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“No, if all goes well, I want you to stick around there.”
Kacey glanced suspiciously at her boss. “For how long?”
“For as long as it’ll take to get SunKissed by Kacey into my stores. No need to rush back here, only to fly back and forth every few weeks,” Hadley explained. “I know old man Archer will do his best to accommodate our time frame, but since this is such a rush job, and a risky midseason production as well, we can’t afford any mistakes. He and I will iron out the contract details before you get there. I want you to stay close, oversee production and ensure an on-time delivery.”
Kacey assessed Steve Hadley with dread in her heart, doubting he understood the enormity of what he was asking of her. Leaving New York City to spend God knows how long in rural Texas was not something she looked forward to. What in the world would she do for fun in a tiny Gulf Coast town with an old man as her business contact?
Suffer in silence, she guessed, prepared to sacrifice the lifestyle she loved to see her designs come to life.
Chapter 2
Back in her cubicle, Kacey immediately booked her flight to Corpus Christi, reserved a rental car and then phoned her friend Linette to share her good news. However, all Kacey got was the photographer’s voice mail, so she left a message for Linette to call her back as soon as possible, adding that she had exciting news to share.
That ought to get her attention, Kacey thought as she ended the connection. It was always difficult to reach Linette, who was constantly on the move as she traveled from one location shoot to another. Sometimes it took a week for them to finally catch up with each other due to their busy, on-the-go lifestyles.
Taking a moment to reflect on the impact of her presentation, Kacey pondered the future, a ripple of excitement feathering her insides. She’d begun working on her designs last year, using computer-assisted design (CAD) software that turned her detailed sketches into actual computer drawings. Printed pattern pieces placed on swaths of bold-colored fabric quickly morphed into the samples that she had personally sewn and fitted on models for Linette to photograph. And now, at last, Hadley was giving her the opportunity to create sexy, stylish swimwear that she knew customers would be thrilled to wear.
Hadley was damn sure impressed and Ariana is totally behind me, Kacey mused in satisfaction, realizing how much support she had at Leeman’s. If SunKissed by Kacey became the runaway hit she expected, her position with the chic retailer would open doors to all the exclusive shops on Rodeo Drive, as well as retailers like Bergdorf’s, Saks, and Neiman’s.
A competitive swimmer in college, Kacey loved challenges and loved to win. She knew her petite stature, flawless mocha skin and the thick brown hair that framed her face in curly tendrils made her look a lot younger and less savvy than she was. But at thirty-one, she had made plenty of hard decisions in her drive to become successful, and knew exactly where she wanted to go.
For more than a year, Kacey had labored over her drawing boards, studied the competition and focused on coming up with swimwear that would make such an impact on the marketplace that every retailer would clamor for her swimsuits. Even though the rights to her special label would belong to Leeman’s, Kacey knew the professional credit and boost in her fledgling design career were more than she’d ever dreamed of.
Leaving her computer, she went to stand at the large window behind her desk. Looking out, she swept her gaze over the towering buildings pressed together in midtown Manhattan. The steady rain continued to slick the traffic-clogged streets as dull gray clouds hovered above the tops of skyscrapers. She placed her palm against the glass and shivered. Too damn cold, she thought with a shudder, but that’s the way it could be in early April in New York. There’d even been a snow flurry last week, but she prayed that warm weather was on the way.
In the foggy distance, Kacey could barely discern the outline of the building where she hoped to live one day. Four blocks from Leeman’s, the newly renovated 780-square-foot apartment she dreamed about would be a vast improvement over the tiny closetlike studio in Harlem where she lived now. She’d been saving for two years to make the move, and now, if all went well, her Sun Kissed line would provide a much-needed boost in her income, allowing her to lease the new apartment in mid town.
But first, she had to go to Texas, get her designs into production, then into stores. And as much as she dreaded an extended stay in a small town like Rockport, she knew the trip would be a welcome break from the damp cold of the city.
“I’ve got to remain positive,” she murmured, deciding to treat her trip like a mini-vacation, though seriously doubting she’d be able to do anything fun while she was there. After all, she was going to Texas to work, not play, and there’d be little time to fool around.
A tap at her door brought Kacey out of her thoughts. Swinging around, she waved Ariana into the room, noticing the bemused expression on her colleague’s face.
“You really impressed Steve,” Ariana informed Kacey, sliding into the chair near Kacey’s desk.
“That’s what I hoped to do,” Kacey tossed back, returning to sit in front of her computer. “I’ve been working on this project for over a year, and I knew I’d only have one shot at getting him onboard.”
“Oh, he’s definitely behind you, honey. I’ve worked with Hadley for a long time and when he called Leon Archer personally from the conference room, I knew he was eager to move this project forward. He’s sold. Don’t think he’s ever been as excited about a new line before.”
“He’s never seen swimsuits like mine before,” Kacey countered with confidence.
“You’re right about that,” Ariana agreed, crossing her long legs and tilting back in her chair. She fluffed her bleached-white hair and puckered her full pink lips, a gesture that Kacey and her coworkers often mimicked when talking about Ariana. At fifty-six, Ariana Mendio was trim, shapely and still an alarmingly attractive woman. She’d been married three times; her current husband, Tony, was sixteen years her junior. He worked as a high-end menswear model for several fashion houses, a position that got Ariana and her boy-toy into exclusive society parties quite often. “SunKissed by Kacey is so sweet it could give a woman a toothache!” Ariana exclaimed with a giggle as she flicked her long fingers in the air toward Kacey.
Kacey laughed along with her coworker, shaking her head. “I don’t plan to inflict any pain—only pleasure.”
“I don’t know. That black satin thong looked like it could put a hurting on some very tender spots.”
“Please,” Kacey shot back with a grin. “You know you’re dying to wear it. In fact, I’m gonna send you the first manufacturer sample of that style as soon as it comes out of production. Size 8, right?” Kacey lifted a brow in question, her grin widening as she watched Ariana.
“Size 6, honey,” Ariana corrected with a downward tilt of her head and a sweep of one hand over her flat stomach. “I’ve been hitting the gym with Tony.”
“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.”
