“And what if I have questions I need to ask you?”
Cassie was confused by the question for a moment, but then she realized he didn’t understand. “Then you can ask them. I’m coming with you.”
He straightened in his chair and another of those hard, emotionless looks that Cassie couldn’t quite identify came into his eyes.
“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary.” In contrast to the pleasant, if occasionally condescending, manner he’d been using all morning, his tone was cold. “I don’t need to talk to you in detail again until next week. I prefer to work alone.”
No, sir, Cassie thought. No way was she letting the man who’d be deciding her future out of her sight for a minute.
Except for maybe when he slept.
And then her brain supplied an image of Ronan McGuire lying in bed, a crisp white sheet gathered at his waist, his chest bare and those dark eyelashes fanned on his cheeks.
Was the air conditioning working?
Get a grip! Cassie scolded herself. What happened to getting serious?
She straightened her shoulders and screwed up her courage. Her entire life was riding on these next few days and she was going to do everything in her power to get the outcome she wanted.
“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…”