cut away. “My father’s computer is this one.”
“That mess is your father’s workspace?”
She smiled ruefully. “It’s organized chaos.”
“You got one word right,” he muttered. “He doesn’t have his own office?”
“My father never liked offices. He wanted to be with the people who worked so hard for him. So he opted to have a cubicle just like everyone else.” She ran a hand over the back of one of the chairs, almost as if Willy Jay were sitting in it right now. “He said he did it so he never forgot what was important.”
“And what was that?” Mac asked. Because, for some reason he couldn’t fathom, the answer to that question was impossibly important to him right now.
Savannah lifted her gaze to his, her deep green eyes reminding Mac of the dark, mysterious woods of North Carolina, where everything was lush and full. “That none of this was about business. It was personal. It was...family.”
Savannah took the elevator down to the fourth floor, then went into the break room and stood in the darkened space for a long time beside the picture of her father, taken years ago at an employee picnic, before he’d gotten sick.
She had known this day would come, known it from the moment she had sat in her father’s chair and realized she had no idea what she was doing, but a part of her somehow had kept thinking maybe Mac Barlow would give up and she would find some miracle CEO knowledge in the back of her brain.
Not that she hadn’t thought about selling the company. Every time an offer came in from Mac Barlow, and the couple others that she had fielded from her competitors, she’d weighed it against the worries on her shoulders. From the day her father died, Savannah had been grieving and overwhelmed. Stepping into her father’s shoes had been a Herculean task. She’d loved her father dearly, but he had been the one person who knew how this company ticked. He’d always promised to take her under his wing and show her the ropes, but the heart attack that killed him had come while he was still relatively young and not ready.
Not that Savannah had ever really planned to be a part of the company. Her father had asked her time and time again to be a part of his dream, but her heart had led her in other directions. Savannah had worked in all facets of the company at one time or another, but had never been the one in charge; never wanted to be the one in charge. It wasn’t until she’d actually sat at her father’s desk that she’d realized how many millions of decisions had to be made on a daily basis. Tiny decisions that could alter the course of the profits, and big decisions that could send the business off a cliff.
And it was too late to ask him how to handle it all.
Now, four months later, she still hadn’t really found her groove. She was trying, but it was far harder than she’d expected to live up to her father’s example. To keep his Hillstrand Solar family together.
And that was what it was—her father’s family. Not hers. His dream—not hers. But she’d made a promise, and whatever it took, Savannah would keep that promise.
Now Mac Barlow wanted to break up the family. And he refused to give up, no matter how many times she told him no.
The problem was he had a point. When he’d talked about the company sinking and the lifeboat he was offering, she’d finally admitted the truth to herself. Her four months of floundering around like a fish out of water had done their damage to the bottom line. Thus far she’d held off laying off any employees, but truth be told she was losing money and customers at an alarming rate, and she wasn’t sure how to recover.
Maybe Mac was right. Maybe the company would be better off in his hands. But the people who worked here...
She leaned against the counter and took in several deep breaths. She needed a plan. Some time to think. She hadn’t taken off so much as an afternoon since her father died—hence being here on yet another Sunday—and that had left her feeling even more snowed under by a growing workload.
What she needed was a trip to the old house. A few hours along the water, where the air was clear and the worries seemed far away. Some time sanding down the damaged deck or scraping off the old paint on the dining room wainscoting. In those moments when she was deconstructing and rebuilding, uncovering and restoring, she found a kind of Zen. There was something calming about taking a house that was ready to crumble at the slightest gust of wind and bring it back to its former glory. Even now she itched to be there, to take a few minutes or a few hours to breathe life into those old, familiar walls. There she knew she could make some decisions. Maybe even come up with a plan to save everyone’s job going forward.
Except how was she supposed to do that? She could save historic homes, but she had no idea what to do when it came to saving her father’s legacy.
Promise me, you’ll keep it running, Willie Jay had said before he died. Those people depended on me, and now they’re gonna depend on you.
She touched the picture of her father. “Oh, Dad, I wish you were here.” She desperately needed a mentor, someone to help her navigate the choppy waters. Someone who had turned around companies before. Someone who knew how to make their profits grow.
Her father smiled back in the perpetual image of him standing in the center of a long line of Hillstrand Solar employees on a bright summer day. The photo had been one of his favorites. He had his arms stretched over the shoulders of the employees closest to him, all part of the circle. He had loved this company, every single inch of it, and loved every one of the people who worked here. No matter what decision she made, she had to make sure the employees kept their jobs.
Because they mattered to Willie Jay. Mattered more than anything else in his life. And maybe, just maybe, if she could keep that legacy alive, she could feel as though she’d mattered to her father, too.
“I’ll find a way to make this all work out, Dad,” she whispered. “I promise.”
His smile seemed to waver, but maybe that was just the tears in her eyes. She swiped them away, drew in a deep breath, then pulled a soda out of the fridge and headed back to the fifth floor.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the glass on the stairwell door. Good Lord, she looked the way she felt. Trying hard to be a sharp, sophisticated executive and failing miserably. A nice, neat suit, topped by a head of hair that looked as if she’d just rolled out of bed. At some point today, her long hair had gotten in her face while she worked, and she’d tied it back in a ponytail without a second thought. Just as she had a hundred thousand times on a job site. But here, with Mac Barlow, she’d wanted to be taken seriously, to be seen as a determined and capable CEO.
Nothing about that messy ponytail screamed force to be reckoned with. No wonder Mac kept saying she was in over her head. That was exactly the look she was sporting this afternoon.
She tugged out the ponytail and ran a hand through her long blond curls. She tugged the wisps of her bangs over her forehead, then did a quick glance to make sure the rest of her was shipshape. She wasn’t flirting with the guy, she reminded herself. Even if he did look like a cross between a bad boy and a millionaire. It would help her make her case. That was all.
On the short flight up to the top floor, she’d decided two things—she wasn’t going to sell to Mac Barlow no matter what he offered her. But before she told him that, she was going to see if she could find a way to get ideas from him as to what she could do. Somehow turn the conversation into one that gave her much-needed advice. Maybe then, if she could implement his thoughts, she could turn the company around herself. And send Mac on his way.
She needed a mentor, and she had one right here. The trick was getting him to give her concrete advice without realizing he was doing it.
She pasted a smile on her face, then strode across the office. Her steps faltered when she saw Mac sitting in the chair her father