Cassie's Grand Plan

He frowned.

“Have a health and safety policy,” she clarified, moderating her tone. “The foreman has an ambient-temperature monitor. As soon as it gets over a certain level, we send everyone home. And we try to plan our shifts around the weather report during summer. For example, today we started at dawn to ensure we could receive and store the stock before the heat really hit.”

He nodded, seeming to take Cassie’s undisguised defensiveness in stride.

“Good to hear. Shall we?”

He raised that single eyebrow again, but this time Cassie was prepared; she’d fortified herself and the expression didn’t melt her into a messy puddle.

“Absolutely. Follow me.”

CHAPTER THREE

RONAN WAS READY TO FALL into bed by the time he got back to the hotel after a full day at Country Style. But, determined not to let the jet lag win, he changed his clothes, ran a couple of miles on the hotel gym’s treadmill and then swam a few laps. A quick meal from room service and he was feeling better—still tired, but now in a physical sense, not just a blurred, fuzzy, jet-lagged sense.

He cracked open his laptop and crawled into bed with it, sitting a nightcap of substandard Scotch from the minibar on the side table. A quick review of his emails and then the whisky and he’d be guaranteed a decent night’s sleep before he had to get up at dawn to catch the plane to Perth.

Two hundred and fourteen emails.

Not bad, considering it had been a full day since he’d last checked.

Only one of them from his father. Requesting a progress report according to the subject line—no surprises there. Ronan’s finger hovered over the delete key, but then remembered how much was riding on this job. Instead, he clicked on the message, and his father’s brusque words filled the screen.

Ronan

Report back on progress with Taylor job ASAP—client expects interim recommendations by end of week. You know what outcomes are sought. Keep your nose clean. Keep your pecker cleaner!

Patrick Conroy

President and CEO, Conroy Corporation

Didn’t even bother to sign it “Dad,” just his full name and company signature, which was as effective a reminder that Ronan was in the doghouse as anything else.

Ronan bristled at the warning in the email. As if he were a child. As if the point hadn’t been made loud and clear before he’d left San Francisco.

It was why he’d made a last-minute decision to use his grandmother’s maiden name for this job. He didn’t want the CEO-son stigma following him around the world. “Ronan Conroy” brought too much baggage with it, whereas “Ronan McGuire” was nice and anonymous. It gave him space and time to think through what had happened—which was exactly what his father had hoped for by sending him to Australia in the first place.

The past month had been a mess. Everything had been going so well up until then, or so he’d thought. Now that he looked back on it, he wondered just how long the storm had been brewing.

An image of Sarah Forsythe swam up in his mind’s eye and made him shudder.

Ronan didn’t like to think of himself as the kind of man who spent time tying himself up in knots over regrets, but he couldn’t let this one go.

How had he not predicted what would happen? How had he been so wrong? Probably because he’d been concentrating on the long blond hair and the swimsuit-model body hidden within prim business suits, he reflected ruefully.

It wasn’t as though he’d never slept with a client before. It was a line he’d crossed, but always carefully. This time he hadn’t been so careful. He’d simply seen what he wanted and he’d taken it.

He’d been groomed his entire life to take over the leadership of Conroy Corporation one day. And until recently, he’d thought that was what he wanted. The last job he’d managed—a complex M&A in New York—had been a goldmine. A runaway success for the client had resulted in a tidy packet of consulting fees—and a newly polished reputation for Conroy Corporation on Wall Street. Ronan had been full of his own success.

He and Sarah, an accountant with one of the companies, had worked long hours together. When, toward the end of the job, a late night turned into drinks after work, they’d both had one too many. And when the night had ended with them sharing her bed, he’d been reasonably sure they were on the same page. It had been mutual; two consenting adults seeking pleasure in each other. These things happened in high-pressure environments. It was a release valve for both of them.

The next morning Ronan had tried to let her down easy. Given her a bit of the patented Ronan Conroy charm. She’d smiled, walked away, and Ronan had thought things were fine as he focused on tying up the loose ends as the job came to a close.

Two days later, he was on a plane, summoned back to his father’s office where a lawyer’s letter threatening a sexual harassment lawsuit was waved in his face.

Ronan had been incensed. His father had been so livid Ronan had actually feared for his health, watching him go puce with rage.

The words of their fight still echoed in his mind. His father had accused him of coasting, of not taking things seriously, of having a sense of entitlement over his career at Conroy Corporation, of being immature and shortsighted. Ronan had argued the exact opposite: he’d never been granted the slightest advantage, always had to work twice as hard as everyone else, never taken a shortcut, never once ridden on his father’s coattails.

Patrick Conroy had made Ronan work his way up the ranks just like any other employee.

No, not like any other employee.

Ronan had had to work harder, longer and more diligently than anyone to get even half the recognition.

And it stung. Not that Ronan wanted to be given a free ride, but once, just once, it would have been nice to know that his father considered him a worthy successor. He wasn’t looking for special treatment—just acknowledgment that his hard work had been worth it, that his natural talent for the business made him stand out.

But no.

Always conscious of the optics, Patrick Conroy had practiced reverse discrimination, putting more complex and difficult hurdles in front of his son than anyone else.

The partnership should have been his as soon as he’d got back from New York.

Unlike his father, Ronan knew that it didn’t matter what the reality was; there’d be plenty of people at Conroy Corporation who would greet the news of his partnership with a sneer and a joke about nepotism. But anyone who’d ever worked with him knew that Ronan not only deserved that partnership, he’d worked harder than anyone else in order to win it.

And then one stupid move, one wrong decision…

He was angry—with his father, with Sarah, with the world.

Also, even if he wasn’t quite ready to admit it aloud, with himself.

Ronan made his living from analyzing situations and predicting outcomes—and he was damn good at it. But he’d screwed this one up, big-time. How had he not seen that Sarah wasn’t just looking for one night of mutual fun? He’d been high on success, full of himself and his New York triumph, the partnership he’d had to bust his ass to achieve finally within his grasp.

Only to have it jerked away after one little mistake.

He blew out a breath and shook his head, trying to focus. All he had to do was make a decent job of this Country Style project and he’d be back on track. Simple.

Ronan scanned the subject lines of all his other emails and decided there was nothing desperately urgent. He could deal with the rest of them on the plane tomorrow.

He closed the laptop, drained the Scotch, switched off the light and lay back and stared up at the ceiling. Alert and awake, despite his physical and mental exhaustion.

“Damn.” He swore again, more savagely, punched the pillow and rolled on his side. His mind was racing and wouldn’t shut down. His thoughts still tumbled over each other, churning over his current predicament.

His entire future was riding on this Taylor job. He’d been sent to Australia as a punishment, just like the British convicts that had settled the country. But it was also his last chance of redemption. His chance to prove to his father—and to himself—that he really did care about some things. Like his future.

Like not becoming a laughingstock.

Did you hear the one about the CEO’s son who got demoted?