Chapter Five
Grant slung his towel over his shoulder. He’d spent the last hour in the hotel gym. A quick glance at his watch told him he could finally go and get ready and head over to the Hamilton estate. He’d been awake far too early this morning, running through the options for Zosca, making sure his proposals weren’t missing anything. He sighed. He’d also been running through the memories of Saturday night with Chelsea. A cold shower had helped a little, but he’d needed to come down here and work off his frustration. How could he still be horny for a woman he knew he was never going to see again? And why was he thinking about her again? He made his way back to the elevator. He’d go shower, get ready, and go. He’d still be a little early, but he liked to show up early and get the feel of a place—experience the atmosphere before he started work.
The elevator dinged, and he smiled through pursed lips at the effect it had on his body. His cock sprang to life like some horny Pavlovian dog at the memory of his elevator ride with Chelsea. He needed to get a grip. He hurried back to his room and took another cold shower, forcing his mind to stay focused on the plan he’d be laying out for Mr. Hamilton in less than an hour.
~ ~ ~
Chelsea stood in her closet looking around at her options. If this was her dressing-up box, she needed to find the perfect costume to see her through today. She needed all the help she could get. She pulled at the hem of a frilly white dress. No. Much as she’d like to, she couldn’t dress up as a good fairy who could cast a spell to make everything okay. What she needed was to look the part—like she knew what she was doing. She blew out a sigh of frustration. She did know what she was doing. She was running the place exactly as she wanted to. The trouble was, she wasn’t running the place exactly as her father wanted her to. He didn’t trust her. She bit her lip. Was that true? Did he think she wasn’t capable of running Zosca well? She didn’t think that was it. He did trust her. He didn’t think she was stupid, just misguided. She smiled as realization dawned. The only problem he had with the way she was running the business was that she wasn’t running it the way he would.
She rifled through the hangers until she reached her business suits. This was more like it. She dug out a very stiff and formal looking pinstripe jacket and a crisp, white shirt. She imagined it was something like a banker would wear. She had pants that went with it, but no. She smiled when she found the skirt. It, too, went with the jacket, but where the suit with pants said staid, boring banker lady, the suit with the skirt screamed kickass banker bitch. Whatever she wore would have no effect on her dad. She knew that much, but she hoped it’d send a message to this consultant person that she wasn’t going to just roll over and do as she was told.
When she was ready, she looked herself over in the mirror and smiled. She looked the part. She was going to play the part. The words echoed in her head, reminding her of the way she’d looked and the part she’d played on Saturday night. She’d played the girl who went out and hooked up and said goodbye in the morning—and man, had she enjoyed it. Well, all except the goodbye part. She shook her head; she couldn’t let her mind go there right now. She needed to feel confident in her decisions, needed to have the courage of her convictions, not start second guessing herself—about anything. She picked up her car keys and looked around the cottage. Was she forgetting anything? No. It was time to go and face the music.
She started the car and let it idle for a few minutes. What was her bottom line? Her dad had taught her a lot about business, and one of the things he’d taught her was to go into any negotiation knowing what she wanted, what she could live with, and what she couldn’t accept. What she wanted was to be left to run the company her way. Her inner rebel screamed that she could not, would not live with interference from an outsider, but she hushed that voice. What would be the best compromise? She didn’t know. She couldn’t know yet, not until she heard what her dad and his consultant wanted. If they wanted her to change everything, if they wanted her to put profit before her people, if they wanted her to put efficient production before the quality of her wines … she didn’t know that she could compromise on that. She stared through the windshield at the rolling hills, the familiar vineyards where she’d spent her childhood—and most of her time ever since. She was a winemaker. It wasn’t just what she did. It was who she was. She couldn’t become someone else. If they wanted her to change everything, she’d walk away. She could buy her own vineyard, make her own name and her own wines. She nodded. Maybe it was time anyway. Maybe her father would let her buy Zosca. Then he wouldn’t interfere any more.
She sucked in a deep breath and slowly blew it out. She needed to get going, or she’d be late. That wasn’t the best way to start. She wanted to show herself as a professional, not just the daughter who couldn’t even make a meeting on time. She put the car in gear and set out for the offices. It wasn’t like she had far to go. Her cottage stood on the very edge of the family estate. She smiled to herself. If she bought Zosca, she’d have to see about buying the cottage and the land it stood on, too. Maybe it was time to do that anyway.
~ ~ ~
Grant sat in the reception area. He’d wanted to get a sense of the atmosphere around here, and he liked it. The place was buzzing. People walked quickly, purposefully, and they smiled a lot. This wasn’t a true reflection of what he was coming into, though. This was the main Hamilton-Groves headquarters. He was meeting with Mr. Hamilton and the head of Zosca here, but later they’d go over to the Zosca offices. He was assuming that Mr. Hamilton would leave them to it at that point, but he didn’t know yet how it would all play out.
He looked up as a tall, broad-shouldered, sandy haired guy came toward him with a friendly smile. He got to his feet as the guy offered his hand. “I’m Cameron Hamilton. You must be Grant Dawson?”
Grant nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You, too. My father asked me to let you know that he’s running a couple of minutes late. Can we get you a coffee or anything?”
“That’d be great, thanks.”
“Since you have a few minutes to spare, how would you feel about getting a little outside input before you get started?”
Grant raised an eyebrow, wondering what kind of input he was talking about.
Cameron smiled a very genuine smile, and Grant relaxed, feeling like he’d just made a friend. “I mean, do you want to come and have that coffee in my office? I’m not going to be any part of what you’re here to do. Zosca is outside of my remit. I have no stake and no say.” He smiled again. “At least not in a business sense. However, I think you need to know what you’re going into. See, I do have an interest and can share some insight in a family sense.”
Grant gave him a puzzled look.
“Since you’re basically going to be refereeing between my father and my sister.”
“Ah!” Now it all made much more sense. Grant had had a feeling that what needed to be reconciled with Zosca was the differing visions of the owner and the manager. Now he understood. An owner would normally fire a manager who didn’t share his vision. He was less likely to do that when the manager was his daughter. He gave Cameron a rueful smile. “In that case, yes, please. I’ll take the coffee and all the insight you can give me.”
Cameron led him into his office. “I’m only going to give you pertinent information that will hopefully make your job a little easier.”
“That’s all I’m looking for.”
“Okay.” He pressed the intercom. “Could you send for coffee for us, Mary Ellen?”
“Of course, what would you like?”
Grant refused to think about the other Mary Ellen, the one he’d met on Saturday—Chelsea’s friend. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about her. Not at all, and especially not right now when he was about to glean some useful info about what he was getting himself into.
“An americano for me,” said Cameron.
“Me too, thanks,” said Grant.
“Okay. I understand that you’ve been told this is supposed to be a standard turnaround job.”
Grant nodded. “That was the initial briefing I received, yes. However, I’ve had a chance to go through the books and sensed there was something else going on here.”
Cameron raised an eyebrow.
“Zosca isn’t a sinking ship, not like I’m usually brought in to save. From what I’ve seen, it’s doing okay—if you think of it as a newer company which is building its brand and defining its offering. Profit margins aren’t great, and there’s certainly room for efficiencies, but it’s in startup mode.”
“Except,” began Cameron.
“I know, except it isn’t in startup mode. In your father’s eyes, it’s a well-established business which should—and could—be turning more of a profit. I’d already figured out that the major discrepancy isn’t found in the accounts, or even in the management. Rather it’s the discrepancy in expectations. If you have a manager, who sees things one way and an owner who sees them differently, then you have a problem.”
Cameron smiled. “Especially when the owner and manager are father and daughter.”
“Yeah. I’m wondering if I’m even the right person for the job at this point.”
Cameron frowned.
“It sounds to me that some kind of family mediator would be more appropriate. Your father and your sister need to reach an understanding of which path is best for the business and then follow it.”
Cameron laughed. “You may have a point there. Are you any good at mediation?”
Grant hoped he was joking. “It’s starting to sound like I might need to learn fast.”
There was a knock on the door, and a blonde woman appeared with two cups of coffee. Grant stared at her in shock. It was the same Mary Ellen—what where the odds?
Judging by the look on her face and the way she let both coffee cups slip to the ground, she was even more surprised to see him. “Oh!”
Cameron got to his feet and went to help her. Grant continued to stare as she shot him horrified looks while she mopped up the coffee.
“What’s going on here?” Mr. Hamilton Sr. appeared outside the doorway, looking concerned.
“Nothing, it’s fine, Dad.” Cameron turned back to Grant. “You should probably head to the boardroom. I’ll get some fresh coffee sent in.”
Grant nodded and got to his feet. He smiled at Mary Ellen as he passed her. It was a pretty big coincidence to run into her again like this, but he couldn’t say he was upset about it. She, on the other hand, just gave him another horrified look. He didn’t get it, but then he didn’t have time to figure it out either. Mr. Hamilton put his hand on his shoulder and led him away.
“Thanks for coming. I have to say, I’m glad you’re here. I did a lot of research when I decided that we needed to bring someone in to help. You have a great reputation, and I’m sure you’re going to do a great job.”
“Thank you. I’m going to do my best.” He looked up at the older man. He wanted to lay out for him why he wasn’t sure he’d be able to, but there wasn’t time. A young man hurried toward them.
“The boardroom is all set up for you.”
“Great. Is she here yet?”
The young man nodded nervously.
Mr. Hamilton turned to smile at Grant. “Let’s get in there and get on with this. I will warn you that you might meet with some resistance from my daughter. She’s rather strong-willed, but she’s also very intelligent, and I’m sure she’ll listen to reason.” He smiled. “Especially if it comes from you and not me.”
Grant nodded. He was curious to meet the daughter. He was hoping that she wasn’t going to be some spoilt little rich girl. He didn’t want to dwell on that notion, though. It wasn’t fair to stereotype the woman based on the circumstances. Plus, given what he’d seen in the books, she was running the place well—if not in the way her father wanted her to.
Mr. Hamilton opened the door to the boardroom and gestured for Grant to go in ahead of him. He stepped inside and stopped dead. Chelsea! She’d been sitting at the table and got to her feet. She took two steps toward him before she, too, stopped dead. Her eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed when she recognized him. Grant’s heart was thundering in his chest. He’d wondered if he’d ever see her again. He’d entertained a dozen different scenarios of how things might play out if he did. But this? This had not been one of those scenarios. She was the daughter? She was the manager of Zosca, who he was supposed to bring into line?
Mr. Hamilton closed the door and came to stand between them. His smile faded when he saw the look on his daughter’s face.
“Chelsea. This is Grant Dawson. He’s here to help get Zosca back on track. I hope that you’re going to work well with him.”
Chelsea turned to stare at her father and then looked back at Grant. He wondered what she was going to say. Would she admit that they already knew each other? Grant doubted it, but panic surged through him at the thought of Mr. Hamilton knowing that she’d been in his bed less than twenty-four hours ago. He waited, every second feeling as though it lasted for hours.
Mr. Hamilton gave him an apologetic look. “Grant. I’d like you to meet my daughter, Chelsea. You might want to make the most of her silence. I assure you she’s normally much more vocal.” He scowled at Chelsea, and that seemed to snap her out of her shock.
She raised an eyebrow at Grant, and he tried not to remember how vocal she’d been on Saturday night. He couldn’t help it, her screams of yes, yes, yes! resounded in his head. He couldn’t help the smile that memory brought.
She smiled back; however, hers was a polite, frozen smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Dawson.”
“Please, call me Grant.”
She held his gaze, but he had no clue what she was thinking.
“Yes, you two should be on first name terms. You’re going to be spending a lot of time together, knocking things into shape.” He turned a stern look on Chelsea. “For the next few weeks, you’re going to be under Grant.”
Grant bit the inside of his lip. That’d suit him just fine—but Mr. Hamilton didn’t mean in bed. He’d swear he saw the ghost of a smile on Chelsea’s face, but it was gone as soon as it came.
“I don’t think you know what you’re saying, Dad.” Chelsea shot Grant a furious look.
“Yes, I do, and you’re going to do as I say.”
For a moment, Grant was afraid that she was going to tell her father that she’d already been under Grant, and he’d be out on his ass in no time. He needn’t have worried, though.
“I’m not going to accept an outsider coming in and telling me how to run the place. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing.”
Mr. Hamilton closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again. “Shall we take a seat and get down to it?”
~ ~ ~
Chelsea took a seat at the head of the table and waited. She needed to gather her wits. This was unbelievable! What were the odds that the guy she spent the night with—intending to never see him again—would turn out to be the very same guy her father had hired to turn Zosca around? She risked a glance at Grant. He was just as sexy in a suit and tie … dammit, no! She didn’t need to be thinking that. He was no longer an attractive guy she might want to sleep with. He was the enemy!
He smiled at her. The same smile he’d given her in bed yesterday morning. She shivered at the memory—of everything they’d done that night, and how great it’d been. She needed to pull herself together. She gave him a frosty smile in return.
“I think you need to understand the situation. You’ve been brought in to turn around a business that doesn’t want to turn around. The business likes the path it’s on.” She turned and scowled at her father before continuing. “Zosca is doing well, by most standards. Just not by my father’s standards. I don’t need you, and I certainly don’t need to be under you.”
She jutted her chin out and waited. She’d made herself clear, to both of them.
“Chelsea,” her dad began in a scolding tone.
“If I may, Mr. Hamilton?”
They both turned to look at Grant who gave them a disarming smile. “I’m glad this has come up right away. It allows me to raise the question that’s been on my mind since I went over the books yesterday.”
Chelsea cringed. After she’d left him, he’d spent the day going through her books? That was just wrong. She couldn’t believe she’d slept with the guy who was here to tear her company apart.
“I have to say that, in some respects, I agree with Chelsea. Zosca is doing well—by most standards.” He turned to her father. “I’d like to get clear about what you both want.”
“I want you to leave!” Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t totally true. She’d rather he just stopped being the guy her dad had brought in.
They both turned to her.
“That’s hardly constructive,” said her dad.
“At least that’s better than being destructive.” She glared at them both. “I won’t let you destroy what I’m building.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do, Chelsea.”
Grant held his hands up gesturing for them both to calm down. That surprised her. He was either brave or stupid; no one shushed her father. “If we can talk about this calmly. I think the two of you need to decide what you want for Zosca. Right now, you have two very different visions. They are both workable, and I can help you achieve either vision, but I don’t think I’m going to be very effective at helping the two of you resolve your differences.”
Chelsea stared at him. He’d figured out the same thing she had—she wasn’t running the business poorly, she just wasn’t running it the way her dad wanted her to.
Her dad sighed. She knew that was a good sign. “So, what are you suggesting?”
“That the two of you take the rest of this morning to thrash out what we’re aiming for here. There’s no point me getting to work until we’re all on the same sheet about what we’re working toward.”
Chelsea stared at him. How dare he be so reasonable? She wanted to hate him; this wasn’t helping. He even seemed to have caught her dad off guard. He nodded slowly.
“Shall we meet back here this afternoon? Say two o’clock?”
Grant nodded. “That sounds good to me.”
They both turned to look at her. What? They wanted her to spend the morning in here with her dad figuring out the particular way Grant should pull her company apart? She pursed her lips.
“You’re getting a chance to guide how this goes, Chelsea,” said her dad.
She nodded. She couldn’t argue with that. “Okay.”