Acquiring Mr. Right. Laurie Paige

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      Acquiring Mr. Right

      Laurie Paige

      For my pal, Alison, and the many treks through

       the desert near her home and to the trip we’ve

       planned down the Grand Canyon…someday.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Coming Next Month

      Chapter One

      Krista Aquilon parked close to the entrance of the Heymyer Home Appliances Company. The shiny red compact sedan was the first new auto she’d ever owned, and she was rather proud of the birthday present she’d bought for herself.

      That thought usually cheered her, but not today. She unlocked the door and went into the silent building.

      It was Sunday, the second day of April. The day after her birthday. Sometimes she wondered if the Fates had been laughing when they planned her birth date. She’d been an April Fool’s baby, a fact that had gotten her a lot of teasing while growing up.

      At any rate, she tried to keep Sundays free of work in order to maintain the illusion of a personal life, but today was an exception. The health of the company rather than her own well-being was foremost in her mind. As chief financial officer, she had a lot to worry about.

      The place wasn’t doing well. And all her suggestions for reviving it had been ignored, for the most part.

      Pausing in the act of locking the entrance door behind her, she realized there was a red sports car under the portico at the side of the building, a space strictly reserved for James M. Heymyer, her eighty-year-old boss and a stickler for protocol.

      His concept of protocol, she thought. She was more egalitarian in her views.

      A reluctant smile tugged at her lips as she pictured the stunned outrage on his face at the audacity of anyone parking in his place. Not even Mason, Heymyer’s son and heir, would be that bold. However, since it was Sunday, the boss wouldn’t be in, so it probably didn’t matter.

      Returning to the original concerns that had brought her into the office, she sighed as she crossed the atrium-type lobby and went up the steps to the second floor.

      All the executive offices were located on this level. “VIP Row,” the other employees called it, as if the initials were a word. She’d gone from the plant production lines as a student on a work/study program during her college years to a “VIP” three years ago. After getting a business degree, she’d been promoted to accounts supervisor, then manager of the accounting department. She’d landed the head financial position last fall after earning her MBA.

      At twenty-five, that could be considered quite a feat, but she was pretty sure the old man hadn’t been able to get anyone else to fill the slot, which had been empty since the former CFO retired eighteen months ago.

      One look at the books and anyone with a grain of sense would have run the other way, she grimly reminded her conscience, or whatever it was that wouldn’t let her give the place up as a lost cause.

      However, unless someone came up with a solution—and fast—Heymyer Home Appliances was gasping its last.

      While the company marketed products under its own name, it also manufactured appliances for other brands. In fact, that was the bulk of their income. They had lost a major contract last week. Without it, they wouldn’t have the cash flow to meet the payroll by the end of July.

      In a town the size of Grand Junction, Colorado, population fifty thousand, a business failure leaving a thousand employees out of work would have a serious impact on the community. The city would lose one of its important revenue sources. The many mom-and-pop stores in town would struggle. Some might have to close. Even professionals—doctors, lawyers, bankers—would be affected.

      Worst of all, families would suffer. Fear and tension caused quarrels and broken marriages. Children would be hurt. And that bothered Krista most of all. She knew how it felt to be frightened and helpless in a world that didn’t seem to care.

      She stopped at the top of the stairs. A light was on in the end office, the one belonging to the president and CEO. Some instinct warned her this wasn’t good.

      Or perhaps the boss was taking her warnings about bankruptcy seriously and had come in to study her idea to take a bold new tack.

      But James Heymyer driving a red roadster? No way.

      So who was in his office?

      As she walked down the carpeted hallway, she heard voices. Male voices. One she recognized as belonging to the boss. The low, rich timbre of the other wasn’t familiar to her.

      She paused at her door, listening to the tone. The depth and resonance of the voice were almost like a caress.

      Krista had barely sat down and pulled up the latest balance sheet on her computer when Heymyer appeared at the door.

      “James, good morning,” she said warmly.

      As soon as she was made a department head, she’d started calling the owner by his given name. A mental image of his eyebrows nearly flying off his forehead the first time she’d done so came to her.

      But he hadn’t said anything.

      Too bad. She’d had her points lined up about being on equal footing with the other managers—all men, who called the big boss “James”—and being taken seriously by them.

      And the owner.

      “What the hell are you doing here? I didn’t know you planned to come in today,” he now said in accusatory tones.

      “The place is usually empty on Sundays,” she said, her tone level. “It’s quiet, and I wanted to go over the financials before the staff meeting tomorrow.”

      She kept her expression pleasant and her mouth closed. He’d long since made it clear he didn’t want any further ideas from her on saving the company. However, when she reported the cash flow problems tomorrow, he was going to have to face the fact that bankruptcy was looming.

      A helpless anger ran through her, making it harder to hold back the recitation of all they could have done to save the business. If he had listened.

      “I guess you may as well meet Lance today,” James told her in a resigned tone.

      Lance?

      The guy with the sleek red car, she decided. The one who’d brought the old man to the office, an act so unusual she couldn’t figure out what it might mean.

      That instinctual alarm rolled through her again. She reluctantly shut down the computer and headed for the end office with James. Annoyance filled her now. She’d expected to be alone and so was dressed in faded jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt with sneakers. No makeup.

      Oh, well. It didn’t make a bit of difference. In a small, home-grown company like this, everyone dressed pretty casual, even James…unless he was meeting with the bankers. Then the executives were alerted to dress the part of successful businesspeople.

      They crossed the secretary’s office and went into the inner sanctum, where heads sometimes rolled and shattered egos splattered