by Roz Lee
As soon as she’d finished her lunch, Becky snapped the lid back on the plastic container she’d used to transport her lunch and pushed back from the table. “As lovely as it is here, I’ve got to. Things to do, you know?”
“What’s Mr. Ramsey doing here, anyway? Is Ford leaving soon?”
Becky couldn’t tell her about the locking mechanism without mentioning Ford’s big idea to save the company, so she settled on a version of the truth. “They’re working on some sort of project together. As to Ford leaving, I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”
“Why not? You were so sure he wouldn’t hang around.”
She shrugged. “He has no intention of staying a day longer than he has to, but things are… complicated.”
Roseanne narrowed her eyes. “Define complicated.”
What the heck? It’ll be common knowledge soon enough. The terms of Mr. Adams’s will would become public through probate proceedings, and the struggle to keep the plant open wouldn’t go unnoticed by the employees. “Mr. Adams left me 25 percent of the company.”
“What?!”
“Calm down.” Becky held up a staying hand.
“How can I calm down? You’re rich!”
“Whoa! Whoa.” She shook her head. “I’m on the brink of losing everything, and so are Ford and his mother. The company is broke.”
Her friend’s enthusiasm hit the proverbial iceberg. “What’s going to happen to all the people who work there?”
“Unless Ford pulls a miracle out of his hat, we’re all going to lose our jobs, but I’ll also be on the hook for my share of the debt. I know Mr. Adams intended to do something nice for me, and, a few years ago, it would have been. But for the last year or so, we’ve been holding on by a thread. I only found out yesterday how thin the thread really is.”
“And there’s nothing you can do?”
Becky explained the terms of the will and how she had no choice but to go along with whatever idea Ford came up with. “Ford has an idea for a new product he thinks might at least keep us in business for the next year, and he asked Scott to help him with it. If we survive the year? Who knows?”
“Wow.”
“Tell me about it. My life’s become one long, crazy roller coaster ride.”
“That’s what you wanted to talk to me about last night? I’m so sorry I wasn’t available to you. I feel like a jerk.”
“No, please. Don’t give it another thought. I was just feeling a little down last night.” She pasted a smile on her face. “I’m better today. Talking to you helped.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No. Just keep this to yourself for a while, okay? No need upsetting everyone in town until we’ve explored every avenue open to us.”
“My lips are sealed.” Roseanne stood and began to clear the table. “Any idea how long Mr. Ramsey is going to be here?”
“As long as it takes, I guess.” Becky stood. “I’ve got to get back.”
Roseanne wrapped her in a warm hug. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.”
~~~
Becky sorted through the stack of message slips she’d picked up from reception on her way in. They couldn’t hold off telling the employees much longer. It had been weeks since they’d shipped out the first batches of their new product to suppliers around the globe, and they hadn’t heard a peep out of any of them. She’d put off everything she possibly could to cut costs to the barest minimum, including ordering the mulch for the parking lot dividers. The spring bulbs had done their thing and been replaced by knee-high weeds. If not for the cars parked there daily, passersby would think the place abandoned. Great curb appeal. She pitied the Realtor who had to sell the place looking the way it did.
Something had to change—soon.
The first three messages were from suppliers they’d delayed paying, no doubt wanting to remind her the three-week deferral they’d requested would end soon. She’d have to ask Ford about providing more funds. Confident orders for his toy would come in, Ford insisted on continuing to produce the item, in an attempt to save face with their employees and the town, she’d named the Safeguard Backdoor Locking System. As a result of the aggressive production schedule, they were running desperately low on materials, and unless they paid their suppliers, they’d be shutting down all production soon.
She set the dun calls aside and read the last of the messages. Recognizing the name of one of the largest wholesaler’s they’d mailed product samples to, her heart tripped and her skin tingled. Could this be it? Could they have actually made a sale? Ever since the night she’d had to ask Ford to help her remove his invention, she’d known he was right—it would revolutionize the butt-plug industry. If they could get anyone to buy it, and so far, she’d had no success in that area.
It had to happen. Ford had poured money into the project for additional molds and to retool several of the machines no longer in use to churn out their new product. Everyone but a skeleton crew assigned to complete the last orders of baby bottle nipples were assembling and packaging products for which they had no orders.
Scott, Ford’s friend and business partner from New York, had sunk a lot of money into the project, too, providing the locks free of charge in hopes of making his money back, and then some, once the product began to sell. He’d offered to train the people on the assembly line, and for reasons Becky couldn’t fathom, remained in town. Probably waiting to see if any orders are going to come in.
Becky read the short, uninformative message again. Maybe they just wanted to ask questions. She opened a file folder, pulled out the sheet she’d prepared with all the talking points for their new product. “There’s no time like the present.” Lifting the receiver, she dialed the number listed on the pink message slip.
~~~
“Ford?” Becky knocked on his open office door then stepped inside. “Got a minute?”
He put down his pencil and rocked back in his chair. “Sure. What’s up?”
He’d been working on a new design the last few days, and seemed to have lost track of routine things—like shaving and combing his hair. He looks like he just climbed out of bed.
She had no business thinking about a sleep-tumbled Ford. They had a purely professional relationship that, due to the nature of the business, included him seeing her naked ass on one occasion—but it had been a one-time occurrence, and an emergency to boot. Nothing remotely similar would happen again. Becky wouldn’t be seeing his adorable disheveled countenance across the bed, so best to quit imagining it. Besides, as soon as they put Adams Manufacturing back on an even keel, Ford would start looking for a buyer for the share of the company he controlled. He’d been clear from the beginning about his desire to go back to his life in New York, and she couldn’t blame him. Butte Plains didn’t rate a dot on most maps. The nightlife here consisted of high school football games in the fall and catching lightning bugs in the summer. The pace of life was two steps behind slow and getting slower with each passing day.
She closed the door and approached his desk. “I have good news and bad news. Which would you like first?”
“Might as well start with the bad.” He sighed and held his hand out for the paper she extended to him. “Don’t make me read it, just tell me.”
“We’re running extremely low on raw materials. If we don’t pay some of our suppliers, we’re going to have to scale back our production of the Safeguard Backdoor Locking System.”
“Bottom line?”
She named a figure that made him whistle. He dropped the paper on his desk. “And the good news?”
“We need more raw materials.”
His brows knit as he stared up at her. “Isn’t that the same as the bad news?”
“No. It’s the opposite of the bad news.” She could barely keep the smile off her face, but she loved turning the tables on Ford. “See?” She handed him another sheet of paper. As he read, his face relaxed then his lips curved upward in a tentative smile.
/>
“Tell me this isn’t a joke.”
“No joke. I just got off the phone with the head buyer. They want fifty-thousand units as soon as we can ship them. I promised ten thousand a week for the next five weeks with a promise to fill the order faster if we could manage it.”
A giant smile split his face. “You did it, Becky Jean. You really did it!” He jumped up, rounded the desk, and threw his arms around her, lifting her off the ground with a whoop they probably heard in Dallas. She laughed right along with him.
After printing out the purchase order the buyer had emailed to her, she’d danced around her office until she’d been able to control her expression. Seeing Ford this happy filled her with joy. She laughed and hung on as he spun her around until she became dizzy.
“This calls for a celebration.” He set her down then went back to his desk. Chest puffed out, he produced a bottle and two glasses from a lower drawer. “Tennessee’s finest,” he said, removing the top.
She laughed and accepted the tumbler with a splash of amber liquid.
Ford lifted his glass in the air. “Out with the old, in with the new,” he said. “And, to the latest incarnation of Adams Manufacturing.”
They tipped their glasses together until a crystal-clear clink rang out. Becky sipped at her drink while Ford finished his in one gulp, then refilled it and downed the second helping. They were a long way from being out of the woods, but this first order did warrant a celebration. She tipped the rest of her drink back. Coughing as the liquid burned its way down, she held her glass out for a refill.
“We did it, Becky Jean.” They’d done significant damage to the bottle of Tennessee’s finest. Ford had called Scott to let him know, then drank a toast to his best friend whose locking mechanism was the true success behind the new product. Never mind it had taken Ford’s genius to marry his design with a lock with no other practical application. Several drinks later, he’d waxed poetic about Becky’s marketing skills.
If anything reeked of donkey doo-doo, his statement did. She’d named the product, slapped a bunch of them into boxes, and shipped them off to adult toy suppliers then prayed they’d see what Ford saw—the chance to make a fortune.
She still didn’t believe more orders were imminent, but Ford thought differently, and for the time being, she chose to believe him. For the first time since the reading of Mr. Adams’s will, the doom of bankruptcy seemed less certain.
“To butt-plug wearers everywhere,” she said, lifting her glass.
“Here! Here!”
PART TWO
Marriage is an adventure, like going to war.
Gilbert K. Chesterson
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Four months later….
“It’s a good idea, Ford.” Becky paced in front of her partner’s desk and refused to back down. “The Home Shopping Network is huge. They’ve proven the marketing strategy works.”
“So, why not let them sell our products? I don’t see why we need to stick our necks out.”
“I thought you were all about innovation. This should be a no-brainer, partner of mine. Thanks to your creative mind, we have several products on the market, and more on the drawing board. Our Internet sales are through the roof on our site, and on the sites we distribute to.”
“If sales are so good, then I don’t see any point in expanding into something we know nothing about.”
“Sales are good, but they could be better.” Becky planted her feet and glared at her stoic partner. “Ever since the Safeguard Backdoor Locking System hit the market four months ago, we’ve become known for our innovation in the adult toy market. Internet stores are a dime a dozen. Everyone with a computer and a garage to stock inventory has one. Yes, those are profitable for us, but think about it. We would have our own cable network where we sell our own brand directly to the public. We could sell advertising to all those Internet stores, as well as to the brick-and-mortar stores. I don’t see a downside to it.”
Ford rocked back in his chair, a sure sign he was softening. Since becoming business partners, she’d learned to read him well. Becky tamped down her enthusiasm. The biggest hurdle would be getting Ford to agree to establish the first-ever adult cable shopping network and, in her estimation, by far the easiest task ahead of her, given her plans.
Elbow braced on the arm of his chair, he brushed the knuckle of his index finger over his bottom lip. She would not allow the unconsciously sexy habit to distract her as it always did. This was too important.
“You’re talking about a huge monetary investment. We’d have to hire studio space, professionals to produce the show, spokespersons to sell the products, plus we’d have to set up a fulfillment center separate from our current wholesale distribution center. None of which would be cheap. Can we afford it?”
She had answers to all his concerns, but with Ford, she had to take it one step at a time or he’d dig in his heels. She shifted the focus back on him. “Don’t you even read the reports I put on your desk?”
“I’m supposed to read them?”
Shaking her head, she plopped into one of the twin leather guest chairs facing his desk. Lord, he could be exasperating sometimes. “I read the ones you put on my desk.”
“I don’t write reports.” The samples of various plastics, notebooks, and drafting supplies strewn across the top of his desk testified to the truth of his statement. The crumpled grease-stained sandwich wrapper occupying one corner could have been today’s lunch or from last week. She made a mental note to sneak the cleaning staff in as soon as possible.
“Yes, I know. However, when you come up with a new product, I at least take the time to look at it.” She’d also personally tried every one of his inventions, but she’d keep the information to herself.
“I don’t have time to read every report that comes across my desk, Becky Jean. I trust you to inform me if something needs my attention, but otherwise, I don’t want to be bothered. I’m happy with my role as head of product development.” He lifted a sketchpad then dropped it. Becky blanched at the particles of dust dancing under the glow of his desk lamp.
Ever since Ford’s former college roommate turned business partner had returned to New York two months ago, Ford had focused his attention on designing new, innovative products. “Is Scott coming back?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“Just wondering. He stayed longer than necessary the first time, which made me think he had other reasons for hanging around.” Reasons like Roseanne Meadows. The town grapevine had buzzed with rumors about those two the entire time Scott had stayed at the B&B. Becky had asked her friend more than once about her guest, but Roseanne always shifted the conversation to Ford and Becky, and since she had no intention of discussing her obsession with her new business partner, what little she knew about the Yankee and the owner of The Yellow Rose was stained with grape juice.
“He needed to get back. We have clients, plus he wanted to hire someone to take my place for a while.”
The reminder of Ford’s temporary residence status plunged an ice pick straight into her heart, but she masked the hurt with a smile. “You mean you’re replaceable?”
“Apparently. Or so Scott believes.” He waved the insult away. “We’ve been thinking about hiring an apprentice, somebody straight out of college. This is as good a time as any.”
“Well, we all appreciate you stepping in here, and your dedication to the company, but it’s important to stay abreast of our financial status, don’t you think?”
“Like I said, if we have cash flow problems, I’m sure you’ll let me know.”
She added hardheaded to her list of Ford’s personality traits. “To answer your earlier question—yes, we can afford to undertake this new project. In fact, I don’t think we can afford not to. Someone is going to do it. It’s only a matter of time, Ford. It’s a natural move for the most innovative company in the adult toy market.”
He sighed again and rocked forward to cross his forearms on the des
ktop. Becky hid her victory smile and waited for confirmation of what she already knew. She had him.
“What do you need from me?”
Yes! She did a mental fist pump. “I’ll have the documents on your desk tomorrow at the latest. Sign them and get them back to me. That’s all I need.” For the time being. She’d spring the rest of it on him once she’d sealed the deal and he couldn’t say no.
“Okay.” He reached for his drafting pencil. “Can I get back to work?”
“Sure.” As she stood, their gazes met and held for a breathless moment before she remembered he was her partner and the spark of interest she thought she saw in his eyes had to be her overactive imagination. Forcing her mind back to business, she straightened before heading toward the door. Recalling the reason she’d come to see him in the first place, she gripped the doorframe and faced him. “Thanks, Ford. This is the right thing to do. I know it.” He waved her on her way with a grunt indicating he’d already shifted his focus back to his drawing—further proof her eyes and her mind had been playing tricks on her. The only thing Ford was interested in was whatever deviously naughty toy he was designing.
She hadn’t lied. His innovative designs had catapulted Adams Manufacturing into the adult toy market with the force of an all-out assault. Their competitors had scrambled to come up with products to gain back market share and failed miserably. They could no longer sit on their well-padded asses. If they did, the competition would catch up and eventually overtake them. She had no intention of letting that happen.
