The child held out dimpled hands. “Mama,” she cooed as she stumped on her fat little feet all the way to Jordan’s outstretched arms, “Mama!”
Jordan hugged her baby close. This was why she got up every morning. This was what motivated her each day of her life. And for the next hour at least, she would not give business or handsome strangers another thought.
Chapter Three
AIDEN DROVE INTO THE CENTER OF TOWN and parked in front of the long rambling building that was the Inn On The Green. A broad porch ran the length of its white, clapboarded front. Aiden went up the steps and through the big oaken door. The registration desk was to his right, nestled in an old-fashioned alcove off the lobby. An old touch bell sat on the counter. Aiden dinged it rather loudly. A small, thin, dark haired man appeared from an open doorway in the back of the alcove. He peered sternly at Aiden over half-glasses balanced on the end of his beaky nose.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I don’t have a reservation,” said Aiden in explanation, “but it turns out I’ll have to stay the night here in town. Do you have a room?”
“A double?”
“No, there’s only me.”
“Just a minute.” The nervous little man disappeared back into the recesses of the alcove. Aiden could hear voices and the shuffling of papers. About two minutes later, a smiling woman came out. In her hand she carried a key, which she handed to Aiden.
“I’m Susan Noyes. I own the Inn with my husband, Bill,” she said as she cocked a thumb toward the back room. “I think you’ll like room twenty-one. It has a queen-sized bed. Just go to the top of the stairs, turn right, and it’s two doors down. Lovely view out the window out toward the hills. We start serving breakfast at six, and breakfast is included with the room.”
“Thank you,” said Aiden gratefully as he took the key.
“Now if you can fill out this registration form while I take an imprint of your credit card.” Susan smiled pleasantly as Aiden reached for his wallet and handed the credit card to her.
She peered over the edge of the desk. “Bags?”
“In the car,” answered Aiden. “I’ll go get it while you finish up with the registration.” He took his card back and went outside to get his overnight bag that he had packed for just this particular scenario. The afternoon was warming up considerably. He would be glad to change into jeans and a T-shirt, explore the town, and stretch his legs a little. He had been sitting most of the day—it was not his natural tendency.
Susan spoke as he re-entered the Inn. “If you need anything further, either Bill or I will be down here. We close the desk at ten p.m. The bar opens at four, and we start serving dinner at five. If I must say so, we serve good food.”
Aiden smiled and nodded. “Thanks,” he said. “Actually, I’m feeling a little hungry now. Is there a place to eat here in town that I could walk to? I need to stretch my legs.”
“Sure. MacTavish’s Pub is diagonally across the green. They make a great hamburger and have some really good microbrews on tap, too. If you just want to pick up a sandwich, you can walk about a mile out over this street here. There’s Chandler’s Grocery. They have a pretty good deli, and it’s a pleasant walk.”
“Hm. A microbrew sounds good to me. Thanks a lot.”
Susan nodded politely, and Aiden continued up to his room. He turned right down the narrow hall, and there it was, a big oak door with gold letters screwed on: Room 21. He held up the old-fashioned key and smiled. Aiden reckoned it just might be the original key to the two-hundred-year-old door. He turned it in the lock, opened the door, and stepped into the room. Two lace-curtained windows faced west, and the afternoon sun had just begun to filter in under the half-lowered blinds. Aiden set his bag down and crossed the room. He pulled up the blinds and looked out over the little town. The room was on the back side of the Inn. A wide lawn, sprinkled here and there with groupings of white Adirondack chairs with small tables for drinks, spread gracefully out from the old building. It wasn’t a large area, but it was tastefully maintained with small perennial beds and bird baths. Two old maples kept it comfortably shaded. The perimeters of the yard were defined by a thick lilac hedge punctuated by two white picket gates on opposite sides. From his view on the second floor, Aiden could see the quiet little tree-lined streets that stretched beyond the Inn’s garden. Neatly kept houses with ample back yards nestled between the tall trees. It was an older neighborhood. Aiden guessed most of the houses were probably built between 1920 and 1930.
Aiden opened one of the windows. A whisper of lilac-scented breeze drifted into the room. Unbidden, Aiden thought of his mother’s house in Maine. It was the same scent, heady and comforting. Now he turned and looked around the room. The focal point was the big brass bed. It was highly polished and featured a gracefully curved headboard and footboard set off by cannonball spheres on each corner. A puffy, blue and white quilt and shams made up the bed, and there was an extra down comforter folded on the small chest at the foot of the bed. A narrow door led to a tiny bathroom on the left. Aiden thought it had probably once been a closet or a stairwell. All in all, it was a simple room, but it was clean and pleasant with a bureau, nightstands, faux-Tiffany lamps, and some turn-of-the-century prints on the walls. One of the prints was of a four-in-hand stage coach pulled up to an inn. The other was of a young couple in nineteenth-century dress, holding hands in an apple orchard in full bloom. It was entitled “Banns.”
Aiden stood quietly for a moment, pondering the picture. It was the portrayal of a marriage proposal. People married young back then, before they hardly had a chance to know one another. He was glad that these days you could sleep with a girl and make up your mind later. Still, the sweetness of the picture had strangely touched him. He shrugged and crossed the room, throwing his bag on the bed.
Aiden changed into his jeans and T-shirt. He would go out to MacTavish’s Pub and on the way make a phone call to his father. Strategies had to be worked out—and fast.
“Hello?” Gordon Stewart barked into the phone.
“Dad, it’s Aiden.”
“How did the meeting go?”
“It appears that you were right. Fenton’s on top of it. He’s already put in an offer.”
“Of course I’m right! I’m always right about these things! I said he was a sneaky bastard. Has Chat accepted the offer?”
“Not according to Jordan Fitzgerald. She did say the offer was better than ours, though.”
“She?”
“Ha! Yes. Jordan Fitzgerald is a woman. A young woman. She’s sharp, Dad. I got the feeling she’s at the helm and Palmer’s pretty much out of it.”
“You can bet Palmer’s not out of it, Aiden. Maybe he’s not there physically, but he’ll hang on till his dying breath to get what he wants. She must be sharp for Palmer to trust her with this.”
Aiden sighed. “What do we do now?”
Instantly, the old man exploded. “Damn, Aiden! Pay attention! You’ve got to play this. We need this! Offer another approach. Offer more money if you have to. We’ll work it out as you go. Just keep reporting to me. And keep in mind that Fenton is pond scum. He’ll stab anybody and everybody and climb up the bodies to get to the next level. Fenton Enterprises will eat that company alive. He could be putting together a package to resell for all we know. That’s been his history. He’ll buy up these small places and turn around and foist ’em off on AT&T or Verizon for millions in profit. He’s smooth, though, and he’s got assets to use. Are you on your way home? Because if you are, turn around and get back there! Stay until you get this deal!”
Sometimes, Aiden’s irritation at his father seemed to collect at his temples. A slight throbbing told him he’d better take a deep breath or a full-blown headache would ensue. “Dad,” said Aiden, forcing patience, “I’m still here. I got a room at an inn, and I’m meeting with Jordan Fitzgerald tomorrow.” Thank goodness for microbrews, he thought. MacTavish’s was only a few steps away. He walked faster, letting his father r
age on.
“And don’t forget that! Aiden, are you listening to me?”
“Yes, Dad,” Aiden replied steadily. “I’ll call you tomorrow after the meeting or maybe tonight to go over some things. I’ll map out another offer and let you know. Bye, Dad.”
“One more thing,” the old man barked over the phone again.
“What’s that?”
“Is she pretty?”
The question took Aiden by surprise. He was revisited by his stunned feeling earlier when the door had opened and revealed the opposite of the image he’d held in his mind’s eye. “What?” he responded a little weakly.
“You heard me. She’s pretty, isn’t she?”
Exasperated, Aiden snapped, “Dad, what’s that got to do with it?”
“My point exactly,” said Gordon. “Call me tonight.” Then he was gone. Aiden shook his head slowly as though to clear it, shoved the phone back into his jeans pocket, and looked up as he approached his destination.
MacTavish’s Pub was in one of the old Victorian houses that lined the main street. It was a fanciful building, adorned with a wide, wrap-around porch and decorated with gingerbread molding. Aiden pulled the heavy door open and walked inside. He felt better instantly. The pub took up one side of the house. A small, neatly lettered sign on the stairway opposite the front door that said “Private Stair” indicated the proprietor probably lived above the pub. Aiden walked down the short hall and into the public room.
It was pleasantly cool and was paneled in the original dark chestnut of the time period. The turret room, that essential fixture of the well-appointed Victorian, bowed out from the main room and overlooked the green. Small tables were scattered comfortably about the room. Against the far wall was the bar, made of cherry and polished to an almost reflective finish. A shiny brass fender ran the whole length of it on the bartender’s side. Behind the bar on the wall was a huge mirror in a magnificent gold frame, and on either side sat colorful liquor bottles on glass shelves. At the end of the bar were the beer taps. There were six stools at the bar; two were occupied by men dressed in jeans, dusty work boots, and sweatshirts. It was almost three o’clock; these guys were probably building contractors who were either finishing a late lunch or had decided to stop for a beer on the way home. Aiden walked in and straddled one of the stools.
A stocky young woman suddenly appeared from behind the row of beer taps. She held frosty mugs in each hand and set them down in front of the two men. Then she wiped her hands on the white apron she wore, picked up a small pad and pencil, and took two steps to stand in front of Aiden.
“What can I getcha?” she asked without smiling.
“What do you have on tap for local brews?” he asked.
“We got Long Trail, Magic Hat, and Otter Creek today,” she answered, pencil poised over the pad.
Might as well go for the familiar, thought Aiden. “I’ll have a Long Trail.”
The girl nodded, went to the taps, and expertly pulled a frothing glass mug. She returned, set it in front of Aiden, and gave the barest hint of a smile.
Aiden smiled back. “Thanks,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” she answered and exited through a door in the back to what Aiden assumed was the kitchen.
The man sitting nearest to him at the bar leaned over and spoke softly. “You gotta get used to Vanessa. She’s just shy.”
His buddy laughed out loud, raised his glass to Aiden, and said, “Shy my ass! She’s mean as a snake!”
Aiden laughed along with them, then picked up a bar menu. He scanned it, but decided not to eat. He would have dinner a little later on. Right now his mind was spinning about how to handle the situation that loomed over him. By tomorrow afternoon he would have to have an offer on the table that would convince Jordan Fitzgerald of the wisdom of merging with Trade Winds. She seemed so serious for such a young woman. There was nothing of the ingénue in her, or so it seemed. Something about her told Aiden his offer would have to include perks for her employees, guaranteed growth at her location, and most assuredly more money. He would start by matching Fenton’s offer and sweeten the deal with more cash up front. The rest he would have to work out tonight, in the hotel.
The big door creaked behind him. Instinctively, Aiden glanced over his shoulder, as did his two compatriots at the end of the bar. Two men dressed in business suits walked into the room. Clearly they were not local, and they stood awkwardly, hands in pockets, until Vanessa came crashing through the kitchen door. She grabbed up two menus from the end of the bar, saying to the men, “Where do you want to sit?”
“Any place is okay,” answered one of them. “Are you still serving lunch?”
“We serve anything all day long,” she responded tersely. “Follow me.” She led the two men to a small table just at the bend of the bow window. “Drinks?”
“I’ll have iced tea, no sugar,” Aiden heard one say.
“Heineken for me,” said the other.
Aiden heard the chairs scrape the floor and the rise and fall of their voices, but he was too engrossed in his own thoughts to pay any more attention. As he drank his beer, Aiden built up and knocked down scenario after scenario in his mind. He was putting together the third “contract” when the words “Chat dot com” caught his ear. He didn’t move a muscle, but he was instantly alert and listening.
He had overheard a bit of the conversation between the two men who sat at the table by the bow window. What could they have to do with Chat?
“I don’t think we’ll have a problem with her,” Aiden heard one man say. He wished he could turn around unobtrusively to see which one was speaking, but the room wasn’t large enough and there were too few people for him to make a move and not be noticed.
“She’s pretty quick, Chris,” said the other man. “She’ll scrutinize every word of any document before she signs it or even before she takes it to Palmer. I wish we could just deal with Palmer.”
Chris! Christopher Fenton! Aiden’s pulse kicked up a notch. He strained his ears, not wanting to miss a word. “Ha! That’s all you know!” Aiden heard Chris Fenton laugh through his nose. “You were there this morning. She’s wet behind the ears. She may be bright, but she’s a neophyte. I Googled her. She doesn’t even come up, except under the personnel column of the ChatDotCom website. And at that only as ‘assistant to Eugene Palmer.’ I think Palmer’s made a mistake. He’s sick and he’s tired or he wouldn’t have left such an inexperienced girl at the helm.”
“We can’t underestimate Palmer. She’ll do whatever he wants her to do. The reason he put her in charge is just for that reason. She’s selfless. Probably has a massive hero-worship crush going on with him.”
Aiden heard Christopher Fenton snort again. “He’s probably banging her. I know I wouldn’t let something like that get by me, no matter what kind of salary I had to pay her. She could call herself whatever she wanted! Sick or not sick, Palmer’s a fortunate bastard if he got to screw that before he’s dead.”
Aiden surprised himself with his sudden flush of anger. He took a large swallow of the beer and drained the glass. The conversation was offensive to him. Christopher Fenton was offensive, but then, his father had warned him. He looked up from the bottom of his mug. Vanessa had materialized in front of him. She held the two drinks for the table in her right hand. “Another?” she asked.
“Please,” said Aiden. He wanted to leave, to get away from these men, but he felt he had to stay just to see if they gave up any pertinent information he could use when formulating his offer.
“Be right back,” Vanessa said.
Aiden strained his ears to hear more.
“What can I getcha?” Vanessa addressed the men.
“I’ll have the burger, medium, with a salad instead of fries.”
“House, ranch, French, blue cheese, pepper Parmesan?”
“Ranch.”
“And you?”
“Fish and chips.”
Before she disappeared into the kitchen, Vane
ssa set her pad and pencil down on the bar and pulled Aiden another beer. Aiden lifted the frosty mug to his lips and continued his eavesdropping.
Christopher Fenton, whom Aiden still had not positively identified, said, “This is a valuable little niche up here in New England. Right in the middle of ski country.”
“It’s an escape area for the cities, that’s for sure,” said his companion.
“It’s more than that. This is the new expansion territory. This part of the East is going to grow and be prosperous. The wealth will flow north into these areas. I have to get my hands on this company. It’ll be worth five times what I pay for it today. Just give it five years. That’s my prediction.”
“Think she’ll go for the proposal?”
The kitchen door crashed against the wall again as Vanessa bulled her way through, both hands held high with dishes of food. Aiden turned then and watched as she set the food down. The hamburger went in front of a large blond man, tall, with broad shoulders. He looked to be in his late thirties, and he wore rimless glasses. His hair was cut short and slightly spiked, and his neck was thick, as if he weight trained frequently. So this was Christopher Fenton. He turned back to the bar.
“She’ll go for it. I’ve got my ways. There’s never been a deal I couldn’t close.”
There’s always a first time, thought Aiden.
Fenton continued, “I don’t think she’s as smart as she seems. I think she does exactly what Palmer tells her to. I say she’s in it for the money. All I’ve got to do is up the ante, and I’ll be the one putting it to her!”
“What about that clause about keeping her five years?”
“It’ll make checking on business up here in the sticks all the more pleasant. And five years is just about the timeline I’m counting on.”
“What makes you so sure she won’t choose Trade Winds? She said their proposal was more of a merger than a real take-over.”
“Ha! Trade Winds! Nothing to worry about. Old Stewart is just like Palmer. Stewart owns Trade Winds outright. Although it appears to be one of the biggest communications companies in New England, it just doesn’t have the capital to work with that we do. In the end, I can just flat out offer more cash. Money talks. It’s about the only thing that does. Besides, I plan to maneuver Miss Fitzgerald into a position of, how shall I say, submission.”
Corporate Affair Page 3
