Tailored for Trouble (Happy Pants #1) - Mimi Jean Pamfiloff Page 0,21
that HumanitE might have a chance. She simply needed to put Mr. Grinch in touch with his “inner-Taylor” as he’d called it—so cute.
That evening, she turned the dial on her car radio to NPR as she hit the metering lights on the Bay Bridge to go back into the city for the ball.
She wasn’t really listening to the program, but was thinking more about the exact words she would use to start the conversation with Bennett before they commenced his leadership-style evaluation. Bennett, I know you’re used to doing things your way, but we need to establish some ground rules….
“And big news today from the industrial sector,” said the announcer on the radio, his words filtering into the background of her thoughts. “Anonymous sources at Lady Mary Fragrances, the largest global manufacturer of perfumes and specialty personal care products, confirmed they are in discussions with Wade Enterprises for a possible merger. A spokesperson for Lady Mary refused to comment as did Bennett Wade, CEO of Wade Enterprises, but industry experts speculate the joining of the two large companies is a move by Wade Enterprises to diversify its holdings. And next up, we’ll be discussing socks. Is wool making a comeback…”
Taylor turned off the radio and stared ahead at the road. Merger? With Lady Mary? What the hell? Lady Mary was an ex-client of hers. Actually, Taylor had dealt with Mary Rutherford’s son, Chip—Mr. “I’ll be heading your way, so why don’t we have our meeting in Vegas. Over dinner. My treat.” He had propositioned Taylor more times than she could remember. But Chip didn’t run the company; dear old mom did. And Mary Rutherford was a well-known, outspoken supporter of women’s rights.
So why in the world would she be talking to the world’s biggest chauvinistic bully and producer of manufacturing automation about a merger? Bennett Wade and Mary Rutherford are like oil and water. As were their companies. Those two didn’t even speak the same language.
Wait. Oh my God. Bennett lied to me. He lied to me! He’d said he wanted to evolve, implying that he wanted to be a better boss. But this merger was why he wanted Taylor’s help. He couldn’t care less about treating his people better or learning anything from her. This was all about trying to win over Mary Rutherford. And speaking “her language.”
Taylor tightened her grip on the steering wheel, wishing it were Bennett’s neck. He’d completely pulled the wool over her eyes. And he’d obviously lied because he knew she would refuse taking him on as a client for such a materialistic reason.
The air pissed out of her happy little balloon. There was no way she could work with him now. He didn’t believe in her, in her company, or in anything but making money.
Motherfucking, rat bastard, turd face!
Taylor mentally censured herself. Check the swearing, Tay. You will not swear. You will remove his testicles like a lady: with your bare hands and a smile on your face.
Ten minutes later, Taylor pulled up to the Fairmont, one of San Francisco’s most famous historic hotels on Nob Hill. “Keep it close,” she said to the valet, handing over the keys to her red Audi. “I’m not staying.”
All around her, guests in tuxedos and sequin ball gowns poured inside, stopping to pose for pictures with a photographer in the opulent lobby with its gleaming brown marble floors and ornate crown moldings.
Once past the bottleneck, she made her way to the 1920s-style ballroom where a shimmering crystal chandelier hung from the gold-trimmed ceiling, and an enormous golden “W” stood as a backdrop to the speech platform at the far end of the floor. Off in the corner, opposite the bar, a swing band played to an empty dance floor. Everyone in the crowded room seemed too absorbed in mingling to even hear the music.
Her eyes scanned the crowd. Where are you, you sonofabitch? And to think, she’d started growing soft on him, believing there might actually be a heart somewhere underneath the expensive suits and tight, gym-sculpted muscles that she knew a man like him would surely have because he demanded perfection even from his own ass and abs.
It’s your own damned fault, Taylor. You were too busy ooh-ing and ah-ing over him when maybe you should’ve been paying attention.
Her eyes darted around the room and zeroed in on Bennett, who stood out from the silver-haired crowd with his height and thick head of brown hair.
She wove her way through the mass of people, and as