Tailored for Trouble (Happy Pants #1) - Mimi Jean Pamfiloff Page 0,33

argued. “It’s A or B, not C—make up your own answer.”

He bobbed his head, thinking it over for a moment. “Can I outsource the meat processing? The risks and insurance costs to my farm would be lower if I didn’t have to do it in-house.”

Taylor shook her head. This guy…“Fine. You can outsource the meat processing.”

“I’ll go with that answer then—higher profit. But I’d only buy cows and chickens so I could convert the animals to egg and milk production at a later date if those markets shifted and became more profitable.”

Taylor shook her head and marked his answer in her computer. “Okay, Mr. CEO. Next question: You’re on a sinking ship with fifty people on board. There are only two life rafts, each with enough space to hold twenty. Everyone has agreed to put you in charge of figuring out who is saved. Your choices are: A. lottery. Or B. Women, children, and elderly first.”

“Why are there only two rafts?” he asked, sounding exaggeratedly irritated.

Jeez. It was just hypothetical. It was good that he took this seriously, but still.

“I don’t know, there just are,” Taylor said.

“Because the first thing I’d do is kill the son of a bitch in charge of life rafts. Did the world learn nothing from the Titanic?”

“The Titanic?”

“Yes, the Titanic. You might have seen a movie about it. Sinking ship, tragic love story, a classic.”

He likes the movie Titanic? This guy?

“I’ve seen the movie,” she said crossly. “I just don’t know what it has to do with the questionnaire. You’re supposed to answer A or B.”

“But neither works,” he argued. “At the very least, I would try a little harder to save more people. For example, what’s the water temperature? If it is above sixty, I would probably select those with less body fat, plus the children, to go into the rafts. People with more body fat can last longer in cooler water. Anything below sixty would probably kill most people in a few hours regardless so there’s no point going that route.”

Taylor sighed with exasperation, pinching the bridge of her nose and thankful they weren’t doing this for real. She could see that Bennett had a difficult time simply accepting options that were handed to him.

Probably why he’s so successful—the man doesn’t believe in settling.

“What?” Bennett shrugged. “Your questions are flawed—not my fault.”

“The point is to choose. I purposefully make the answers polarizing so I can—”

“So you can put me into a little box of stereotypes? Because that won’t work, Ms. Reed. I don’t fit into any molds. That I can promise you.”

She didn’t doubt that for a moment.

“No,” she argued. “It’s about your style, your tendencies, your instincts. And I’m not trying to put you in a little box, I’m simply trying to establish where you are so we can determine where you need to go. Think of this as our map.”

He turned his entire body in her direction. “Why don’t you try asking me some real questions, Taylor? Ask me who I hire or why. Ask me what I expect of my people, and how I reward them. Or why don’t you ask them what they think about me?” He seemed agitated, but she didn’t understand why.

“Did I say something wrong, Mr. Wade?” A little tick of guilt flicked at her stomach. Strange that upsetting him made her feel so bad when it should be the opposite.

His frown melted away with a deep breath. “No. My apologies. I have a headache, and it was a very rough night. Maybe we should resume once I’ve had some real sleep.”

“Sure. Whenever you like.”

“Looks like we’re here, anyway,” he said.

Taylor leaned forward to get a better view. They were in downtown St. Helena, the heart of wine country. She had been here a few times, wine tasting with Sarah and Holly. “Why are we here?”

“I need to pick something up. I’ll only be a moment.” He slipped from the car and disappeared through a flower-covered archway and down a little path that ran between a clothing boutique and small olive oil shop. A sign on the side of the building read “Happy Pants Café, Right This Way.” An arrow pointed in the direction Bennett had gone.

That’s weird. She remembered seeing a Happy Pants something-rather sign at a café in Seattle, right when Bennett had first called. It was the type of thing you’d forget.

She pulled out her phone and Googled the café. Oddly, they didn’t seem to have a website or any contact information, but