Corporate Affair (7 page)

“Hey, we’re getting off topic, here.” Gene let out a short huff. “What is it about women and babies?”

Marie looked at him fondly. “Go sharpen your pencil, dear.”

“Ouch!” he exclaimed. “I’ve just been told to shut the hell up!”

Jordan laughed and said, “Anyway, back to business. I know we need to get the best price for Chat, but we also need to have a deal that will secure everyone’s jobs. We need to know that Chat will continue. And it’s important to get this deal done before something—” Jordan broke off, and her face blanched.
Before something happens to you,
she thought.

Gene Palmer waved his hand in the air. “You’re right, Jordan. I don’t know how long I’ll live. Hopefully, I’ll keep going for a while, but you’re right. It would be nice to know that the business will continue to support the segment of the population that it’s supporting now. And grow. That’s why I put that caveat in there protecting your job. You’re the one to carry this into the future. Still, cash is king, and the more money we get up front, the cleaner things will be.”

Jordan nodded, fighting back tears. He always did look at things head on. And he forced her to do the same. She cleared her throat and continued. “I just think, and keep in mind this is only a hunch, an instinct, but I just think that Trade Winds is more sincere in its claim to merge with us and bring the communications industry farther into the north country. I kind of liked Aiden Stewart.”

Gene was visibly tiring. “Hm. Is that the kid? I’ve never met him. I know the old man. Hard-bitten Yankee, but a good businessman.”

“Like somebody else I know,” said his wife.

“What’s the kid like? Does he have a head on his shoulders, or is he just his father’s puppet?”

Jordan looked perplexed as she remembered the clear eyes, the wavy hair, the athletic body that even the business clothes couldn’t hide. “Well, I,” she stammered, “I got the impression he was a pretty smart guy, um, man.”

Gene Palmer’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her, but he only said, “You go to your meeting. You’ve got a good understanding of what’s important and what we need. You’ll have to find the balance. You let me know how it turns out. I’ll be here.”

Marie stood as Jordan got up from her chair, but Gene remained sitting. His breathing was a little heavier now. Jordan hugged Marie and bent down to give Gene a quick embrace. “I’ll call first thing in the morning,” she said. “See you later.”

At seven thirty that evening, in room twenty-one in The Inn On The Green, Aiden sat on the bed, propped up on pillows piled against the headboard, with his computer balanced on his lap. He was staring at the opposite wall, looking at nothing. Aiden felt uneasy. Suddenly, overnight, things didn’t seem so simple. Aiden struggled to understand just what had happened. He had only been in this little town less than twenty-four hours, but he was involved somehow. He had gone on similar missions for the company, but they hadn’t affected him so personally. The other times, he met with the usual suspects, they banged out an agreement, and Aiden was in his car or on a plane, on his way to bed some current girlfriend. Easy.

Not this time. This time there was competition. Competition from an undesirable source. The conversation he’d overheard at the pub resonated with him—and not in a good way. It was unsettling. Christopher Fenton gave every indication of being ruthless and dishonest, even dangerous. Aiden wondered what drove the man. Why would he care about a small communications company enough to scheme to get it? If scheming was what he was doing. Maybe it really was a gold mine in the resale business. Aiden couldn’t be sure. He just knew he hadn’t liked either the look of Fenton and his cohort or the way they had been discussing Chat.

And then there was M. Jordan Fitzgerald. Not the usual suspect. Not a suit. Not even close. In fact, she was the antithesis of any of the other business types, male or female, that Aiden had ever encountered. She wasn’t the sterile accountant type who went from business to business, playing with numbers. She wasn’t a hard-boiled survivor like his father or Gene Palmer who had fought for their niche and pulled themselves up by their bootstraps within it. No, she was something else. Aiden unconsciously twisted his mouth, trying to pigeonhole her, to label her. She was obviously smart. She was surprisingly young. And, she was so arrestingly pretty in such a unique way. Jordan was an enigma. She seemed friendly enough, but there was an unmistakable guard around her, a parameter past which, it seemed to Aiden, she let no one enter.

Aiden rubbed his tired eyes, and as he did so, his stomach growled. He set the computer aside and stood up, stretching. He was hungry. He glanced at his watch and suddenly felt as though he was starving. He crossed the room to the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair. Grabbing his white shirt from where he had draped it over the foot of the bed, he put it on and tucked it into his jeans. He threw on his sport coat, made sure his wallet was safely in his back pocket, and slipped his cell phone into his coat pocket. Then he headed out in search of something to eat.

The hall was empty, and as Aiden walked toward the stairwell, the hundred-year-old floorboards under his feet creaked. It was an old Yankee establishment, Aiden thought with a smile. There were no carpets wasted on the hallways. As he approached the stairs, Aiden could hear the clinking of silverware on dinner plates and the
ting
of glassware coming from the dining room. He had been planning to go back to MacTavish’s Pub, but as he descended the stairs he thought he might as well try out the Inn.

Aiden strode across the lobby and waited at the door of the large dining room. A high schoolmaster’s desk held menus, but there was no sign of a hostess or maître d’. He stood patiently until he saw Susan Noyes, dressed in a white tuxedo shirt and black slacks, walking through the dining room toward him.

She smiled cordially and said, “Mr. Stewart, can I get you a table?”

“Yes, thank you,” answered Aiden, his eyes wandering around the huge room. “Looks like you’re busy tonight.”

“Thankfully, we are. It’s usually quiet here most of the month of May. The summer people get here in June, but hey, I’m not complaining.” She picked up a menu. “Anybody joining you?”

“No, just me tonight.”

“Well, follow me. We’ve got a nice small table over here by the fireplace.” As she turned to lead him to his table, she looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, dear, and here comes another couple.”

Aiden smiled and turned to follow her gaze. “Well, busy is good,” he started to say, and then he saw the couple.

It was Jordan Fitzgerald, and she was in the company of the man he had overheard at MacTavish’s Pub that afternoon. Christopher Fenton. Aiden’s heart gave a little leap. Jordan’s thick auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She wore a dark green slightly shimmery dress that dipped low over her chest, exposing the plump tops of her ample breasts. The dress was shirred on one side and hugged her body, accentuating all her curves and stopping mid-thigh. Her black stilettos made her legs go on forever.

Aiden’s head began to swim with a thousand thoughts at once.
She’s beautiful. That hair, those exquisite legs! What’s she doing here with Fenton? Had she closed the deal?
He felt his right hand raise slightly in an unconscious motion as he instinctively thought about how it would be to stroke those thighs. Quickly he recovered, spun on his heel, and followed Susan to his table, hoping she hadn’t seen him.

“Here you go,” the innkeeper said, handing him a menu. “I’ll send your server out right away.”

“Thank you,” said Aiden, and he sat down heavily.

“May I have her bring you a drink?”

Aiden had planned on a red wine, but things had suddenly changed on so many levels. “I’ll have a Scotch, a double with a splash,” he said. “Talisker’s, if you have it.”

“We do,” said Susan. “Enjoy your dinner.”

Aiden was relieved the table was in a good location. Nestled next to the wall, it was close enough to the fireplace to feel the comforting heat, but inconspicuous at the same time. He opened the menu and peered over the top, watching Susan Noyes lead Jordan and Fenton across the room. Fenton’s eyes darted all over, but Jordan centered her gaze politely on the back of Susan’s head and walked gracefully to the table.

Aiden felt the rush of adrenaline as they came closer. He didn’t want Jordan to see him. Fenton didn’t know who he was, but Aiden had no desire to meet him under these circumstances. Susan sat them at a table diagonally across from Aiden’s. Fortunately for him, Jordan chose the seat facing into the room and her back was to him. Aiden watched them carefully as they sat. He heard Susan ask for their drink orders. Fenton ordered a Dewar’s on the rocks, but Jordan simply asked for a ginger ale.

“You don’t drink?” asked Fenton.

“Well, not tonight,” Jordan answered. “Guess I just don’t feel like it.”

Aiden’s server, a plump high school girl, broke the bubble of his concentration. “Are you ready to order, sir?”

“Ah, yes.” He spoke quietly, lest Jordan hear him and recognize his voice. “I’ll have the prime rib, rare.”

“A starter?”

“Just the salad will be fine. With blue cheese dressing.”

“Baked, mashed, or French fries?”

“Baked, please, with sour cream.”

“Thank you. I’ll bring your salad right out.” She turned and left him. Aiden brought his drink up to his lips and sipped the smoky Scotch. The peat flavor of the imported liquor stayed in his mouth, imparting a comforting burn that lingered. The server returned with his tossed salad and set it down in front of him. He ate it, and the garlic roll that came with it, all while trying to eavesdrop on Jordan and Fenton.

When his prime rib came, it was perfectly done. Ordinarily, Aiden, who really enjoyed food, would have reveled in the tender meat and hot baked potato smothered in sour cream. But tonight he was too preoccupied to do more than eat it, methodically taking bite after bite, barely aware of the flavor. His mind was on the conversation at the nearby table. The continuity of the words was interrupted by a myriad of so many other sounds that their discussion turned into gibberish by the time it reached his ears.

Aiden realized how extremely tired he felt. He felt let down, as though he had suffered some great disappointment. He felt empty, and for the first time in years, he felt lonely. He lingered over the last of his dinner, trying to decide whether to have a cup of strong coffee. He was not looking forward to the night ahead. First, there would be a long telephone conversation with his father. Then he would have to amend his proposal and call his father back for another long conversation. Perhaps a strong cup of coffee was in order. He was looking for his server when Jordan abruptly stood up. She reached for her purse hanging on the back of her chair and dropped it. Fenton stood, picked it up, and handed it to her. Aiden was shocked to see her waiver slightly, as though she was unsteady on her feet.

Now Aiden could hear their conversation. Fenton said, “Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes,” said Jordan. “I just need to go to the ladies room. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here,” said Fenton with a little laugh.

Aiden studied Jordan as she walked slowly out of the dining room. He had the distinct feeling that something was wrong. She walked like a person who’d had too much to drink and was trying not to show it. She must have changed her drink to something stronger at some point during the meal, he reflected. The server returned to his table. “Can I get you anything else, sir?”

Aiden never took his eyes off the dining room door. “Bring me a cup of strong coffee, please,” he said. “Cream and sugar.”

“Right away.”

By the time the server had returned with his coffee, and he had stirred the cream and sugar into it, Jordan was coming back into the dining room. There was no mistaking it now, she was listing slightly, and her face had a determined look as she tried to keep her balance. Aiden was alarmed. He could have sworn she had ordered only ginger ale, but he’d obviously missed something.

He watched surreptitiously as she sat down heavily in her chair and spoke to her dinner companion. “Mr. Fenton, this has been…this has been a pro-productive meeting, but I’m not feeling very well right now. I think I’d better call it a night and go home.”

“Are you all right?” asked Fenton in a concerned voice. “Would you like me to drive you home?”