His Illegitimate Heir (4 page)

He was looking forward to this.

Four

“T
hank you all for joining me today,” Zeb said, looking out at the worried faces of his chief officers, vice presidents and departmental heads. They were all crammed around the conference table in his office. They had twenty minutes until the press conference was scheduled to start and Zeb thought it was best to give his employees a little warning.

Everyone looked anxious. He couldn't blame them. He'd made everyone surrender their cell phones when they'd come into the office and a few people looked as if they were going through withdrawal. But he wasn't about to run the risk of someone preempting his announcement.

Only one person in the room looked like she knew what was coming next—Casey Johnson. Today she also looked like a member of the managerial team, Zeb noted with an inward smile. Her hair was slicked back into a neat bun and she wore a pale purple blouse and a pair of slacks. The change from the woman who'd stormed into his office was so big that if it hadn't been for the faint spiderweb scar on her cheek, Zeb wouldn't have recognized her.

“I'm going to tell you the same thing that I'm going to tell the press in twenty minutes,” Zeb said. “I wanted to give you advance warning. When I make my announcement, I expect each and every one of you to look supportive. We're going to present a unified force. Not only is the Beaumont Brewery back, but it's going to be better than ever.” He glanced at Casey. She notched an eyebrow at him and made a little motion with her hands that Zeb took to mean
Get on with it.

So he did. “Hardwick Beaumont was my father.”

As expected, the entire room shuddered with a gasp, followed by a rumbling murmur of disbelief. With amusement, Zeb noted that Casey stared around the room as if everyone else should have already realized the truth.

She didn't understand how unusual she was. No one had ever looked at him and seen the Beaumont in him. All they could see was a black man from Atlanta. Very few people ever bothered to look past that, even when he'd started making serious money.

But she had.

Some of the senior employees looked grim but not surprised. Everyone else seemed nothing but shocked. And the day wasn't over yet. When the murmur had subsided, Zeb pressed on.

“Some of you have met Daniel Lee,” Zeb said, motioning to Daniel, who stood near the door. “In addition to being our new chief marketing officer, Daniel is also one of Hardwick's sons. So when I tell the reporters,” he went on, ignoring the second round of shocked murmurs, “that the Beaumont Brewery is back in Beaumont hands, I want to know that I have your full support. I've spent the last week getting to know you and your teams. I know that Chadwick Beaumont, my half brother,” he added, proud of the way he kept his voice level, “ran this company with a sense of pride and family honor and I'm making this promise to you, here, in this room—we will restore the Beaumont pride and we will restore the honor to this company. My last name may not be Beaumont, but I am one nonetheless. Do I have your support?”

Again, his eyes found Casey's. She was looking at him and then Daniel—no doubt looking for the family resemblance that lurked beneath their unique racial heritages.

Murmurs continued to rumble around the room, like thunder before a storm. Zeb waited. He wasn't going to ask a second time, because that would denote weakness and he was never weak.

“Does Chadwick know what you're doing?”

Zeb didn't see who asked the question, but from the voice, he guessed it was one of the older people in the room. Maybe even someone who had once worked not only for Chadwick but for Hardwick, as well. “He will shortly. At this time, Chadwick is a competitor. I wish him well, as I'm sure we all do, but he's not coming back. This is my company now. Not only do I want to get us back to where we were when he was in charge of things, but I want to get us ahead of where we were. I'll be laying out the details at the press conference, but I promise you this. We will have new beers,” he said, nodding to Casey, “and new marketing strategies, thanks to Daniel and his extensive experience.”

He could tell he didn't have them. The ones standing were shuffling their feet and the ones sitting were looking anywhere but at him. If this had been a normal business negotiation, he'd have let the silence stretch. But it wasn't. “This was once a great place to work and I want to make it that place again. As I discussed with some of you, I've lifted the hiring freeze. The bottom line is and will continue to be important, but so is the beer.”

An older man in the back stepped forward. “The last guy tried to run us into the ground.”

“The last guy wasn't a Beaumont,” Zeb shot back. He could see the doubt in their eyes. He didn't look the part that he was trying to sell them on.

Then Casey stood, acting far more respectable—and respectful—than the last time he had seen her. “I don't know about everyone else, but I just want to make beer. And if you say we're going to keep making beer, then I'm in.”

Zeb acknowledged her with a nod of his head and looked around this room. He'd wager that there'd be one or two resignations on his desk by Monday morning. Maybe more. But Casey fixed them with a stern look and most of his employees stood up.

“All right,” the older man who had spoken earlier repeated. Zeb was going to have to learn his name soon, because he clearly commanded a great deal of respect. “What do we have to do?”

“Daniel has arranged this press conference. Think of it as a political rally.” Which was what Daniel knew best. The similarities were not coincidences. “I'd like everyone to look supportive and encouraging of the new plan.”

“Try to smile,” Daniel said, and Zeb saw nearly everyone jump in surprise. It was the first time Daniel had spoken. “I'm going to line you up and then we're going to walk out onto the front steps of the building. I'm going to group you accordingly. You are all the face of the Beaumont Brewery, each and every one of you. Try to remember that when the cameras are rolling.”

Spoken like a true political consultant.

“Mr. Richards,” Delores said, poking her head in the room, “it's almost time.”

Daniel began arranging everyone in line as he wanted them and people went along with it. Zeb went back to his private bathroom to splash water on his face. Did he have enough support to put on a good show?

Probably.

He stared at the mirror. He
was
a Beaumont. For almost his entire life, that fact had been a secret that only three people knew—him and his parents. If his mother had so much as breathed a word about his true parentage, Hardwick would've come after her with pitchforks and torches. He would've burned her to the ground.

But Hardwick was dead and Zeb no longer had to keep his father's secrets. Now the whole world was going to know who he really was.

He walked out to find one person still in the conference room. He couldn't even be surprised when he saw it was Casey Johnson. For some reason, something in his chest unclenched.

“How did I do?” The moment the words left his mouth, he started. He didn't need her approval. He didn't even want it. But he'd asked for it anyway.

She tilted her head to one side and studied him. “Not bad,” she finally allowed. “You may lose the entire marketing department.”

Zeb's eyebrows jumped up. Was it because of him or because he brought in Daniel, another outsider? “You think so?”

She nodded and then sighed. “Are you sure you know what you're doing?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“If I say yes, is that your cue to say, ‘So can I'?”

Zeb would never admit to being nervous. But if he
had
been, a little verbal sparring with Ms. Johnson would have been just the thing to distract him. He gave her a measured look. “I'll take that as a no, you can't keep a secret. Nevertheless,” he went on before she could protest, “I am putting the fate of this company in the hands of a young woman with an attitude problem, when any other sane owner would turn toward an older, more experienced brewmaster. I have faith in you, Ms. Johnson. Try to have a little in me.”

She clearly did not win a lot of poker games. One second, she looked like she wanted to tear him a new one for daring to suggest she might have an attitude problem. But then the compliment registered and the oddest thing happened.

She blushed. Not the overheated red that he'd seen on her several times now. This was a delicate coloring of her cheeks, a kiss of light pink along her skin. “You have faith in me?”

“I had a beer last night. Since you've been in charge of brewing for the last year, I feel it's a reasonable assumption that you brewed it. So yes, I have faith in your abilities.” Her lips parted. She sucked in a little gasp and Zeb was nearly overcome with the urge to lean forward and kiss her. Because she looked utterly kissable right now.

But the moment the thought occurred to him, he pushed it away. What the hell was wrong with him today? He was about to go out and face a bloodthirsty pack of reporters. Kissing anyone—least of all his brewmaster—should have been the farthest thing from his mind. Especially considering the setdown she'd given him a few days ago.

Was he like his father or his brother?

Still, he couldn't fight the urge to lean forward. Her eyes widened and her pupils darkened.

“Don't let me down,” he said in a low voice.

He wasn't sure what she would say. But then the door swung open again and Daniel poked his head in.

“Ah, Ms... Johnson, is it? We're waiting on you.” He looked over her head to Zeb. “Two minutes.”

Ms. Johnson turned, but at the doorway, she paused and looked back. “Don't let the company down,” she told him.

He hoped he wouldn't.

* * *

Casey knew she should be paying more attention to whatever Zeb was saying. Because he was certainly saying a lot of things, some of them passionately. She caught phrases like
quality beer
and
family company
but for the most part, she tuned out.

He had faith in her? That was so disconcerting that she didn't have a good response. But the thing that had really blown her mind was that she had been—and this was by her own estimation—a royal bitch during the two times they'd met previous to today.

It wasn't that no one respected her. The guys she'd worked with for the last twelve years respected her. Because she had earned it. She had shown up, day in and day out. She had taken their crap and given as good as she got. She had taken every single job they threw at her, even the really awful ones like scrubbing out the tanks. Guys like Larry respected her because they knew her.

Aside from those two conversations, Zeb Richards didn't know her at all.

Maybe what he'd said was a load of crap. After all, a guy as good-looking as he was didn't get to be where he was in life without learning how to say the right thing at the right time to a woman. And he'd already hit on her once, on that first day when she'd burst into his office. So it was entirely possible that he'd figured out the one thing she needed to hear and then said it to soften her up.

Even though she wasn't paying attention, she still knew the moment he dropped his big bomb. She felt the tension ripple among her coworkers—but that wasn't it. No, the entire corps of reporters recoiled in shock. Seconds later, they were all shouting questions.

“Can you prove that Hardwick Beaumont was your father?”

“How many more bastards are there?”

“Did you plan the takeover with Chadwick Beaumont?”

“What are your plans for the brewery now that the Beaumonts are back in charge?”

Casey studied Richards. The reporters had jumped out of their chairs and were now crowding the stage, as if being first in line meant their questions would be answered first. Even though they weren't shouting at her, she still had the urge to flee in horror.

But not Richards. He stood behind his podium and stared down at the reporters as if they were nothing more than gnats bothering him on a summer day. After a moment, the reporters quieted down. Richards waited until they returned to their seats before ignoring the questions completely and moving on with his prepared remarks.

Well, that was impressive. She glanced at the one person who had thrown her for a loop this morning—Daniel Lee. The two men stood nearly shoulder to shoulder, with Daniel just a step behind and to the right of Richards. Richards had two inches on his half brother and maybe forty pounds of what appeared to be pure muscle. The two men shouldn't have looked anything alike. Lee was clearly Asian American and Richards wasn't definitively one ethnicity or another. But despite those differences—and despite the fact that they had apparently not been raised together, like the other Beaumonts had been—there was something similar about them. The way they held their heads, their chins—not that Casey had met all of the Beaumont siblings, but apparently, they all shared the same jaw.

As Richards continued to talk about his plans for restoring the Beaumont family honor, Casey wondered where she fit in all of this.

In her time, when she'd been a young intern fresh out of college and desperate to get her foot in the door, Hardwick Beaumont had been...well, not an old man, but an older man. He'd had a sharp eye and wandering hands. Wally Winking, the old brewmaster, whose voice still held a faint hint of a German accent even though he'd been at the brewery for over fifty years, had told her she reminded him of his granddaughter. Then he'd told her never to be alone with Hardwick. She hadn't had to ask why.

Three days ago, Richards had made a pass at her. That was something his father would have done. But today?

Today, when they'd been alone together, he'd had faith in her abilities. He made it sound like he respected her—both as a person and as a brewmaster.