The Playboy's Protegee. Michele Dunaway

Joe’s Good Eats suddenly being called something else. Mr. Jacobsen, could you just give up Grandpa Joe’s knowing it was going to be torn down or sold for something else?” She looked back at Joe Jacobsen. He looked thoughtful. “It was your very first business venture, the one that gave you the capital to launch Henrietta’s and Jacobsen. It’s the company cornerstone. Well, could you give it up? Sir?”

      Grandpa Joe shook his head. “No, which is why I haven’t even considered the option even though the land value has quadrupled. The restaurant is like a baby. It even predates my children.” He leaned back in his chair, his blue gaze fixating on her as he waited for her reply.

      “Exactly. I’m sure neither can Mr.—” she checked the folder “—Althoff. While he wants out, he also has a bond with these neighborhoods. It’s a private company, not public. It has no stockholders but himself and people he chose to sell shares to.”

      “But what about the restaurants that are losing money?” Harry asked. “What proposal do you have for them?”

      Megan tapped her pen on the folder again. “We need to see why they are losing money. Is it that the neighborhood is in decline? Maybe there is too much competition in the area. Maybe the factory has closed. That’s research we need to do. We may be able to move an Evie’s restaurant down the block a ways and discover that it becomes an overnight sensation in its new home.”

      “Can you prove that works?” Harry asked.

      “Absolutely,” Megan turned back to Harry. If looks could kill. She pressed on anyway. “Remember when the Chicken Clatch found it wasn’t successful in Eureka’s fast-food row? So the company closed the store and built one five miles west in Pacific. It’s a runaway success. We need to consider these types of things before we up our offer, or decide to kill the Evie’s name.”

      Joe Jacobsen signaled his approval by nodding. “Excellent thoughts, Megan. Those are points we need to consider. Keeping ten successful venues, even if we have to move some down the block as Megan says, would be more income to Jacobsen than five. Jill, will you look into those possibilities?”

      “Yes, sir,” Jill replied. “I’d be delighted.”

      “Good,” Joe said. “Next item.”

      As his grandfather moved on to the next item, Harry wanted to spit. Perfect little Megan MacGregor. Even though a brainstorming meeting wasn’t a competition, once again she’d bested him. He brushed aside the begrudging respect he had for her performance. Her performance didn’t matter. His did.

      Would his grandfather ever see him as a valid player? Harry fumed, hating himself for even taking a moment to wallow in self-pity. But after all, when had he been good enough? He’d gone to the wrong college, failed Grandpa Joe’s indoctrination into the company—no way had Harry wanted to spend two weeks cooking in Grandpa Joe’s Good Eats—and now he hadn’t even had decent ideas in a brainstorming session.

      Megan’s ideas were dead on, and what miffed Harry was that they’d come from her, not him. If he didn’t get his act together, despite his MBA and being family, he’d never get promoted to any type of vice president. Too bad he was too driven and actually wanted to work. If not, he could have just lived off his trust fund and been a playboy like his cousin Shane.

      He suddenly realized he hadn’t been paying attention to what was going on. Panic filled him and he tried to focus. The last thing he needed was to be caught off guard in a meeting. Thankfully everyone was still talking about the New York trip. Jacobsen Enterprises was sending a team in one week to hopefully finish and wrap up the negotiations with Smith and Bethesda, the legal firm representing Evie’s Pancake Houses.

      “And of course, Megan, I want you as part of the team.”

      The chair hit Harry in the back as he sat up. Megan had just been added to the negotiation team? He had missed something. He was leading the team, and his nemesis had just thorned her way into his side.

      To conceal his irritation, Harry focused on an oil painting on the wall above Megan’s head. Suddenly everyone began clapping. Great. Obviously not his day. Now what had he missed?

      Something major from the way everyone was smiling at him. Harry smiled automatically, hiding his lack of a clue.

      “Congratulations,” someone said.

      “What a great pairing,” the executive to his right said. “You and Megan MacGregor. She’s talent extraordinare. Think of what you two can accomplish.”

      “Thank you,” Harry said. He glanced up at his grandfather. Grandpa Joe looked smug and instantly Harry knew what he’d missed. Grandpa Joe had just announced at the meeting that he, Harry, was Megan’s mentor. His beloved grandfather had just caught him in a corner and used it to his advantage. There was no way Harry could retaliate or back out now. He was stuck. Grandpa Joe arched his white eyebrows at Harry, the movement and his twinkling blue eyes saying what words could not.

      Harry had been had. He was stuck. He’d have to play along. His sister’s words came into his head. They were the ones she’d often repeated when frustrated during her tenure at Jacobsen’s, “If I didn’t love Grandpa Joe.”

      His grandfather came over to his seat and leaned down to speak just so Harry could hear. “It’s for your own good, and that of Jacobsen’s. Keep that in mind. I will expect you to accomplish this with no problems.”

      “I understand,” Harry replied. He watched his grandfather leave the conference room. Four years of acting in high school theater allowed Harry to keep his face schooled into a neutral mask that hid all of his raging anger.

      His only consolation was that across the table Megan looked shell-shocked. And for once she was speechless as people began leaving the meeting, each telling her congratulations as they walked by.

      “HOW’D IT GO?” Cheryl looked up from sorting the mail as Megan returned to her office.

      “Great,” Megan lied as she walked toward her cubicle. “Just great.”

      Normally she would stop and chat with Cheryl. As a co-worker, she liked Cheryl. Because of poor performance, Megan had needed to fire the previous receptionist.

      “I’m glad it went great,” Cheryl called after her.

      Yeah, Megan thought. Most of the meeting had gone great.

      The meeting had been going well, even after she’d made the major blunder of opening her mouth and blurting out her opinion of Harry’s idea.

      After all, the meeting had been a brainstorming and that’s what think-tank brainstorming was, a shouting out of ideas so that people could look at all sides of the issues.

      But she’d crossed Harry Sanders, again. Why did she keep doing that? This was the second time her politically incorrect semantics had discredited his ideas.

      And then Joe Jacobsen announced to everyone that Harry was her mentor.

      “I didn’t accept the job, you know.”

      She’d recognize his voice anywhere. Its husky baritone washed over her, and she whirled around in her chair, finding Harry Sanders standing at the entrance to her cubicle, his presence filling the small opening. “So we can find some common ground and manage to work together on this project, know that he poleaxed me too.”

      “I see,” Megan said. She bit back her anger. If he’d only backed out when she’d asked. But that didn’t matter now. They were stuck. Fighting like at their last encounter in his office would do both little good.

      So instead she took a good look at him. Tiny hints of strain etched lines around his blue eyes. They were Jacobsen blue eyes, just like his grandfather’s. The only thing missing was the warmth Joe Jacobsen always had in his.

      But there was no doubt about it, Harry Sanders was a beautiful man. His hair, almost the color of wheat with natural highlights washed through, was short and cropped into the latest fashion. His eyes were set deep—the top lid hidden,