Working It (2 page)

She took a small step back in the face of his verbal barrage.

He followed her, six foot five inches of angry, muscular male. “You go back to your high-ranking P.R. firm, and you tell them they send another damned suit over here to get me to play ball, I'm not going to be so
polite.
”

He stalked over to the door, opening it and looking at her pointedly.

Her head swam. She'd faced tough clients before, early in her career, but they were usually oily, sleazy, too cheap to dole out the money that the P.R. they'd
asked for had given them. She managed to get around each and every one of them. Later, it usually meant cajoling a tough client who had cold feet. Sometimes it took a lot of debating…and a little bit of conning. Once, it had taken a shouting match. But she'd never faced such naked hatred—or such passion.

The other execs had said Drew Robson was a bastard. They hadn't mentioned that he had a reason to be. Up to the smart-ass comment about the skirt, the guy had a pretty good reason, at that.

“You gonna stand there looking confused,” he drawled, “or are you gonna run along now?”

Her gaze snapped to his. He smiled, all teeth and sarcasm.

For a fraction of a second, her temper leaped to the fore.

I should put this damned skirt on my head and quote some sales figures on how our firm has turned my other clients around.
If he thought she was trying to use her body to get him to agree with her, she might as well use it to her advantage, right?

Regaining her sanity, she walked with as much dignity as she could manage out the door, pausing in front of him.

“This isn't over,” she said, more because she didn't want him to have the last word than because she felt the burning desire to deal with the gorgeous, infuriating man.

Even then, she didn't win.

“With you people,” he said, in a voice ripe with frustration, “it never is.”

 

D
REW STOOD OUT
in the parking lot, dribbling the old basketball he kept in his office. He was glad he'd got
ten a new basketball hoop on the factory wall. He'd remembered playing ball here since he was in junior high, waiting for his father to finish up work. Drew arched his back, sending the ball sailing toward the chain net. It swooshed through with a satisfying clink. He retrieved it, his body going through the motions automatically.

Mr. Robson, this is Fleet Steel Ore. You're behind on your payments.

Drew closed his eyes, paying attention to the thump of the ball against asphalt, trying to drown out his thoughts. He'd been fielding calls all day, trying to put out fires, trying to calm down creditors.

Mr. Robson, please call us immediately. Your company is one hundred and twenty days past due…

Mr. Robson, we don't want to involve a collection agency…

Drew, we were old friends with your father, but closing in on ninety days, our accounts receivables department doesn't really believe in friendship…

Drew threw the ball. Swoosh-clink. Retrieved it. A slow dribble back to his starting point.

Trust me. I can be very accommodating.

He held the ball for a second, then rolled his arms a little, trying to work the kinks out. His shoulder blades felt as if they'd been fused together at the neck. He'd taken to playing basketball to try to relax, and if he needed to do one thing right now, it was to relieve some of the tension roiling through him.

The tension had increased even more sharply after he'd met her. Of all his creditors, a tall, leggy, curvy redhead was not one he needed to dwell on.

“Hoops already? It's only six o'clock. I didn't expect you'd be out here until eight.”

Drew wiped the sweat out of his eyes with the back of his hand before looking over. His chief financial officer, Ken Shimoda, was in shirtsleeves, his tie in his pocket, his briefcase in hand. Ken was a fixture at Robson Steel, much like the basketball hoop. Drew couldn't remember a time when Ken wasn't there.

“Rough day,” Drew said, shrugging. He did a few quick bounces. “I needed a little basketball therapy. You up for a quick game of one-on-one?”

“Maybe ten years ago,” Ken said, smiling ruefully. He was twenty years older than Drew, but lately he looked much older than that. Of course, Drew thought, they probably both looked older these days. Every day he felt as if he'd aged ten years, lately. “No, I'm headed home. I told my wife I'd be back by six-thirty.”

Drew arched an eyebrow. “Too many late nights?” Drew's last serious girlfriend, Sheryl, had commented on that. Often. At least, before she'd left. He hadn't had the time or the energy to find another girlfriend since.

“She understands that late nights are a requirement of the business,” Ken said, and in that second Drew envied the hell out of him. Ken had been working till about eight or nine every night for the past three months. Drew knew this because he usually said goodbye to the man as Ken was walking out, leaving Drew to work another hour or so.

Drew didn't have anybody who'd care if he worked until one in the morning…except maybe Mrs. Packard, who would undoubtedly comment that he looked tired. It wasn't quite the same.

“You're a lucky man,” Drew said.

Ken shrugged, then smiled. “Well, tonight's our an
niversary. She's a patient woman, but even she's got a breaking point.”

Drew dribbled the ball again, sent it arcing toward the basket. It rolled off the rim and into the net. “Enjoy yourself.” He smirked at Ken. “And if you're tired tomorrow, and have to come in late because you've been celebrating too much, I'll understand.”

Ken laughed good-naturedly. “You'd understand more if you got a woman of your own.”

“Good point.” Drew lined up his next shot.

“Speaking of women,” Ken said conversationally, “who was the tall redhead I saw strutting out of your office this afternoon?”

Drew's shot went wide, bouncing off the rim with a loud ringing sound. Drew grumbled as he chased the ball down, trying to ignore Ken's laughter.

“It's like that, huh?”

Reluctantly, Drew pictured the woman he'd been trying in vain to put out of his mind for the past few hours. The second he'd looked up at her, watching her bear down on his desk, he'd felt a jolt of attraction that he hadn't felt in a damned long time. He seemed hyperaware of everything about her. The garnet shade of her hair, the fullness of her lips, her legs that seemed to go on forever. The way the first button of her blouse was undone had probably caused the ruination of stronger-willed men than he. She had a face that was too sexy to be angelic, with a devilish quirk to those full lips of hers that instantly made you suspect trouble was coming, and more important, that you'd enjoy every minute of it. Those misty greenish-gray eyes must've been what they had in mind when they named her Jade. Another couple of moments and he would've seriously considered bagging the rest of the day and asking her
to dinner—or asking her to anywhere else she might be open to going.

He frowned. Then she'd had to ruin it all and say where she worked.

“It's like nothing,” he finally responded to Ken. “She's one of those bloodsuckers from that P.R. firm Dad hooked up with. I swear, I have no idea what he was thinking when he signed that damned contract.”

“That firm's supposed to be a big deal on the West Coast. Your father thought they could help turn the company around, get out the good word to investors. Build up our image. At least, that's what he told me when he went through with it.” Ken sighed. “You know your father.”

Drew dribbled the ball hard enough to have the sound of rubber echo in the lot. Yeah, he knew his father, all right. “I got my opinion of their work across pretty firmly this time. I don't think we'll be seeing her again.”

He didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed by that fact.

“Are you going to ignore the contract, then?” Ken sounded shocked.

Drew scowled at Ken. “Of course I'm going to honor the contract. You know me better than that.”

Ken visibly relaxed. “Sorry.”

“That's okay.” The fact that Drew wasn't quite sure how he was going to pay off the contract…well, that was why he was out here playing basketball. He'd work on it tonight. He'd come up with something.

“Well, as long as you're going to pay it anyway,” Ken said hesitantly, “maybe you should go ahead and work with them.”

Drew was surprised enough to stop, resting the ball
on his hip. “It's bad enough I have to pay them. I can't afford to waste time working with one of them. That investor meeting we've got next month is the most important thing. I'm still pulling numbers on that. It's too big a deal for me to lose focus.”

“Yeah. But, Drew, investors look for presentation,” Ken countered. “Your father said that maybe the P.R. agency could help with that, too. You've got to admit, your father was a good judge of presentation and sales.”

Drew didn't say anything.

“He was a consummate salesman.”

Drew's eyes blazed. “He was a liar and a thief.”

“I'm not trying to say he wasn't,” Ken said, holding his hand up protectively. “I'm just saying he had a real talent for sales. And, I might add, a good rapport with the sales force.”

Drew knew where he was going with this. “Half the force was giving away everything but the keys to the inventory to make their quotas. What was I supposed to do? I had to fire them.” Drew sighed. “At least the new guys are guys I can trust. They're smart, they've got integrity. They'll pick up the rest in time.”

“That's just it. We don't have time, Drew.”

Drew felt his grip on the basketball increasing. He was surprised the damned thing didn't explode. “I know that, Ken. And after the meeting with the investors, I'll focus on it, I swear. But I've only got two hands and twenty-four hours in a day.”

“It's going to be June next week, Drew.”

“Yes, I know,” Drew said, “but…”

Suddenly, it struck him. Of course he remembered June. His father wasn't able to make his high school graduation or his college graduation, because both were
in June. And June meant the annual road trip through the Southwest, when his father would go visit their biggest customers, schmoozing them, getting their orders for the following year.

“No,” Drew said. “I don't have time for this.”

“You can't afford to ignore this,” Ken said sharply, surprising Drew. “I'm your CFO. I know what the financial picture looks like. We don't get larger sales for next year, if we keep losing customers, getting the investors' backing isn't going to mean squat. I was hoping one of the salesmen would be up to speed, but nobody's ready. It has to be you.”

Drew closed his eyes for a moment, the headache pounding at his temples was getting even more severe. “You know, there was a time when the only thing I ever wanted was this factory.” He opened his eyes, looking at it. “I just wasn't expecting it to be like this.”

“It never is.” To his credit, Ken sounded apologetic. “I hate to put it this way, but unless you go on this sales trip, it won't be your worry anymore. You'll just have to worry about getting a new job.” He paused. “Of course, most of the town of San Angelo will be out of a job, as well.”

“I know what the factory means to the town, believe me,” he said in a low voice. “Did you really think you had to guilt me into going?”

Ken didn't say anything.

“I'll go. Just get me the list of customers and whatever background you have. When do I have to leave?”

“Next Monday.” Ken sighed. “I really hoped one of the sales guys would be ready.”

“It's okay.” Even though it wasn't. “Don't you have an anniversary to get to?”

Ken looked at his watch, swore. “All right. I'll be in early tomorrow. We'll start working on it.”

“Good night, Ken.”

Drew dribbled the ball, hard enough for his arms to ache. He wasn't sure how long he could keep this going. Thanks to Ken's comforting talk, Drew's attempts at relaxation had ground to an ugly halt. Something had to give, he thought, lining up his shot. If something didn't change, he didn't know what he'd do. What he needed was some help. No. What he needed was some money, and some help. In fact, what he really needed…

Inexplicably, he thought of Jade's green eyes and wickedly sexy smile.

The ball bounced off the rim with a clanging ring.

He sighed, grabbing the ball and heading back to the factory. He might as well get some more work done. His game was pretty well shot.

 

“J
ADE
, I only have one thing to say about it. And that's
no.
”

Jade sighed, forcing herself not to sprawl in the plush chair that flanked her boss's huge glass-and-metal desk. “Betsy, this would mean a lot to me.”

Her boss, Betsy Diehl, surveyed her solemnly from her own leather executive chair. She was one of the newest partners at the marketing firm of Michaels & Associates, and she'd been Jade's boss for about two years now. Jade had been apprehensive, at first—lots of people had nicknamed her “Raw Diehl”—but the relationship had worked out. Jade valued her boss's honesty and brutal pragmatism. Betsy expected a lot, and she pushed hard, but Jade felt as though Betsy honestly understood what it was like to struggle. Betsy
had worked hard to get where she was, or so she had told Jade, going from poor circumstances to her current respected position as a marketing genius. She'd been written up in industry magazines. She'd co-authored a book. Today, Betsy was wearing her steel-gray hair in a sophisticated blunt-cut bob and a stylish eggplant suit that screamed Rodeo Drive. She looked like a woman who other people looked up to…a woman who took crap from no one.