Boardroom Seduction

“And it shows,” Kacey finished, giving Ariana the compliment she’d been fishing for.

“Anyway, about SunKissed,” Ariana went on. “I stopped by to tell you that Hadley wants me to get started on the marketing plan.”

“Sounds good,” Kacey replied.

“My thought is this. We position Leeman’s as the first shopping stop that women must make before taking off on their next trip to the beach, to the pool or wherever the sun might take them. There’s a swimsuit out there for every woman…”

“But finding the right one can take a whole lot of time,” Kacey finished.

“Exactly. Shopping for swimwear can be a traumatic experience, but the eight styles offered through SunKissed by Kacey make it a snap. I’m thinking our slogan could be ‘Why Shop Anywhere Else?’”

“Why indeed?” Kacey agreed. “I love it! The bikinis, monokinis, full-coverage one-piece suits and two-piece styles offer multiple choices, especially since you can mix and match the bottoms and the tops.”

A vigorous nod of assent from Ariana. “Your styles flatter all types of figures, and they’re done in such luscious fabrics,” she praised. “Archer Industries had better do a good job for us.”

“For real. What do you know about the company?” Kacey asked, curious about where she was headed tomorrow and how she would get along with the owner.

“Only that it’s a family-owned factory…. employs most of the residents in Rockport. And in those parts…the Archer name has clout.”

“Have you ever met Mr. Archer?”

Ariana shook her head. “No, but I’ve had more than a few conversations with him. He’s a tough old bird who runs his factory with an iron fist. All about business. No warm fuzzies there.”

“Gee, thanks for the warning,” Kacey said, screwing up one side of her mouth. “Sounds like I’m in for a real test of wills—and skills.”

“Well, don’t worry too much,” Ariana replied. “As long as you show up prepared to work long hours and take orders from a persnickety old man who really can run circles around his younger employees, you’ll do fine.”

“I’d better,” Kacey murmured, beginning to feel the pressure of what she’d gotten herself into. Launching this line was a huge responsibility, and success depended on one thing: the perfect execution of her designs. Would Archer Industries deliver? Was she ready to place her future in the hands of a grumpy old man with no heart who couldn’t possibly know what women want? He may not know, but I do, Kacey affirmed, determined to gain control of the process once she arrived in Rockport.

Chapter 3

Leon Archer Jr. drove his red Corvette convertible up the semicircular driveway that swept the front of his father’s house and parked directly at the front door. Sitting back in his seat, he slid one hand over the smooth steering wheel and studied the black sedan already parked in the drive, the car that belonged to Gerald Ayers, his father’s lawyer. What was going on? Why had his father summoned him to the house?

Leon had been a bit surprised when he arrived at the factory and had seen his father’s parking spot empty. During all the years that Leon had worked at Archer Industries alongside his father, Leon Sr. had never failed to come to work by 6:00 a.m., making sure he arrived before his son or any of his employees reported for duty.

Now, curious about why his dad was still at home, Leon turned his attention to the exterior of the hacienda-style mansion that his dad and mom had built nearly forty years ago. It had twenty rooms, seven bathrooms, an Olympic-size pool, a tennis court and a newly installed outdoor kitchen that rivaled anything shown on the home and garden shows that his mother loved to watch on television. The red tile roof sloped low over a center courtyard where exotic tropical flowers bloomed year-round. In fact, Leon Archer Sr.’s home had been featured in the prestigious Southwest Homes magazine, and continued to serve as the gathering spot for many Archer Industries company parties over the years. Since a good portion of Rockport residents either worked for Archer Industries or had a family member who did, most of the townsfolk had been hosted in the Archer home at one time or another.

Leon exited his car, slammed the door and strode up the flower-lined walkway. After letting himself in, Leon went directly to his father’s study where the elder man was seated behind his walnut claw-foot desk, an unlit cigar stuck into the corner of his mouth. The sight made Leon smile…his mother had banned cigar smoking in the house long ago, but that didn’t stop his old man from keeping up the appearance of enjoying a good smoke, especially when he was working at home.

“Hello, Dad. Hi, Gerald,” Leon said as he greeted his father and the attorney who had handled Archer Industries’ business for as long as Leon could remember. After a quick handshake with Gerald and a nod at his father, Leon sat down in the deep wingchair across from the huge, messy desk where Leon Sr. was busy signing papers that Gerald was handing to him.

“What’s up? You doing okay?” Leon asked tentatively. Though his dad was seventy-four years old, and had never experienced any major health problems, Leon hoped his father’s good luck had not taken an unexpected turn for the worse.

“Of course I’m okay,” Leon Sr. shot back in a gruff voice, not looking up at his son. He placed another flourishing signature on a document and then muttered, “Why’d you ask something like that? Do I look sick to you?”

“No, no. Just wondering. When you didn’t show up at the plant this morning, I got a little worried.”

“No need,” his father tossed out in a cavalier manner, now setting his pen aside. “I’m fine. In fact, I’m better than I’ve ever been, and God willing, I plan to stay that way for a long, long time.”

“All right,” Leon conceded, relieved by his father’s bantering in his usually gruff voice. “So why are we here and not at work at the factory? There’s a lot going on at the plant today. Three big orders came in last night and the Wilton shipment has to go out by noon.”

“I know, I know,” Leon Sr. acknowledged with a wave of one hand. “It’ll all get done…don’t worry. Nona’s there, right?”

“Hey, you know she is. When I left yesterday, Nona was still on the phone arguing with FedEx over that package of samples from Seattle that got lost. I told her it could wait until today and for her to go home. She refused, so I left. Sometimes I think she takes her job way too seriously.”

“Tell me about it,” Leon Sr. agreed. He stopped what he was doing and pointed his cigar at his son. “She’s a hard worker and great friend to all of us, but that woman needs a life. Other than her life at Archer, that is.”

“Harrumph,” Leon agreed with a shrug. “That’s the truth.”

“Well, you’re the best person to handle her, I’m sure. She always does whatever you ask.”

“Not always, but most of the time,” Leon replied with a shake of his head, as if resigned to the fact that he had no choice but to tolerate the antics of his most trusted, but most temperamental, employee. “Okay…enough about Nona. What’s really going on with you?” Leon wanted to know. He propped one foot on a knee and slipped back in his seat.

“Big changes,” the elder Archer teased, raising his eyes from the final paper that the lawyer handed him to sign. He removed the unlit cigar from his mouth and set it aside. “This is what’s up,” he started, clasping his hands on his desk. “I’m retiring. As of this morning, I’m finished with the business.”

Leon rolled his eyes in mock disbelief. “Oh? Really? And how many times have you said that?” he countered, knowing his father had made the same declaration several times before, only to renege on his decision and keep on working.

“I mean it this time,” Leon Sr. said as he tapped his index finger on the stack of papers he’d signed and jerked his head toward his attorney. “Tell him, Gerald. It’s done.”

“That’s right,” the white-haired lawyer confirmed. “All the papers are in order. Your father has just made you the new owner of Archer Industries. It’s all yours now.”

Leon jerked forward, both hands steadied on his knees as he peered at his father in suspicion. “Is this for real?”

“Yes, for real. It’s time for you to run the show, son, and I am more than ready to hand the whole thing over to you.”

Leon sucked in a long breath and let the news settle in. He had known this day would come, but still, he was surprised. His father had made comments about retiring so many times that the running joke around the plant was that he’d leave when it snowed in Rockport, something that had happened, but nearly a century ago.

“Why now?” Leon wanted to know, wondering what had pushed his father to finally let go. He was an energetic man who walked four miles every day, ate only organic foods and never drank alcohol. And now that he’d given up cigars, his doctor had pronounced him healthier than ever.

“Because it’s time.”

“Are you telling me the truth?” Leon pressed. “You’re not sick or anything, are you?”

“I’m in perfect health,” his father replied with a snap. “In fact, that’s the reason I’m doing this now. Your mother and I are leaving for a tour of Africa tomorrow. We’re finally going on the trip we’ve put off for too many years. We decided last night that if we’re going to go, we’d better go while I can still climb a mountain and stay up late enough to enjoy a sunset,” Leon Sr. chuckled. “And we’re taking our time, son. Probably be gone at least a month.”

“A month, huh? Good for you!” But then Leon bit his bottom lip in concern. “Isn’t this happening kinda fast?” He had thought he was prepared to take over the business, but now that Archer Industries had actually been turned over to him, the prospect of running things without his father nearby caught Leon off guard.

“Yes. That’s right. No need to drag this out,” Leon Sr. concurred. “It’ll be an easy transition. I don’t want any fancy retirement party or sappy farewells. I’m writing a personal letter to each employee, thanking them for their hard work and telling them they’re in good hands. I know I can count on you to run the place the same way I have. So don’t fuck things up, you hear?”

Leon had to laugh at his father’s rare use of the F word.

“You practically grew up at the plant. You’ve been by my side since you were old enough to sit at my desk, so it won’t take long for everyone to get used to taking orders from you instead of me.”

“Orders?” Leon quipped. “I don’t plan to run the place like a military operation.”

His father laughed under his breath while brandishing his pen at his son. “Ha! That’s what it takes to do business nowadays, son. The key is to act tough, keep everything under your control so no one gets the idea that they can operate outside the rules. If you’re the man where the buck stops, then you’re the man with the power…and you’re gonna need power to succeed. You ready to be the boss?”

Leon hesitated, giving his mind a few seconds to wrap itself around the impact of his father’s decision. The family company was now his to manage, and the responsibility was great. Was he prepared for the challenge and ready to step up to the plate?

“You bet I am,” Leon confirmed with confidence, ready to make the difficult decisions that came with being in charge.

“I know you are, even though the old-timers will probably call you ‘Junior,’” Leon’s mother tossed out as she entered the room.

“Sara, that’ll change now that he’s the number one man,” Mr. Archer told his wife, sending a scowl her way.

“I’ll make sure of that,” Leon agreed, warming to the idea that, at last, he’d be out from behind his father’s shadow. Recently, he’d begun to feel confined, as if he were boxed into a place without an exit. Had his father sensed his restlessness? Was that what spurred his decision to retire? If so, the timing couldn’t have been better.

Sara Archer, who stood a head shorter than her son, went over to him, patted him lightly on the cheek and reminded him in a sassy tone, “Well, you’ll always be Junior to me.”

Leon grimaced, and then broke into a smile, both annoyed and flattered by his mother’s display of affection. As her only child, he had learned long ago that it did no good to protest her overprotective ways. As long as he lived, he would be her little boy and there was nothing he could do to change that.

“And I don’t want you to worry about checking on the house while we’re gone,” Sara continued. “I gave Nona my keys so she can come in and water my plants and check on the aquarium. You’ll have more important things on your mind than tending my African violets and feeding the fish.”

“If that’s what you and Nona arranged, it’s fine with me,” Leon conceded, aware of how much his mother liked and trusted Nona James, who was not only Archer Industries’ operations manager, but also a longtime family friend.

“I think that’s it,” Gerald Ayers stated as he snapped his briefcase closed and handed a packet of legal documents to the elder Archer, who put them into his safe.

Gerald leaned over to shake Leon’s hand. “Congratulations, Junior,” the lawyer said, beaming his approval.

Leon pumped the attorney’s hand, “Thanks, Gerald.”

“No problem. You’re going to do fine.” Turning to Leon Sr., the lawyer said, “If that’s all you need from me, I’ll be going. I’ve got to leave for the airport in an hour.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re leaving the country, too,” Leon remarked, concerned.

“No, not at all. Going to visit my daughter in Baton Rouge. I’m only a phone call away if you need me, Leon. Call anytime, and I’ll be here…. Just as I’ve been for your father over the years.”

“Whew! That’s a relief,” Leon said, knowing how much he was going to need the seasoned attorney’s advice.

After Gerald left, Leon and his father reviewed the transition process, and then conducted an in-depth examination of the current production schedule.

“Next up is a women’s swimsuit line for Leeman’s,” Leon Sr. informed his son.

“A swimsuit line, huh? That ought to be a pretty simple run. Steve Hadley’s company out of New York, right?” Leon said, remembering the previous orders Hadley had placed with Archer Industries.

“Right. But this one might be a bit tricky. The designer wants to use a fabric that’s gonna take some serious negotiating to get down to the price Hadley wants to pay. Some kind of a specialty blend they sourced out of China.”

“Could be pricey,” Leon said.

“Exactly what I thought, so I put our man in New Delhi on it. Hopefully, he’ll find a better price in India,” his father offered.

“Sounds good. Where do we stand on the Leeman’s contract?” Leon asked.

“All done. I finalized everything with Steve Hadley. Here’s the name of the rep from his store who is due here this afternoon to consult on the project,” he said, handing Leon a piece of paper on which he had written the name. “Make sure everything comes off without a hitch, you hear? We can’t afford to lose this account. We’re doing fine, but profits were down a point last quarter.”

“I know,” Leon agreed, reading over the note, which read: Mr. Kacey Parker, Leeman’s. “Don’t worry. Leave all the business problems to me,” Leon advised. “You and Mom go have fun in Africa.”

“We plan to,” his father replied. “But don’t you have too much fun while we’re gone, okay?”

Leon rolled his eyes in exaggeration. How much fun could I possibly have if I’m busy turning triangles of exotic fabric into swimsuits for curvy females? he wondered with a smile.

Chapter 4

The two-lane highway leading to Rockport, Texas, was bordered by flat coastal plains on one side and the surging Gulf of Mexico on the other. The black ribbon of asphalt stretching out before Kacey pulled her along, bringing her ever closer to her destination. Few cars passed hers on the highway, and most of the buildings she encountered were either low-slung ranch houses surrounded by acres of green pasture or weather-worn beach cottages raised high on stilts. Kacey had to admit that the sudden sense of isolation that hit her was eerily disturbing, yet peaceful.

Continuing northward, she shifted her gaze from the road to the sky, where not a single white cloud marred the huge expanse of blue that seemed to go on forever. This kind of openness, emptiness and lack of population was a definite contrast to what Kacey was used to. An Easterner born and bred, she considered herself a typical urban working woman who thrived on deadlines, pressure and competition in a fast-paced environment that included long hours at the office, lots of take-out dinners and hitting the live entertainment circuit with her friends to relax. Leaving all that behind to hole up in this small town was going to require a great deal of patience, flexibility and trust.

When Kacey’s cell phone rang, she checked the screen and saw that Linette was calling her back. Kacey answered, intending to keep it brief.

“Hey. Where are you?” she asked, knowing Linette was never in the same place for very long.

“At the airport. LAX,” Linette sputtered, sounding out of breath. “Just got here, and wouldn’t you guess…one of my bags is missing. This sucks. I’m shooting stills for Roberto Rogales’s new outerwear campaign tomorrow and I need my equipment!”

“Right,” Kacey replied, recalling the assignment Linette had accepted with the former Ralph Lauren protégé. “Glad that job worked out for you. But don’t worry. Your bag will show. Happens all the time.”

“It had better,” Linette tossed back. “The schedule Roberto sent looks pretty scary and I’ve got a lot to do. Anyway, I got your message. What’s up with you?”

“Well, right now I’m driving down a two-lane highway along the Texas Gulf Coast, on my way to the factory that is going to manufacture SunKissed by Kacey.” She paused to let Linette absorb her good news. “Can you believe it?”

“Get outta here! For real? Hadley accepted your swimsuit line for Leeman’s?”

“He did,” Kacey confirmed with a smile, eagerly filling Linette in on the details of her meeting with her boss and her upcoming stay in Rockport.

“That’s sooo exciting,” Linette said, clearly happy for Kacey. “Your swimsuits are the bomb! They’re gonna be a huge hit. I’ve never seen any like them.”

“Your photos played a big part in winning Hadley over. And once the manufacturer’s samples are finished, I want you to shoot those, too. My plan is to convince Hadley to send our models to Rockport for the fittings and the promotional photos. Think you can squeeze in a trip to Texas when I get to that point?”

“Of course. Count on it,” Linette assured Kacey. “I should wrap up this job by the end of the week. Just give me a call and I’ll be there.”

“Great. By the time the samples are ready to be photographed, I’ll be more than ready for some company. This temporary exile to Texas is not what I expected to be doing right now.”

“Hey, I hear you. Just focus on your work and time will fly by,” Linette advised in a rushed voice. “Hey, gotta go. My bag is here! We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Right,” Kacey agreed, ending the call and already missing her friend.

While Linette was rubbing shoulders with Hollywood types in Los Angeles, Kacey would be stuck with an old man in a factory in Texas. But it’ll be worth it, she reminded herself, refocusing on the road, surprised to see that a herd of black and white cows had gathered along the barbed-wire fence running parallel to the highway, their large brown eyes trained on her. Shaking her head in disbelief, she turned up the volume on the CD player and let Whitney’s new album fill the car.

Half an hour after leaving the Corpus Christi airport, Kacey finally came to a billboard splashed with large red and blue letters that announced, Welcome to Rockport. Home of Archer Industries. Slowing down, she leaned over and scrutinized the huge sign, which showcased a two-story industrial building constructed of dark red brick, flanked by groves of leafy palm trees. A mature man was posed in front of the structure, chin raised high, a big smile on his face, his deep brown skin burnished like polished wood. In his dark business suit with his arms crossed at his chest he exuded the aura of a successful businessman.

“Old man Archer,” Kacey decided, thinking the older man looked pleasant enough. Maybe working with him wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Driving on, Kacey arrived at the center of town where a gas station, a convenience store, a beauty shop and a hardware outlet anchored the four corners of the old-fashioned square. Beyond the hub of the town, Kacey caught glimpses of lacey Victorian homes on broad green lawns, as well as modest bungalow-type homes facing each other across grassy esplanades. The quaint scene that greeted her was picturesque, charming and serene. Pretty to look at but not a place where she wanted to spend any more time than was absolutely necessary.

“I’d be bored out of my skull if I had to live here,” Kacey murmured as she inched along the town’s main street, where a scattering of people were busy running errands or chatting in clusters on the wide cement sidewalks.

At the far end of the main street, she saw Seaside Suites, the economy motel where she’d booked a room for the duration. The exterior of the nondescript building was in desperate need of a paint job and there were only three other cars in the parking lot, which adjoined a rundown apartment complex surrounded by a chain-link fence.

I’ll check in after I meet with Mr. Archer, Kacey decided, glad she’d worn her Donna Karan navy suit and comfortable heels on the plane, so she could go straight to her meeting. She checked her makeup in the rearview mirror, pressed her shapely burgundy-tinted lips together and fluffed her honey-brown curls with one hand. Satisfied that all was fine, she nodded at her image. After all, she was representing Leeman’s, one of the most exclusive retailers in the country. A good first impression was essential, and she planned to let Mr. Archer know from the get-go that she was not some underling who was there to take orders from him, but a designer whose swimsuit line was going to become the hottest fashion label in swimwear.

Slowly passing the motel, Kacey eyed the drab appearance of her future home and sighed. The thought of living there made her heart sink, but she refused to let it get her down.

“Oh, well, at least it’s not raining,” Kacey remarked, resigned to toughing it out for as long as it took to finish the job she’d come to do.

The woman who met Kacey in the lobby of the Archer Industries building greeted her with a vise grip of a handshake and a hearty hello.

“Welcome to Archer Industries. I’m Nona James. Operations manager,” she said in a flat Texas accent that seemed to solidify her connection to the small-town plant.

“Hello, Nona. Kacey Parker. Good to meet you,” Kacey said, eyeing the woman closely. She was at least a head taller than Kacey—big-boned, buxom and very statuesque. The makeup on her buff-hued face was flawless, but a bit heavy-handed, as were the intricate chandelier earrings dangling from her ears. An African-print headband held an explosion of natural hair off her face, creating a dark halo of frizz that translated into an inspired resemblance of a young Diana Ross.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Nona said, her red lips widening into a full-blown grin. “Did you check into the motel? I assume you’re staying at the Seaside. It’s the best we have around here.”

“I drove past on my way through town. It looks fine. I’ll check in after I finish here,” Kacey replied, taking care not to imply that the accommodations might not be up to snuff.

“Okay. If you need anything, let me know. The manager of the Seaside is my cousin, so I’ll be on his case if you have any complaints.”

“Sounds great. I’m anxious to get settled and started on production,” Kacey replied, glancing around the sun-splashed lobby where large Lucite boxes showcased some of the clothes produced by Archer Industries. On display were activewear, all-weather jackets, chlorine-resistant swimsuits and water aerobic wear, which included pool shoes, sun hats and beach towels.