The Backdoor Billionaire's Bride Page 5

  “But…. I…. What?” She huffed out a breath, and her pale cheeks colored.

  How would her other cheeks look with a bit of color? Don’t go there, Ford. She’s your business partner. Remember the lawsuit she’s likely going to file. A sexual harassment complaint won’t help you any.

  “We have to sell our product. Since we can’t lower our prices to compete with foreign manufacturing we’re going to have to come up with a marketing plan to convince retailers and consumers our product is worth paying more for.”

  “We haven’t gotten any results back from the lab we hired to analyze the foreign-made products.”

  “Cancel the lab report. See if we can get a partial refund. We’ll—you’ll—have to think of something else to convince people to buy our product.”

  He pulled into the parking lot and followed Becky Jean inside. At the reception desk, she went straight ahead instead of turning down the hall to their offices.

  “Where are you going?” he called out.

  “To the factory floor. You want product samples, I’m going to get you pr—” As she opened the heavy steel door, noise from the production line nearly drowned out her last words.

  He spun his key ring around his index finger then pocketed his keys and headed toward his office. The contrast of her soft curves surrounded by the industrial machinery shouldn’t be so intriguing, but it seemed everything about Becky Jean Parker intrigued him.

  ~~~

  Becky grabbed a sound-muffling headset off the rack by the door and put it on. She’d welcome the din of machinery in motion, but drowning out the racket going on in her head wasn’t worth losing her hearing over. She’d have to find another way to silence the turmoil of the last few days.

  On the heels of the shock of her boss’s sudden death came grief and the stress of being at the helm of Adams Manufacturing until his son arrived to take over. Seeing Ford again after all these years had been another shock. He’d been good-looking—in a geeky sort of way—in high school, but man, oh man, had he changed! The last decade had been good to him in a way it hadn’t been with most of their classmates. Riding in the car with him had been a mistake. There had been no escaping his scent in the confines of the sporty rental. Not even the smell of melting rubber and heated plastic on the factory floor could drive the memory of his woodsy, all-male scent from her nostrils. Lord, she’d wanted to strip naked and rub herself all over him. Still wanted to. Damn it all to hell.

  Then, to top it off—Kenneth Adams had left her half of his half of Adams Manufacturing! Heaven only knew what Mrs. Adams thought. And Ford. Did they think something had gone on between her and the late Mr. Adams? By the way the lawyer had looked at her when he read the part of the will pertaining to her, he’d certainly thought so. Neither Ford nor his mother had said anything, but they must have been thinking it. Hell, she’d be thinking it if it were anyone besides her in this position.

  She had to find a way to assure them she hadn’t been carrying on an affair with Kenneth Adams. He’d been kind to her, for sure, but he’d never… and she’d never….

  No. She wouldn’t go down that road. It was just too weird to think about. Ken Adams had been like a father to her, giving her a job when she needed one, never once asking for anything but a solid day’s work from her. She’d loved him, but not for the reasons his lawyer seemed to think.

  Touched beyond belief Mr. Adams had thought to include her in his will, she couldn’t credit the position she currently found herself in. Part owner of Adams Manufacturing. An equal partner with Ford Adams. Well, a minority partner given he controlled his mother’s 50 percent, too. Once again, her life had taken a path she hadn’t chosen for herself.

  One year. Twelve long months before they could sell or close the business. Which meant they had to keep it running, because God knew, her share of the business’s debts far outweighed her personal assets. She had to do everything possible to keep the factory going, and, at the moment, that meant hitching her wagon to Ford’s, no matter which direction he decided to head.

  She grabbed an empty box from shipping then made her way through the warehouse, dropping one of each style product into the box. Waving to the dozen-or-so people hard at work, she made her way to the front offices. After replacing the hearing protection back on the rack, she stood for a minute, welcoming the sound of normality before opening the door and stepping back into the chaos her life had become.

  At the sound of Ford’s voice, heavy with frustration, Becky halted short of his office. “Can we talk about this later?” A short pause. “Because I’m busy.”

  Torn between wanting to drop the box of products he’d requested over his head and not wanting to pry into his personal life, she faltered in the hallway then headed toward her own office.

  “You think I want to stay here for a year? Fuck, Ronnie. You know me better than that.”

  Becky stopped cold. Ronny? Who the heck…?

  “Listen, I really am busy. The sooner I get this figured out, the sooner I can come home.” He’d lowered his voice so, giving up all pretense of not eavesdropping, Becky leaned closer to hear his next words. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll call tonight, and we’ll talk about it then.”

  Ford’s gay? What the hell? It would certainly explain why he’d chosen to live so far away from where he’d grown up. She imagined it would be easier to start over someplace new than to explain to the people he’d grown up with. There were some narrow-minded people in Butte Plains, but they were the minority. Still, she could see where it would be easier to live an alternative lifestyle as little fish in a big pond instead of a big tuna in a goldfish bowl.

  Her arms ached, reminding her of the reason she stood outside his office to begin with. In light of her new knowledge, the thoughts she’d been having in regards to Ford’s hotness seemed ridiculous. He was taken—and gay. She laughed at the old cliché? All the good ones were either taken or gay. Just her luck. Not that she had ever had a chance with the man—or wanted a chance with him. Boyfriend in New York or not, Ford would be leaving as soon as possible. In the meantime, they had to find a way to keep Adams Manufacturing running for the next year.

  Fear gripped her gut, and she leaned against the wall, willing the pain in her belly to go away. Ford and his mother would sustain huge losses over the next twelve months if the factory didn’t show a profit, but she would lose everything. And like it or not, and unless she found a way to decline her inheritance, she had little choice but to help Ford turn the company around.

  After taking a few deep, calming breaths, Becky straightened her shoulders and stepped forward.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Here.”

  Ford sat back while Becky Jean placed their current and past products in a line across the front of his desk. She was pissed, still or again, he didn’t know which. Did it matter? Not one little bit, he decided. It didn’t even matter if she was pissed at him or her situation or both. She could stand in line with everyone else in his life wanting to tear a strip of hide off him. Neither Scott nor Veronica had taken his news well. They both wanted him back in New York. He could handle all his obligations to his east coast business from Texas, but, for the next year, Ronnie would be on her own, socially. Her brother would do his duty as escort for the most important events, but Scott didn’t enjoy the social whirl the way his sister did.

  He didn’t want to think about what Ronnie would do without him there for the next year. A beautiful woman, she had a need for others to prove it to her on a regular basis. They’d never agreed to be exclusive—not that he cared if she slept around. It would take a stronger man than he to keep Veronica in line. He wasn’t up to the job, and he knew it.

  Fuck. He had needs, too. The next twelve months would be hell—in more ways than one. Forcing his attention back to the woman in his office, he studied her. Her movements were jerky— telegraphing her anger—yet the emotion looked good on her. Her cheeks bloomed with color, and her eyes sparked with fire.

  She h
ad passion best channeled into something besides anger. He knew what he’d like to channel it into, but since he had no intention of bedding her, he’d settle for getting her ass in gear to keep him, and his mother, from bankruptcy. He didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t do it alone. He needed Becky Jean’s help. But before they went any further, they needed to talk about something else. He’d seen the look on the lawyer’s face, knew deep down what the man had been thinking. He should have called him out on it, but without knowing absolutely for sure….

  He leaned forward, got down on eye level with the assortment of baby bottles, nipples, and flashlights. “What happened to the flashlight business? Everyone needs a flashlight.”

  “Can’t you guess?”

  “China?”

  Placing a hand to her chest, she sighed dramatically. “I feel so much better knowing my business partner is such a genius.” Tossing the empty box into the corner of his office, her glare dared him to make something of her smart remark.

  He reminded himself she had plenty of reason to be angry and let it go.

  “Anything else?” she snapped.

  “Nope. Just the things we talked about in the car.”

  “You mean the things you ordered me to do? Those things?”

  Studying the array of basic items lined up on his desk, he nodded. “Yes, those things. The sooner we implement our plan, the better.”

  “You mean the less of your own money you’ll have to put into the company.”

  “I could demand you put in 25 percent, but since you don’t have it…. Or am I mistaken?” If she were a cartoon, there’d be a thundercloud hanging over her head. The blush of anger on her cheeks grew to an inferno. His question may have been a low blow, but he could go lower. He would go lower. She stepped back from his desk. “One more thing before you go.”

  “What?” She practically vibrated with anger.

  He dove low, went in for the kill. “Were you sleeping with my father?”

  The blood drained from her face, and, for a second, he thought he might have to leap over the desk to catch her before she hit her head against the chair standing between her and the floor. Coiled to move, he relaxed when she pinched her lips tight, straightened her shoulders, and torpedoed him. “Fuck you, Ford Adams.”

  Turning on her heel, Becky Jean strutted out of his office, her perfect heart-shaped ass swaying like a sailboat on rough seas.

  Bang!

  The pictures on his wall shook. If she kept slamming her office door, he’d have to call someone in to reinforce the door and the walls of his office.

  Well, there’s your answer. She hadn’t been his father’s mistress—not that he ever really believed his dad would cheat on his mom—but others would think it. Did think it. He’d make a point to set Mr. Trumble straight the next time he saw him, and, as soon as he could, he’d find a new lawyer. One who knew what the word discretion meant.

  With the image of Becky Jean’s ass burned on his retinas, Ford turned his attention back to the products on his desk. They were all serviceable and essential to different segments of the population at various times. Demand for the items certainly hadn’t dropped. As far as he knew, babies were still being born, human, bovine, and otherwise. Breastfeeding craze aside, water and juice didn’t come from breasts, so mothers were still buying and using bottles and rubber nipples.

  He picked up one of the bottles, turned it over. Nothing on the bottom. Everything made outside the U.S. had to be stamped with the country of origin. He remembered a while back a big movement to buy products stamped Made in America. It wasn’t much, but they could capitalize on the trend. Maybe even get a mention on the morning talk show behind the story. He made a note on the legal pad at his elbow to see about having the label added to the bottles and their packaging. His new marketing director could put some feelers out to the news networks, see if they could run a story. He smiled, realizing he’d just added public relations to Becky Jean’s new duties. She’d fume about the added work, but she’d do it.

  Imagining her tuning up to rip him a new one had him hard as a post. Again. He glanced up from his notes, and his gaze landed on the giant nipples designed for hand-feeding livestock. His gaze traveled down the line to the teat liners for milking machines.

  A chill chased up his spine. He grabbed both items, studying them with new interest. “Huh.” He slipped the teat liner over the giant-sized nipple then set his creation on the desk. Maybe he’d been approaching this from the wrong angle. Instead of trying to push the products they already had, maybe they should consider a new product. Something nearly everyone he knew had at least one of.

  People were still having babies. Which meant they were having sex. And everyone knows, sex sells.

  He reached for his legal pad, ripped off the top sheet of notes, wadded it into a ball, and tossed it toward the empty box in the corner. Opening the center drawer, he pushed aside the scissors earmarked for cutting the last thread holding Butte Plains together, and found the set of drafting pencils his father always had at hand.

  When he finally looked up from his drawing, he realized how quiet the office had become. The low hum and rumble from the machinery had ceased. He strained his ears for the sound of voices in the other offices. Nothing. He glanced at his watch, noting the late hour. Everyone would be gone, and he should be, too. He’d promised to visit with his mother this evening, and since he’d been scarce ever since the funeral, he needed to fulfill his promise to her.

  Grabbing his suit coat, he shoved his inspiration into one of the pockets then picked up the pad containing his sketches. He’d have plenty of time later tonight to transfer his drawings to his laptop. And, if he had any luck, he’d get to try out his new 3-D printer this evening. They’d need a prototype in order to make an injection mold for the new product.

  He shut off the lights in his office and headed out. A thin band of light showed beneath Becky Jean’s door. He tapped lightly then turned the knob.

  “You still here?”

  Becky glanced up at the man filling her doorway. It had taken most of the afternoon for her to calm down, but seeing him standing there smiling at her as if he hadn’t accused her of having loose morals a few hours ago, brought the anger back to the surface. “Apparently,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Look, I’m sorry about earlier. You had to know I would ask. And just for the record, I never, not even for a second, thought you and my dad…. Well, he wouldn’t have, and, in the little time I’ve known you, I’d come to the conclusion you wouldn’t have either.”

  “You insulted me, and your father, Ford. I don’t know which made me angrier.”

  “Both, I hope. Once word gets out about his will, others are going to think it.”

  The blood drained to her toes again, leaving her light-headed. She dropped her forehead to the desk, silently begging the room to stop spinning.

  “Becky Jean. Are you okay?” Ford’s big hand rubbed a circle on her back. Jiminy, his touch shouldn’t feel as good as it did.

  “I’m fine.” She managed to sit up. He removed his hand and sat on the corner of her desk as if he owned it. “Your mother doesn’t think…?”

  His eyebrows knit then relaxed. “No. I’m sure she doesn’t. She and my dad were always thick as thieves. Admittedly, I haven’t been around much in the last ten years, but I’m sure nothing changed. They always had a marriage I envied. A love like theirs doesn’t come around often.”

  “I couldn’t bear it if your mother thought—” She shook her head. “The others don’t matter.”

  “They matter to me.” The words were spoken so softly, she couldn’t be sure she heard right. Before she could ask him to repeat them, he bounded off her desk and headed to the door. He stopped and turned to her. A big smile on his face, he looked like a kid who’d just found a stash of cookies.

  “What?” she couldn’t help but ask.

  “I’ve got an idea. It could be something big.”

  His exciteme
nt reeled her in. She wiggled in her seat, anticipation chasing away all other thoughts. “Well? What is it?”

  “Can’t tell you yet. I will. Soon. Gotta Go.”

  Becky stared at the empty doorway. How dare he dangle hope in her face then leave her hanging? Grabbing the nearest item on her desk, she held her stapler aloft, poised to throw it through the door. When his head then his body filled the space, she sighed and put the missile down.

  “Hey? Do you cook?”

  “Y-yes. A little. I’m no Julia Child, but I can boil water.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  “’Cause I need to eat. If you’ll cook tonight, maybe I’ll let you see what I’m working on later. Deal?”

  She tried to picture Ford in her little kitchen, sitting at the table she’d found at the Methodist Church thrift store, and just couldn’t do it. “You want to come to my place for dinner?” she squeaked.

  “No. You come to mine. Bring food. I don’t think there’s much in the fridge. Anything will do. I’m not picky. See you in say, an hour?”

  “Um.” If there could be anything worse than him being in her kitchen—it had to be her in his.

  “Good. Great!”

  Once again, Becky Jean stared at the vacant doorway in disbelief. What had she just agreed to? “Don’t forget to turn the lights off when you leave,” Ford shouted from the end of the hall.

  Becky raised her middle finger. “Fuck you, Ford Adams.”

  She would need to wash her mouth out with soap if this kept up. She’d used the F word twice today and made an obscene gesture. Neither was her style, yet she couldn’t really regret either transgression. They’d fit the situation, which went to prove how different her circumstances were today from all the previous days of her life.

  ~~~

  Elbows on the granite countertop at the Adams’s gatehouse, Becky stuffed a forkful of spaghetti in her mouth and chewed. Since her arrival, she’d exchanged less than a dozen words with Ford. He seemed to be in geek heaven, typing on his laptop computer, muttering under his breath, and occasionally letting go with some choice curse words. She’d fixed a simple meal of spaghetti and meatballs with a salad and garlic bread then proceeded to eat by herself.