Acquired: The CEO's Small-Town Bride

A damned good point and Chase was the only one who could say it. Rafe would have flat-out denied the claim from anyone else. “I’m seeing her tonight for supper. Now can we get to work?”

“Dinner date? Where are you taking her? I hear Jacques’ keeps a table reserved for you all the time now.”

Just the mention of the exclusive French restaurant stoked his bad mood even more. Back when they’d been teenagers, he’d planned to take her there for Valentine’s Day. Then the electric company had been ready to shut off their power. His dad had been flat broke from paying off medical bills even three years after Hannah’s death. Rafe hadn’t hesitated to pay the bill, which meant no special Valentine’s date.

He’d settled for taking her to the beach with a picnic meal his dad’s fiancée had cooked. Fourteen years later, his pride still stung over how little he’d been able to give Sarah then. “I thought you were my business manager, not my social secretary.”

“I’m your brother and your friend.” Chase pinned him with an intuitive look as effective as any wrestling neck lock they may have resorted to as teens. “I know you better than anyone. Even your old man doesn’t know half the things about you that I do. There’s an edge to you lately and it’s not good. Is it so wrong that I want to see you happy?”

“Once the changeover is complete, I’ll be very happy.”

Chase opened his mouth to respond only to be cut short by a knock.

“Come in,” Rafe called, so ready to end this conversation he didn’t much care who walked through the door.

Luckily for him, the rest of the Dream Team had arrived—Preston and Tanner. Max Preston, his public relations guru, came from old California money. However, despite his privileged upbringing and inheritance, he never depended on it. Max was a real go-getter who’d never met an image crisis he couldn’t solve. Max would be moving on soon to devote his time fully to charity foundation work, but for now, Rafe intended to make the most of his input here.

Next through the door was William Tanner, CFO of Cameron Enterprises. The New Zealander was unflinchingly ruthless in the business world, the only individual Rafe had ever met who was equally as hard-nosed—all the more reason to make sure Tanner worked on the Cameron team.

Rafe shifted into business mode, on the outside at least, going through the motions of starting the PowerPoint slides on breaking down the redistribution of Worth Industry assets. But he knew his mind was only half in the game today.

Already Sarah proved a distraction in the workplace. Because in spite of the high-profile presentation flashing on the screen in front of him, Rafe could only think of the upcoming dinner at her place. Even the thought of seeing her ramped anticipation inside him. Ignoring her hadn’t worked for the past five months, much less for the past fourteen years.

The time had come to take a more proactive approach to working Sarah Richards out of his system, once and for all.

Doorbell echoing through her two-bedroom stucco home, Sarah wiped her hands on a dish towel, checked the throw pillows on her rattan sofa, straightened a rag scatter rug with her toe even though she knew everything was perfectly in place. Her house might not be on as grand a scale as Rafe’s these days, but she took pride in every perfectly maintained square foot.

The bell rang again and she drop-kicked the hand towel out of sight under the sofa before opening the door. Rafe stood on the tiny porch beside a potted cactus. He wore jeans and a black polo shirt that likely cost more than her couch, but the less formal clothes made him seem more approachable, more like the boy she’d known all those years ago.

Although the five-o’clock shadow and perfect blue-jeans butt were far more manly than boyish. What did he think of her denim shorts and layered tank tops? She hadn’t wanted to dress up and seem like she was trying to impress. But of course her pride cared that he would eat his heart out over dumping her.

“Come in.” Her voice came out raspy and she swallowed fast before trying again. “Supper’s ready to go on the grill.”

Stepping aside for him to come inside, she noticed the bouquet in his hand. Oh God. Her stomach flipped faster than any burger on a grill as she remembered all the blooms he’d given her while they dated. He’d been short of cash in those days, yet somehow he’d always managed to bring her flowers.

Tonight, he’d chosen orchids, a mix of pinks and purples so gorgeous her fingers itched to gather them up to her nose.

“Thank you,” she said simply, suddenly nervous about being alone with him and all these memories. How had she let her grandmother talk her into this?

Expensive flowers clutched to her chest, she couldn’t help but see her home through his eyes. No doubt her little house could fit into his whole master bedroom …. And wait, how had her thoughts gone to his bedroom?

Quietly, Rafe followed her into the kitchen. They’d never lacked for things to talk about, had only needed more free time to say it all. Now, her mouth dried right up as she filled a glass pitcher for the flowers. She didn’t have a vase. She and Quentin had poured every extra penny into fixing up their home. And he hadn’t been the sort to bring flowers and chocolates anyway. He’d bought her new windows and light fixtures ….

She and Quentin had purchased the house with the intent of starting a family. They’d repainted and decorated every room together, except the spare bedroom. She’d delayed any work on that space, planning to make it a nursery. Why paint it one color only to have to change it once the baby arrived?

Except there wasn’t a baby. Even after nine years of marriage and trips to a fertility specialist that had stripped every penny of their savings, there never was a baby. Three miscarriages in her first trimester. The last one occurred after the car wreck that took Quentin’s life.

Water overflowed from the pitcher. Gasping, she turned off the brushed-nickel faucet—an anniversary gift from Quentin—-and carefully placed the flowers inside. Too bad the emotions swelled inside her until she felt like that glass container, unable to contain it all.

Putting on her best game face, she turned back to Rafe. “Let’s go to the backyard. There’s a nice breeze tonight.”

“Lead the way.” His footsteps echoed behind her on the freshly scrubbed linoleum, then on the stone walkway outside.

Her garden haven spread in front of her, enclosed with a wooden plank fence.

After Quentin and her third unborn baby died, she’d devoted herself to cultivating the outdoor space. While Quentin had been gifted with a hammer, he’d never had a green thumb. She couldn’t bring herself to sell the house, but she found herself hiding out here more and more. She’d been driven to create something, anything alive and bright in a world so horribly full of death. She’d chosen sturdy plants at first, cacti putting down roots around a fountain. Finding her confidence and her footing, she’d added lemon and orange trees for shade.

She set the pitcher of orchids in the middle of the wrought iron table set for two.

Rafe walked to the center of the yard, turning slowly. He whistled low. “The landscaping is fantastic.”

“Quentin was good with that.” The lie rolled off her lips, so much easier than the truth that she’d hidden from her house. And yes, maybe she wanted to see how Rafe would react to a mention of her husband. “He drew up the blueprint right before he died.”

He stopped stone-still, his eyes sliding from the fountain—a terra-cotta pot pouring water over piles of polished stones—back up to her. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Dozens of people had said those same words, that same pat line, and yet for some reason it grated on her already raw nerves coming from Rafe. “You’re a bit late with the condolences.”

“Did you expect to hear from me three years ago?”

She’d expected to hear from him fourteen years ago after he’d left town. Never had she dreamed one fight could erase all they’d shared. She’d hoped for some word, a letter, a call for an entire year before she’d given up and moved on with her life.

But she wouldn’t let herself be that vulnerable around this man. “After Quentin died, I heard from your father and Penny, and they came to the funeral.”

His blue eyes held her, stroked her, tangibly touched her without him moving so much as a step closer. “You’re too damn young to be a widow.”

She wrapped her arms around herself defensively. “There’s never a good time to lose someone you love.”

“You loved him then,” he said, his voice emotionless, his face inscrutable.

“I married him.” She pivoted away from those probing eyes and turned on the electric grill. “I wouldn’t have married him unless I loved him.”

“Teenagers change their minds a lot that way.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t care for veiled references. If you have something to say, just say it. I know you can’t be jealous. So what is all of this about?”

He stalked closer, stopping just shy of the grill and picking up the container from the open ice chest. “You’re the one who invited me over,” he said, passing her the raw patties, “for cheeseburgers.”

She snatched the plastic dish from him, her temper already frothing to life in spite of her best intentions.

Rafe stared back at her silently as if they were just old friends catching up. Well, that would have worked if he’d contacted her once he returned to town. She could have pretended she was okay with everything, that it was all water under the bridge. But the way he’d ignored her for the past five months poured salt on some very old wounds.

Still, he said nothing, damn him.

“Yes, I loved him. And yes, I loved you before that. So what? You chose to leave town and you chose to let one argument wipe out everything else. What was I supposed to do? Mope around all infatuated with you for the rest of my life? I may not have left Vista del Mar, but I moved on when it came to living my life.”

He nodded once, a smile tucking into his face if not up to his eyes. “You always did have a way of putting me in my place.”

“Somebody needs to,” she said under her breath, peeling a ground-beef patty up and onto the grill, the meat sizzling. She dropped two more beside it.

“Is that why you invited me over, to put me in my place?” He sat at the table, extending his legs in front of him.

Long, lean legs that made her mouth water.

God, how had she lost sight of her real reason for asking him over? Lowering the flame, she closed the grill and sat across from him carefully. She needed to change the tone of the conversation fast, because they very obviously hadn’t reached a point where they could talk about personal stuff.

“Actually, I wanted to talk about Worth Industries.”

“It’s not Worth Industries anymore.”

“Right, of course. And that’s just my point, the takeover. Rafe, I know you’ve always been ambitious, but the person I knew all those years ago wouldn’t be so heartless. It’s not too late for you or for the factory. Production has slowed but the place isn’t completely shut down. You can still change your mind.” She reached across the table, reached out to him. “The man who started Hannah’s Hope couldn’t do something like this. What’s really going on?”

“The factory is outdated.” His hand moved closer to hers, so near she thought he would clasp hers. Then he skimmed past and pulled an orchid from the pitcher. “If I keep it open, I’m only delaying the inevitable. Better to rip the bandage off fast.”

“That’s not going to be much consolation to my parents as they lose their jobs.” Her hands fisted on the cool iron, the scent of other barbecues on the breeze as she forced herself to breathe deeply, control her temper.

“My legal staff and I worked out retirement packages for long-term employee of Worth Industries.”

“For half of what they’d been expecting before.” Mist from the neighbor’s sprinkler carried over the fence but did little to cool her mood.

“They may have been promised more but it wasn’t feasible.” He skimmed the fragile bloom over her tight fist until her fingers unfurled. “The funds would have dried up within five years of retirement.”

“Says you.” She snatched her flower from him and sagged back in her chair.

“It doesn’t really matter whether you believe me or not,” he said arrogantly. “I’m giving you a courtesy explanation. I did not ask for your input.”

“You never did want my opinion, not when it mattered most.” The words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them, but damn it, he’d lied to her.

They’d made a plan for the future. She’d been willing to leave Vista del Mar for him if they could get married.

Only he’d wanted to go to Los Angeles, a huge city and the last sort of place where she could be happy. And she’d realized he didn’t really want to marry her, but had just felt pressured. Even thinking about that time made her feel edgy and raw. Too often she used her temper to hide hurt

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