Under The Mistletoe. Kristin Hardy

      Chapter Five

      He’d had plenty of relationships in his time. Some had gone fast and furious, starting with a crackle and flaming out within weeks. Others had been slower burns that built and radiated heat long after the fire had begun to go out. He’d orchestrated seductions before, taken pains to give someone he cared about a special experience, a special evening.

      He’d never worked to make a woman fall in love with an idea before.

      It could work, he told himself. The woman he’d met on the back deck, the one with the fey faerie eyes, would fall for the romance of the Mount Jefferson. The question was whether he could make the businesswoman fall with her.

      Gabe glanced at his computer clock. It was after eight, their planned meeting time, and she still hadn’t shown. Interesting. He’d have picked her as the sort to be relentlessly punctual. Thoughtfully, he rose to walk across the hall.

      And saw her striding toward him over the twining vines of the burgundy carpet, wholly focused on the cell phone clamped to her ear. “Well, if you’re not getting a straight answer, I’d suggest flying to Johannesburg,” she told whoever was on the line. Today, her hair was swept up, her suit a cool ice-blue.

      Her manner, however, belied the calm. Tension tightened her shoulders; her eyes narrowed in irritation. “Eliot, you’re head of Becheron now, not me. I got moved to another project, remember? If you’ve got problems, you’ll have to work them out yourself.”

      Gabe raised a brow as she disconnected.

      Hadley stared at the ceiling for a moment and took a deep breath. “Sorry I’m late.” Her voice was brisk, but frustration still lingered as she walked into his office.

      “Not a crisis.” I got moved to another project, remember? He’d done his homework the night before. Becheron was the fifth largest division at Stone. How did a corporate hotshot go from heading up a marquee division to running a hotel that represented—how had she put it? A fraction of a percent of their holdings? She was on another project, all right, which might have explained some of the wistfulness. He felt a quick tug of sympathy. But only a small one. “Coffee?”

      “Please.”

      He turned to the coffeemaker that sat on a little table behind his desk, and poured her a cup. “Everybody’s got their weakness,” he said. “I’m a coffee snob. Cream or sugar?”

      She took the mug from him. “Black will do, thank you.” She shot him a suspicious look as she sat. “You’re all sweetness and light this morning.”

      “Sounds like you could use it after that phone call.”

      “It’s nothing.” But she couldn’t quite shrug it off, Gabe saw. No swingy earrings today, but discreet diamond studs to go with the stylishly discreet suit.

      “So we’ve got a problem to solve. Where do we start?”

      Hadley opened her portfolio. “I printed out a list of the target numbers for the next four quarters.”

      Gabe took the sheet and scanned it, resisting the urge to whistle. “You realize, of course, that a healthy business plan lasts longer than four quarters.”

      “Of course, but the Hotel Mount Jefferson is no longer private. It’s part of Stone Enterprises, and the Stone stock price swings with the quarterly financials. We can’t afford to ignore them.”

      The thing to do was to show her that it was in her best interests. “What would you say to a revised business plan that offered less short-term growth but substantially more in the long term?”

      “I’d suggest you should update your résumé before you mention it again.”

      He shot a quick glance at her. “They’re that tough?”

      “I’m that tough.” She stared back at him coolly. He thought of the way she’d looked on the dance floor. What would it be like to melt that coolness, he wondered suddenly. To have her heated and gasping in his arms? “The first thing you should understand,” she continued, “is that the numbers are the numbers. We’re going to meet them.”

      “Why do I hear an ‘or else’ in there somewhere?”

      “There isn’t an ‘or else’ because it’s not going to be necessary. I’ve been up against aggressive targets like this before. It’s not impossible. Management just has to be committed to meeting our goal.”

      “What I’m committed to is this hotel.” Time to draw a line in the sand. “If its survival means meeting your targets, then by all means, let’s find a way to do it. I warn you, though, I’m going to fight like hell against anything that’s going to turn the hotel back into the shape it was when Whit bought it.”

      “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

      “I always did like an optimist.”

      The sudden, wry glance he gave Hadley sent something skittering around in her stomach. None of that butterfly nonsense today, she thought impatiently. Today was for business.

      It would have been easier if he’d been properly dressed. Instead, he sat in shirtsleeves, his suspenders dark and silky against the pin-striped cotton dress shirt, his suit coat hanging over a little rack in the corner. She’d always had a thing for men in ties and suspenders, the kind that buttoned into the trousers with the leather loops. It wasn’t him, it was just his clothing.

      And then he threw her a glance and she felt the adrenaline rush in her veins. Not him, her ass.

      Ignore it, she reminded herself. “Let’s get to work. I’d like to go over the books so I know the exact numbers we’re dealing with. The only financials I’ve seen are about six months out-of-date. Can your assistant set up a meet with the CFO?”

      “You can set something up with him yourself. Our weekly department heads’ meeting starts in about five minutes. I figured it would be a good primer.”