Cassie's Grand Plan

“I’m afraid that’s nonnegotiable, Mr. McGuire,” she said, pleased with the firm tone of her voice. “I can’t allow you free rein of our stores without supervision. You understand—I have to prioritize customer service and operations above the needs of Graham’s little investigation.” Did she sound bitter? Cassie inwardly winced. Yes, probably, but then it didn’t hurt for this guy to understand the relative importance of this exercise. They might be deciding the company’s future—Cassie’s future—but on a day-to-day level, customers still had to be served, furniture still had to be sold, operations still had to continue. Otherwise there’d be no future to plan for.

“But shouldn’t you be around to manage the store opening?” he tried again.

Yes, she should, but Cassie wasn’t about to admit that she wasn’t capable of being a retail superwoman. She gave what she hoped looked like a carefree shrug when in reality her mind was filled with a list of the seemingly unending tasks that had to be completed between now and next Monday. “It’s mostly all bedded down now. I can handle any last-minute things from the road. Our flight leaves Wednesday, tomorrow, for Perth. We’ll stay overnight and then catch an early flight to Sydney on Thursday. We’ll spend two nights in Sydney and come back to Melbourne on Saturday morning. Monday is a soft opening for the store—the advertising and marketing doesn’t start until later in the week with the official grand opening on Saturday.”

He gave her a considered look and nodded. “So there’s the weekend to finalize things, too, if need be.”

“Exactly.”

He studied her for a while, his eyes searching her face, and Cassie steeled herself not to look away. Eventually his mouth curved into an almost smile and his eyes softened. With a nod of his head, he let Cassie know she’d won. This round.

“Of course,” he said.

“I assure you, we will make our visits as effective and efficient as possible.”

“Effective and efficient works for me.” That teasing tone was back. If she hadn’t just spent the morning with him, going through the financials, and seen his expertise firsthand, she’d wonder if the man ever took anything seriously.

“We have the rest of today here, then we leave first thing in the morning for Perth. It’s an early flight, I’m afraid.”

“Fine with me. I’m an early riser.”

She’d just bet he was. He looked like the type that rose at dawn to go for a run—always one step ahead of the world.

“Would there be a soda in the fridge?” Ronan stood up and stretched subtly, like a panther that had been crouching in the bushes, watching its prey for too long.

“Sure, help yourself.”

He was still wearing his suit, including jacket, and while the office part of the building was air-conditioned, it was definitely warm. Too warm for more than shirtsleeves. Cassie’s own shirt felt suspiciously damp under her arms, but that could be explained by the combination of nerves and heat. It was the weather, the situation, the man. She must remember not to lift her arms too high, just in case her shirt betrayed her.

“Want one?”

Cassie shook her head. She’d stick with water. The caffeine from the morning’s extra coffees was still zinging around in her bloodstream. Any more and she’d start to shake.

He sat down next to her, unscrewing the bottle he’d selected. She expected him to drink straight from it, but he poured the dark liquid into a glass.

She had to remember not to expect anything when it came to Ronan McGuire.

“Have you had enough lunch?” she asked. Much as Cassie loved this room, it was starting to feel a little stifling. Having watched Ronan do something as innocently domestic as get something from the fridge, she was on the verge of reclining and enjoying a little Part Four fantasy about being at home with him—her husband—sitting at their kitchen table, going over the business that they ran together. Two dark-haired little angels—because any children they had would have to be brunette—were tucked up in bed upstairs.

And Cassie was in no position to become CEO of Country Style because she was certifiably insane.

“I’m good,” he said, beaming another of those toothpaste-ad smiles her way.

Did all Americans have teeth like that or just the Californians?

Cassie stood up and managed to plaster what she hoped was a neutral smile on her face. “I thought I’d take you through the warehouse before we move on to looking at our inventory. It might make it easier to visualize the reports.”

“Good thinking.” Ronan stood, as well. “I’d also like to speak to the staff. With your permission, of course.”

“Fine,” she said, because she couldn’t think of a reason to say no. Cassie could just imagine how those conversations might go, though. Her burly, tattooed, hearts-of-gold but gutter-mouthed warehouse guys were going to be less than respectful to a shiny American in a posh suit and tie. The man had product in his hair, for goodness’ sake.

“Just so you know,” she said, “I’ve distributed a memo to staff to let them know only that you’re visiting at the request of Graham to learn more about our business. I didn’t want to cause uncertainty or anxiety for anyone about any potential…changes. No point getting everyone worried over nothing. So I’d appreciate it if you could keep the purpose of your enquiries discreet.”

Ronan nodded. “Of course. And you weren’t lying—I am here to learn more about the business.”

You’re here to determine whether or not I can step up to the top job and we both know it, Cassie wanted to blurt. But now wasn’t the time. Now was the time to play nice, to be a leader in the truest sense of the word, and—for now, anyway—helping Ronan to realize that Country Style was a strong, successful business was in her best interests.

He gestured for her to lead the way.

Cassie paused and looked him up and down. When her eyes returned to his face, the expression in his eyes told her he’d been very aware of her unsubtle review. He wasn’t pleased. Or even teasing. No, his eyes had gone hard again, masking whatever he was thinking. She was reminded of her initial impression—this man was like a bright, beautiful tropical fish with a poisoned spike that could kill its prey in less than a minute. She had a sudden, visceral sense that Ronan McGuire would make a potent enemy. “Uh, the warehouse isn’t air-conditioned,” Cassie said, gesturing to his suit, wincing at her uncertain tone. “You might want to…uh…”

“Lose the jacket?” He visibly relaxed. He was relieved she hadn’t been checking him out, Cassie realized.

He found her that unattractive?

It was ridiculous to be disappointed. And it was just lucky he couldn’t read her mind.

Cassie nodded. “Yeah. It can get pretty steamy out there. It’s supposed to get to thirty-six degrees today, and inside our tin shed it can be even hotter.”

“I assume you have health and safety regulations in place to look after the welfare of the employees?”

It was a simple question with a simple answer. But Cassie’s mouth went dry as she watched him shrug out of his jacket and drape it on the back of his chair. His white shirt was still pristine, a heavy cotton that had no visible logos and screamed “more expensive than you can imagine in your wildest dreams, Cassie Hartman.”

But he didn’t stop there.

“If I’m talking to warehouse guys, I should lose the tie, too,” he said, almost to himself.

It was a good idea, on so many levels.

His fingers loosened the knot of his burgundy tie and the luscious silk slipped through his collar with an illicit whisper. He undid the top two buttons of the shirt and revealed the beginnings of a light dusting of dark hair against smooth, tanned skin. Then his hands worked at his cuffs and a moment later, the shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, exposing muscled forearms sprinkled with that same dark hair.

It was only the burn in her lungs that reminded Cassie to breathe.

This was not a strip show on King Street. But Cassie had a sudden urge to order a cosmopolitan, sit back and watch as he continued. Button. Another button.

She shook her head and sucked in a breath. To give herself recovery time, she looked down at the table and shuffled some papers around. But as soon as she’d managed to tear her eyes away from his delectable body, another element hit her senses—his scent.

He wasn’t as unaffected by the heat as she’d thought—there was a whiff of sweat there, but it was the good kind, the kind that made her want to inhale deeply. It was only just discernable under his expensively discreet aftershave, musky and woody, a smell that reinforced the conflicting impressions Cassie was trying to assimilate. On the one hand, he was all coolly professional sophistication, on the other, he radiated earthy, primal masculinity.

Cassie’s eyes lit on the cuff links from his French-cuffed shirt that were sitting on the table—quirky little enameled blocks decorated to look like dice.

It was an effective reminder of the reality of the situation. They probably cost more than every item of jewelry Cassie owned combined.

And for Ronan, this little exercise was a game. A roll of the dice and Cassie won or lost. It didn’t matter to him. He’d go back to America and his waiting partnership and never think about Country Style or Cassidy Hartman again.

Now was not the time for Cassie’s underdeveloped sex drive to suddenly come to life. Part Three had to wait until Parts One and Two were in place.

She stopped fiddling with the papers and set her eyes directly on his face, bypassing those arms, that chest. “Yes, of course we do.” It came out a little more direct than Cassie had planned.