Melissa Mcclone - The Man Behind the Pinstripes

That didn’t make sense to Becca. Caleb was the CEO and had final say. She sat next to Gertie. “But if Fair Face doesn’t want the products …”

“You and I are starting our own company.” Gertie spoke with a singsong voice. “We’ll manufacture the products without Fair Face.”

Our own company . It wasn’t over.

Becca’s breath hitched. Her vision blurred. She touched her fingers to her lips.

The dream wasn’t dead. She could make this work. She wasn’t sure how …

Gertie had always spoken as if working with Fair Face on the products was a done deal, but if going into business was their only option that would have to do. “O-kay.”

“Your consultant doesn’t sound very confident,” Caleb said to Gertie. “Face it, you’re a chemist, not a businesswoman.” He looked at Becca. “Maybe you can talk some sense into my grandmother about this crazy idea of hers.”

Becca clenched her hands. She might not know anything about business, but she didn’t like Caleb’s condescending attitude. The guy had some nerve discounting his grandmother.

Forget jade. The color of his eyes reminded her of cucumbers or fava beans. Not only cool, but uninspiring.

Change and taking a risk weren’t part of his vocabulary. But they were hers. “Makes perfect sense to me. I’m in.”

“Wonderful.” Gertie clapped her hands together. “We’ll need an advisor. Caleb?”

A horrified look distorted his face, as if he’d been asked to face the Zombie Apocalypse alone and empty-handed. He took a step back and bumped into a lounge chair. “Not me. I don’t have time.”

His words—dare Becca say excuse?—didn’t surprise her. The guy kept glancing at his watch. She’d bet five bucks he had his life scheduled down to the minute with alarms on his smartphone set to ring, buzz or whistle reminders.

“You wouldn’t leave us on our own to figure things out.” Gertie fluttered her eyelashes as if she were some helpless female—about as helpless as a charging rhino. “You’ll have to make the time.”

His chin jutted forward. Walking across burning coals on his hands looked more appealing than helping them. “Sorry, Grams. I can’t.”

Good. Becca didn’t want his help any more than he wanted to give it. “We’ll find someone else to advise us.”

Gertie grinned, the kind of grin that scientists got when they made a discovery and were about to shout “Eureka!” “Or …”

“Or what?” Becca said at the same time as Caleb.

“We can see if another company is interested in partnering with us.” Gertie listed what Becca assumed to be Fair Face’s main competitors.

Caleb’s lips tightened. His face reddened. His nostrils flared.

Well played, Gertie .

Becca bit back a smile. Not a scientific breakthrough, but a way to break Caleb. Gertie was not only intelligent, but also knew how to get her way. That was how Becca had ended up living at the estate. She wondered if Caleb knew he didn’t stand a chance against his grandmother.

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

“They are my formulas. Developed with my money in my lab here at my house,” Gertie said. “I can do whatever I want with them.”

True. But Gertie owned the privately held Fair Face.

Becca didn’t need an MBA from a hallowed ivy-covered institute to know Gertie’s actions might have repercussions.

Caleb rested his hands on the back of the chair. One by one, his fingers tightened around the wood until his knuckles turned white.

Say no .

Becca didn’t want him to advise them. She and Gertie needed help starting a new business. But Becca would rather not see Caleb again. She couldn’t deny a physical attraction to him. Strange. She preferred going out with a rough-around-the-edges and not-so-full-of-themselves type of guy. Working-class guys like her.

Being attracted to a man who had money and power was stupid and dangerous. Men like that could ruin her plans. Her life. One had.

Of course, Caleb hadn’t shown the slightest interest in her. He wouldn’t. He would never lower his standards. Except maybe for one night.

No, thanks.

Becca wanted nothing to do with Caleb Fairchild.

Caleb was trapped, by the patio furniture and by his grandmother. This was not the way he’d expected the meeting to go. He was outnumbered and had no reinforcements. Time to rein in his grams before all hell broke loose.

He gave her a look, the look that said he knew exactly what she was doing. Too bad she was more interested in the tail-wagging, paw-prancing dogs at her feet. No matter, he knew how to handle Grams. Her so-called consultant was another matter.

Becca seemed pleased by his predicament. She sat with her shoulders squared and her lips pursed, as if she were looking for a fight. Not exactly the type of behavior he would have expected from a consultant, even a dog one.

He would bet Becca was the one who talked Grams into making the dog products. Nothing else would explain why his grandmother had strayed from developing products that had made her and Fair Face a fortune.

It had to be Becca behind all this nonsense.

The woman was likely a con artist looking to turn this consulting gig into a big pay off. She could be stealing when Grams wasn’t paying attention. Maybe a heist of artwork and jewelry and silver was in the works. His wealthy family had always been a target of people wanting to take advantage of them. People like Cassandra. Grams could be in real danger.

Sure, Becca looked more like a college student than a scammer. Especially wearing a “No outfit is complete without dog hair” T-shirt and jean shorts that showed off long, smooth, thoroughbred legs.

She had great legs. He’d give her that.

But looks could be deceiving. He’d fallen for Cassandra and her glamorous façade.

Not that Becca was glamorous.

With her short, pixie-cut brown hair and no makeup she was pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. If he’d ever had a next-door neighbor whose house wasn’t separated by acres of land, high fences and security cameras.

But Becca wasn’t all rainbows and apple pie.

Her blue eyes, tired and hardened and wary, contradicted her youthful appearance. She wasn’t innocent or naïve. Definitely not one of the princess types he’d known at school or the social climbers he knew around town. There was an edge to her he couldn’t quite define, and that … intrigued him.

Worried him, too.

He didn’t want anyone taking advantage of Grams.

Speaking of which, he faced his grandmother. “It’s not going to work.”

Grams glanced up from the dogs. The five animals worshipped at her feet as if she were a demigod or a large slice of bacon dressed in pink. “What’s not going to work, dear?”

A smile tugged on the corners of Becca’s mouth, as if she were amused by the situation.

Caleb pressed his lips together. He didn’t like her.

Any consultant with an ounce of integrity would have taken his side on this. But what did he expect from a woman who wore sports sandals with neon-orange-and-green toenail polish to work? He bet she was covered with tattoos and piercings beneath her clothing.

Sexy images of her filled his mind.

Focus .

He rocked back on his heels. “If you partner with one of Fair Face’s competitors, the media will turn this into a firestorm. Imagine how the employees will react. You’re the creative influence behind our products. How will you reconcile what you do for one company with the other?”

“Animal products for them. Human products for Fair Face.” A sheepish grin formed on Grams’s lips. “It was only a thought.”

A dog tried to get his attention, first rubbing against Caleb’s leg then staring up at him. Seemed as if everyone was giving him the soulful-puppy-look today. “A ploy.”