The Sweetest Hours (Harlequin Superromance) (2 page)

Still, she looked more like a cosmetic salesperson than an engineer in a manufacturing plant with noisy, automated equipment. How did she hold her own within the realities of factory life? The CEO of the company—
former
CEO, though Kristin didn’t know it yet—was laid-back and kind. But Andrew, the man who’d deserted Malcolm to this young woman with the Botticelli face, was aggressive and foul-tempered. Not someone Malcolm would trust with his sister, but then again, there weren’t many people he did trust.

“What kind of engineer are you?” he asked her.

“Industrial.” A frown crossed her brow. “I’m with an overtime crew today. One of our labeling machines broke and we’re here to finish packing an order by hand.”

She was very free with her information. In a sense, it fascinated him.

“Does that happen often?” he couldn’t help asking.

She laughed. She had a nice laugh. As she tucked her badge into her purse, her gaze kept sliding to his. “How did you learn to talk in a Scottish accent like that? Because it sounded real to me. Did you
ever
live there?”

He slid his tongue over his teeth, debating how much to tell her. One tooth was chipped and uneven. A reminder to remain careful. “I left when I was young. I don’t remember much,” he decided to admit.

Her face brightened and she smiled—it was a remarkable transformation. She had a way of looking at him as if he was the most fascinating person she’d ever seen. “I knew it,” she said. “My grandmother was born in Scotland, too.”

“Really,” he murmured. He crossed his arms and leaned back. She was nattering on with him, unaware of the peril.

She nodded. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“Maybe you should,” he said mildly.

“Yeah, right. I don’t even have a passport.” She laughed.

“That’s easily fixed.”

“What’s your name?” she asked, smiling.

Something stilled in him. He hadn’t expected the conversation to go quite like this. But he needed to convince her that he wasn’t a threat.

He looked her straight in the eyes. They were pale green and luminescent. The color reminded him of rolling fields in the springtime, but even more beautiful. “George Smith,” he said.

It was another lie. A complete and utter fabrication, but he didn’t feel a twinge of guilt, because it was his “security name.”

A look must’ve crossed his face, because a crease formed on her forehead. “What are you here for today, George?”

He tensed slightly. The moment he’d been waiting for. If she had chatted around the bush much longer, he would have thought less of her. As it was, she was utterly charming about it.

He opened his briefcase and handed her the folded letter. He’d hoped not to have to show it to anyone other than Andrew. It only increased complications.

She glanced questioningly from the letter to him. He kept silent, steepled his hands and waited as she opened it and read.

The printed orders were on letterhead from the CEO of Aura Botanicals, her company. “To Whom it May Concern,” it began, informing the reader to give “all and any assistance to Mr. George Smith, consultant.”

She put down the letter. “You’re a consultant? What kind?”

He frowned. “I specialize in brand expansion and cost savings.”

“So you’re a marketing guy?”

“Business strategy, actually.”

“Why are you here alone on a Saturday? Is Jay selling the company?”

For a split second, Malcolm almost broke his mask. She was more perceptive than Andrew had been. “No,” he said carefully. “Jay doesn’t want to alarm anyone. He just wants suggestions to improve profitability so he can expand the label.”

She digested his answer. “Are you talking about the ‘Morning Botanicals’ product line? Because I’ll tell you, that’s my favorite. People especially like the shampoo, but most can’t find it in stores due to spotty distribution. Maybe you could tell Jay that.”

“Kristin, there are one hundred twenty-five people in your company. Why don’t
you
tell him?”

“Well, I would, but his wife died a few months ago, and Jay isn’t as available as he used to be. He took her death hard. We all did.” She shrugged, moving to stand in front of the heater again. “We don’t see him as often as we used to around here.”

Which explained the state of the company financials. But Malcolm would discuss nothing of the sort with anyone besides Jay, the CEO.

“May I get back to work, please?” He held his hand out for the letter. God help him if he had to use it again.

“What kind of work are you planning to do today?” she asked, holding back his letter.

He sighed. She just wouldn’t let him off the hook. The irony was, it made him respect her more. “Fine, I’ll tell you. Andrew gave me the computer password so I could retrieve the reports I need from the system. I also need to have a look at the factory equipment. Andrew gave me diagrams, but I’d rather observe for myself.”

“Interesting,” she said, perusing the set of schematics showing the layout of the machinery on the floor. “Did you know I made those drawings?”

“That’s...perfect.”

“Why?”

She was entirely guileless. And she seemingly knew everything about the operations and the company.

“Because I could use your help,” he said.

“I don’t know....” She shook her head, smiling, tapping the letter against her chin. “The directive to give you assistance is definitely from Jay, because I know his signature.” She handed the letter back to him. “But, how do I know
you’re
George Smith? You really should show me some identification.”

He’d prepared for this, and he gave her his best sheepish look. “I’d like to, but my wallet is in the hotel safe.”

“You came here without a wallet?”

“I was dropped off by a driver,” he said honestly. The driver was supposed to stay with him for the day, but he hadn’t felt well and had returned to the hotel to rest. A damned unlucky move. Malcolm took extraordinary measures to avoid unlucky moves, but what could he do? “I didn’t realize I’d forgotten my wallet until it was too late.”

“You must have
something
with your name on it,” she said.

He had nothing on him that identified him as Malcolm MacDowall, and that was by design. Everything Malcolm did was by design. He was utterly careful, and he trusted no one.

But a piece of paper to identify him as George Smith?

He snapped open his briefcase again, reached into a folder and withdrew a printer copy of the reservation for his hotel stay. He passed the receipt to her.

She studied it.
George Smith.
The document did not list a company name for him.

She nodded and passed it back. “Thank you, George Smith. I hope you understand. We can’t be too careful these days.”

“I completely agree.”

“To be sure, though, I need to make a phone call to my supervisor. Will you wait here until I come back?”

Malcolm tried not to wince. It wasn’t his choice to prevaricate. Jay, the owner of Aura Botanicals, had made it a condition of his visit. Jay had seemed deeply sad, almost in a state of numbness the last time Malcolm had met with him. Personally, Malcolm didn’t think it was wise to make business decisions so soon after the death of a loved one, but what Malcolm thought didn’t matter.

And so, Malcolm was “George Smith” today. A generic “security name.” Less messy for all concerned.

As long as Kristin’s supervisor didn’t raise any red flags.

CHAPTER TWO

K
RISTIN
STRETCHED
HER
arms, twisted at her waist and then bent down and retrieved her fallen coat. She’d been overcautious in protecting herself from George Smith.

Clearly, he was not a physical threat, she thought, as she walked to the company break room. George seemed harmless enough beneath his rough exterior, once he’d lowered the gruff defenses he hid behind.

She hung her coat on a hook by the far wall, beside the vending machines and the coffee brewers. She couldn’t help but still wonder about the phone conversation she’d overheard him engaged in, but it would’ve been unwise to push him too far. That call had been private...
intimate.

In all likelihood he’d been speaking with a Scottish lady. A girlfriend from his homeland, perhaps? That would explain the accent he’d been using—and the reason he’d been covering it up. It could just be simple embarrassment.

Still, it was best she inform her supervisor what was going on in the offices. It was safest that way. She didn’t want Andrew calling her “unprofessional” over her handling of the consultant, not if she could help it.

Carrying her purse under her arm, she slipped down the hall and into her hideaway in the factory. The best part about working at Aura Botanicals was the great smell of the organic body creams that they manufactured—a scent that was everywhere in the air, fresh and clean.

If she used her imagination and considered the silver lining in every cloud, then working for Aura was like taking a spa day every time she came to work. The essential oils of juniper and birch cleared her head, and the milk-based lotions made her feel like Heidi on her own mountain in Switzerland.

But the scent of the beeswax—the honey—was her favorite, and it was most concentrated in the inventory storeroom she chose to make her phone call from. Lingering amid the racks and bottles to take deep, cleansing breaks was her secret escape during regular workdays.

Positioning herself near a small square window, high above her, she took out her phone and texted Dirk, her supervisor.

Immediately he rang her back. When she answered his call, she could hear the “Chicken Dance” playing in the background. Dirk was at one of his Saturday wedding-DJ jobs he loved so much. Who was she to stomp on someone’s dreams?

“Yo, Kristin, I was just gonna call you. Did you hear that Andrew’s wife went into labor?”

“I did.” Kristin had forgotten about that in all the excitement with George Smith in her office. “Do you have any news?”

“No.”

“What did Andrew say?” she prodded. “How is Robin doing?”

“Ah...he just said that there’s a management consultant in the plant, and that you’re in charge of him for the day.”

“
I’m
in charge? Well, it was great of him to let me know about it.” Too bad Andrew couldn’t deign to talk to her himself instead of going through “channels.” Mentally, she rolled her eyes. “What does he want me to do? The consultant asked to be let into the computer system, and he requested a tour of the factory, too.”

“Hey, you know I would help you out, but I’m at work today,” Dirk said.

Kristin gritted her teeth and took a breath from the smell of the honey around her, reminding herself to stay calm. “So am I, Dirk.”

“That’s great,” he said. “Look, I’ll see you Monday. You’ll do fine, okay?”

“Wait!” She jumped down from the shelf she’d been sitting on. “Don’t hang up on me yet.” Her boss seemed only too happy to distance himself from the consultant’s visit, and she wasn’t getting a good feeling about this. “Do I have your permission to show him our operations?”

“Andrew said you’re in charge. This is your decision.”

“Well, what does that mean exactly?”

“Honestly? If anything goes wrong today, it’s on you.”

“Me?”

“Sure. You’re the one who’s
there.
” Dirk made a laughing inflection of the word. “I can’t cover you from
here.
If Andrew gets mad at you, then he gets mad at you. Shit happens, and it is what it is.”

She hugged herself, pacing the small storeroom. More than anything, she needed to keep this job. Suddenly, there were more stakes involved than just being “distracted” from her work. Yes, she’d thought George Smith was interesting; she’d enjoyed questioning him. When he’d smiled, she’d been intrigued. His eyes were nice. Kind. Not threatening at all. And, of course, there was that accent...

She sighed, opening one of the lotion bottles and inhaling for fortitude. Dirk was, in effect, reminding her to be on her guard. Reminding her of her shaky standing at Aura of late. Ever since Laura had died, there’d been no one to protect her from Andrew.

“Kristin, I need to go. It’s time to announce the cake-cutting.”

There was nothing more to be done. Discussing the decision with Dirk wouldn’t solve a thing. She needed to trust her gut.

“I’m just keeping you informed,” she said. “Have a good wedding.”

* * *

M
ALCOLM
HAD
WORKED
with a lot of successful women in his professional life—CEOs, saleswomen, accountants—and what they all had in common were determination and strength of will. None of them were pushovers.

Kristin wasn’t a pushover, either. She was just...surprising. She had a different style of operating, he supposed, that of a natural free spirit. When she smiled at him and tilted her head, he could see where he would have to be extra careful not to let himself be lulled off guard. Because at the end of the day, as the cliché went, everybody had their own interests at heart. As he well knew.

“Is everything all right?” he asked Kristin as she stood again in the doorway to the office—to
her
office.

She nodded grimly and set down two steaming mugs on his—her—desk. “It looks like I’ll be taking care of you today,” she said. “George.”

He made sure not to flinch at the false name. His poker face in action, he nodded.

“Great. Er...I’m going to need some help with navigating this computer system. It’s not an accounting program I’m familiar with.”

“That’s because we bought the rights to the source code, and it’s evolved from an older software package.” She slid one of the mugs toward him. “Here. I brought you some coffee. If you don’t like coffee, there’s tea and cocoa in the break room.”

“This is...great. Thank you.” He curled one hand around the warm brew. Black, the way he liked it. “Could you, ah, show me the report screen?”

“Do you want financial reports or manufacturing reports?” she asked coolly.

“Ah...the shop floor reports with costs, projections and capacities would be most helpful for now.” Damn, he was distracted. Good thing he already had everything else he needed, directly from Jay Astley himself.

Personally, he thought the man had made a mistake. Astley should have been here today. Instead Kristin Hart was bearing the brunt of it, though she was very good at what she did, judging from watching her as she leaned over him and tapped at her keyboard.

He closed his eyes. Malcolm got a whiff of that honey body lotion they sold, that the factory smelled of, actually. It was nice. It was driving him a little crazy, because it wasn’t just the cream he was inhaling, but the scent of Kristin, mingled with the cream.

“This is the main screen. The printer is right there.” She indicated a portable laser printer on a table behind them. “I need to go check on my crew now, but you can stay here and print whatever production reports you need. If you get lost in the system, just type ‘MI10’ here.” She showed him a tab on the screen. “That’s a back door to the main reports menu. You can go directly there instead of clicking through the hierarchy of screens.”

“You know what you’re doing,” he said, impressed at the speed with which she paged through the system.

“I should. I installed a lot of it.” Her voice was matter-of-fact. Not filled with the pride she should be taking in her work. “What else do you need today?” she asked, very cool and professional.

It threw him for a bit of a loop. There were dynamics in play here that he wasn’t aware of. Nothing had gone right about this day so far.

He forced himself to think for a minute, collect himself. “Why don’t I print the reports later? As long as you’re heading to the floor, I’ll tag along with you now.”

She nodded again, showing no emotion. “Fine.” She glanced at her watch and winced slightly. “I’ve been gone too long, and I left Mindy in charge.”

He followed Kristin as she strode down the hallway to a section of the old plant with ancient floorboards that creaked when he walked on them. A remainder from the original, nineteenth-century cotton mill it had once been, beside the great flowing river that cut through the classic, small New England factory town. He felt calmer. These were facilities he knew well, both from his university years and his work experience.

They rounded a corner and bumped into a woman who was headed in their direction, evidently searching for Kristin.

“I brought you your hot chocolate,” Kristin said to the woman.

This was Mindy. And Malcolm knew, because she wore a “Hello, my name is Mindy” sticker affixed to her blue-flowered blouse.

Mindy was shorter than Kristin, and squatter, and when she suddenly sighed and wrapped both chubby arms around Kristin’s waist, her head only reached the top of Kristin’s breasts. For a moment, Malcolm froze. Such shows of affection in the workplace were so out of place, inappropriate...and yet, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from them.

“I am sooo tired of snow and cold,” Mindy moaned, her voice muffled between Kristin’s breasts.

Malcolm swallowed, his heart feeling as if it had stopped. But Kristin wasn’t fazed by the woman.

“I know, honey.” Kristin hugged Mindy with one arm and patted her on the head while she juggled the mug of hot chocolate in her other hand. “It seems like it’s been snowing for months and months, doesn’t it? But it’s only January.”

“The new year,” Mindy said. She pushed away from Kristin and faced him. Her eyes were spaced far apart, and she had a distinctive look to her features.

Ah. He understood. She was...what did they call it? Special Needs.

“Hello,” Mindy said to him.

“Er...hello.” He crossed his arms and nodded curtly. No hugs for him today, please, he thought.

“This is George,” Kristin said to Mindy. “He’s visiting us for the day.”

Inside, Malcolm cringed. He did not want to bond with anyone here, did not want to risk getting to know them or, God forbid,
liking
them.

“What did you do for New Year’s Eve?” Mindy asked him.

“Er...” He gazed to Kristin for help. She smiled and shook her head as if to say, “You’re on your own.”

Involuntarily, he swallowed.

“What did you do for New Year’s Eve?” Mindy asked him again, louder this time.

He risked glancing at Kristin. She was watching him as if his response was of utmost importance.

“I...er...went home.”

“Where is that?” Mindy demanded.

He felt a muscle in his jaw tick. He looked to Kristin, but she didn’t say a word.

“I saw my family,” he said quietly. And it killed him to think of it. His life was so out of sync with theirs. He’d stayed two weeks, for Christmas and for Hogmanay—what the Scots called New Year’s Eve—but then after the “first-footing” tradition, he’d been right back on the road again.

He really was getting tired of the road.

“
Who
is in your family?” Mindy asked him.

“Come,” Kristin interrupted, taking pity on him at last. “We need to get back to the packing room. How are Jeff and Arlene doing?”

“Good.” Mindy stopped to take a drink of her hot chocolate. She downed half the mug in one long gulp, before Kristin gently took it from her.

“Let me carry that for you, Mindy,” Kristin said. Mindy allowed Kristin to put her arm around her and lead her down the hallway.

And just like that, his interrogation was forgotten.

He paused, catching his breath. Even though it was cool enough to nearly see his breath in the below-room-temperature factory, he was sweating beneath his shirt. A cold perspiration, running in a thin trickle from his armpit down along his bare skin. He was in hell. Women and special needs workers. What was he doing?

Kristin poked her head around the corner. “Are you coming, George?”

It was like a dagger to his core. “I... Yes.” But he gripped his notebook and made sure he had his phone in his pocket; he’d need the camera app to take photos of the factory floor.

He followed Kristin and Mindy. Slowly, he was turning himself numb inside again. Not fighting anymore. He would go with the flow, whatever the day brought. Let Kristin show him the way, but at the same time, stay safely wary.

But it turned out he didn’t need to be; nobody challenged him. Kristin introduced him to Jeff and Arlene. Jeff was mellow and quiet. He had a thick white beard, wire-rimmed glasses and a habit of saying very little. Arlene was around the same age, but warm and nurturing. She babbled on about a trip to “the British Isles” she was planning to take, and it was only by the grace of God that Kristin didn’t raise a brow at him or otherwise give him away as a possible inhabitant of the Commonwealth.

She was a blessing to him. And, as she’d promised, Kristin led him on a tour of the plant. It was a light, airy space with high ceilings and tall windows that overlooked a back parking lot and a pine forest that was picturesque—pure New England.

Malcolm knew the region well; he’d spent his childhood and teen years in two New Hampshire boarding schools, and then, his undergraduate terms in a college not too far from the location of this plant.

The snow falling on the pine trees outside made him feel sad. It was so quiet and peaceful. He and Kristin were the only two people on the factory floor, with all the empty, ghostlike machines. She led him from station to station, his footsteps echoing against the ancient wooden boards, warped and uneven with age. The space was small and cramped with devices—mixers, conveyor belts, bottlers and a label maker that Kristin said was broken, hence, the applying of labels by hand today. But no matter...all the other machines were dormant, too. On a Saturday.