His Illegitimate Heir (3 page)

She shivered. She wasn't sure if it had anything to do with the smile on his face or the fact that she was cooling off and her sweat-soaked shirt was now sticking to her skin. “That's correct. We brew beer here. I appreciate you giving me the go-ahead to hire more workers but that's a process that will take weeks. Training will also take time. Placing additional paperwork demands on my staff runs the risk of compromising the quality of our beer.”

Richards didn't say anything. Casey cleared her throat. “You
are
interested in the beer, right?”

He gave her another one of those measured looks. Casey sighed. She really wasn't so complicated that he had to stare at her.

“I'm interested in the beer,” he finally said. “This is a family company and I'd like to keep it that way. I must say,” he went on before Casey could ask about that whole “family” thing, “I certainly appreciate your willingness to defend your staff. However, I'd like to be reassured that the employees who work for this brewery not only are able to follow basic instructions,” he added with a notch of his eyebrow that made Casey want to pound on something, “but have the skills to take this company in a new direction.”

“A new direction? We're...still going to brew beer, right? We're not getting into electronics or apps or anything?”

“Oh, we'll be getting into apps,” he said. “But I need to know if there's anyone on staff who can handle that or if I'm going to need to bring in an outside developer—you see my point, don't you? The Beaumont Brewery has been losing market share. You brew seven thousand gallons a day—but it was eleven thousand years ago. The popularity of craft breweries—and I'm including Percheron Drafts in that—has slowly eroded our sales.”

Our
sales? He was serious, she realized. He was here to run this company.

“While I understand Logan's cost-cutting measures,” he went on, oblivious to the way her mouth had dropped open, “what we need to do at this point is not to hunker down and hope for the best, but invest heavily in research and development—new products. And part of that is connecting with our audience.” His gaze traveled around the room and Casey thought there was something about him that seemed...hopeful, almost.

She wanted to like her job. She wanted to like working for Zeb Richards. And if he was really talking about launching new products—new beers—well, then she might like her job again. The feeling that blossomed in her chest was so unfamiliar that it took a second to realize what it was—hope. Hope that this might actually work out.

“Part of what made the Beaumont Brewery a success was its long family traditions,” Richards went on in a quiet voice. “That's why Logan failed. The employees liked Chadwick—any idiot knows that. And his brother Phillip? Phillip was the brewery's connection with our target market. When we lost both Phillip and Chadwick, the brewery lost its way.”

Everything he said made sense. Because Casey had spent the last year not only feeling lost but knowing they were lost. They lost ground, they lost employees, they lost friends—they lost the knowledge and the tradition that had made them great. She was only one woman—one woman who liked to make beer. She couldn't save the company all by herself but she was doing her damnedest to save the beer.

Still, Richards had been on the job for about two hours now—maybe less. He was talking a hell of a good game, but at this point, that was all it was—talk. All talk and sinful handsomeness, with a hearty dollop of mystery.

But action was what this company needed. His mesmerizing eyes wouldn't right this ship all by themselves.

Still, if Richards really was a Beaumont by birth—bastard or not—he just might be able to do it. She'd long ago learned to never underestimate the Beaumonts.

“So you're going to be the one to light the path?”

He stared her in the eyes, one eyebrow gently lifted. God, if she wasn't careful, she could get lost in his gaze. “I have a plan, Ms. Johnson. You let me worry about the company and you worry about the beer.”

“Sounds good to me,” she muttered.

She stood because it seemed like a final sort of statement. But Richards stopped her. “How many workers do you need to hire?”

“At least ten. What I need most right now is maintenance staff. I don't know how much you know about beer, but most of what I do is automated. It's making sure to push the right button at the right time and checking to make sure that things come together the right way. It doesn't take a lot of know-how to brew beer, honestly, once you have the recipes.” At this statement, both of his eyebrows lifted. “But keeping equipment running is another matter. It's hot, messy work and I need at least eight people who can take a tank apart and put it back together in less than an hour.”

He thought about that for a moment. “I don't mean to be rude, but is that what you were doing before you came in here?”

She rolled her eyes again. “What gave it away?”

He grinned. Casey took another step back from the desk—away from Zeb Richards smiling at her. She tried to take comfort in the fact that he probably knew exactly how lethal his grin could be. Men as gorgeous as he was didn't get through life without knowing exactly what kind of effect they had on women—and it usually made them jerks. Which was fine. Gorgeous jerks never went for women like her and she didn't bother with them, either.

But there was something in the way he was looking at her that felt like a warning.

“I'll compromise with you, Ms. Johnson. You and your staff will be excused from submitting résumés.”

That didn't sound like a compromise. That sounded like she was getting everything she asked for. Which meant the other shoe was about to drop. “And?”

“Instead...” He paused and shot her another grin. This one wasn't warm and fuzzy—this one was the sharp smile of a man who'd somehow bought a company out from under the Beaumonts. Out from under his own family. “...you and your team will produce a selection of new beers for me to choose from.”

That was one hell of a shoe—and it had landed right on her. “I'm sorry?”

“Your point that the skills of some of your employees won't readily translate into bullet points on a résumé is well taken. So I'd like to see their skills demonstrated in action.”

She knew her mouth was open, but she didn't think she could get it closed. She gave it a shot—nope, it was still open. “I can't just...”

“You do know how to brew beer, don't you?”

He was needling her—and it was working, dammit. “Of course I know how to brew beer. I've been brewing Beaumont beer for twelve years.”

“Then what's the problem?”

It was probably bad form to strangle your boss on his first day on the job. Tempting, though. “I can't just produce beer by snapping my fingers. I have to test new recipes—and some of them are not going to work—and then there's the brewing time, and I won't be able to do any of that until I get more staff hired.”

“How long will it take?”

She grasped at the first number that popped into her mind. “Two months. At least. Maybe three.”

“Fine. Three months to hire the workers and test some new recipes.” He sat forward in his chair and dropped his gaze to the desk, as if they were done.

“It isn't that simple,” she told him. “We need to get Marketing to provide us with guidance on what's currently popular and two—”

“I don't care what Marketing says.” He cut her off. “This is my company and I want it to brew beers that I like.”

“But I don't even know what you like.” The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. But it was too late. He fixed those eyes on her. Heat flushed down her back, warming her from the inside out. “I mean, when it comes to beer,” she quickly corrected. “We've got everything on tap...” she added, trying not to blush as she motioned to the bar that ran along one side of the wall.

Richards leaned forward on his elbows as his gaze raked up and down her body again. Damn it all, he was a jerk. He only confirmed it when he opened his mouth and said, “I'd be more than happy to take some time after work and show you exactly what I like.”

Well. If that was how it was going to be, he was making it a lot easier
not
to develop a crush on him. Because she had not gotten this job by sleeping her way to the top. He might be the most beautiful man she'd ever seen and those green eyes were the stuff of fantasy—but none of it mattered if he used his power as CEO to take advantage of his employees. She was good at what she did and she wouldn't let anyone take that away from her.

“Mr. Richards, you're going to have to decide what kind of Beaumont you are going to be—
if
you really are one.” His eyes hardened, but she didn't back down. “Because if you're going to be a predator like your father instead of a businessman like your brother, you're going to need a new brewmaster.”

Head held high, she walked out of his office and back to her own.

Then she updated her résumé.

Three

Z
eb did not have time to think about his new brewmaster's parting shot. It was, however, difficult not to think about
her
.

He'd known full well there would be pushback against the memo. He hadn't lied when he'd told her he wanted to see who could follow directions—but he also wanted to see who wouldn't and why. Because the fact was, having the entire company divert work hours to producing résumés was not an efficient use of time. And the workers who already had up-to-date résumés ready to go—well, that was because they were a flight risk.

He couldn't say he was surprised when the brewmaster was the first person to call him on it.

But he still couldn't believe the brewmaster was a young woman with fire in her eyes and a fierce instinct to protect her employees. A woman who didn't look at him like he was ripe for the picking. A woman who took one look at him—okay, maybe more than one—and saw the truth.

A young woman with a hell of a mouth on her.

Zeb pushed Casey Johnson from his mind and picked up his phone. He started scrolling through his contacts until he came to one name in particular—Daniel Lee. He dialed and waited.

“Hello?”

“Daniel—it's Zeb. Are you still in?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Daniel Lee was a former political operative who'd worked behind the scenes to get several incumbents defeated. He could manipulate public perception and he could drill down into data. But that wasn't why Zeb called him.

Daniel—much like Zeb—was one of
them
. Beaumont's bastards.

“Where are you?” Daniel asked, and Zeb didn't miss the way he neatly avoided the question.

“Sitting in the CEO's office of the Beaumont Brewery. I scheduled a press conference for Friday—I'd like you to be there. I want to show the whole world that they can't ignore us anymore.”

There was another pause. On one level, Zeb appreciated that Daniel was methodical. Everything he did was well thought-out and carefully researched, with the data to back it up.

But on the other hand, Zeb didn't want his relationship with his brother to be one based solely on how the numbers played out. He didn't know Daniel very well—they'd met only two months ago, after Zeb had spent almost a year and thousands upon thousands of dollars tracking down two of his half brothers. But he and Daniel were family all the same and when Zeb announced to the world that he was a Beaumont and this was his brewery, he wanted his brothers by his side.

“What about CJ?” Daniel asked.

Zeb exhaled. “He's out.” Zeb had tracked down two illegitimate brothers; all three of them had been born within five years of each other. Daniel was three years younger than Zeb and half-Korean.

The other brother he'd found was Carlos Julián Santino—although he now went by CJ Wesley. Unlike Zeb and Daniel, CJ was a rancher. He didn't seem to have inherited the Beaumont drive for business.

Two months ago, when the men had all met for the first time over dinner and Zeb had laid out his plan for taking control of the brewery and finally taking what was rightfully theirs, Daniel politely agreed to look at the numbers and weigh the outcomes. But CJ had said he wasn't interested. Unlike Zeb's mother, CJ's mother had married and he'd been adopted by her husband. CJ did not consider Hardwick Beaumont to be his father. He'd made his position clear—he wanted nothing to do with the Beaumonts or the brewery.

He wanted nothing to do with his brothers.

“That's unfortunate,” Daniel said. “I had hoped...”

Yeah, Zeb had hoped, too. But he wasn't going to dwell on his failures. Not when success was within his grasp. “I need you by my side, Daniel. This is our time. I won't be swept under the rug any longer. We are both Beaumonts. It's not enough that I've taken their company away from them—I need it to do better than it did under them. And that means I need you. This is the dawn of a new era.”

Daniel chuckled. “You can stop with the hard sell—I'm in. But I get to be the chief marketing officer, right?”

“I wouldn't have it any other way.”

There was another long pause. “This had better work,” Daniel said in a menacing voice.

Which made Zeb grin. “It already has.”

* * *

It was late afternoon before Zeb was able to get a tour of the facilities. Delores, tablet in hand, alternated between leading the way and falling behind him. Zeb couldn't tell if she was humoring him or if she really was that intimidated.

The tour moved slowly because in every department, Zeb stopped and talked with the staff. He was pleased when several managers asked to speak to him privately and then questioned the need to have a résumé for every single person on staff—wouldn't it be better if they just turned in a report on head count? It was heartening, really. Those managers were willing to risk their necks to protect their people—while they still looked for a way to do what Zeb told them.

However, Zeb didn't want to be seen as a weak leader who changed his mind. He allowed the managers to submit a report by the deadline, but he still wanted to see résumés. He informed everyone that the hiring freeze was over but he needed to know what he had before he began to fill the empty cubicles.

As he'd anticipated after his conversation with Casey, the news that the hiring freeze was over—coupled with the announcement that he would prefer not to see his staff working ten-to twelve-hour days—bought him a considerable amount of goodwill. That was not to say people weren't still wary—they were—but the overwhelming emotion was relief. It was obvious Casey wasn't the only one doing the job of two or three people.

The brewhouse was the last stop on their tour. Zeb wasn't sure if that was because it was the logical conclusion or because Delores was trying to delay another confrontation with Casey.

Unsurprisingly, the brewhouse was warm, and emptier than he expected. He saw now what Casey had meant when she said most of the process was automated. The few men he did see wore white lab coats and hairnets, along with safety goggles. They held tablets and when Zeb and Delores passed them, they paused and looked up.

“The staffing levels two years ago?” Zeb asked again.

He'd asked that question at least five times already. Two years ago, the company had been in the capable hands of Chadwick Beaumont. They'd been turning a consistent profit and their market share was stable. That hadn't been enough for some of their board members, though. Leon Harper had agitated for the company's sale, which made him hundreds of millions of dollars. From everything Zeb had read about Harper, the man was a foul piece of humanity. But there was no way Zeb ever could've gotten control of the company without him.

Delores tapped her tablet as they walked along. The room was oddly silent—there was the low hum of machinery, but it wasn't enough to dampen the echoes from their footfalls. The noise bounced off the huge tanks that reached at least twenty feet high. The only other noise was a regular hammering that got louder the farther they went into the room.

“Forty-two,” she said after several minutes. “That was when we were at peak capacity. Ah, here we are.”

Delores pointed at the floor and he looked down and saw two pairs of jeans-clad legs jutting out from underneath the tank.

Delores gave him a cautious smile and turned her attention back to the legs. “Casey?”

Zeb had to wonder what Delores had thought of Casey bursting into his office earlier—and whether or not Casey had said anything on her way out. He still hadn't decided what he thought of the young woman. Because she did seem impossibly young to be in charge. But what she might have lacked in maturity she made up for with sheer grit.

She probably didn't realize it, but there were very few people in this world who would dare burst into his office and dress him down. And those who would try would rarely be able to withstand the force of his disdain.

But she had. Easily. But more than that, she'd rebuffed his exploratory offer. No, that wasn't a strong enough word for how she'd destroyed him with her parting shot.

So many women looked at him as their golden ticket. He was rich and attractive and single—he knew that. But he didn't want to be anyone's ticket anywhere.

Casey Johnson hadn't treated him like that. She'd matched him verbal barb for barb and
then
bested him, all while looking like a hot mess.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued.

“...try it again,” came a muffled voice from underneath the tank. This was immediately followed by more hammering, which, at this close range, was deafening.

Zeb fought the urge to cover his ears and Delores winced. When there was a break in the hammering, she gently tapped one of the two pairs of shoes with her toe. “Casey—Mr. Richards is here.”

The person whose shoe she'd nudged started—which was followed by a dull
thunk
and someone going, “Ow, dammit. What?”

And then she slid out from under the tank. She was in a white lab coat, a hairnet and safety goggles, just like everyone else. “Hello again, Ms. Johnson.”

Her eyes widened. She was not what one might call a conventional beauty—especially not in the hairnet. She had a small spiderweb scar on one cheek that was more noticeable when she was red in the face—and Zeb hadn't yet seen her
not
red in the face. It was an imperfection, but it drew his eyes to her. She was maybe four inches shorter than he was and he thought her eyes were light brown. He wasn't even sure what color her hair was—it had been under the hat in his office.

But she was passionate about beer and Zeb appreciated that.

“You again,” she said in a tone that sounded intentionally bored. “Back for more?”

He almost laughed—but he didn't. He was Zeb Richards, CEO of the Beaumont Brewery. And he was not going to snicker when his brewmaster copped an attitude. Still, her manner was refreshing after a day of people bowing and scraping.

Once again, he found himself running through her parting shot. Was he like his father or like his brother? He didn't know much about either of them. He knew his father had a lot of children—and ignored some of them—and he knew his half brother had successfully run the company for about ten years. But that was common knowledge anyone with an internet connection could find out.

Almost everyone else here—including one prone brewmaster with an attitude problem—would have known what she meant by that. But he didn't.

Not yet, anyway.

Delores looked shocked. “Casey,” she hissed in warning. “I'm giving Mr. Richards a tour of the facilities. Would you like to show him around the tanks?”

For a moment, Casey looked contrite in the face of Delores's scolding and Zeb got the feeling Delores had held the company together longer than anyone else.

But the moment was short. “Can't. The damned tank won't cooperate. I'm busy. Come back tomorrow.” And with that, she slid right back under the tank. Before either he or Delores could say anything else, that infernal hammering picked up again. This time, he was sure it was even louder.

Delores turned to him, looking stricken. “I apologize, Mr. Richards. I—”

Zeb held up a hand to cut her off. Then he nudged the shoes again. This time, both people slid out. The other person was a man in his midfifties. He looked panic-stricken. Casey glared up at Zeb.
“What.”

“You and I need to schedule a time to go over the product line and discuss ideas for new launches.”

She rolled her eyes, which made Delores gasp in horror. “Can't you get someone from Sales to go over the beer with you?”

“No, I can't,” he said coldly. It was one thing to let her get the better of him in the privacy of his office but another thing entirely to let her run unchallenged in front of staff. “It has to be you, Ms. Johnson. If you want to brew a new beer that matches my tastes, you should actually know what my tastes are. When can this tank be back up and running?”

She gave him a dull look. “It's hard to tell, what with all the constant interruptions.” But then she notched an eyebrow at him, the corner of her mouth curving into a delicate grin, as if they shared a private joke.

He did some quick mental calculating. They didn't have to meet before Friday—getting the press conference organized had to be his first priority. But by next week he needed to be working toward a new product line.

However, he was also aware that the press conference was going to create waves. It would be best to leave Monday open. “Lunch, Tuesday. Plan accordingly.”

For just one second, he thought she would argue with him. Her mouth opened and she looked like she was spoiling for a fight. But then she changed her mind. “Fine. Tuesday. Now if you'll excuse me,” she added, sliding back out of view.

“I'm so sorry,” Delores repeated as they hurried away from the hammering. “Casey is...”

Zeb didn't rush into the gap. He was curious what the rest of the company thought of her.

He was surprised to realize
he
admired her. It couldn't be easy keeping the beer flowing—especially not as a young woman. She had to be at least twenty years younger than nearly every other man he'd seen in the brewhouse. But she hadn't let that stop her.

Because she was, most likely, unstoppable.

He hoped the employees thought highly of her. He needed people like her who cared for the company and the beer. People who weren't constrained by what they were or were not supposed to be.

Just like he wasn't.

“She's young,” Delores finished.

Zeb snorted. Compared to his assistant, almost everyone would be.

“But she's very good,” Delores said with finality.

“Good.” He had no doubt that Casey Johnson would fight him at every step. “Make sure HR fast-tracks her hires. I want her to have all the help she needs.”