mantra about this not being personal and steeled himself against that look in her eyes.

“Maybe it would be worth at least hearing you out,” Savannah said. “In case—and I mean that as a very slim just in case—I have a change of heart in the future.”

“It's always better to be armed with information before you make a decision.” He was winning the argument but it wasn't giving him any kind of satisfaction. Why? This was what he lived for—the pursuit, the capture, the success. But this time he didn't want to win so much as he wanted to...

See Savannah Hillstrand smile again. Crazy thoughts.

She nodded. Then her gaze cut away. “My father's computer is this one.”

“
That
mess is your father's workspace?”

She smiled ruefully. “It's organized chaos.”

“You got one word right,” he muttered. “He doesn't have his own office?”

“My father never liked offices. He wanted to be with the people who worked so hard for him. So he opted to have a cubicle just like everyone else.” She ran a hand over the back of one of the chairs, almost as if Willy Jay were sitting in it right now. “He said he did it so he never forgot what was important.”

“And what was that?” Mac asked. Because, for some reason he couldn't fathom, the answer to that question was impossibly important to him right now.

Savannah lifted her gaze to his, her deep green eyes reminding Mac of the dark, mysterious woods of North Carolina, where everything was lush and full. “That none of this was about business. It was personal. It was...family.”

Chapter Two

S
avannah took the elevator down to the fourth floor, then went into the break room and stood in the darkened space for a long time beside the picture of her father, taken years ago at an employee picnic, before he'd gotten sick.

She had known this day would come, known it from the moment she had sat in her father's chair and realized she had no idea what she was doing, but a part of her somehow had kept thinking maybe Mac Barlow would give up and she would find some miracle CEO knowledge in the back of her brain.

Not that she hadn't thought about selling the company. Every time an offer came in from Mac Barlow, and the couple others that she had fielded from her competitors, she'd weighed it against the worries on her shoulders. From the day her father died, Savannah had been grieving and overwhelmed. Stepping into her father's shoes had been a Herculean task. She'd loved her father dearly, but he had been the one person who knew how this company ticked. He'd always promised to take her under his wing and show her the ropes, but the heart attack that killed him had come while he was still relatively young and not ready.

Not that Savannah had ever really planned to be a part of the company. Her father had asked her time and time again to be a part of his dream, but her heart had led her in other directions. Savannah had worked in all facets of the company at one time or another, but had never been the one in charge; never
wanted
to be the one in charge. It wasn't until she'd actually sat at her father's desk that she'd realized how many millions of decisions had to be made on a daily basis. Tiny decisions that could alter the course of the profits, and big decisions that could send the business off a cliff.

And it was too late to ask him how to handle it all.

Now, four months later, she still hadn't really found her groove. She was trying, but it was far harder than she'd expected to live up to her father's example. To keep his Hillstrand Solar family together.

And that was what it was—her father's family. Not hers.
His
dream—not hers. But she'd made a promise, and whatever it took, Savannah would keep that promise.

Now Mac Barlow wanted to break up the family. And he refused to give up, no matter how many times she told him no.

The problem was he had a point. When he'd talked about the company sinking and the lifeboat he was offering, she'd finally admitted the truth to herself. Her four months of floundering around like a fish out of water had done their damage to the bottom line. Thus far she'd held off laying off any employees, but truth be told she was losing money and customers at an alarming rate, and she wasn't sure how to recover.

Maybe Mac was right. Maybe the company would be better off in his hands. But the people who worked here...

She leaned against the counter and took in several deep breaths. She needed a plan. Some time to think. She hadn't taken off so much as an afternoon since her father died—hence being here on yet another Sunday—and that had left her feeling even more snowed under by a growing workload.

What she needed was a trip to the old house. A few hours along the water, where the air was clear and the worries seemed far away. Some time sanding down the damaged deck or scraping off the old paint on the dining room wainscoting. In those moments when she was deconstructing and rebuilding, uncovering and restoring, she found a kind of Zen. There was something calming about taking a house that was ready to crumble at the slightest gust of wind and bring it back to its former glory. Even now she itched to be there, to take a few minutes or a few hours to breathe life into those old, familiar walls. There she knew she could make some decisions. Maybe even come up with a plan to save everyone's job going forward.

Except how was she supposed to do that? She could save historic homes, but she had no idea what to do when it came to saving her father's legacy.

Promise me, you'll keep it running
, Willie Jay had said before he died.
Those people depended on me, and now they're gonna depend on you.

She touched the picture of her father. “Oh, Dad, I wish you were here.” She desperately needed a mentor, someone to help her navigate the choppy waters. Someone who had turned around companies before. Someone who knew how to make their profits grow.

Her father smiled back in the perpetual image of him standing in the center of a long line of Hillstrand Solar employees on a bright summer day. The photo had been one of his favorites. He had his arms stretched over the shoulders of the employees closest to him, all part of the circle. He had loved this company, every single inch of it, and loved every one of the people who worked here. No matter what decision she made, she had to make sure the employees kept their jobs.

Because they mattered to Willie Jay. Mattered more than anything else in his life. And maybe, just maybe, if she could keep that legacy alive, she could feel as though she'd mattered to her father, too.

“I'll find a way to make this all work out, Dad,” she whispered. “I promise.”

His smile seemed to waver, but maybe that was just the tears in her eyes. She swiped them away, drew in a deep breath, then pulled a soda out of the fridge and headed back to the fifth floor.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the glass on the stairwell door. Good Lord, she looked the way she felt. Trying hard to be a sharp, sophisticated executive and failing miserably. A nice, neat suit, topped by a head of hair that looked as if she'd just rolled out of bed. At some point today, her long hair had gotten in her face while she worked, and she'd tied it back in a ponytail without a second thought. Just as she had a hundred thousand times on a job site. But here, with Mac Barlow, she'd wanted to be taken seriously, to be seen as a determined and capable CEO.

Nothing about that messy ponytail screamed
force to be reckoned with
. No wonder Mac kept saying she was in over her head. That was exactly the look she was sporting this afternoon.

She tugged out the ponytail and ran a hand through her long blond curls. She tugged the wisps of her bangs over her forehead, then did a quick glance to make sure the rest of her was shipshape. She wasn't flirting with the guy, she reminded herself. Even if he did look like a cross between a bad boy and a millionaire. It would help her make her case. That was all.

On the short flight up to the top floor, she'd decided two things—she wasn't going to sell to Mac Barlow no matter what he offered her. But before she told him that, she was going to see if she could find a way to get ideas from him as to what she could do. Somehow turn the conversation into one that gave her much-needed advice. Maybe then, if she could implement his thoughts, she could turn the company around herself. And send Mac on his way.

She needed a mentor, and she had one right here. The trick was getting him to give her concrete advice without realizing he was doing it.

She pasted a smile on her face, then strode across the office. Her steps faltered when she saw Mac sitting in the chair her father had always occupied, his attention riveted on the computer screen before him. Her father's computer, the one she had been sitting at just moments before because it made her feel close to her dad, who she still missed as though she'd lost a limb. She wanted to yank Mac Barlow out of the chair. Instead, she forced that smile to stay in place and hoped it didn't look as fake as it felt.

Okay, play nice. Try to engage him in a conversation that gives you what you need.

“We got off on the wrong foot, Mr. Barlow,” she said as she approached the desk. She held the soda in her hand toward him. “And I wanted to give you a...peace offering.”

He flicked a glance at the bottle. “I don't drink soda.”

“Oh.” She took the bottle back, unscrewed the top and screwed it back on again. So much for that peace offering. “I'd like to talk to you about the company a little more.”

He kept clicking through the bookkeeping program, hardly giving her the time of day. “Miss Hillstrand, if this is another attempt to talk me out of—”

“Of course not,” she lied. Best to find a way to get him chatting about what he did, how he had become so successful, or at the very least, how he envisioned making Hillstrand Solar a good investment for his enterprise. Surely, running one business was like running another, and from that conversation, perhaps she could extract a few secrets to success, if there was such a thing. Give her a bathroom to restore or a kitchen that needed to be gutted and reconfigured, and Savannah was in her element. But here, at her father's desk, with dozens of people looking to her for leadership and answers—she might as well have been running blind into a wall. Well, it was time for her to find her focus. “I merely thought you'd want an insider's perspective. I've worked here practically since I could walk, and I'd love to give you some feedback. To help you make...a better decision.”

“And what decision would that be?” He swiveled in the chair. “Are you trying to talk me out of the purchase again?”

“Certainly not.” She screwed and unscrewed the bottle cap again, then chided herself for showing her nerves. A strong CEO never wavered, never showed doubt. Maybe if she played the part, it would eventually suit her. “I just wanted to get an idea of what you planned to do with the company, how you thought you would get it back on its feet if you bought it. Because we both know you can't just flip it if it's struggling.”

Mac returned to the computer and moved on to the next screen, peering down the list of receivables. “I rarely share my plans with other people.”

“I'm not other people. I'm the owner. And this company is like—” damn the catch in her throat “—family to me. I want to make sure it is taken care of and that everyone will be okay. That the family, so to speak, will remain intact.”

It wasn't the company that was family, Savannah realized as she said the words. She knew the people who worked at Hillstrand Solar, of course. It was that the company, every last chair and slip of paper, was a part of her father. Willie Jay and Savannah had been like two peas in a pod, her mother had always said. He'd been her protector, her mentor, her hero, and without him in her life, a yawning cavern had opened in Savannah's heart. Along with the sense that she'd never quite made him proud, never quite shown him what she could do. Taking care of the company filled that cavern. A little.

Mac scanned the list of jobs in production, then returned his attention to the receivables, probably doing the math to see if their monthly sales were up to snuff. She waited.

Finally, he let out a breath and pushed back from the computer. “I understand that need to want to protect everyone's jobs, but sometimes that isn't feasible.”

“But many of these employees have been here as long as my father was here. They depend on their paychecks. They're honest and trustworthy and hardworking—”

“I'm not interviewing them, so save the résumés.” He waved toward the computer screen. “I'm looking at the bottom line. I make all my decisions based on the numbers. And the numbers are clear. You can't support the amount of overhead you have.”

The sinking feeling in Savannah's gut told her that Mac was right. Her father had been a great leader, but he had also been a softy, reluctant to fire anyone. “There must be a way to bring in more revenue.”

“There is. More sales. But your sales staff is already stretched pretty thin, and your biggest accounts have gone to your competitors. It takes time to woo them back, time to build up the sales again, time to get that money rolling in.”

“It's easier to keep the bees you have with a strong hive than to go out and capture more.” She gave him a sad smile. “Something my dad used to say.”

His gaze met hers. She swore she saw a softening in his eyes, a connection between them. “My parents are big on sayings like that. Must be a Southern thing.”

“You don't hear those sayings much up in Boston?”

He scoffed. “Not at all. Sometimes I miss...” He shook his head and the moment of connection, if there had really been one at all, disappeared. “Anyway, your hive right now is...weakening. It's not completely fallen apart, but it's got some structural damage from the last few months.” He brought up the accounting program and started leading her through the reports she'd already pored over herself. Every percentage he gave her, every figure he pointed to, told her the same thing.

She drew up a chair and perched on the edge. The numbers on the screen blended together, a confusing jumble that she barely understood on her best day. There were so many working parts to a business this size. Too many, it seemed, for one person to control. At least this particular person.

But if she didn't sit in her father's chair, then who would? Certainly not Mac Barlow, who would sell it off in pieces, dismantling the last remaining bits of Willy Jay Hillstrand. She was the only one who loved her father enough to keep it moving forward, to keep the legacy going.

When Mac had finished reviewing the reports with her, and thus depressing Savannah even more, she pushed back and let out a sigh. “Then what would you do if you were me?”

A grin quirked up the side of Mac's mouth. It was a nice grin, made his eyes light up, softened everything about him. He went from being the evil corporate raider to...a guy. Just a guy. Okay, just a very handsome guy.

Which was the last thing she needed in her life. She'd fallen for more than one Southern charmer, only to realize charm didn't equal gentleman. Savannah had sworn off dating, at least for the foreseeable future.

“I see what you're doing.” The grin widened. “Are you asking me to help you rebuild your company so that you can keep it running?”

“And out of your evil clutches.” She smiled. Maybe if she asked him nicely he'd help her. Be the mentor she needed. Okay, so maybe she was being way too Pollyanna here, but Savannah was desperate for some guidance. Might as well be honest. “Yes, I am doing exactly that.”