Harlequin Special Edition October 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 (39 page)
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Authors: CHRISTINE RIMMER
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ISBN-13: 9781460387030
Rock-a-Bye Bride
Copyright © 2015 by Tracy Leigh Ritts
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical,
now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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This Barlow Brother Always Gets What He Wants
Mac Barlow never met a deal he couldn't make. But this corporate shark just hit a gorgeous roadblock. Mac will do anything to acquire Savannah Hillstrand's struggling solar energy companyâeven return to Stone Gap and face down a shattering secret in his family's past. Just one problem: the breathtaking blonde refuses to sell.
Determined to save her father's legacy, Savannah makes Mac an offer he can't refuse. He'll show her how to turn her business around. If she fails, the company is his. Instead, it's Savannah who's changing the way the hunky, buttoned-up CEO sees the bottom line...and is in danger of losing her heart. Can she help Mac reconcile with his past and claim a future with the irresistible Barlow bachelor?
“How about this? You give me advice. If at the end of the month, the business is still sinking under my direction, I will sell it to you at a very fair price.”
A ghost of a smile whispered across Mac's face.
For a moment, that smile made him look handsome, desirable. The kind of guy you'd sit down with at the end of a long day, with a glass of wine and a view of the water.
Good Lord. Now she was waxing romantic about the corporate raider who wanted to destroy her family's pride and joy.
Savannah perched on the edge of the desk. “You know, if you agree to my plan, people might start to call you nice and charming.”
“That's your best reason for why I should help you? To change public perception?”
“That, and earn a chunk of good karma points. Everyone needs those, even evil corporate raiders.”
His gaze locked on hers. “I'm not evil.”
She leaned in, closing the distance until she caught the scent of his cologne, something dark and mysterious, like the man who wore it. “Then prove it.”
* * *
THE BARLOW BROTHERS:
Nothing tames a Southern man faster...than true love!
Dear Reader,
Welcome back to Stone Gap! I'm really enjoying this town and the Barlow brothers. I grew up in a small town in Massachusetts, and every time I write about a place like Stone Gap, it makes me feel like I'm back home. I think there's something magical about small-town living, where you know pretty much everyone, and pretty much everyone knows you.
I especially love the Barlow family, and really enjoyed exploring some secrets and extra dimensions to their family dynamic. No family is perfect, and even the Barlows have faced their own challengesâwith a big one to come in Mac's book.
I hope you enjoy
The Tycoon's Proposal
and this visit back to Stone Gap and the Barlow clan. Be sure to look for Jack's (
The Homecoming Queen Gets Her Man
) and Luke's (
The Instant Family Man
) stories for more of these sexy, charming brothers!
See you back in Stone Gap again soon!
Happy reading,
Shirley
The Tycoon's Proposal
Shirley Jump
New York Times
and
USA TODAY
bestselling author
Shirley Jump
spends her days writing romance so she can avoid the
towering stack of dirty dishes, eat copious amounts of chocolate and reward
herself with trips to the mall. Visit her website at
shirleyjump.com
for author news and a booklist, and follow her at
facebook.com/shirleyjump.author
for giveaways
and deep discussions about important things like chocolate and shoes.
Books by Shirley Jump
Harlequin Special Edition
The Barlow Brothers
The Instant Family Man
The Homecoming Queen Gets Her Man
Harlequin Romance
The Christmas Baby Surprise
The Matchmaker's Happy Ending
Mistletoe Kisses with the Billionaire
Return of the Last McKenna
How the Playboy Got Serious
One Day to Find a Husband
Family Christmas in Riverbend
The Princess Test
How to Lasso a Cowboy
Midnight Kiss, New Year Wish
If the Red Slipper Fits...
Visit the Author Profile page at
Harlequin.com
for more titles.
To my friends who are always there with a hug or a laugh when I need it most. You know who you areâand you know I'd do the same for you. You make the hard times easier and the good times even better.
Chapter One
W
hen Mac Barlow was born, people claimed they heard his grandpa say, “That boy is gonna be somethin' when he grows up. I can just see the fire burnin' in his belly.” Grandpa Barlow had died twenty years ago, so there was no one to prove or disprove that moment when Earl Ray Barlow held his first grandson. But the rumor had stuck in the family, growing into a legend, embellished by aunts and uncles and siblings, like extra tinsel on a Christmas tree.
Of course, anyone who knew Mac Barlow knew he'd definitely grown up and into those words. His days did indeed revolve around a roaring fire in his gut for more, his life filled to the brim with long lists of things to do, people to call, deals to make. He'd started when he was a freshman in college, starting with a little seed money he'd accumulated working part-time at a car lot while he was in high school. From the day he'd collected his first paycheck, and had grown into one of this year's Thirty Under Thirty touted in
Forbes
magazine.
So when he roared into Stone Gap, North Carolina, on a Sunday afternoon, it was to kill two birds with one stoneâattend his brother Jack's wedding and finalize a business purchase that would add to the Barlow Enterprises coffers.
A purchase that was being thwarted at every possible turn by one singularly stubborn woman. But Mac had never met an obstacle he couldn't beat, a deal he couldn't close, which was what had him here, in person, to get Savannah Hillstrand to see the light, literally, and sell to him. Today.
Mac roared down the streets of Stone Gap, a passing figure on a Harley some might think a ghost, considering he was dressed all in black and driving, as usual, at breakneck speed. He leaned into the curve, nearly kissing the asphalt as he turned on to the street where he'd grown up. These moments on the bike, too few for his liking, were when Mac was finally able to shed the skin of the executive he was during the week. No suit, no tie, no one calling him or emailing him or knocking on his door, wanting a decision. Just him, the bike and the road. It was about as close to a vacation as Mac Barlow got.
He passed through Stone Gap in a moment, like the blip it was. Parts of the town were still frozen in time like some antebellum reenactment of the gentrified preâCivil War days. He barely slowed for the light downtown, hardly glanced at the buildings that hadn't changed in decades. He kept on going, taking the Oak Street shortcut to the highway. Once he hit I-95, the road opened up and he pushed the throttle. The wind whipped past him, fighting the Harley every mile he rode. Ten miles up, he exited the highway and pulled into the parking lot of an office building.
For a meeting that was only going to end one wayâwith Mac getting what he wanted.
One lone car sat in the parking lot, a pale blue Toyota that had seen better days. Mac flipped out his cell phone and dialed Savannah's cell. While he waited for her to answer, he glanced up at the glass building, which reflected the late-afternoon sun like a prism. Solar panels covered the roof, angled toward the midday light. The Hillstrand sign itself was powered by a quartet of solar panels, and shaped like a rising sun cresting over the horizon. Nice, Mac thought.
Four rings, five, then she finally answered. “Hello?”
She had a pleasant voice. Melodic. All their previous exchanges had been by email. The dulcet tones of her hello
surprised him. “Miss Hillstrand, it's Mac Barlow. I'm here for our meeting.”
“Of course. I'm glad you made it, and on time at that. I appreciate punctuality.” He pictured her on the other end, one of those librarian types with tortoiseshell glasses and her hair in one of those buns. Her emails had always been short and abrupt, all neat and organized the way he imagined she was. “Come on up. I'm in the main offices on the fifth floor.”
She gave him the code to the door, and directions for when he entered the building. He keyed in the numbers, then headed up the stairs, bypassing the elevator to climb to the top floor, where the corporate offices were located. Probably one of those overpriced corner spaces that most CEOs inhabited.
As he walked, he ran through the facts in his head. Hillstrand Solar, one of the top solar-power manufacturers in the South, run for years by Willy Jay Hillstrand, a local fixture who had taken the home-remodeling company started by his grandfather and shifted its direction into renewable energy. In the process, Willie Jay had turned the small family business into a behemoth. Mac had seen the notice about Willy Jay dying a few months back and how he'd left the company to his only child, his daughter. Mac had given her a month, then sent one of his managers out to make her an offer she couldn't refuse.
Except she had refused. The first offer, the second and the third.
He'd let her struggle for another month, then sent another inquiry. She'd ignored him. He waited a third month, and she ignored him again.
A saner man would have moved on by now, but Mac needed this particular business. Willy Jay had had his hand in everything a solar panel could juice, from giant commercial factories to small backyard pools. If there was a solar panel anywhere between North Carolina and the southern tip of Florida, chances were it was made by Hillstrand.
And that was an industry Mac needed. He'd begun to shift his business in the past few years from immediately selling off the corporations he bought, to creating a package deal of sorts by combining companies that worked together. He could command a higher price and unload more inventory at once. Hillstrand Solar, with its expertise and command of the alternative energy market, was a gold mine for the right builder, and Mac had several potential buyers already lined up. Paired with the lumber company he had bought last month, a concrete company the month before and the real estate acquisition he'd made this past week, Hillstrand was the perfect bow on an already-strong package.
Savannah Hillstrand, the newly appointed head of the company, was barely treading water, Mac had heard from a number of his connections. She was struggling to hold on to her father's dream. Which meant if she was smart, she'd sell to him.
He had a sense she was beginning to cave when she'd accepted his offer of a meeting today. A Sunday afternoon, the offices quiet, the phones silent, a time when he could make his strongest offer, in person. He could be in and out in an hour, and then on to the next project. At least four other companies were on his list to look at while he was down south.
Okay, and maybe part of him had welcomed the Sunday meeting because it gave him a reason to put off seeing his family while he was in town. He loved his brothers, he really did, but when it came to his parentsâwell, his father had made disapproval into an art.
Truthfully, his father was the last person Mac wanted to see. He had no idea how to approach himâlet alone face himâafter the whopper of a surprise he'd run into last week. Dropping a bomb such as,
Hey Dad, I met my secret sibling
, wasn't likely to make him the favorite son at Sunday dinner.
Pushing thoughts of family out of his mind for the moment, Mac opened the heavy steel stairwell door on the fifth floor and walked into a boring, dull gray space. Faux carpeted cubicles blended so well with the gray carpet that it looked more like a boring ocean than an office. He had seen hundreds of offices like this, each about as exciting as watching paint dry. His own offices in Boston were bright, expansive, open. He'd designed them to encourage creative thinking, for his team to be able to collaborate freely and feel energized. Hillstrand Solar felt a lot like walking into a prison.
“Mr. Barlow. We meet in person finally.”
He spun around and saw a tall, beautiful blonde standing behind him. No bun, no granny glasses. In fact, Savannah Hillstrand was the exact opposite of what he had pictured.
She wore a tailored pantsuit in a slate gray with a silky pink shirt beneath the jacket. Her hair was in a loose ponytail with a few escaped tendrils curling along her neck and a pencil sticking upwards out of the elastic like a forgotten ornament. She wore a minimum of makeup, just a little mascara and a glossy pink lipstick that kept his gaze riveted on her mouth for far too long.
“Miss Hillstrand.” He strode forward, his hand outstretched, his voice businesslike and unemotional. But inside his chest his pulse was skipping a little. Had to be the meal he'd missed or the long hours on the road. “You aren't quite...uh...what I had...expected.” He was stammering. He never stammered. What was up with that?
She shook with him, her grip firm and warm. All business. “Well, you sure aren't what I expected, either. I thought you'd be more...corporate.”
Corporateâtranslation: stiff and dull. He didn't know why it bothered him that she'd thought that was who he was. Of course, he'd thought she was a dour librarian, which probably made them even. “You caught me on a weekend,” he said. “Come Monday, it's all suits and ties again. Or my version of a suit and tie, at least.”
Her gaze raked over him, taking in the leather jacket, the riding boots, the dark jeans, the white button-down peeking out from under the jacket, the only concession Mac made to conventional dress on the weekends. “And what is your version of a suit and tie? Leather chaps?”
He chuckled. “Not at all. Usually dark jeans, a button down and a tie. And a jacket if I'm forced to meet with a lawyer.”
She laughed, a nice, rich sound that sent a ribbon of heat through his veins. The leather chaps comment told him Miss Hillstrand had spunk, that was for sure, and that was something Mac found...intriguing. “So, shall we have a seat and talk about my offer?” he said.
“I'm happy to talk to you, but first I want to reiterate what I told you on the phone. Even though I was amenable to an in-person meeting, I'm not interested in any offer you have. I'm not selling.” Now the friendliness dropped from her face and she went all cold. “I made it clear that coming here would be a waste of time, but you insisted and I thought maybe face-to-face you would see how serious I am about
not
selling you Hillstrand Solar. Not now. Not ever.”
Mac had rarely met a mountain he couldn't climb or a challenge he couldn't win. Savannah was just one more mountainâwell, maybe a few curvy hillsâand one who simply needed to see that she wasn't going to be able to keep this company running much longer. Profits had slipped as her longer-standing customers began to question the younger generation's leadership abilities. “I am sure I can provide you with an equitable offer. You'll be wealthy enoughâ”
“I don't care about money.”
He scoffed. “I've never met anyone who didn't care about money. Everyone has a price, Miss Hillstrand.”
“I don't.” She crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin, as if daring him to disagree. “So you can come in here and try to charm the pants off me with this offer and that offer all you want, but I'm not selling.”
“I have no intentions of charming the pants off you.” His gaze flicked to said garment. The gabardine curved over her thighs like a second skin, dark and soft and tempting. For a second, he imagined those pants off, nothing but white lacey panties underneath, and her long, long creamy legs...
Holy hell. Where had that come from? Mac shook his head to clear the unbidden image, then directed his attention back to Savannah's face. This was business, not personal, and he had no intention of mixing the two. Nothing good could ever come of that.
He cleared his throat. “I merely want to make you see the wisdom of selling while you can still fetch an equitable price for the company.”
“I am not selling. Period. End of sentence.”
“Then why bother to meet with me? That's something you have made abundantly clear already in all your emails.”
“Because you refused to give up. I told you. If we met in person, then maybe you would finally see that I am dead serious about this. And I am.
Dead serious
.” She eyed him, her green eyes flashing, then took a step back. “Now that I've made my position clear, I have to get back to work. Good day, Mr. Barlow.”
She sat down at her deskâif he could call it a desk. It was really just a hoarder's home away from home, one of those gray spaces in the sea of gray spaces, topped with a computer and a thousand pieces of paper scattered around the surface like crumbs. Chaos, that was what he'd call it. Definitely not the neat and tidy librarian he had imagined.
His own desk was usually close to spotless, the offices of Barlow Enterprises filled with little to no clutter, because it seemed the best thinking and ideas came in spaces that weren't overstuffed. He almost wanted to suggest Savannah do a little tidying as a first step to helping her father's company, but that would be helping her save the business, and his intention was to buy it.
Savannah pulled her chair into the desk, then turned away from him.
Well. Seemed Miss Hillstrand was going to be a tougher nut to crack then he'd expected. Mac leaned a hip on the desk across from hers. “You're over your head here. You know it. I know it.”
“Are you saying you don't think I'm smart enough to run this company?”
“I'm saying you don't have the experience. You worked here summers during high school, then went off to college for a degree in history. Should we want to execute a repeat of the Napoleonic Wars, you'd be the first one I'd put in charge. But this is business, Miss Hillstrand, not a textbook, and that requires a certain level of...skills.”
“Skills you assume I don't have.” She raised her chin.
“Skills I
know
you don't have.” He'd researched herâwell, his people hadâand issued him a report. A report he could quote almost verbatim. Savannah Hillstrand had worked part-time in the factory throughout high school and college, filling nearly every role in production at one time or another. In between, she'd started a small remodeling business, restoring local homes to their former glory. She'd had a modicum of success at that business, but still returned to Hillstrand Solar in between projects.