First Meeting

Mr. Odell’s call first thing in the morning catches me off guard, even more so because he’s summoned me to his office in ten minutes.

I won’t even be able to eat breakfast if I want to get there on time, and I’m sure he did it on purpose so I’d be late.

He’s probably looking forward to complaining about it when we meet, but I’m not about to give him that satisfaction.

Never in my life have I gotten ready for a meeting so fast, but I arrive just as the clock marks the exact ten minutes since his call.

I’m tempted to shout in triumph, but I hold back.

Although I think my satisfied smile says it all, so does the hard line his lips press into and the way he reluctantly lets me in and gestures for me to sit in one of the armchairs at the far end of the office.

I’m surprised to discover how cozy it looks—nothing like the surly man who occupies it daily. Or maybe he only acts that way with me because he sees me as the enemy. I suppose I’ll find out today.

My gaze wanders around the room, taking it all in.

There’s a large desk in the center and a chair that looks comfortable despite its simplicity.

Every object on the desk is neatly arranged.

A photo I can only glimpse from the side, strategically placed at one end, shows a smiling woman holding a small boy.

I assume it’s Mr. Odell’s wife and son. The fact that the photo is so old gives me pause, but for now I won’t draw any conclusions. Maybe he’s just sentimental.

Where I’m sitting, there are a couple more armchairs and a low table with several fashion magazines fanned out across it.

Not a single speck of dust mars the place.

Does he clean it himself or does he have someone to do it?

The numbers in his accounts don’t leave much room for that kind of expense, but what do I know about what goes through a man like his mind.

Maybe he’d rather keep the entire town on his payroll and make no profit.

Some of the owners of the small businesses my father has been acquiring were like that, which is why they were doing so poorly.

I’m not saying they shouldn’t help their neighbors, but when someone isn’t productive or when keeping them on the books only generates costs without returns, not even being your friend should spare them from being let go.

You can’t survive on charity. You have to be realistic to succeed.

“Mandy,” he says through the intercom, “bring some cookies and a coffee for Miss Hardwick.”

Despite the furrowed brow, I notice a certain tenderness when he speaks to the young receptionist. I’m curious about why he hired such a scatterbrained and unprofessional girl.

Most likely he did it as a favor to her parents; perhaps they’re friends and he couldn’t say no.

My theory that he hires people simply because they’re from town grows stronger.

“I suppose I’ll have to listen to whatever you’ve got to say,” he sighs heavily as he sits down near me, in the adjacent armchair.

“Listening doesn’t commit you to anything,” I remind him.

“Your colleague already said more than enough,” he scoffs, clearly displeased by the memory of his encounters with Carson.

“My colleague should never have been sent here in the first place.” I don’t even hesitate to say it.

Carson isn’t suited for this, no matter how much my father insists on sending him first to the smaller companies.

Sometimes I feel he does it on purpose, to make me work harder when I step in.

But I’m not sure if it’s to prove to everyone what I’m worth, or if it’s a personal challenge because he knows I love a good one.

“He’s a very rigid man in what he does, but thick-headed.

He sets a goal and won’t accept anything less than the result he expects.

The problem is he doesn’t understand that every case is different.

He also doesn’t know how to deal with people—he lacks the empathy. ”

“And why the devil did your father send him, girl?”

“Because he trusts him. He’s one of the best lawyers on staff and he’s closed a lot of deals. But his forte is big multinationals.”

“Not small, insignificant businesses like mine.” He sounds offended and I can’t help but smile.

“Don’t be so prickly, Mr. Odell. Nobody implied that,” I say with a small smile I hope he won’t find insulting.

“I’m not just another deal to close. I’m a man who wants to keep his company.”

“I assure you I’m well aware of that and I’ll take it into account when negotiating the terms. I’ve dealt with many reluctant owners, Mr. Odell, but we’ve always managed to reach an agreement that satisfied both parties.

In some cases—more than you’d think—the solution wasn’t a sale, but a partnership. ”

“A partnership where your father holds all the power,” he scoffs again.

Mandy comes in with a tray and the smell of coffee fills my nostrils, activating my stomach.

Thankfully, it doesn’t rumble too loudly and Mr. Odell’s voice covers it, so I’m spared the embarrassment.

Though it’s his fault, of course, for giving me so little time to get to the meeting.

If he knew me, he’d know I’m capable of that and much more to land a contract for my father.

“When Haven arrives, tell him to come in. I need him here.”

“Are you afraid of me?” I can’t resist the jab.

When his eyes narrow and he huffs again, I smile, amused. I’m beginning to think the hostility he shows is nothing but a front.

“You’re nothing but a child,” he says.

“I stopped being one a long time ago.” I smile again, to his displeasure. “Besides, my father wouldn’t send a little girl to deal with someone who’s stumped his best lawyer.”

“Boasting isn’t becoming, girl.”

“Oh, well.” I take a sip of my coffee and feel the energy flooding back. “Us girls do like to boast.”

Then his laughter catches me off guard and I nearly spill the coffee down my blouse. I carefully set the cup on the side table and grab a napkin to wipe my mouth. I use the movement to hide a telltale grin. I’ve just figured out how to deal with Mr. Odell.

“Eat something, Miss Hardwick,” he directs me, “and then I’ll hear your proposal.”

“That’s not how I do things, Mr. Odell,” I say calmly. “I prefer to observe first and offer later.”

“Observe?” He raises an eyebrow. “What do you want to see, girl?”

This time I let the smile come naturally.

I know he’s using that label to remind me he doesn’t consider me fit for the job, but it doesn’t bother me.

He’s not the first to try to belittle me to gain the upper hand, but all it ever achieves is making the satisfaction greater when I get them to sign the contract.

“I want to see how the company operates, what plans you have for the future. I want to know how many employees you have and what each one does. Schedules, pay, benefits… I want to see the books so I can get a picture of your expenses and revenue. Only then will I put together a proposal enticing enough for you to consider.”

“What does any of that matter when you’ve come to buy the company? You’ll be able to do whatever you want with it once it’s yours. Say what you have to say and let’s get this over with.”

“As I’ve already mentioned, a sale isn’t always the end goal. I can see you don’t want to wash your hands of the business, and I can respect that.” I cross one leg over the other. “So I need more information to give you what you need.”

“What I need is for you to leave.”

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but if I do as you ask, you’d be signing this company’s death sentence.

Since you care so much about it, I doubt that’s what you want.

You see, I don’t make impersonal proposals based on numbers.

I look for the right future for each business and each owner.

First I observe and study; then I negotiate.

Now it’s your turn, not mine. Show me what you have and I’ll tell you what I can offer. ”

He stares at me for what feels like an eternity, neither of us willing to back down. Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh. I smile in anticipation, but before he can tell me what I want to hear, a couple of knocks on the door interrupt him:

“Come in,” he says, clearly relieved.

“Haven just arrived.”

“Send him in, Mandy,” the boss requests.

“He says he has things to do.” She looks troubled by this piece of information. “And that he’ll come later.”

“Tell him to drop whatever he’s doing and get in here right now,” he growls.

“Yes, right away.”

She closes the door and leaves us alone again. From the way they spoke to each other, it’s clear there’s affection involved and she’s not just any employee. My theory that she was hand-picked is confirmed.

“It seems your son doesn’t appreciate my presence either.”

“My son knows what—” He falls silent. “He’ll do as he’s told.”

So there’s conflict between them. That’s very interesting, especially since my father warned me that the son was tougher than the father, but Ethel assured me otherwise when she spoke about him.

Perhaps Haven is simply trying to please his father, even though he actually wants to sell the company.

I need to find out before presenting them with a proposal.

If that’s the case, it could be the key to the whole project.

The door opens after another couple of knocks. Since my back is to it, I can’t see who it is, but the moment he speaks, his voice is so familiar that I can’t help turning to look at the man who just walked in.

“I’m here, Dad. What’s so important that it can’t wait?”

“I’m not dealing with this girl on my own,” Barnaby grumbles. “And on top of that she wants a tour of the factory. You’ll handle it—I’m done with all this.”