Cassie's Grand Plan

The idea that Graham might not simply rubber-stamp her pitch to become CEO had never occurred to her. Pretty much every success Country Style had had over the past four years had been her doing. Graham had moved on to his next business endeavor—another chain of retail stores, this time selling luggage—and left Cassie more or less in charge, in action if not in title. She’d worked so hard for him. And the reward was the job interview from hell.

Clearly she’d overestimated his trust in her. Perhaps because he was the nearest thing she had to a father, she’d taken for granted that he’d be as eager for her to succeed as she was herself. Instead, Graham had shown her that despite their relationship, his primary concern had to be his company. Nothing personal, he’d said. They might be close, Cassie told herself, but when it came down to it, business was always going to be business for Graham. She knew that. It shouldn’t have been a surprise.

She turned her attention back to the man in front of her. They’d spent the morning combing through Country Style’s financial reports, Cassie explaining her decisions and pointing out particular gains and losses. She was proud of her truthful, matter-of-fact answers and thought she’d shown just the right amount of passion and enthusiasm for the business.

For his part, Ronan McGuire asked pertinent questions that evidenced his knowledge of budgeting and management. To the point that she had to grudgingly admit his input and advice might just be very useful for planning the business’s future success.

His insightful questions had prompted new ideas, and she’d taken pages of notes. Even in just a few hours, he’d brought fresh thinking and original concepts to her future plans for running Country Style.

It was both depressing and exhilarating, Cassie thought, watching as Ronan politely—but still somehow flirtatiously—accepted a sandwich and coffee from Melanie.

Exhilarating because she could see how all the ideas could be implemented to create a dramatically better business.

Depressing because she hadn’t thought of them herself.

Perhaps Graham was right to doubt her management abilities.

“Thank you, Miss Mel,” Ronan drawled, bringing Cassie out of her reflection. He was so confident, she thought, so arrogant and sure of himself. But perhaps she was just seeing things that way because she was suddenly feeling so very unsure of herself.

“Thank you, Mel,” Cassie said. She wasn’t thrilled to see that Ronan’s thanks had elicited yet another little giggle and a blush, while Melanie barely acknowledged Cassie’s words. And she absolutely was not jealous of the low, sexy tone Ronan used when talking to her assistant rather than the practical, no-nonsense tone he used with her. Men didn’t talk to her that way—they never had—and she couldn’t miss what she’d never had, could she?

“Is there anything else you need, Mr. McGuire?” Mel asked.

Before Ronan could say anything—like encourage Melanie to use his first name again in that breathy Marilyn Monroe voice she seemed to have suddenly developed—Cassie interrupted. “Mel, could you please bring in the schedule for the site visits? Including the travel arrangements?” After Graham’s call yesterday, Cassie had immediately started work preparing a tour of the largest and most successful Country Style stores across Australia. She figured it was the best way to show off her success. Spreadsheets were all well and good, but nothing beat seeing the real thing in person.

“No worries. And just so you know, Cassie, I’ve cleared up the signage issues for the Hawthorn opening. The sign writers are redoing the car-park notices and the painters will be in later today to fix up the front fascia.”

“Thanks, Mel, that’s great news.” Cassie breathed a sigh of relief. She couldn’t believe it, but for the whole morning she’d not once given a thought to the store opening that had dominated her workload for the past several weeks. Thank goodness Melanie was still on the ball. Cassie had opened new stores before—dozens of them—but this would be the largest store in the Country Style group. Located in one of Melbourne’s most affluent suburbs, it was going to be a showcase of Country Style design and flair. With only a week to go until the opening, the major work was done—stock ordered, staff hired, store layout confirmed—it was all the little details that now needed attending to.

Melanie vanished out the door, but not before bestowing a hundred-watt smile on Ronan.

“Hawthorn signage?” Ronan asked.

“We have a new store opening next Monday,” Cassie explained.

“Ah.” He pushed the plate of sandwiches toward Cassie. “Melanie seems very efficient,” he said.

“She’s great, very organized and resourceful,” Cassie said, reaching for a salad sandwich triangle. “She’s been with us for almost five years now, and is a very important member of our team.”

He gave Cassie a considered look. “And how long have you been with the company?”

“Eleven years,” she replied, even though she was sure he already knew the answer. It was impossible someone as obviously prepared as he was wouldn’t have scoped her out—although she was reasonably sure his background check would start and finish with her career. Maybe, if he dug deep enough, he might find out about her family and what had happened to her parents—that was a matter of public record. But that would be it. No one knew how she’d come to join the company when she was seventeen except Graham, and he’d given her his word of honor that he’d never tell. She didn’t always trust Graham—and Ronan’s presence was clear evidence as to why—but on that one topic he’d never given her cause to doubt him.

Her career with Country Style since then, on the other hand, was likely to have been an open book to Ronan McGuire, especially the last four years she’d spent as operations manager and second in charge to Graham. He probably knew what she had for breakfast, Cassie thought grimly. The answer of course was nothing, and remembering that, she took a bite of her sandwich.

“That’s a long time to be with one organization,” he commented, one eyebrow raised in a way that caused a corresponding spike in Cassie’s blood pressure—much as she tried to ignore it. “Especially these days.”

Cassie chewed and swallowed. “How long have you been with the Conroy Corporation?” she asked, keen to dodge the spotlight while she considered how to respond. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to gauge her passion for the business or hinting that she had limited herself by not broadening her experience. Cassie had the strong feeling that every question he asked had an ulterior motive, no matter how innocent it might seem on the surface.

One side of his mouth cocked up in a crooked smile. “Ah, you have me there. I joined the company right after college and I’m about to become a partner.” His eyes grew harder with something Cassie couldn’t quite identify and she wondered why. Shouldn’t he be proud? The emotion, whatever it was, was gone again in a flash.

“Where are you based?” she asked.

“San Francisco,” he replied in clipped tones, letting her know that the subject was effectively closed. “So, what’s kept you at Country Style for eleven years?”

He was persistent, she’d give him that. “I love it here,” she said simply. It was far, far more than that, but there was no way she was going into it all with a stranger.

Besides, it was none of his business.

“You’ve arranged a site tour?” he asked, pointing at the documents Mel had left behind, and Cassie was thankful he changed the subject back to the matter at hand.

He took a large bite of his sandwich and chewed without breaking their shared gaze. For some reason, watching his jaw move was incredibly distracting. It started Cassie thinking about his mouth, his lips and then his tongue; she hurriedly looked down and took another bite of her own sandwich before he could read the blush she knew was stealing across her face.

What on earth was wrong with her? Thinking about this man as anything other than her judge and jury—her potential executioner—was a recipe for disaster. Developing a crush on him was the stupidest idea from Stupidtown. Cassie had to stay on guard. Besides, anything like those belonged to Part Three of the Plan, and she was a long way from that.

The Plan-with-a-capital-P was simple enough. She’d come up with it when she’d found herself at home, alone, on New Year’s Eve. Sitting there by herself had felt as if the rest of the world had learned some lesson that she’d somehow skipped. How could she have got to twenty-eight years old and have such a narrow life? All she did was work, eat and sleep. She was friendly with people from work, but rarely socialized. And when everyone else was occupied with their family, or away with their real friends, Cassie was by herself. Suddenly feeling very alone.

Clearly, something needed to be done, and for that she needed a plan.

Part One—secure her future with Country Style. That was most important. It was her life, her home, her family. Her foundation in the world. It came first. That’s why she’d spent two weeks researching and writing a report for Graham—analyzing the marketplace, proposing expansion options, showing him how much she cared for this company and what she could do for it—if he’d just give her the chance. It was exciting—Cassie felt a thrill of anticipation whenever she thought about the business’s future with her leading it—but it was only Part One. When Ronan’s analysis ratified her proposal to become CEO, and Graham adopted it, she’d be able to relax. She’d be able to take her eye off the ball just for a moment, and get some other areas of her life sorted out.

Part Two was to do something about herself—address her admittedly plain appearance. She’d planned to call on Mel’s help for that. Some new clothes, maybe a new haircut. Perhaps learn how to use eyeliner so she didn’t end up looking like a panda. Nothing too dramatic—this wasn’t Pygmalion—but just make the best of what she had. She knew she was okay looking, and if she could learn to tame her unruly locks, her hair could become an asset instead of a nuisance. Her hourglass figure wasn’t what most fashion designers had in mind when they made clothes, it seemed, but she’d put a little money aside and that could be used to buy some new clothes that flattered—instead of swamped—her curves.

Part Three was to get herself a love life—see if she could meet a guy who would finally be The One. She wasn’t entirely sure how to go about that as yet, but she did have a reasonably good picture of what The One looked like for her. Not in terms of looks—that wasn’t so important. But he’d be the kind of guy who’d support her career. The kind of guy who took out the rubbish without being asked. Most important, the kind of guy who’d make her feel safe.

Part Four—well, Part Four of the plan was still murky. But basically it was take Parts One, Two and Three, mix well, and hopefully create a family. A nice, neat little family of her own—they would always be there for her, and she’d always be there for them.

A nice home, a caring partner, a rewarding job and a couple of kids.

Was it really too much to ask?

Cassie didn’t think so.

But right now, Part One had to be her focus. She shouldn’t be sitting here dreaming about Part Three, let alone Part Four.

Not to mention the fact that Ronan McGuire was absolutely the last person for her, regardless of how arousing she found his sandwich eating. She needed someone soft and gentle. Someone who made her feel secure in herself, not poised on a knife-edge the way she’d felt ever since he’d turned up.

Suddenly the tour of stores she’d arranged seemed like a special kind of torture. Cassie was signing herself up to spend almost a week in close quarters with a man who made her all kinds of hot and bothered. A man who reminded her of physical reactions she had gone a long time without. A man who at the same time threatened the very foundations of her life’s work.

“So, are you going to share the details with me or is it a surprise? A magical mystery tour?”

His mocking tone made Cassie wonder if he had somehow read her mind.

What had they been talking about again? Oh, yeah, the site tour. She took a deep breath to lend strength to her voice. “I thought the best way for you to get a handle on the scope of the business would be to visit some of our stores. You can meet our staff, look at the merchandising and the layout and get a better understanding of our customer base.”

He nodded. “Sounds like a good idea.”

Melanie returned and placed a small pile of documents in front of Cassie. She tucked her hair behind her ear as she leaned low over the table. Subtle as a brick. Cassie could just imagine the view Ronan had down Melanie’s silk blouse.

“If you’d like, Cassie,” Melanie purred, “I can take you and Ronan through this, explain how I’ve organized the flights and—”

“Thanks, Mel, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got it,” Cassie interrupted, giving Melanie a firm smile that clearly communicated “go away.” Melanie’s foolish and obvious flirting was just the push Cassie needed to get serious.

All the thoughts that had kept her awake the night before flooded back as Mel gave another flirty smile and flounced from the room.

Despite the loyalty Cassie had shown, Graham was a businessman and his decisions were always impersonal when it came to making money. Cassie knew she’d worked hard, she knew that Conroy Corporation would find no evidence of mismanagement or incompetence in her record. But Ronan was right—she’d never been employed anywhere else. What if putting her in charge cost Country Style the opportunity to grow? What if that was more important to Graham than the loyalty she’d shown him for eleven years?

What if Graham decided it was in her best interests to move on? What if he asked her to leave?

Cassie could have sworn the ground shifted underfoot at the very thought. In reality she knew it wasn’t an earthquake, just her own hard-earned sense of security being shaken, but her stomach swooped anyway.

It would be the end of her dreams of becoming CEO and Part One of her plan would come crashing down around her head.

Really, it meant the end of everything—because, quite frankly, what else did she have?

“Flights? So we’ll be going further afield than Melbourne?” Ronan asked, bringing Cassie back to the issue at hand. Site visits.

She willed her voice to come out steady. “Yes. Although our headquarters is based here, we actually have more stores in New South Wales right now. And Fremantle is one of our newest stores—we’ve been able to benefit from the real estate peak in Western Australia, and business there is booming,” Cassie explained.

“Western Australia,” he mused, “isn’t that on the other side of the country?”

“Yes, but it only takes four hours to fly there.” Cassie pointed at the documents, where their flight schedules were detailed. “Graham said you’d be here for a week, so I thought this would be the best approach. You’ll get to see our stores in operation, and still be back here for the opening next Monday. Traveling will take up quite a bit of time, but you can read the reports and go over our financials during the flights. I think it will be worth the investment—there’s no better way to understand the business.”

“And what if I have questions I need to ask you?”

Cassie was confused by the question for a moment, but then she realized he didn’t understand. “Then you can ask them. I’m coming with you.”

He straightened in his chair and another of those hard, emotionless looks that Cassie couldn’t quite identify came into his eyes.

“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary.” In contrast to the pleasant, if occasionally condescending, manner he’d been using all morning, his tone was cold. “I don’t need to talk to you in detail again until next week. I prefer to work alone.”

No, sir, Cassie thought. No way was she letting the man who’d be deciding her future out of her sight for a minute.

Except for maybe when he slept.

And then her brain supplied an image of Ronan McGuire lying in bed, a crisp white sheet gathered at his waist, his chest bare and those dark eyelashes fanned on his cheeks.

Was the air conditioning working?

Get a grip! Cassie scolded herself. What happened to getting serious?

She straightened her shoulders and screwed up her courage. Her entire life was riding on these next few days and she was going to do everything in her power to get the outcome she wanted.

“I’m afraid that’s nonnegotiable, Mr. McGuire,” she said, pleased with the firm tone of her voice. “I can’t allow you free rein of our stores without supervision. You understand—I have to prioritize customer service and operations above the needs of Graham’s little investigation.” Did she sound bitter? Cassie inwardly winced. Yes, probably, but then it didn’t hurt for this guy to understand the relative importance of this exercise. They might be deciding the company’s future—Cassie’s future—but on a day-to-day level, customers still had to be served, furniture still had to be sold, operations still had to continue. Otherwise there’d be no future to plan for.

“But shouldn’t you be around to manage the store opening?” he tried again.

Yes, she should, but Cassie wasn’t about to admit that she wasn’t capable of being a retail superwoman. She gave what she hoped looked like a carefree shrug when in reality her mind was filled with a list of the seemingly unending tasks that had to be completed between now and next Monday. “It’s mostly all bedded down now. I can handle any last-minute things from the road. Our flight leaves Wednesday, tomorrow, for Perth. We’ll stay overnight and then catch an early flight to Sydney on Thursday. We’ll spend two nights in Sydney and come back to Melbourne on Saturday morning. Monday is a soft opening for the store—the advertising and marketing doesn’t start until later in the week with the official grand opening on Saturday.”

He gave her a considered look and nodded. “So there’s the weekend to finalize things, too, if need be.”

“Exactly.”

He studied her for a while, his eyes searching her face, and Cassie steeled herself not to look away. Eventually his mouth curved into an almost smile and his eyes softened. With a nod of his head, he let Cassie know she’d won. This round.

“Of course,” he said.

“I assure you, we will make our visits as effective and efficient as possible.”

“Effective and efficient works for me.” That teasing tone was back. If she hadn’t just spent the morning with him, going through the financials, and seen his expertise firsthand, she’d wonder if the man ever took anything seriously.

“We have the rest of today here, then we leave first thing in the morning for Perth. It’s an early flight, I’m afraid.”

“Fine with me. I’m an early riser.”

She’d just bet he was. He looked like the type that rose at dawn to go for a run—always one step ahead of the world.

“Would there be a soda in the fridge?” Ronan stood up and stretched subtly, like a panther that had been crouching in the bushes, watching its prey for too long.

“Sure, help yourself.”

He was still wearing his suit, including jacket, and while the office part of the building was air-conditioned, it was definitely warm. Too warm for more than shirtsleeves. Cassie’s own shirt felt suspiciously damp under her arms, but that could be explained by the combination of nerves and heat. It was the weather, the situation, the man. She must remember not to lift her arms too high, just in case her shirt betrayed her.

“Want one?”

Cassie shook her head. She’d stick with water. The caffeine from the morning’s extra coffees was still zinging around in her bloodstream. Any more and she’d start to shake.

He sat down next to her, unscrewing the bottle he’d selected. She expected him to drink straight from it, but he poured the dark liquid into a glass.

She had to remember not to expect anything when it came to Ronan McGuire.

“Have you had enough lunch?” she asked. Much as Cassie loved this room, it was starting to feel a little stifling. Having watched Ronan do something as innocently domestic as get something from the fridge, she was on the verge of reclining and enjoying a little Part Four fantasy about being at home with him—her husband—sitting at their kitchen table, going over the business that they ran together. Two dark-haired little angels—because any children they had would have to be brunette—were tucked up in bed upstairs.

And Cassie was in no position to become CEO of Country Style because she was certifiably insane.

“I’m good,” he said, beaming another of those toothpaste-ad smiles her way.

Did all Americans have teeth like that or just the Californians?

Cassie stood up and managed to plaster what she hoped was a neutral smile on her face. “I thought I’d take you through the warehouse before we move on to looking at our inventory. It might make it easier to visualize the reports.”

“Good thinking.” Ronan stood, as well. “I’d also like to speak to the staff. With your permission, of course.”

“Fine,” she said, because she couldn’t think of a reason to say no. Cassie could just imagine how those conversations might go, though. Her burly, tattooed, hearts-of-gold but gutter-mouthed warehouse guys were going to be less than respectful to a shiny American in a posh suit and tie. The man had product in his hair, for goodness’ sake.

“Just so you know,” she said, “I’ve distributed a memo to staff to let them know only that you’re visiting at the request of Graham to learn more about our business. I didn’t want to cause uncertainty or anxiety for anyone about any potential…changes. No point getting everyone worried over nothing. So I’d appreciate it if you could keep the purpose of your enquiries discreet.”

Ronan nodded. “Of course. And you weren’t lying—I am here to learn more about the business.”

You’re here to determine whether or not I can step up to the top job and we both know it, Cassie wanted to blurt. But now wasn’t the time. Now was the time to play nice, to be a leader in the truest sense of the word, and—for now, anyway—helping Ronan to realize that Country Style was a strong, successful business was in her best interests.

He gestured for her to lead the way.

Cassie paused and looked him up and down. When her eyes returned to his face, the expression in his eyes told her he’d been very aware of her unsubtle review. He wasn’t pleased. Or even teasing. No, his eyes had gone hard again, masking whatever he was thinking. She was reminded of her initial impression—this man was like a bright, beautiful tropical fish with a poisoned spike that could kill its prey in less than a minute. She had a sudden, visceral sense that Ronan McGuire would make a potent enemy. “Uh, the warehouse isn’t air-conditioned,” Cassie said, gesturing to his suit, wincing at her uncertain tone. “You might want to…uh…”

“Lose the jacket?” He visibly relaxed. He was relieved she hadn’t been checking him out, Cassie realized.

He found her that unattractive?

It was ridiculous to be disappointed. And it was just lucky he couldn’t read her mind.

Cassie nodded. “Yeah. It can get pretty steamy out there. It’s supposed to get to thirty-six degrees today, and inside our tin shed it can be even hotter.”

“I assume you have health and safety regulations in place to look after the welfare of the employees?”

It was a simple question with a simple answer. But Cassie’s mouth went dry as she watched him shrug out of his jacket and drape it on the back of his chair. His white shirt was still pristine, a heavy cotton that had no visible logos and screamed “more expensive than you can imagine in your wildest dreams, Cassie Hartman.”

But he didn’t stop there.

“If I’m talking to warehouse guys, I should lose the tie, too,” he said, almost to himself.