Katia's Promise. Catherine Lanigan
the partners.
Jack stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
“You just said you’d move across town to lower your rent. How about moving a little farther? Say, out of state, to Indiana. I was thinking about Indian Lake, to be specific. It’s only an hour away. Great access to the city on the tollway or the interstate. South Shore runs through there. I will bet the rents are a third of what you’re paying. We’d have to let the staff here go, but I could hire locals for the office. Barry can stay here and run the online business so he doesn’t have to move Ava and the baby. For now anyway. It’ll be bare bones, Jack. You and me. We’ll run the office and build our clientele from there.”
“Pshht.” Barry waved off Katia’s idea before she had a chance to finish talking. “It’ll never work.”
“Why not?” Katia demanded.
Barry raised his eyebrows in contempt. “New clients? From Indian Lake? You’re out of your mind.”
Think, Katia. Think.
“Jack just told you my three clients from Michigan are good ones.”
“Not enough,” Barry countered. “We have the entire city of Chicago at our fingertips and we’re not getting anywhere.”
“That’s because the companies here want to be with the big brokers. If they’re not dealing with Lloyds of London, they’re not happy. But if we move out of our box just a bit and concentrate on smaller communities, people and business in middle America, I think they’ll want us. They’re dying for someone they can trust. That’s what they’re missing. They need us!” Katia felt adrenaline spiral through her body. At this point in her pitch, she was convinced she could have sold freezers to Alaskans.
“It’s too drastic,” Barry grumbled.
Jack peered at Katia. “We need drastic. And I like this. Keep talking, Katia.” He folded his arms over his chest.
He was challenging her. If she could pull this off, she knew Jack would back her for a partnership. It was a long way to go and there would be a lot of work ahead, but she could do this. “I just got wind of a large account that’s coming up.”
“How large?” Barry asked, suddenly more curious than condemning.
“Millions, from what I remember.”
“Okay, you have my curiosity,” Jack said. “Go on.”
“I grew up in Indian Lake.” She held up a palm to stop their protests before they started. “Trust me, this isn’t about childhood nostalgia or anything like that. In fact, I haven’t kept in touch with anyone from back then. Austin McCreary is one of the wealthiest men in town—heir to a family fortune. He’s the only McCreary remaining now, but his father left him his antique car collection when he died. Tomorrow, Austin is announcing to the city council his intention to build a car museum in Indian Lake. Can you imagine how much that building alone will cost?”
“I can’t. Why doesn’t the guy just put them in a garage?”
“He has garages. Three of them. Carriage houses, actually, and they were already full of cars when I was a kid. I’ll do some checking around and find out what kind of valuation we’re talking about. But the way I see it, he’ll have to cover the cars and the museum, there will be liability insurance for the museum workers, and he’ll need an umbrella liability plan for the visitors.”
“What kind of cars?” Jack asked.
“The 1926 Bugatti is my favorite,” Katia replied with a smug grin.
Barry whistled appreciatively. “This is for real? Holy cow!”
Jack beamed with confidence, and Katia was struck with the notion that she’d given him back his charisma. “Can you get into that meeting tomorrow?”
“I...I think so.”
“Do it,” Jack commanded. “I like this idea of yours, Katia. All of it. I don’t have a problem moving to a small town if it will save our hides. Keep an eye out for office space while you’re there. And get me this guy’s business. I don’t care what it takes. A guy like that has to have friends, and if he likes us and our products, he’ll get them to come on board with us, too.”
“Good thinking,” Barry said with his first real smile of the day.
Katia should have floated out of Jack’s office on a cloud of victory. Instead, as she left the meeting, she realized she’d just slipped a hangman’s noose around her throat. Oh, she’d saved the day, all right. But she knew that if there was anyone Austin McCreary would never, ever do business with—it was her.
Katia wished she could rewrite the past, but that was impossible. She would have to figure out another way to change Austin’s mind.
AUSTIN MCCREARY SHOVED his tennis racket into a battered brown leather cover, zipped it up and waited for Rafe Barzonni to come around to his side of the clay tennis court. Austin had been playing on this court, in his own backyard, since he was five years old. “Great game, Rafe.”
“Anytime, man. You still have the best court in the Midwest. Not to mention a killer backhand I’m never going to beat.”
“You’re just a glutton for punishment.”
“Self-inflicted abuse is not my thing, Austin. Seriously, I’ve seen guys at Wimbledon who look as good as you.”
“Ha!” Austin picked up a white hand towel from the wrought iron table and wiped the sweat from his face. His blond hair was dripping wet. “Tournaments are for young kids. Ones with lots of talent and support. I never had either,” he said, his voice filling with regret.
Rafe grabbed his own towel. “Sorry, bro. I know you have talent—for a lot of things. You just don’t want anyone to know it, that’s all.”
“You’ve got that right. Besides, you’re just bad enough to make me feel good,” Austin bantered back good-naturedly. “Honestly, I appreciate you being able to play this early in the morning. I’ve got fifty-some odd people due here at one, and I swear, I’d never get through it if I didn’t have a chance to work off some steam.” Austin slapped Rafe on the shoulder as they walked through the terrace door and into the kitchen.
At the sink, Austin’s sixty-one-year-old housekeeper, Daisy Kempshaw, was peeling an apple. Daisy was short, as thin as one of Austin’s rackets and capable of taking on both Austin and Rafe in tennis, a shouting match and just about any other confrontation. Daisy approached life on the offensive rather than the defensive. She was rough, scrappy and had the energy of six men.
“No strawberries and cream today,” Daisy announced before Austin had a chance to greet her.
“I didn’t ask for any,” Austin said.
“Wipe your feet, the both of you,” Daisy said. “I just mopped.” Then she pointed toward the hallway door. “The caterer is here unloading in the dining room. She’s taken up all my refrigerator space with her food, and there’s no room for you to eat breakfast with all her whatnots strewn across the nook table.”
Austin glanced at the round walnut table that sat in a huge beveled glass window area on the far side of the kitchen. It was stacked with boxes of serving pieces, rental glasses, china and linens.
“Good,” he muttered. “I didn’t want to use mother’s good china and silver for this event.”
Rafe picked up his small workout bag. “Well, I’m outta here. See you Saturday, Austin. Nine o’clock?”
“Perfect!” Austin shook his friend’s hand.
Rafe strode over to the swinging kitchen door and pushed it open.
“Ow!” came