“No.”
“Hmm,” she said. “I know I’ll remember sooner or later….” She tapped her pink, slightly chipped nail on Cassie’s leg. “Wait. You work for that state senator…what’s his name…?”
“I work in a factory,” Cassie said. Normally she did not describe the mill as a factory, but what the heck. It made a better story.
The woman laughed. “Aptly put. The state senate is a madhouse.”
“No,” Cassie said. “I don’t work in the state senate. I’m a factory worker.”
“What?” said Val, leaning forward as if she didn’t hear correctly.
“I work in a factory in upstate New York.”
The news had the intended effect. The women glanced at each other, stunned. Cassie could almost read what they were thinking. Hunter Axon is dating a factory worker?
For a moment she wondered what Hunter would feel about her revelation. Would he be embarrassed by her proclamation? That she was, as he himself had described it, just a factory worker?
But her doubts were put to rest when she felt Hunter’s arm slide around her shoulders, giving her a proud squeeze.
“I don’t follow,” piped the blonde, leaning in. “So how did you two meet?”
“Hunter bought the factory where I work.”
“Technically, honey,” interrupted Hunter, “we didn’t know that when we met.”
Val said, “How interesting. I’ve never actually met a…well, someone who works in a factory before.”
“Me, neither,” said the blonde. “Is it as boring as it looks in the movies?”
Cassie’s blood began to boil. Could these women be any more pretentious?
But she didn’t have time to continue their discussion, because at that very moment, a new batch of horses took to the track.
“That’s your horse,” said Hunter, nodding toward the long, lean chestnut-colored one.
A shot sounded and the horses broke from the gate. Hunter the horse ripped out of the gate and rounded the first turn. “I think you have a chance,” she whispered.
Hunter the horse shook off the rest of the pack one by one as he barreled into the backstretch. Cassie forgot all about the women sitting next to her. She stood up in her seat and began to holler at the top of her lungs as Hunter took the lead, flying under the wire.
Her horse had won.
Cassie screamed and threw her arms around Hunter.
He picked her up and swung her around.
“You won?” Val asked.
Cassie nodded.
“Too bad it’s for charity,” the blonde said. “You would’ve made a lot of money.”
Cassie’s elation turned to disdain. She turned around, facing the blonde. Was she joking? Must everything be defined by money?
“Let’s go,” Hunter said, pulling her out of the row before she had a chance to speak her mind. As they walked up the steps, Hunter took her arm. “Were you having fun back there, Norma Rae?”
Cassie smiled. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said as innocently as she could.
“I thought you forgave me for my idiotic comment earlier today.”
“Which idiotic comment might that be?”
“Touché,” he said with a grin. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it faded. “I was referring to the comment I made about you being a factory worker.”
“I believe you said just a factory worker.”
He pulled her to a stop. “Please forgive me,” he said. His eyes looked dark and pained with guilt.
“I already have,” she said, touching his cheek. But had she really? Of one thing she was sure: she had not forgotten.
As if reading her mind, he said, “I don’t care what you do for a living, Cassie.”
“Your friends certainly do.”
“Those women aren’t my friends,” he said. “I’m not like them. You’ve met my father. You’ve seen where I grew up.”
“I’ve also seen where you live.”
He hesitated and said, “The plane, the boats, the big house…I could walk away from everything tomorrow. Those things don’t define me.”
“How do you define yourself?”
“As a fisherman. And not a very good one, either.”
She had no doubt that Hunter was speaking in earnest. But could he really walk away from all of his expensive toys? From his jet-setting life? From the adoring women? She doubted it.
One thing seemed certain: her opinion mattered. He wanted her to like him. And for some reason, that realization thrilled her more than she cared to admit. “You’re a lousy fisherman?”
He grinned. It was an irresistibly sexy smile that sent her pulse racing. “Worse than lousy. That’s why I applied to boarding school. I knew the only chance I had to survive was to get off that island.”
They turned in their winning ticket. Cassie got back a receipt that read “Thank you for your donation of one hundred thousand dollars.”
One hundred thousand dollars, all to charity.
It was enough to make her want to kiss him. Without hesitating, she threw her arms around his neck and did exactly what she desired. At the moment their lips touched, a crack of thunder sounded through the stadium, followed by an announcement stating that all races were postponed.
Hunter took Cassie’s hand and led her outside as the first fat raindrops began to fall. He kissed her again, harder this time. She was mildly aware of the hubbub around them. The racetrack was closing. People were closing out their bets and leaving.
He slid his hand around her waist. The wind picked up and the palm trees swayed.
The rain fell more steadily, drenching the crowd outside the track. But they did not move. They stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, aware only of each other.
Eleven
Hunter awoke early the next morning. He lay in bed, quietly watching Cassie sleep. Most mornings he began his day with a start, jumping out of bed and hurrying off to work. But not today. When he’d woken up and felt Cassie in his arms, it was as if time had stopped. It was a feeling unlike any he had ever experienced. For the first time in his life he did not wish he were somewhere else.
Or with someone else.
But then again he had known Cassie was special from the moment they met. With each passing day, he only grew more impressed.
Like the way she had handled herself the previous day. He knew how intimidating it could be to be thrown into a crowd of snobby, wealthy socialites. But Cassie had more than held her own.
In fact, she had put those offensive women in their place. But they weren’t the only ones. She had done the same with him.
Just a factory worker…
He knew how it had sounded. He didn’t blame Cassie for being angry. After all, he had criticized her livelihood.
But as much as he hated to admit it, a part of him assumed she could do better. That an intelligent, gifted woman such as she could not be happy working for minimum wage and making fabric.
There was no way around it. Cassie was right. He was behaving like an elitist.
And she was right to be offended. After all, what was wrong with working in a factory? Or, in this case, an old mill? Maybe it was not as lucrative as a corporate job, but then again, it didn’t have the headaches, either. Cassie made a decent living at an honorable profession.
More important, Cassie worked with people she loved and trusted. And at the end of the day, she went home with the knowledge that she had helped to create something beautiful.
How many people could say that about their jobs?
Certainly not him.
Axon Enterprises was a profit-making machine, a corporate behemoth that cared little for humanity. Money was the bottom line, the definition of success. And ethics were nonexistent.
He would be the first to admit that the path he had chosen was a difficult one. With the exception of his father and a handful of others he had known from childhood, he trusted no one. He had learned firsthand that money did not buy happine
ss. He had a house he barely lived in, a boat he never used. He had grown accustomed to a life devoid of meaning.
But he had never been aware of it as much as he was right then and there.
He had wanted to prove to Cassie that he was not the cold, ruthless man she imagined. But perhaps she was right. After all, what kind of man was willing to make a living off other people’s failures? What kind of man could displace workers who had worked at a factory for generations?
He shook off the covers and swung his feet to the floor.
He sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. What was he doing? Why was he suddenly so anxious to prove the morality of what he did?
Cassie.
He sat up straight and looked at her once again. She had not moved. Her beauty was intense, almost ethereal. She had the face of an angel, thick, black lashes, dusty-rose cheeks and a smooth, ivory complexion.
What was she doing to him?
Being with Cassie had forced him to deal with all the issues he had denied for too long.
Her power over him was as strong as it was undeniable. Cassie inspired him to be a better man.
But how could that be? He barely knew her.
But it didn’t seem to matter. He had to help her.
He knew that in spite of her protestations, she did not fully realize how difficult it would be to increase the mill’s revenues. Demion Mills produced only two to twenty yards of fabric a day. Computerized looms made twenty to one hundred yards a day.
And the machines in the mill were old; most original. The newer machines did the work of six iron-and-wood looms. He knew the Demions had borrowed heavily against the mill just to make payroll. Most of the mills like Demion had shut down, moving operations to the Far East, or replacing people with computers.
But what if Demion Mills was the sole producer of Bodyguard?
He had not agreed to sell them the patent, but was the mill worth anything without it?
And could the patent alone save the mill?
Probably not. Oliver Demion had realized this. When he found that the material his family had been producing for use in lawn chairs was suitable as an absorbent undergarment for athletes, he had done the most intelligent thing he could think of: sell it along with the mill. Oliver knew the patent was worth a small fortune, and the mill, even if it was capable of producing it, had no money to commit to marketing efforts.
But the mill needed that patent. Without it Cassie and her friends could never hope to stay in business. Within a year the mill would be hemorrhaging money. In two years it would be closed.
But the introduction of Bodyguard would require a substantial sum of money. An amount Demion Mills did not have.
So what should he do? What could he do?
“What are you thinking about?” Cassie asked, blinking her eyes sleepily. Her beautiful auburn hair was splayed over the white pillowcase.
“You,” he said.
She reached out her hand and touched his cheek, smiled. She nodded toward his watch. “What time is it?”
“Nearly nine.”
She sat up straight. “I should get back to Shanville.”
He nodded. “I’m going with you.”
“To Shanville?”
“Yes. I want to talk to some of the artisans and get a feel for your production capabilities.”
“Oh. Okay. Why?”
“Because…” He stumbled. He did not want to tell her he was considering giving her back the patent until he was sure the mill could handle the production. “There are some things I need to take care of to get ready for the transfer.”
She removed her hand. “You’re not having second thoughts again, are you?” she asked.
Second thoughts? Was it possible that she still did not trust him? He pushed himself up on one arm. “No. I’m selling you the mill. But it’s still complicated.” He leaned over her. “I don’t want you to fail.”
“You don’t need to worry,” she said. “We’re using our homes as leverage, remember?”
“So I should be content with the knowledge that I will be foreclosing on everyone’s homes? That I would essentially own a town?”
She hesitated. He saw a flicker of apprehension cross her face. “You would rather have your money,” she said, as if stating a fact. He saw the disappointment in her eyes.
She was wrong. It was not about money. At least, not this time. But he did not tell her that. He needed to prove that he could behave honorably. He needed her to trust him.
He kissed her shoulder. “Get dressed,” he said quietly. “We have work to do.”
Cassie stood on the factory floor. She looked around her. It had been a three-hour flight back to Shanville, yet she felt as if she were worlds away. The sleek glamour of Hunter’s Bahamian world was nowhere to be seen. Instead it was as if she had been transported back through time. Heavy, Victorian-era machinery was packed into the large room. She closed her eyes and listened to the familiar thwack of silk threads being beaten back by wood battens, a sound so musical her grandmother had written a poem about it as a child.
All around her were friends, women she had known her entire life. They worked the clattering looms, nimble fingers flying over the taut ropes, cast-iron flywheels.
Cassie had told her co-workers that their offer had been accepted. But instead of joy and jubilation, it was a quiet peace. Everyone knew that they may have won the battle, but that did not mean they were going to win the war.
“Cassie.” She felt a warm pat on her arm. Luanne said, “You did good. And we’re all grateful.” Luanne handed Cassie a small card to tuck into the loom. Cardboard cards, each punched with holes to determine the ornate patterns in the weave, were kept on long strings looped over the looms. A complex pattern might require as many as 20,000 cards. The system was developed in the eighteenth century and still used.
“Luanne’s right,” Ruby said. “You saved our mill all by yourself. Your grandma would be proud.”
Luanne shook her head. “And she’d be happy that you’re through with Oliver after what he did to us all.”
“We have the mill back again. The past is the past,” Cassie said.
“But we don’t have the patent,” Luanne said.
“No,” Cassie admitted. And they never would. Hunter might finance a loan for the mill, but the patent was too valuable. He would never agree to sell it for what they could offer.
Luanne sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “I guess Oliver did what he had to do. Can’t blame a man for wanting to make money.”
“Why not?” said Priscilla. She, too, had worked in the mill all her adult life. “Why can’t you blame him?”
Cassie understood their anger. But she no longer felt anything toward Oliver one way or the other. Her mind had been taken over by Hunter. All she could think about was Hunter—what he had said, what he had done. How he had touched her. How they had kissed.
She felt as if he possessed not only her body but her soul as well.
And that troubled her.
In a way, she wished she’d never seen the man behind the image. That she’d never heard about the poor boy who had learned early on that money was a ticket to survival. That she had never heard about his grandmother’s death and the brutal loss of the woman he loved.
But learning how he had come to be a corporate raider was not the same as accepting it. Money was his crutch, his way of self-protection. But his motives could not be glorified. Nor could they be excused.
She knew it was useless to think that perhaps she had a chance to convince him otherwise.
Or could she?
After all, it was obvious that he wanted to help her. Didn’t he? And that was commendable.
The truth of the matter was she wanted to give him a chance. The man she had spent time with was capable of extreme caring and kindness. She was sure of it.
Wasn’t she?
Could the man who had held her in his arms and stared into her eyes while making love to her t
ake her house out from under her?
Yet hadn’t he threatened to do just that? So I should be content with the knowledge that I will be foreclosing on everyone’s homes?
The problem was, she realized, that she was already confusing business with pleasure. And she doubted Hunter would make the same mistake.
After all, he had seemed so cold and distant on the flight back. He had barely spoken with her, choosing instead to work on his computer. She had felt self-conscious and awkward. With nothing to do, she had busied herself by fiddling with her camera and taking the occasional picture.
“I don’t understand why he’s still here,” Priscilla continued.
“Who?”
“Hunter Axon.”
Cassie blushed at the mention of her lover’s name. She still had not told anyone of their affair. “He wanted to talk to some of us about production,” she said.
“But,” Priscilla continued, “why should it matter, if he’s selling us the mill?”
“Because he’s financing it,” Luanne said.
“He doesn’t want to sell us back the mill only to see it fail,” Cassie said. “If we don’t succeed, he’s not going to get any money.”
“Is that it? Or does he have a more personal investment in our success?”
Cassie could not answer her old friend. How could she explain that she had fallen in love with the man they considered an enemy?
Priscilla put a hand on hers, stopping the loom.
Cassie looked at her, her eyes full of torment.
Priscilla smiled kindly and said, “Is he worried that you’ll end up getting hurt?”
“He’s a decent man…he is. I know you’ve all seen a side to him that’s…well, less than flattering but…”
“We all know that, Cassie. He’s giving us back our mill.”
Luanne grinned and said, “I couldn’t be happier for you. After Oliver, I was hoping that you might meet someone else soon. And who could you possibly meet around here?” She rolled her eyes in emphasis.
Cassie glanced around the room. The women were all nodding their heads supportively. Cassie smiled in appreciation and said, somewhat meekly, “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Cassie slid in another card. “I doubt this…whatever it is between Hunter and me, will turn into anything.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t complicated things. I never should’ve gotten involved with him in the first place.”
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