by Calista Fox
“Maxi.” Avril, perky and blonde, propped a hand on her slim hip. “No time for innuendos. You have a full-division summit to head. Your first meeting—of hopefully many—as Vice President of Operations. Time to be serious.”
“You don’t think I’m serious?” Maxi countered. “Christ, I’m sweating bullets. I’ve changed blouses twice already. Now I’m wearing black, in the event I turn into a glistening pile of oh, shit, I can’t really do this executive thing! in front of my staff. I’m praying they won’t notice the nervous underarm excretions, you know? Therefore, the shoes”—she stood and showed off the gorgeous high heels—“have a twofold purpose. One, they ought to distract the eighty percent of males on my team, and two, they’ll offer me the inspiration I need to pull this whole damn out-of-the-blue catastrophe out of the toilet.”
Avril’s pretty pink lips pursed. “I understand the pressure you’re under. The former director bailing at the first sign of production trouble scared the bejesus out of the VP and he ran for the hills, too, retiring early. Now the job’s all yours. And with the current strike—”
“Potential current strike,” Maxi quickly corrected.
Avril gave her a come on, sweetie, wake up and smell the conveyor belts grinding to a halt look. She said, “Given our new production issues, we’re losing momentum with that stellar ad campaign Lola and the Marketing team launched. It’ll totally go to waste if something isn’t done ASAP. Staci knew you were the woman for this job—she has complete faith in you to get operations back on track. So buck up, strut those long legs into that conference room and crack the whip!”
“Oh, fuck,” Maxi said in a wry tone. “What the hell have I done to you? After just four months—”
“I sound like you?” Avril beamed. “I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you very much. I was thrilled to join your staff when you were the Manager of Operations, but now that you’re the VP? We can rule the world.” She gave a slightly devious, though mostly quirky smile.
Maxi laughed softly at her assistant. Avril was vivacious with huge golden eyes, a positive attitude, and bright ideas. She was fresh out of NYU with a degree in business and more energy than the battery-operated bunny. Her enthusiasm was contagious, despite the dire straits the Operations division was suddenly in.
Continuing, Avril said, “It’s a damn shame that the push in promotion has turned everything upside down.”
Maxi cringed. Her best friend, Lola Vonn, who had held newbie Avril’s position up until four months ago, had landed herself a sweet job in Marketing when she’d pitched a risqué campaign for Staci Kay Shoes. Her team had helped her to take the concept to the highest level and, as a result, sales were through the roof.
A fantastic success for Lola, Marketing, and Staci, the owner of the company. But a huge crisis for manufacturing and distribution. The company simply couldn’t match the supply to the demand.
Shaking her head, Maxi said, “This is Business 101: Give Consumers What They Want. Yet, we can’t keep up.”
“Your pep talk this morning will be a great shot in the arm to get everything moving in the right direction,” Avril assured her. “And I have your mission statement all packaged up.” She indicated the numerous shiny black presentation folders contained in the opened box she held in her arms.
The folios bore the logo for Staci Kay Shoes, along with the campaign slogan Lola had come up with—Leave Your Shoes On—scrawled across the front in a crimson font that looked like lipstick.
Continuing, Avril said, “Your PowerPoint with all of those motivational sayings and photos is loaded and ready to roll. So… go knock ’em dead, boss.”
Maxi pulled in a deep breath. Let it out slowly. She’d worked for Staci Kay Shoes for six years, starting as a college intern at the age of nineteen. When Lola had joined the team in Baltimore three years ago, Maxi was already Manager of Operations. Now Maxi’s friend was in the Scottsdale hub for Marketing, Public Relations, and Sales, and Maxi was at the top of her respective division, overseeing all of the departments related to general operations.
Prematurely, she wouldn’t dispute. She certainly could use another few years under her belt in the director position so that she had ample access to a mentor and could have her finger on the pulse of the division. As it was, she’d never been to any executive meetings and had not led meetings above her own staffing level—she sure as hell didn’t know the first thing about addressing the VPs and directors located within the Baltimore Operations conglomerate.
Her stomach churned at the idea of heading this meeting, and she felt beads of perspiration pop along her nape. Snatching her compact from her purse, she checked her makeup for the umpteenth time, ensuring the smoky accents to her blue eyes had not smudged, nor had the neutral gloss that she wore. Her dark hair held beachy curls that defied East Coast humidity. Gold streaks twined through the strands that fell just past her shoulders.
The black button-down shirt she wore as well as the short black skirt were wrinkle-resistant, so at least she looked well-preserved despite her anxiety. And the red stilettos provided just the right amount of va va voom to boost her confidence.
She dabbed at the back of her neck with a tissue, then said to Avril, “Guess we’d better get the show on the road.”
Maxi headed to the door with Avril hot on her high heels. They traveled the hallway to the main conference room. Maxi’s nerves jumped. She was typically a very grounded, steady person. Not easily flustered or derailed. But being catapulted into the center of attention and a company crisis that could lead to financial ruin? Yeah, that was enough to sufficiently rattle her cage.
She discreetly employed breathing exercises as she entered the room. Nearly twenty junior and senior executives had already situated themselves around the enormous, polished-wood conference table with a granite inset where microphones were evenly spaced and outlets were inconspicuously housed. Staci Kay herself had originally indicated she’d call in to the meeting, but the Board of Directors had her engaged in an emergency session offsite. That session would be supplemented with whatever brilliant ideas came from this particular meeting.
Oh, dear God, let there be brilliant ideas from this group!
Maxi might have just been promoted, but that didn’t mean Staci couldn’t turn around and drop the axe on her if she didn’t deliver.
A distressing thought, not just because Maxi had recently purchased her first condo and it’d be a damn shame to go into foreclosure if she depleted her savings and couldn’t continue to pay the mortgage.
More than that, though, Maxi was a firm believer in the empowerment of sexy shoes and she fully embraced the company’s vision of not only selling shoes that fit the size and style of the entire female demographic, but keeping the cost down as well, so that they were affordable.
Staci’s motto was that one’s personal style should not be hindered by a lofty price tag. Maxi wholeheartedly agreed. And it was her duty and destiny to ensure Staci Kay shoes made it into the hands of loyal consumers.
Come hell or high water.
So she marched to the front of the room, her chin lifted high, her shoulders squared. This was her golden opportunity to prove she was worthy of this promotion regardless of how it’d come about, and to secure the confidence of her colleagues.
Everyone was settled with coffee and Danishes. Avril placed the box of folders on the floor at the head of the long, oval table where Maxi’s nameplate sat and awaited Maxi’s cue to pass them out.
Maxi’s palms were a bit clammy, but she made eye contact with each person as she said, “Good morning. Thank you so much for being here promptly at eight thirty. As you all know, we have a complex situation on our hands, and it’s going to require our collective thoughts and strategic tactics to come up with a solution.”
She turned to Avril and nodded, giving the signal to distribute the packets containing three typed pages of the Staci Kay Shoes’ history leading up to the current predicament.
Avril knelt t
o retrieve the folders, but straightened quickly when the door swung open and a tall dark-haired man wearing a navy suit and tortoise-shell rimmed glasses sauntered in, nabbing everyone’s attention.
“Ah,” he said, his Australian accent thick and… sexy?
Maxi shook her head.
Whoa, where had that thought come from?
“I’ve found the right room,” he added with an impish grin. “Do you realize this building has thirty-two conference rooms and three of them start with Gold: Operations—and the office map does not indicate which room is A, B, or C?”
“This is A,” Maxi informed him, slightly amused by his rant and slightly annoyed that he’d interrupted her dog and pony show, because it took a shitload of nerve for her to stand before all of these people when tensions were so high. “The largest of the Operations conference rooms.”
“Fantastic. That means I’m in the right place.” He thrust a hand toward her. “Dr. Ryan Donovan. That’s PhD, not MD, so please don’t ask me to diagnose any sort of personal ailment.” He chuckled softly at his own joke.
“Duly noted,” Maxi said as her palm slid across Einstein’s. His skin was warm and smooth. No calluses, unlike her ex, Kev, who might as well be a lumberjack for the rough patches he’d never bothered to buff away. Even after he snagged her clothing.
Not that Dr. Ryan Donovan’s neatly trimmed nails and refreshingly supple skin mattered. Why on Earth would that even register in her mind?
She mentally pushed the thought from her head.
“Although,” the PhD continued in his deep, disturbingly arousing tone, “I am here to help provide a cure for what ails Staci Kay Shoes.” He smiled smugly, as though pleased with his play on words.
Maxi fought a grin. He was slightly infuriating in a really titillating way.
“And you are?” he politely demanded.
“Maxi Shayne,” she told him as she gave a solid hand pump that seemed to take him aback—as though he weren’t expecting that from a woman. Or at least, not one of her slight build. “Vice President of Operations.”
“Oh. I see.” He jerked his hand from hers and pushed his glasses a quarter of an inch up his nose.
His very rugged-looking nose. Not that she could justify what made that adjective spring to mind, except for the fact that, as she studied him closely, everything about his handsome face was rugged. Square jaw line. Chiseled cheeks. Dark-brown irises that instantly made her crave melted Godiva chocolate poured over lush, velvety strawberries.
Exhilaration rippled through her as it always did at the mere notion of dessert—her favorite meal of the day.
Hmm. Very odd.
Chocolate-covered strawberries should be the last thing to pop into her brain—and why the hell was she thinking of them while studying Einstein’s devilishly handsome face?
Come on, Maxi. Get it together.
She focused on his glasses, because they encapsulated his clearly studious, if not somewhat nerdy, disposition. A safer depiction of the man, rather than the temptation of what he attempted to disguise with his scholarly nature and tailored business suit. Really, rugged looks but soft, warm skin and well-maintained nails? All very contradictory. Which enthralled her.
But Maxi couldn’t afford to get sidetracked. She said, “I wasn’t expecting a guest. Are you sure you’re in the correct room?”
“Absolutely. Ms. Kay signed the new employee paperwork and had it couriered to HR earlier, since she’s offsite today. I just wrapped up my end of the legalities and became your Director of Operations as of, oh”—he consulted his watched—“twelve minutes and thirty-two seconds ago.”
Maxi’s brow furrowed. A what the hell are you talking about? comment died on her lips as Avril whipped out her iPhone and then nodded sharply.
“Yep,” Avril confirmed. “HR just forwarded all the documents to you via e-mail and copied me. It’s official.”
“But I never even interviewed you,” Maxi contended.
“My apologies. Ms. Kay has been courting me—for strictly professional purposes—the past few months. My last consulting job just ended so, with all the production issues happening here, I’m more than happy to step into a permanent role to help you shore the defenses, as it were.”
Maxi’s head spun. She wasn’t quite sure what put her in a sudden daze. The fact that Staci had hired a director and Maxi knew nothing about it—or said director’s incredibly sexy voice.
Not that she should be surprised Staci already had something in the works for the vacated post and they hadn’t yet had a chance to discuss the candidate. For God’s sake, Maxi had only been VP for three days. She was still getting her arms wrapped around her own position. And with all the hoopla happening right now—not to mention all of the divisions involved in the calamity—she and Staci hadn’t spent more than fifteen minutes together last week.
Furthermore, she should not be stalled out over Dr. Ryan Donovan’s low, intimate tone and spine-tingling accent.
What the hell was happening there?
“So I was wondering,” Einstein cut into her wayward thoughts. “Would it be all right if I just dove right in and showed you the in-depth analysis I’ve pulled together, along with the strategic initiatives—low-hanging fruit, if you will—that I’ve identified to temporarily pick up our production pace while terms are negotiated to eliminate the necessity for a strike and improve our overall performance with the current staff we have in place? And then, of course, how we’ll strengthen operations for the long haul.”
Maxi stared at him. “Analysis… Initiatives… Fruit…?”
“Sure.” He gave a half-grin. “Might as well get a jump start on the problem, eh?”
“Agreed,” she slowly said, her mind still reeling.
“Great,” Avril chimed in and made another move for the mission statement folders.
Maxi gave a sharp shake of her head. Avril caught on quickly and discreetly shoved the box under the table and out of sight with her foot.
Phew. Good save.
Maxi’s recap provided no in-depth analysis, strategic initiatives, blah, blah, blah. She hadn’t gotten that far yet.
But Einstein had?
He was already reaching into his oversized laptop bag and dragging out his own presentation binders. Thick packets that he started passing out as he said, “Now, you’ll see from the comparison I’ve done of five shoe companies on par with the size of Staci Kay, as well as three at a slightly less employee base and market outreach and three at a bit higher level of employees and outreach, that our production is significantly lower than all comps I’ve used and assessed.”
“That’s because we’re currently understaffed,” Maxi pointed out, feeling a touch territorial of her division and not exactly thrilled Einstein was suddenly taking over with his two-inches of documentation and colorful charts she could see from where she stood as the others hastily flipped through the pages.
“Actually, we’re not,” Dr. Donovan countered. At her crooked brow, he added, “I’ll explain. You see—” He turned to Avril, still standing by Maxi’s chair. “You must be the department assistant.”
“She’s my executive assistant,” Maxi corrected.
“My apologies,” he said to Avril. He offered his hand and they shook.
“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Donovan.”
“Please, call me Ryan.” He flashed a quick grin, which made Avril smile prettily in return. Maxi resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Clearly, his accent and contradictory rugged and refined looks were getting the best of Avril as well.
Einstein said, “I see there’s a projection system in this room. Would it be possible to plug in my thumb drive so I can bring up some visual aids?”
He even had a PowerPoint presentation?
Maxi fought the gape.
Who the hell was this guy?
Obviously finding Einstein charming—as Maxi had suspected—Avril said in an eager voice, “Certainly, Ryan. That’s no problem at all.”
&nbs
p; Traitor!
Maxi scowled.
While she attempted to get her wits about her, Mr. PhD pushed open the floor-to-ceiling doors that housed the projection screen with a flourish, as though he were unveiling the newest USS Enterprise. His slide deck came up and Avril handed over the wireless mouse with a laser pointer. Which he used!
The little red dot homed in on several components of a multilayered, spiked chart as he said, “I calculated Staci Kay production over the past five years and laid it all against our closest competitors and discovered that we’re only operating at a production rate of forty-two-point-three-nine-five percent.”
“Once again,” Maxi stated with measured patience, “that’s because we currently have a reduction in staff, with so many walking out when demand for our product substantially increased.”
“Actually, Ms. Shayne,” he said in a conspiratorial tone that sent a shiver of excitement through her, “I ran these figures based on production six months ago, long before our staff began its mass exodus.”
She opened her mouth to speak, to refute, to… anything. No words came out.
“The fact of the matter is,” he continued, the sexy accent still oozing down Maxi’s spine, “when we were at one-hundred percent functionality and staffing, the output never exceeded the roughly forty-two percent. That means our production has never been at full capacity. Therefore, it’s no wonder we’re suffering under this new paradigm of amplified sales.”
“Excuse me,” Jack Holden, VP of Production, cut in.
Maxi saw Donovan steal a glance at the nameplate before he congenially said, “Mr. Holden, a pleasure to meet you. Please do not think I’m picking on the Production department. I’m merely offering the facts. All of the supporting documentation and data for my findings are contained within your booklets, including appropriate attributions and sourcing.”
Not exactly placated, Jack said in a prickly tone, “We’ve never failed to meet production deadlines and have never disrupted flow or timelines for Facilities, Shipping, or Distribution.”
