Ford saw his mother off with a kiss to her tear-stained cheek. Aunt Florence would see her safely home. They all needed time to process what had just occurred in Mr. Trumble’s office. He couldn’t imagine what his father had been thinking when he’d drafted his will, but he damn sure needed to find out. Turning to his car and the woman waiting next to it, he clenched his jaw to prevent making rash statements he’d hear repeated back in court proceedings later on. Who was Becky Jean Parker to his father? Ken Adams wouldn’t have done what he’d done for just anybody. Several possibilities ran through his head—none of them acceptable or fathomable. His father wasn’t that kind of man. He just wasn’t.
Calling on his best manners, he held the passenger door while Becky Jean slid into the passenger seat. She remained quiet on the ride across town, giving him time to run through his options. The will stipulated the factory had to remain operating for one year before it could be sold. They’d need money to make payroll, purchase supplies, pay utilities and taxes. He had some savings, but not enough to last an entire year unless they scaled staff and production back to the barest minimum. The will hadn’t said anything about what capacity the factory had to run—just that it had to run.
Becky Jean would be pissed about laying off employees, but unless she paid the extra wages herself then the cuts would be made. The way things stood, her salary would be coming out of his pocket which, in his mind, meant she had zero say in who he fired in order to keep her ass out of bankruptcy. Which brought him back to how he was going to come up with the necessary funds.
If push came to shove, he could sell his house in New York. Since he’d restored the historic home, he’d been approached more than once with offers. He’d bought it because it reminded him of the house he’d grown up in, only in need of repair. Half a million dollars later, the property had turned into a showplace. Letting go of it would hurt, but he could always buy another house. Thoughts of selling brought him around to the house in Butte Plains he owned 50 percent of—the one his mother lived in. He couldn’t sell it out from under her, but he could mortgage it. He’d have to tell his mother the precarious nature of her financial situation in order to get her signature on a mortgage, but it might not come to that. For the moment, he’d prefer to keep her out of the loop. Mired in grief, he didn’t need to distress her more with things she couldn’t do anything about. There had to be another way. He’d start with trying to find a way to turn a profit.
“When we get back, get me a sample of every item we currently have in production, and every item we have produced in the past… say ten years. No. Make it twenty-five years.”
“What for?”
“We have to keep the factory operating for the next twelve months. In order to do that, we need to turn a profit, even if it’s only a dollar. Maybe if I see what we’ve got to offer, I can come up with a way to make us profitable.” He nearly bit his tongue off on the word us, but until a court decided differently, he had to include Becky Jean in the equation.
“Tell what’s her name in receivables to get on the phone. We need to collect every outstanding invoice owed us. Start with the most recent and work back from there.”
“Her name is Angela.”
He’d met the rest of the office workers before he and Becky Jean left for the reading of the will but couldn’t remember their names. “Doesn’t matter what her name is. What matters is cash flow. We need income. Anything over six months old, tell her to discount it by 10 percent if they pay in the next ten days.”
“Okay.”
“Thanks to Dad draining every account he had, our payables are in decent shape. We can’t afford to piss off our suppliers. No supplies equals no production. No production equals no income.”
“I get it.”
He ignored her snide remark. He didn’t have time to soothe hurt feelings, not if he meant to prevent this Titanic from sinking and taking them all down with it. “Just get me those product samples, ASAP.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Ford braked hard at the stop sign, taking his anger at her snippy tone out on the brake pedal. Eyes focused straight ahead, he unclenched his jaw enough to speak. “Unless you have come up with a way to get us out of this mess then I’d appreciate you not getting your panties in a wad over the direction I’m taking. At least I’m doing something.” He might be high-handed, but he didn’t see he had any other choice but to take charge. He let up on the brake then applied slow, steady pressure to the accelerator pedal when he’d much rather smash it to the floor and drive until Butte Plains, Adams Manufacturing, and Texas disappeared in his rearview mirror, becoming nothing but an unpleasant memory.
Becky shifted in her seat. Her heated gaze seared like the West Texas sun on an August day. “You make it sound like I’m not doing anything,” she huffed. “I’ve done everything you asked so far, haven’t I? And, in case it hasn’t occurred to you, I can’t afford for this company to go under. It was one thing to lose my job when it closed. As part owner, if it closes now, I’ll lose everything. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the place running for the next year. I don’t see as I have any choice.”
No, she didn’t, and neither did he. They were partners in this mess until a court decided otherwise, and the legal process could easily take more than the year they needed to stay in business. Like it or not, he needed her help for the next twelve months.
“Glad to hear you’re onboard.” He actually liked the way she’d found her spine. He’d been worried about her—the quiet, devastated woman she’d become following the bombshell bequeath wasn’t the Becky Jean he’d come to know. “Do we have a marketing person?”
The shift in the conversation caught her off guard. She faced forward again, though the vacant look from before had vanished. “No. I’ve sort of been doing the job—what little there is to do.”
“Congratulations, Ms. Parker. You’ve just been promoted to marketing director. I’d give you a raise if I could.”
“But…. I…. What?” She huffed out a breath, and her pale cheeks colored.
How would her other cheeks look with a bit of color? Don’t go there, Ford. She’s your business partner. Remember the lawsuit she’s likely going to file. A sexual harassment complaint won’t help you any.
“We have to sell our product. Since we can’t lower our prices to compete with foreign manufacturing we’re going to have to come up with a marketing plan to convince retailers and consumers our product is worth paying more for.”
“We haven’t gotten any results back from the lab we hired to analyze the foreign-made products.”
“Cancel the lab report. See if we can get a partial refund. We’ll—you’ll—have to think of something else to convince people to buy our product.”
He pulled into the parking lot and followed Becky Jean inside. At the reception desk, she went straight ahead instead of turning down the hall to their offices.
“Where are you going?” he called out.
“To the factory floor. You want product samples, I’m going to get you pr—” As she opened the heavy steel door, noise from the production line nearly drowned out her last words.
He spun his key ring around his index finger then pocketed his keys and headed toward his office. The contrast of her soft curves surrounded by the industrial machinery shouldn’t be so intriguing, but it seemed everything about Becky Jean Parker intrigued him.
~~~
Becky grabbed a sound-muffling headset off the rack by the door and put it on. She’d welcome the din of machinery in motion, but drowning out the racket going on in her head wasn’t worth losing her hearing over. She’d have to find another way to silence the turmoil of the last few days.
On the heels of the shock of her boss’s sudden death came grief and the stress of being at the helm of Adams Manufacturing until his son arrived to take over. Seeing Ford again after all these years had been another shock. He’d been good-looking—in a geeky sort of way—in high school, but man, oh man, had he changed! The last decade had been good to him in a way it hadn’t been with most of their classmates. Riding in the car with him had been a mistake. There had been no escaping his scent in the confines of the sporty rental. Not even the smell of melting rubber and heated plastic on the factory floor could drive the memory of his woodsy, all-male scent from her nostrils. Lord, she’d wanted to strip naked and rub herself all over him. Still wanted to. Damn it all to hell.
Then, to top it off—Kenneth Adams had left her half of his half of Adams Manufacturing! Heaven only knew what Mrs. Adams thought. And Ford. Did they think something had gone on between her and the late Mr. Adams? By the way the lawyer had looked at her when he read the part of the will pertaining to her, he’d certainly thought so. Neither Ford nor his mother had said anything, but they must have been thinking it. Hell, she’d be thinking it if it were anyone besides her in this position.
She had to find a way to assure them she hadn’t been carrying on an affair with Kenneth Adams. He’d been kind to her, for sure, but he’d never… and she’d never….
No. She wouldn’t go down that road. It was just too weird to think about. Ken Adams had been like a father to her, giving her a job when she needed one, never once asking for anything but a solid day’s work from her. She’d loved him, but not for the reasons his lawyer seemed to think.
Touched beyond belief Mr. Adams had thought to include her in his will, she couldn’t credit the position she currently found herself in. Part owner of Adams Manufacturing. An equal partner with Ford Adams. Well, a minority partner given he controlled his mother’s 50 percent, too. Once again, her life had taken a path she hadn’t chosen for herself.
One year. Twelve long months before they could sell or close the business. Which meant they had to keep it running, because God knew, her share of the business’s debts far outweighed her personal assets. She had to do everything possible to keep the factory going, and, at the moment, that meant hitching her wagon to Ford’s, no matter which direction he decided to head.
She grabbed an empty box from shipping then made her way through the warehouse, dropping one of each style product into the box. Waving to the dozen-or-so people hard at work, she made her way to the front offices. After replacing the hearing protection back on the rack, she stood for a minute, welcoming the sound of normality before opening the door and stepping back into the chaos her life had become.
At the sound of Ford’s voice, heavy with frustration, Becky halted short of his office. “Can we talk about this later?” A short pause. “Because I’m busy.”
Torn between wanting to drop the box of products he’d requested over his head and not wanting to pry into his personal life, she faltered in the hallway then headed toward her own office.
“You think I want to stay here for a year? Fuck, Ronnie. You know me better than that.”
Becky stopped cold. Ronny? Who the heck…?
“Listen, I really am busy. The sooner I get this figured out, the sooner I can come home.” He’d lowered his voice so, giving up all pretense of not eavesdropping, Becky leaned closer to hear his next words. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll call tonight, and we’ll talk about it then.”
Ford’s gay? What the hell? It would certainly explain why he’d chosen to live so far away from where he’d grown up. She imagined it would be easier to start over someplace new than to explain to the people he’d grown up with. There were some narrow-minded people in Butte Plains, but they were the minority. Still, she could see where it would be easier to live an alternative lifestyle as little fish in a big pond instead of a big tuna in a goldfish bowl.
Her arms ached, reminding her of the reason she stood outside his office to begin with. In light of her new knowledge, the thoughts she’d been having in regards to Ford’s hotness seemed ridiculous. He was taken—and gay. She laughed at the old cliché? All the good ones were either taken or gay. Just her luck. Not that she had ever had a chance with the man—or wanted a chance with him. Boyfriend in New York or not, Ford would be leaving as soon as possible. In the meantime, they had to find a way to keep Adams Manufacturing running for the next year.
Fear gripped her gut, and she leaned against the wall, willing the pain in her belly to go away. Ford and his mother would sustain huge losses over the next twelve months if the factory didn’t show a profit, but she would lose everything. And like it or not, and unless she found a way to decline her inheritance, she had little choice but to help Ford turn the company around.
After taking a few deep, calming breaths, Becky straightened her shoulders and stepped forward.