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Dogs ran full speed from around the corner. A blur of gray, brown and black. The three animals stopped at Grams’s feet, mouths panting and tails wagging.
“Feel how soft they are.” Pride filled her voice as if the dogs were as much a part of her gene pool as Caleb was.
He rested his hands on the table, not about to touch one of her animals. “Most fur is soft if a dog is clean.”
“Not Dozer’s.” She scooped up the little brown dog, whose right eye had been sewn shut. Not one of her expensive show dogs. A rescue or foster. “His hair was bristly and dry withflakes.”
“Doggy dandruff?”
“Allergies. Animals have sensitivities like humans. That’s why companies need to use natural and organic ingredients. No nasty chemicals or additives. Look at Dozer now.” She stared at the dog with the same love and acceptance she’d always given Courtney and him. Even before their father had dumped them here after their mother ran off with her personal trainer. “That’s why I developed Fair Face’s new line of animal products.”
Ignoring the gray dog brushing against his leg, Caleb held up his hands to stop her. “Fair Face doesn’t manufacture animal products.”
Grams’s grin didn’t falter. “Not yet, but you will. I’ve tested the formulas on my consultant and myself. We’ve used them on my dogs.”
“I didn’t know you hired a consultant.”
“Her name is Becca. You’ll love her.”
Caleb doubted that. Most consultants were only looking for a big payday. He’d have to check this Becca’s qualifications. “You realize Fair Face is a skin care company. Human skin.”
“Skin or fur. Two legs or four. Change … expansion is important if a company wants to remain relevant.”
“Not in this case.” He needed to be careful not to hurt Grams’s feelings. “Our resources are tied up with the launch of the organic baby care line. This isn’t the time to expose ourselves to more risk.”
Lines tightened around her mouth. “Your grandfather built Fair Face by taking risks. Sometimes you have to put yourself out on a limb.”
“Limbs break. I have one thousand one hundred thirty-three employees who count on me to make sure they receive paychecks.”
“What I’m asking you to do is not risky. The formulas are ready to go into production. Put together a pilot sales program and we’re all set.”
“It’s not that simple, Grams. Fair Face is a multinational company. We have extra product testing and research to ensure ourselves against liability issues.” The words came out slowly, full of intent and purpose and zero emotion. His grandmother was the smartest woman he knew, used to getting her way. If he wasn’t careful, he would find himself not only manufacturing her products, but also taking one of her damn dogs home. Likely the one-eyed mutt with soft fur. “I won’t expose Fair Face to the additional expense of trying to break into an unknown market.”
Grams sighed, a long drawn out sigh he hadn’t heard since Courtney lost her passport in Prague when she was supposed to be in Milan.
“Sometimes I wish you had a little more of your father in you instead of being so buttoned-down and by-the-book.”
The aggravation in her voice matched the tension cording in Caleb’s neck. The tightness seeped to his shoulders, spilled down his spine. “This isn’t personal. I can’t afford to make a mistake, and you should be enjoying your retirement, not working in your lab.”
“I’m a chemist. That’s what I do. You didn’t have this problem with the organic baby line.” Frustration tinged each of her words, matching the I-wish-you’d-drop-it look in her eyes. “I see what’s going on. You don’t like the dog care products.”
“I never said that.”
“But it’s the truth.” She studied him as if she were trying to prove a hypothesis. “You’ve got that look. The one you got when you said it didn’t matter if your father came home for Christmas.”
“I never needed him here. I had you and Gramps.” Caleb would try a new tactic. He scooted his chair closer. “Remember Gramps’s marketing tagline.”
“Thefairest face of all …”
“His words still define the company today. Fifty years later.” Caleb leaned toward her, as if his nearness would soften the blow. “I’m sorry to say it, but dog products, no matter how natural or organic or aromatherapeutic, have no place at Fair Face.”
“It’s still my company.” She enunciated each word with a firm voice punctuated by her ramrod posture.
Disappointing his grandmother was something his father did, not Caleb. He felt like a jerk. One with a silk noose around his neck choking him.
“I know that, but it’s not just my decision.” A plane flew overhead. A dog barked. The silence at the table deepened. He prepared himself to say what he’d come here to say. “I met with the department heads before coming over here. Showed them your prototypes. Ran the numbers. Calculated margins.”
“And …”
“Everyone has high expectations for your baby skin care line,” he said. “But they agree—moving into animal products will affect Fair Face’s reputation, not enhance our brand and lead to loss of revenue, anywhere from 2.3 to 5.7 percent.”
Caleb expected to see a reaction, hear a retort. But Grams remained silent, her face still, nuzzling the dog against her neck. “Everyone thinks this?”
He nodded once.
Disbelief flickered across her face. She’d looked the same way when she learned his grandfather had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. But then something sparked. A spark of resignation. No, a spark of resolve.
“Well, that settles it. I trust you know what’s best for Fair Face.” She sounded doting and grandmotherly, not disappointed and hurt. “Becca and I will figure out another way.”
“Another way for what?”
Grams’s eyes darkened to a steely blue. “To manufacture the products. You and those suits at Fair Face are wrong. There’s a market for my dog skin care line. A big one.”
The sun’s rays warmed Becca Taylor’s cheeks. The sweet scent of roses floated on the air. She walked across the manicured lawn in Gertie’s backyard with two dogs—Maurice, a Norwegian elkhound, and Snowy, a bichon frise.
The two show dogs sniffed the ground, looking for any dropped treats or a place to do their business.
She tucked her cellphone into her shorts pocket. “Don’t get sidetracked, boys. Gertie is waiting for us on the patio.”
Becca had no idea what her boss wanted. She didn’t care.
Gertie had rescued Becca the same way she’d rescued the foster dogs living at the estate. This was only a temporary place, but being here gave them hope of finding a forever home.
Maurice’s ears perked.
“Do you hear Gertie?”
The two dogs ran in the direction of the patio.
Becca quickened her pace. She rounded a corner.
Gertie and a man sat at the teak table underneath the shade of the umbrella. Five dogs vied for attention, paws pounding on the pavement. Gertie waved.
The man next to her turned around.
Whoa. Hello, Mr. Gorgeous.
Tingles skittered from Becca’s stomach to her fingertips.
None of the dogs growled or barked at the guy. Points in his favor. Dogs were the best judges of character, much better than hers.
She walked onto the patio.
The man stood.
Another wave of tingles made the rounds.
Most guys she knew didn’t stand. Didn’t open doors. Didn’t leave the toilet seat down. This man had been raised right.
He was handsome with classical features—high cheekbones, straight nose, strong jawline. The kind of handsome women showed off to girlfriends.
The man stepped away from the table, angling his body toward her. His navy pinstriped suit was tailored, accentuating wide shoulders and tapering nicely at the hips. He moved with the grace of an athlete, making her wonder if he had sexy abdominal muscles underneath.
Very nice packaging.
Well, except for his hair.
His short, cookie-cutter, corporate hairstyle could be seen walking out of every high rise in downtown Boise. With such a gorgeous face, the man’s light brown hair should be longer, a little mussed, sexy and carefree, instead of something so … businesslike.
Not that his hair mattered to Becca. Or anything about him.
His top-of-the-line suit shouted one thing—Best in Show.
She might be a dog handler, but she didn’t handle his type.
They didn’t belong in the same ring. He was a champion with an endless pedigree. She was a mutt without a collar.
She’d tried playing with the top dogs, the wealthy dogs, once before and landed in the doghouse, aka jail.
Never again.
But looking never hurt anybody.
Gertie looked up from the dogs at her feet. “Becca. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
He was tall, over six feet. The top of her head came to the tip of his nose.
Becca took two steps closer. “Hello.”
His green eyes reminded her of jade, a bit cool for her taste, but hey, no one was perfect. His eyelashes more than made up for whatever reserve she saw reflected in his gaze. If she had thick, dark lashes like his she would never need to buy mascara again.
She wiped her hand on her shorts then extended her arm. “I’m Becca Taylor.”
His grip was strong, his skin warm.
A burst of heat shot up her arm and pulsed through her veins.
“Caleb Fairchild.” His rich voice reminded her of melted dark chocolate, rich and smooth and tasty.
Wait a minute. Fairchild. That meant he was …
“My grandson,” Gertie said.
The man who could make Becca’s dream of working as a full-time dog handler come true. If the dog products sold as well as Gertie expected, Becca would have the means to travel the dog show circuit without needing to work extra part-time jobs to cover living expenses.
Caleb Fairchild. She couldn’t believe he was here. That had to mean good news about the dog products.
Uh-oh. Ogling him was the last thing she should be doing. He was the CEO of Fair Face and wealthy. Wealthy, as in she could win the lottery twice and not come close to his net worth.
“Nice to meet you.” Becca realized she was still holding his hand. She released it. “I’ve heard lots about you.”
Caleb’s gaze slid over her as if he’d reviewed the evidence, passed judgment and sentenced her to the not-worth-his-time crowd. “I haven’t heard about you until today.”
His formal demeanor made Jane Austen’s Mr. Darcy seem downright provincial. No doubt Mr. Fairchild thought he was too good for her.
Maybe he was.
But she wouldn’t let it bother her.
Her career was not only at stake, but also in his hands.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said.
His stiff tone irritated her like a flea infestation in the middle of winter. But she couldn’t let her annoyance show.
She met his gaze straight on, making sure she didn’t blink or show any signs of weakness. “I’m a dog person.”
“I thought you were a consultant.”
A what? Becca struggled for something to say, struggled and came up empty. Still she had to try. “I … I—”
“Becca is a dog consultant,” Gertie said. “She’s a true dog whisperer. Her veterinary knowledge has been invaluable with product development. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
If Becca wasn’t already indebted to Gertie Fairchild, she was now.
Gertie shot a pointed look at Caleb. “Perhaps if you dropped by more often you’d know what’s going on.”
Caleb directed a smile at his grandmother that redefined the word charming.
Not that Becca was about to be charmed. The dogs might like him, but she was … reserving judgment.
“I see you every Sunday for brunch at the club.” Caleb’s affection for his grandmother wrapped around Becca like a thick, warm comforter, weighing the scales in his favor. “But you never talk about yourself.”
Gertie shrugged, but hurt flashed in her eyes so fast Becca doubted if Caleb noticed. “Oh, it just seems like we end up talking about you and Courtney.”
“Well, I’m here now,” he said.
Gertie placed her hand over her heart and closed her eyes. “To dash all my hopes and dreams.”
