His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please, Book 3)

by Ward, Deena

  “You and your damned arguments. I think you missed your calling and should have been a lawyer.”

  She snorted. “I’m way too honest to be a lawyer, honey.”

  I asked, “So have you closed your case? Can I go meet my potential suitors now?”

  “I guess. Don’t know why you’re so stubborn about this.”

  “It’s just your burden to bear.”

  She laughed.

  I stood up and smoothed down my dress, a cute, short summery number I had bought while I was on vacation.

  I said, “Come on, let’s go.”

  For the next two hours, I chatted with new acquaintances, flirted with a few of the single Doms I was introduced to, ignored a few others who I sincerely wished hadn’t bothered meeting me.

  A few times, I caught sight of Gibson at one table or another. He moved often, probably because he was a part-owner of the club. He would want to mingle with as many people as possible. Occasionally I caught his eye, but I’d quickly look away.

  Elaine was wrong about him in one respect: he did not spend all his time staring at me.

  I had come with Ron and Elaine, so I couldn’t leave until they were ready to go. My eyelids were drooping by the time they finished celebrating. I was grateful that Ron was such a huge man that he could carry all of our bags by himself. Poor guy. Used as a packhorse on his big night. He didn’t mind, though.

  When we got to my apartment, they escorted me to my door, Ron once again carrying my bag like a gentleman. I thanked them. They thanked me. We hugged. And then they were gone.

  I didn’t bother unpacking anything, just left my bag where Ron had dropped it, and headed off to my bathroom to get ready for bed.

  When I was snuggled under my blankets, I spared a few moments to think over the evening. It had been an eventful night. Understatement. I’d need more than a few moments for those thoughts. I closed my eyes.

  And fell asleep.

  I did take some time over the weekend to think about Friday night. Mostly, I remembered what fun I’d had with Ron, Elaine and Patsy.

  I didn’t dwell much on Gibson Reeves, and the strange thing that happened when I was with him, that strange emotion which overcame me. I didn’t know what it was about. Probably just an accumulation of feelings from the scene and from my uncertainty about Gibson.

  I didn’t consider Elaine’s argument that I take Gibson as a lover. It was a ridiculous idea, even if I were open to it. She had no reason to assume that Gibson wanted anything more from me than a quick roll in the hay.

  Regardless, it didn’t matter. I had the phone numbers of two of the single men I met that night. I wasn’t terrifically drawn to them, but they both seemed friendly enough, were attractive, and knowledgeable. And they were both interested in pursuing something with me.

  Maybe I would call one of them, set up something for next weekend. No rush. I had plenty of time to think about it.

  At least, I thought I would have plenty of time to think about dating someone new. That was, until I showed up at work Monday morning and stepped straight into chaos.

  Chapter 5

  I was late getting to work Monday morning because I had a dental appointment. I headed straight to my office, in a rush to make up for lost time. As I passed through the larger office, I gave my usual hellos and good mornings, but there weren’t as many people around as usual.

  It was quiet, too. I took a look around. People clustered in groups of three and four, hunkering down next to each other’s desks, whispering, glances darting about the big room.

  What the hell?

  I had no sooner sat down at my desk than Sarah, one of our accountants, slipped into my office and closed my door.

  “Have you heard?” she asked, wide-eyed.

  “I’d say, no. What’s going on?”

  Sarah plopped down in one of the chairs in front of my desk. “It’s all over the place. The company is being sold.”

  I think my heart stopped. “To who? Why? Wait, are you sure?”

  “Oh yeah. Everybody’s talking about it. The buyer is coming in today to start figuring out who to fire and who to keep.”

  “I don’t ... wow ... this is ...”

  Sarah nodded furiously. “I know, right? It’s crazy.”

  I was stunned. I had worked at Linton Cosmetics for seven years, starting in the clerical department, then a year or so after I graduated college, was promoted to my current position of office manager. It wasn’t a glamorous position, by anyone’s measure, but it was comfortable, and it paid my bills.

  My God. I could be losing my job.

  I said, “Wait. How do you know this is true? Who told you?”

  Sarah looked flustered. “I don’t remember who told me first. It’s everybody.”

  “Who said the buyer was coming today? And how do they know that people are getting fired?”

  “I don’t know. Everybody.”

  I took a deep breath. Okay. Maybe this was just the rumor mill run amok. No reason to panic. Not yet anyway.

  “Oh, Nonnie. What are we going to do? You know how it is out there. It’s impossible to find jobs. I just can’t believe ...”

  I watched the poor woman actually begin wringing her hands. Sarah was in her early thirties, divorced, had three children and an ex-husband who never paid a dime in child support. If I were her, I’d be wringing my hands, too.

  A rapid knock sounded on my door. I didn’t even get the chance to say “Come in,” before the door opened. Brad, from distribution, walked in and closed the door behind him.

  He said, “I’m guessing you’ve heard.”

  He sat down and looked at me, his face drawn and morose. He was in his mid-forties, had a wife and kids, a house in the burbs, the American dream. Oh hell.

  I answered, “Yes. Do you think it’s true?”

  Brad nodded. “Everyone seems certain.”

  Sarah said, “You need to go to her, Nonnie. Find out the truth.”

  I asked, “She hasn’t said anything to anyone?”

  Sarah answered, “No. She just went straight into her office this morning, shut the door, and Geary says she told him not to disturb her for anything. Period.”

  I said, “That’s not a good sign.”

  “You try,” Brad said. “She likes you. Give it a shot.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll try.”

  I stood up and followed Brad and Sarah out of my office. I made my way to the break room, trying to look pleasantly self-assured as I went, knowing that plenty of my co-workers were watching. After I poured two mugs of fresh coffee, I headed straight to Isabel Vinson’s office.

  Isabel was the de facto head of Linton Cosmetics. There were three members of the Linton family who held higher positions than her and were technically in charge of the company. The eldest Linton son and his own son and daughter each had offices here, but they were rarely present, and when they were here, they only caused problems that Isabel later had to fix.

  Everyone knew it was Isabel who made the decisions that mattered, that she was the real person in charge.

  I walked up to Geary, Isabel’s assistant. He was one frazzled-looking young man.

  He said, “Don’t go in there. She said to keep everybody out.”

  I said, “It’s okay. I’m going to try anyway.”

  “She’ll blame me.”

  “No she won’t. She knows how I am.”

  That got a half grin from him.

  I knocked on Isabel’s door.

  Isabel yelled out, “Not now! Busy!”

  I called, “Isabel, it’s me, Nonnie.”

  “Go away. Can’t talk right now.”

  Well, damn.

  One last try. I called, “I’ve got coffee. With hazelnut cream.”

  Silence.

  Then, “Okay, come in.”

  I managed to hold the handles of the mugs with one hand and opened the door with the other.

  As soon as I crossed the threshold, Isabel snapped, “Shut the
door!”

  I did, then handed her a mug and sat down.

  I studied Isabel as I blew on my coffee. No one would ever say that Isabel was a good-looking woman. On the surface, she was plain. In her early fifties, she looked every year of her age and then some, her brown hair had gone half grey, and a network of wrinkles lined her face. She had a whip-thin body and a disastrous fashion sense.

  If you pulled her hair back into a tight bun and stuck a pince-nez on the end of her nose, she’d be the stereotypical image of a spinster librarian. She looked nothing at all how you’d expect an executive of a cosmetics company to look.

  But that was her surface. Once you spoke to her, you didn’t think about her appearance anymore. She was a vibrant woman, brilliant, with indefatigable energy and extraordinary acumen. Her hazel eyes crackled with spirit and power when she spoke.

  In short, I admired Isabel Vinson more than any woman I had ever known.

  It was difficult to see her right now. She held her mug in both hands, shoulders hunched, her hair frizzier than normal, and she looked exhausted.

  I knew at that moment that the rumors were true.

  I didn’t say anything, just waited for her, for when she was ready.

  She sipped at her coffee and sighed. She said, “Shit.”

  I asked, “How long have you known?”

  “Since yesterday. I was invited to the estate for brunch. I didn’t even get to finish my mimosa before Frank Linton told me they were selling.”

  I gulped. “Is the buyer really coming today to fire people?”

  “Not that I know of,” she said. “And it’s not a single buyer. According to Frank, they’ve been talking to an acquisitions company for a while now. They’re sending a team over today to do an inspection, look things over. The final decision hasn’t been made yet.”

  “Well, that’s something anyway, right? I mean ...”

  “I’m not optimistic, Nonnie. Don’t repeat this, but I feel certain the sale will go through, if not to this buyer, then to some other.”

  “The family wants to dump the company that badly?”

  She gave me one of her classic dry looks. “I think they made the decision to sell a long time ago, when they had to dip into their own funds to keep the company afloat for a few months.”

  I said, “But that was years ago. And everyone was hurting then.”

  Isabel arched an eyebrow, saying without words that my reasoning wouldn’t be acknowledged by the Lintons.

  Linton Cosmetics sold high end products to exclusive salons and boutiques across the country. When the economy tanked, everybody felt it, especially companies like ours that depended on lots of big, fat disposable incomes.

  Isabel had rapidly shifted with the times and created a more affordable line of cosmetics that could be sold in lower-end department stores. She’d acted quickly and decisively and saved the company from ruin.

  And this was the thanks she got from the spoiled Linton family.

  I said, “Maybe we’ll be better off with new owners.”

  “Maybe.”

  However, heads will roll. She didn’t say that, but everyone knew a new owner meant new management.

  I said, “They sent me in here to find out what was going on, if the rumors are true. What do you want me to tell them?”

  “I wish I knew how the sale got leaked to everybody. Guess it doesn’t matter now. I’ve been working on a memo to send out company-wide. It’s finished. I only need to send it.”

  We both looked at her monitor.

  She said, “Guess now is as good a time as any.”

  She moused around on her desk, sighed and clicked. There it went.

  Isabel pulled herself up, slapped her hands down on her desk. “That’s that.”

  She paused and gave me a firm look, then said, “Fate, Nonnie, is the ultimate seductress; she will always have her way with you.”

  “Who said that?”

  “I just did.”

  “Good one.”

  “Eh,” she said. “So, the memo. I’ve told everyone that the Lintons are considering selling the company and that a group of employees from the interested party will be arriving this morning to check us out. I told them there’s no reason to be alarmed about future changes, that nothing’s been settled, so on and so forth.”

  “Sounds like you covered everything.”

  “I’ll be meeting with department heads shortly, let them know they’ll likely be meeting with the inspection team. Someone will probably want to meet with you, too. I’ll let you know when.”

  I nodded.

  She continued, “For now, I need you to go out there and mingle. Squelch the rumors about firings, and whatever else might make the herd stampede. Got it?”

  “I’m on it.” I stood and made my way to the door.

  “Oh, and Nonnie,” she said, “Thanks for the coffee.”

  I smiled. “Any time, boss.”

  I managed to hold that smile for nearly an hour while I went around the office, to all the different departments and tried to soothe frayed nerves, tried to pretend like I didn’t have any tattered nerves of my own. It was a relief when I could return to my desk and drop into my seat.

  I clicked on my e-mail and read Isabel’s memo. It was basically exactly what she said, except it noted that the inspection team would arrive at eleven o’clock. That was less than half an hour from now.

  Damn those Lintons, I thought. They could have given us more warning, more time to prepare. I’d never met a Linton I liked. Not one. They were self-absorbed jerks who had inherited their wealth but acted like they had earned it, deserved it, and were superior to everyone else for having it. Puke.

  Well, no point in dwelling on it. I had my work to do, for now anyway. I settled into reviewing the office budget for the next quarter.

  At a few minutes past eleven, my phone rang. It was Stephanie, the main company receptionist.

  She hissed in a half whisper, “They’re here! Oh my God! They’re going to the conference room with Isabel.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Don’t stare or anything.”

  “I’m not,” she said, sounding put out with me for giving her such an obvious warning. “Gotta go.”

  Click. She was gone. Probably calling someone else to let them in on the latest.

  It was tempting to take a peek at the new arrivals, but I restrained myself. The last thing Isabel would want is everyone standing around the conference room peering in the windows.

  Speaking of which, I thought, maybe I’d better go make sure that wasn’t happening.

  I waited a few minutes, then craned my neck out my doorway. I could see the conference room from there, was pleased to discover no gawkers milling around. The blinds on the windows of the conference room were shuttered, so there was nothing to see. Isabel’s doing, undoubtedly.

  I went back to my desk and tried to get into the budget again. No luck. I knew it was no good. I couldn’t concentrate. I might as well go to lunch.

  Since it wasn’t terribly hot outside, I headed to a nearby park and bought a pita sandwich from my favorite cart along the way. I sat on a wooden bench and ate, not really tasting anything.

  I could be losing my job. That’s all I could think about. A scruffy woman shambled by in a pair of ancient slippers that I thought may have once been pink and fluffy, but were now grey and matted with filth.

  I called after her, and when she didn’t turn around, I jogged over to her and gave her the unbitten half of my sandwich. She snatched it from my hand with a suspicious glare, then quickly shuffled away.

  I returned to my bench. Homeless people. You always saw them in the parks. She probably had a hidey hole around here somewhere, her sleeping spot at night. I shuddered.

  I could be her so easily. I learned that lesson when I was young, trying to support my ex-husband and myself with a couple of minimum wage jobs. A bout of the flu that lasted too long, one missed paycheck, and we would have been out on the streets. That’s
how close it was every month, every week, every day.

  I had no reliable safety net back then. I still didn’t. My parents had long since basically disowned me, and wouldn’t give me a dollar even if I gave them the satisfaction of asking for one, which I wouldn’t.

  I had friends who could help a little, but not enough, and not for long. I had some savings, but once again, not enough to last for long. If I lost my job at Linton Cosmetics and didn’t find a new one within a few months ... I could be that homeless woman.

  My stomach hurt. I got up and tossed the rest of my sandwich in a trash can. I needed to walk.

  I had to stop thinking this way or I’d lose it. I was overreacting. It was too soon to panic. Wait. Listen. Plan. Then act. The four steps to rational action, that’s what Isabel had told me more than once. I wondered if I could get a temporary tattoo of it on my arm to keep me grounded during the coming change.

  And when was the last time I updated my resume? Oh, that’s right. Never. Hell.

  I wandered around the park until it was time to return to work. The fresh air and exercise did me some good, and I seated myself at my desk much calmer than when I left it.

  Around one o’clock, Isabel called me and said that one of the visitors wanted to meet with me. She said he’d come to my office for the meeting in a few minutes.

  “Be honest, polite, and give him whatever he wants,” she said. “We’ve got no secrets here.”

  I assured her I could handle it, and she told me she knew I could, which was a nice thing to hear.

  I dug around in my desk and file cabinets, pulling some files I figured the man might want to see. Then sure enough, in a few minutes, I realized someone was standing in my doorway. I looked up. Started.

  It was Gibson Reeves.

  I stood, gaped for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry. I can’t talk right now. I’ve got a meeting. So ...”

  Gibson nodded politely, said, “I’m your meeting.”

  Well, I’ll be damned, I thought. My grandfather always used to say that when something thoroughly stymied him. I’ll be damned. Seriously.