Corporate Affair (6 page)

Jordan threw her blazer and bag into the chair at her desk and crossed the room to call Ashley in from her desk, but the door opened before she could reach it. The two women nearly collided.

“Oh, Ashley,” she said, somewhat startled. “I was just coming out to get you. Will you help me go over these proposals? I’ve got to know the ins and outs of each one, especially the Fenton one because I’m meeting him for dinner at the Inn tonight. I want to get finished in time to get home so I can shower and change.”

“Of course I’ll help,” said Ashley. “Actually, I was coming in to talk to you about Fenton.”

Jordan blinked to cover her surprise. “Well, come sit down.” She gestured to the wing chairs and turned to take two portfolios off her desk. As they sat down, Jordan said, “So, you have some ideas about the Fenton proposal?”

Ashley and Jordan had gone to high school together. They had not been close friends, but they had always been friendly. Ashley had worked at Chat for a year before Jordan started, and they had developed a professional friendship that soon grew into a personal one. Ashley was a tiny girl, almost a head shorter than Jordan. She was slim, quick, and efficient. She seemed to have an uncanny knack for anticipating things before Jordan asked for them. Ashley’s appearance seemed to be of great concern to her. She was always dressed as well as her income level would permit. Her long, color-enhanced black hair was always done in a smooth, low pony tail, or draped artfully over her forehead and down her back. And, Jordan noticed jealously, it stayed draped all day, with never a single hair out of place. Jordan was bound to reflect on the fact that if she ever tried to wear her own hair like that, her curls would burst forth of their own accord, giving her the look of a crazy person. Ashley wore way too much makeup for Jordan’s taste, almost as though she was performing on stage. Her blue-gray eyes were heavily lined in black. Her lashes were coated with black mascara, and the three shades of artfully blended eye shadow made her eyes seem abnormally large. It was obvious she frequented tanning salons, but her gentle nature was her own, and little by little, it was this that Jordan came to see.

Jordan had initially remarked to Gene Palmer that Ashley seemed nervous, almost on edge, but Mr. Palmer had only laughed and called her “watchful” instead. And, as Jordan got to know her better, she found herself relying more and more on Ashley to keep the everyday details of the business in order. She found her quite up to the task. “Watchful” had been a good word. Nothing seemed to escape Ashley Hart. However, it was very unlike her to read through a proposal without express permission or a request to do so from Jordan or Mr. Palmer.

Jordan settled herself back into the comfortable wing chair, the proposals on her lap. She looked up at Ashley.

“So you’ve read the Fenton proposal. Tell me, then, what did you think?”

Ashley’s large eyes grew larger. “Jordan! Of course I didn’t read the proposal. You know me better than that!”

“I thought you said you had something to say about the Fenton proposal?”

“I said I wanted to tell you something about Fenton. Christopher Fenton.”

Jordan was brought up short. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t understand.”

“Vanessa called me this afternoon,” Ashley continued. “Just before you got back.”

“So? What does that have to do with Chris Fenton?”

“Well, it seems he came into the pub this afternoon for something to eat. Larry Sample was at the bar with somebody else. Vanessa didn’t say who. Anyway, Larry told Vanessa to call me and have me tell you not to trust him. He said Fenton was saying things he didn’t like.”

Jordan’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. “Hm,” she said. “What did Fenton say?”

“Larry didn’t specify. Just don’t trust him.”

“Well, I wouldn’t, anyway. Both these companies only want what they can get out of Chat, which is territory. It’s my job to see that a deal gets closed that’s beneficial to us, not them. Because no matter what they say, no matter what they sign, eventually they’ll do whatever they want. I do wonder what Larry Sample heard, though.”

“Do you want me to call him?”

Jordan laughed sardonically as she leafed through the proposal. “Oh, no. Don’t bother. You know Larry. He’s always digging up dirt somewhere.”

They worked over the proposals for a full two hours. Finally, Jordan looked at the clock. “It’s getting late,” she said. “I need to get ready. Can you get these properly printed and bound? I want to have it as ammunition. I know what I’m talking about, but with these guys you have to have everything on paper and you have to back up all your convictions with hard arguments. Also, I want to leave in time to stop in and see Mr. Palmer.”

“How’s he doing?”

“He just finished up another round of chemotherapy. He’s got a break now for a while, but he wants to get this wrapped up soon.” Jordan sighed. “He’s only seventy-four. That’s not that old.”

Ashley shook her head slowly. “My grandfather died when he was eighty-six, and we thought he was too young to die. Eighty-six is ten years past the average. It’s just that we didn’t want to let him go.”

“I suppose so,” said Jordan as Ashley shut her laptop and stood up.

“I’ll be right back,” she said to Jordan and left the room.

Jordan watched her. Sometimes she envied Ashley. She was so steady, so kind. She saw the truth in everything—she and her husband, Kyle, had been together since eighth grade. They had both attended The Community College of Vermont, and when they graduated, they got married. For three years they had lived in a tiny, three-room apartment up over MacTavish’s Pub. Ashley worked as a waitress; Kyle held the job he’d had all the way through high school as a mechanic at Rick’s Garage. When Ashley finally secured her position at ChatDotCom, they bought a small Cape-style house from Kyle’s cousin on a pretty side street in town. Everything seemed to fall into place for Ashley. Jordan was sure there would be children, probably two. Probably a boy and a girl, two years apart.

Jordan truly didn’t begrudge Ashley a thing. That was just the way things worked out for some people. She sighed again. Other people were destined to travel a more circuitous route. She slipped into her jacket and picked up her bag.

Ashley returned with the document. “Here’s the portfolio,” she said, handing the bound paper to Jordan. “I made extra copies. They’re in my desk if you need them, but I think you should only need the one for tonight. Good luck, Jordan!”

“Thanks,” said Jordan, smiling. “I’m kind of weak in the knees. Maybe I’ll feel better after I talk to Mr. Palmer.”

“You’ll do just fine. You always do. Tell Mr. Palmer I’m thinking of him.”

“I will. Good night, Ashley.”

Jordan walked out the front door to her car. Going to see Mr. Palmer was always a bittersweet experience. She missed him, gone from the office for six months now. On a daily basis, she missed his guidance, his friendship, his mentoring. She tried to see him every chance she got. They had a regular meeting every Monday afternoon and Thursday morning, but she tried to squeeze in extra visits too. She knew he was always glad to see her.

On the other hand, it pained her immensely to see the once large, boisterous dynamo of a man compromised by disease. He had lost almost fifty pounds. His hair was thin and his skin gray. His face bore the pinched look of a man struggling with serious illness and pain and the rigors of the treatment protocol. When Jordan had accepted the position as his personal assistant two years ago, right after her internship, he had been one of the strongest, surest people she had ever known. He taught her to trust herself, in spite of her circumstances. And in spite of her circumstances, she had rallied, found her niche, and come to know and trust her own judgment. Her confidence had grown until she knew she could depend upon herself. She could do it, whatever needed to be done. And she owed that confidence, that self-awareness, to Gene Palmer.

When Grace came along, Jordan was cognizant of the gossip that swirled around her, but she steeled herself and gave it no credence. She showed up to work every day and did her job with skill and finesse, just as she always did. She made it a rule to discuss her private life with no one. Mr. Palmer knew the truth, and Ashley and her family knew the truth. They were the only people who mattered to her. Everybody else could think what they wanted.

She turned off the main street and drove slowly up the long, curved drive. At the top of the hill sat the Palmer house. Built at the turn of the century by a wealthy factory owner, it was a large, imposing, two-story brick square. A white portico softened the front, and a meticulously pruned juniper hedge bordered the lawn. A garage had been added much later, and a greenhouse-style solarium connected it to the house. Jordan parked in front of the garage and entered through the solarium door. Gene Palmer’s wife of fifty-one years looked up from where she sat at the small table in the garden-like room. The late afternoon sun warmed the space. Jordan closed the door on the encroaching chill of the spring evening.

“Hi, Mrs. Palmer,” said Jordan softly. “How is he today? Is he up for a quick meeting? I’m having a business dinner with Christopher Fenton this evening. I just wanted to speak to him for a minute.”

Marie Palmer, dark circles under her eyes, gave a tired smile and stood up, smoothing the front of her skirt. “Hello, Jordan. Actually, he’s doing pretty well today. He sat out here with me for lunch. He asked for grilled cheese sandwiches and some soup. I gave it to him, and he kept it down. Then he went in for a nap—”

“And here I am!” Gene Palmer called out as he walked into the room. In spite of his compromised physical state, Jordan was still aware of the old man’s dignity, sharp intelligence, and curiosity. He moved slowly but steadily toward Jordan and gave her a quick hug. “Have a seat, Jordan. We’ll sit out here. The sun feels good.” Gene sat down heavily on the cushioned wicker sofa with a groan. “There,” he said with a little gasp as he settled himself. Jordan flashed him a warm smile to cover her own sadness and sat down in a wicker chair opposite him.

“Shall I leave you two alone?” Marie asked. “Would you like something to drink?”

Her husband scoffed. “You sit right beside me, Marie.” He patted the cushion on his right and then said, “I would like some ice water, though, please, dear.”

“I’ll get it right away.” Marie left the room.

Gene leaned in toward Jordan and winked at her in mock conspiracy. “I like to keep her as close to me as possible these days,” he said with a grin. “Don’t want her running off with the gardener!”

“Oh, Mr. Palmer!” laughed Jordan.

“Well, things like this change the way a man thinks about things. Marie and I spent too much time apart when I was building the business. She had her hands full working and raising the kids. It wasn’t much help, my being absent. No more. Better late than never.”

“Here you are, dear.” Marie returned with a tall glass of ice water and set it on the low table in front of the sofa. She sat down beside her husband.

“So what’s happening with this sale, Jordan?” asked Mr. Palmer.

Jordan laid the proposal down in front of him. He picked it up and scanned through it while she talked. “This morning I met with Aiden Stewart from Trade Winds. This evening I’m having a dinner meeting with Christopher Fenton from Fenton Industries. I have a feeling that Trade Winds just doesn’t have the cash to throw around that Fenton does, but Fenton seems to have too many fingers in too many pies. At least Trade Winds is focused. It’s the only thing they do. I have a feeling that Fenton Industries goes around buying up companies and then sells them off in pieces to the highest bidder.”

“Hm,” said Gene, not looking up from the proposal. “What makes you say that?”

“Christopher Fenton is flashing around a lot of money. The offer I received from him was heavy on the cash. It made me think he wasn’t that interested in ChatDotCom itself, just the territory it’s in. I didn’t get the impression he was concerned with the same things we are.”

“And what are we concerned with, Jordan?” He glanced up from the portfolio and looked at her sharply.

Jordan was past being afraid of Gene. It was just his way to react like this. He wanted to hear her say exactly what she thought. He always made her follow her plans through mentally before trying to carry them out. It was an exercise they went through together whenever a decision had to be reached.

“Well, ChatDotCom is one of the largest employers in this area. We employee over four hundred people, and that represents a lot of the area’s economy. There’s the college, there’s the two hospitals, and there’s Chat. Together we employ most of the population. For any of those institutions to close would devastate the work force. And that’s not good. I know.”

“Your father isn’t working yet?” Gene asked suddenly.

Jordan shook her head. “No, but there are a couple of jobs, finish carpentry things, that he’s interviewing for next week. He’s really hoping.”

“Nothing for him at Chat?”

Jordan smiled and shook her head slowly. “No, really, there isn’t. Thanks, anyway, Mr. Palmer. We’re doing all right.”

“Well, your parents are fine people, and you’re lucky to have them helping with the baby,” Marie added. “How is Grace?”

Jordan smiled broadly. “Oh, Mrs. Palmer! She took her first steps today!”

Marie clasped her hands. “Wonderful! Such a magical time!”