The Tycoon's Proposal. Shirley Jump
to yank Mac Barlow out of the chair. Instead, she forced that smile to stay in place and hoped it didn’t look as fake as it felt.
Okay, play nice. Try to engage him in a conversation that gives you what you need.
“We got off on the wrong foot, Mr. Barlow,” she said as she approached the desk. She held the soda in her hand toward him. “And I wanted to give you a...peace offering.”
He flicked a glance at the bottle. “I don’t drink soda.”
“Oh.” She took the bottle back, unscrewed the top and screwed it back on again. So much for that peace offering. “I’d like to talk to you about the company a little more.”
He kept clicking through the bookkeeping program, hardly giving her the time of day. “Miss Hillstrand, if this is another attempt to talk me out of—”
“Of course not,” she lied. Best to find a way to get him chatting about what he did, how he had become so successful, or at the very least, how he envisioned making Hillstrand Solar a good investment for his enterprise. Surely, running one business was like running another, and from that conversation, perhaps she could extract a few secrets to success, if there was such a thing. Give her a bathroom to restore or a kitchen that needed to be gutted and reconfigured, and Savannah was in her element. But here, at her father’s desk, with dozens of people looking to her for leadership and answers—she might as well have been running blind into a wall. Well, it was time for her to find her focus. “I merely thought you’d want an insider’s perspective. I’ve worked here practically since I could walk, and I’d love to give you some feedback. To help you make...a better decision.”
“And what decision would that be?” He swiveled in the chair. “Are you trying to talk me out of the purchase again?”
“Certainly not.” She screwed and unscrewed the bottle cap again, then chided herself for showing her nerves. A strong CEO never wavered, never showed doubt. Maybe if she played the part, it would eventually suit her. “I just wanted to get an idea of what you planned to do with the company, how you thought you would get it back on its feet if you bought it. Because we both know you can’t just flip it if it’s struggling.”
Mac returned to the computer and moved on to the next screen, peering down the list of receivables. “I rarely share my plans with other people.”
“I’m not other people. I’m the owner. And this company is like—” damn the catch in her throat “—family to me. I want to make sure it is taken care of and that everyone will be okay. That the family, so to speak, will remain intact.”
It wasn’t the company that was family, Savannah realized as she said the words. She knew the people who worked at Hillstrand Solar, of course. It was that the company, every last chair and slip of paper, was a part of her father. Willie Jay and Savannah had been like two peas in a pod, her mother had always said. He’d been her protector, her mentor, her hero, and without him in her life, a yawning cavern had opened in Savannah’s heart. Along with the sense that she’d never quite made him proud, never quite shown him what she could do. Taking care of the company filled that cavern. A little.
Mac scanned the list of jobs in production, then returned his attention to the receivables, probably doing the math to see if their monthly sales were up to snuff. She waited.
Finally, he let out a breath and pushed back from the computer. “I understand that need to want to protect everyone’s jobs, but sometimes that isn’t feasible.”
“But many of these employees have been here as long as my father was here. They depend on their paychecks. They’re honest and trustworthy and hardworking—”
“I’m not interviewing them, so save the résumés.” He waved toward the computer screen. “I’m looking at the bottom line. I make all my decisions based on the numbers. And the numbers are clear. You can’t support the amount of overhead you have.”
The sinking feeling in Savannah’s gut told her that Mac was right. Her father had been a great leader, but he had also been a softy, reluctant to fire anyone. “There must be a way to bring in more revenue.”
“There is. More sales. But your sales staff is already stretched pretty thin, and your biggest accounts have gone to your competitors. It takes time to woo them back, time to build up the sales again, time to get that money rolling in.”
“It’s easier to keep the bees you have with a strong hive than to go out and capture more.” She gave him a sad smile. “Something my dad used to say.”
His gaze met hers. She swore she saw a softening in his eyes, a connection between them. “My parents are big on sayings like that. Must be a Southern thing.”
“You don’t hear those sayings much up in Boston?”
He scoffed. “Not at all. Sometimes I miss...” He shook his head and the moment of connection, if there had really been one at all, disappeared. “Anyway, your hive right now is...weakening. It’s not completely fallen apart, but it’s got some structural damage from the last few months.” He brought up the accounting program and started leading her through the reports she’d already pored over herself. Every percentage he gave her, every figure he pointed to, told her the same thing.
She drew up a chair and perched on the edge. The numbers on the screen blended together, a confusing jumble that she barely understood on her best day. There were so many working parts to a business this size. Too many, it seemed, for one person to control. At least this particular person.
But if she didn’t sit in her father’s chair, then who would? Certainly not Mac Barlow, who would sell it off in pieces, dismantling the last remaining bits of Willy Jay Hillstrand. She was the only one who loved her father enough to keep it moving forward, to keep the legacy going.
When Mac had finished reviewing the reports with her, and thus depressing Savannah even more, she pushed back and let out a sigh. “Then what would you do if you were me?”
A grin quirked up the side of Mac’s mouth. It was a nice grin, made his eyes light up, softened everything about him. He went from being the evil corporate raider to...a guy. Just a guy. Okay, just a very handsome guy.
Which was the last thing she needed in her life. She’d fallen for more than one Southern charmer, only to realize charm didn’t equal gentleman. Savannah had sworn off dating, at least for the foreseeable future.
“I see what you’re doing.” The grin widened. “Are you asking me to help you rebuild your company so that you can keep it running?”
“And out of your evil clutches.” She smiled. Maybe if she asked him nicely he’d help her. Be the mentor she needed. Okay, so maybe she was being way too Pollyanna here, but Savannah was desperate for some guidance. Might as well be honest. “Yes, I am doing exactly that.”
“And why would I help you?”
“Because there is more to life than tearing down companies, Mac Barlow.” She leaned toward him and caught his blue-eyed gaze. She wanted to believe the nice guy she had glimpsed really existed. That he could be persuaded to help instead of destroy. “How about building one up instead?”
“You are reading me wrong, Savannah. I am not in the business of building things. I make money, plain and simple. As quickly as possible. I don’t nurture struggling firms along,” he said. “I buy, I sell, I make a profit and I move on.”
Yet he hadn’t sold the three firms he’d bought in the past six months. Nor had he said he was going to. And then there was the one tiny company he’d bought several years ago and restarted, a company he still owned as far as she could tell. She’d done her research on him, too, and she’d found it interesting that Mac was shifting gears. Why, she wasn’t sure, and he clearly wasn’t about to explain. But the information opened a tiny window of trust and hope for Savannah. Maybe there was a chance—a teeny one—that given enough time, she could convince Mac that his relentless pursuit of Hillstrand Solar was a waste of time. “Wouldn’t you like to do