Without Apology (Without Series Book 1) Page 2

  “Okay. It’s not me who is the most worried, you know. Kevin has already plotted all the ways we’re to have anniversary sex tonight once we get to the hotel room.”

  All of a sudden, I realized the last part of her statement was coming through loud and clear over the Bluetooth speaker on the truck, something that had automatically connected once I turned the motor on for the AC. I felt my face heat when I noticed Simon’s amused expression. At least he hadn’t run off yet. Although that could be because I hadn’t given the poor man his bottle of champagne. He probably thought I was holding it hostage.

  “Uh, TMI, Jen. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  But my older sister couldn’t let it go. Especially not today in front of this gorgeous man. “You’re less than five minutes from the house, and it sounds like you’re in your car, so unless you met some guy in the supermarket, what on earth would take you fifteen more minutes?”

  I sighed heavily and then handed Simon his bottle of champagne with a look of apology.

  But he leaned in and, much to my surprise, spoke up. “It so happened she did meet someone at the market. Matter of fact, I asked her out for a drink after she was nice enough to purchase my bottle of champagne.”

  Jen didn’t skip a beat. “Please tell me you’re old enough to buy your own alcohol. I mean, Peyton, come on. Trolling for minors and providing them liquor in exchange for dates is a little last year.”

  Forget her being the best sister in the world. I was going murder her. “You do realize you need me a lot more than I need you tonight, right?”

  He threw his head back and laughed at the entire exchange. “I assure you I’m of age. However, Laverne wasn’t convinced without proper identification. Perhaps I can get your number instead, Peyton. Ring you for dinner sometime?”

  I conjured up a smirk of my own. “After all of this craziness on display during the last few minutes, you’re still convinced eating with me in a public place would be a good idea?”

  His eyes twinkled with amusement.

  “Holy shit, I just realized he has a British accent, doesn’t he?” The voice that wouldn’t shut up came from over the speaker.

  I shook my head, having forgotten about my sister in the background. “Bye, Jen. See you in a few minutes.” I hung up and then turned, looking sheepishly into Simon’s face.

  “Let me get your number.”

  He deftly entered the digits as I recited them, but I doubted very much I’d ever hear from him. I could’ve asked for his number instead of giving him mine, but I preferred to have him show the effort, not to mention interest.

  “I’ll run over there, get your cash, and pay you back.”

  I watched him cross over to the ATM.

  Once he returned, he handed me a hundred dollars.

  I looked at him dumbly. “You bought a hundred-dollar bottle of champagne?” I had no idea my local market had something that expensive.

  “It’s for a business dinner I have with someone local. Did you not notice your one bag of groceries was a hundred twenty-eight dollars?”

  I shook my head, realizing I’d been so sidetracked by him that the total hadn’t even registered. “Must’ve been distracted.”

  “Laverne does have that effect.”

  My face heated. “Indeed.” Then something dawned on me. “Where’s your car?” If he’d come here without a license, I wondered how he was driving.

  He pointed to the front of the store, where a sedan was parked, waiting with a driver. “I should have my own vehicle squared away soon.”

  “Oh.” Hot guy in a suit, hundred-dollar bottle of champagne, car with a driver, all in my small town. Yeah, I was sure he was only passing through, not looking for a date with a girl in a Mickey shirt.

  “Goodbye, Cooper. Take care of your mum. It was nice to meet you, Peyton.”

  “Nice meeting you, too. Cheers.”

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, I relayed every bit of my unexpected meeting to my sister, who was face palming while we sat at her kitchen table. She was dressed up and ready to leave for the night with her husband, but first insisted on all the details of my hot guy at the supermarket adventure.

  Jen had the same shade of brown hair I did but wore it quite a bit shorter, a length she insisted was a consequence of having babies and no time to style your hair daily. I guess that meant I was screwed since I could hardly be bothered now. She was older than me by five years and had met her husband in high school when they were both fifteen. To this day, he practically worshipped her and seemed to take genetic predisposition for crazy in stride.

  “You left it with ‘cheers’ to the Brit? You’re seriously terrible at this,” she admonished on a sigh. Jen wasn’t one to mince words.

  “Your comments via the speakerphone didn’t exactly help me out, sis.”

  My brother-in-law, Kevin, looking much as he had in high school, with his sandy blond hair and baby face, came in from the living room and patted my head. “Maybe he thought you were only making fun of him.”

  I groaned. “That’s even worse. And now I feel awful postponing your anniversary night by retelling the story of the guy who most likely will never call.”

  “No worries. It’s not as though Kevin hasn’t seen my vagina plenty, so an extra half hour won’t kill him. Speaking of which, you should probably schedule with your waxer, Peyton. Better safe than sorry if he does ask you out.”

  You’d think after all these years of dealing with a sister who had no filter I’d be accustomed to her ability to embarrass me. “Jesus, Jen. Not only do I not want to talk about your vagina, but I’m certainly not talking about mine.”

  My brother-in-law clinked his soda against mine. “Cheers to that thought. With any luck, this guy will overlook your crazy family and give you a call. At least he wasn’t intimidated by Cooper, unlike the last loser you dated. No offense.”

  “Some taken,” I muttered since I’d been the one actually to date said loser. How was I supposed to know the guy had a fear of dogs, and when he came to pick me up for a second date, Cooper would send him running out to his car, where he wouldn’t do more than crack a window to talk to me? Ugh. My dating life was practically nonexistent these days. But in my defense, I spent most of my free time with my dog or family. Besides, first dates were typically—at least in my experience—excruciating.

  “Why was he in town?”

  I shrugged. “He mentioned something about a dinner. Seemed rude to ask more, and I was distracted by, well, him.”

  “Hey, did you apply for the CFO job yet or what?” Jen inquired, giving me whiplash with the change in subject.

  Because she’d practically raised me after our parents died when I was fourteen, she often took on a parental thing of trying to guide and advise my life decisions.

  Nothing like feeling as though everyone would be let down if I didn’t apply for that damn position. “Not yet.”

  “Come on, sis. You’re more than qualified. You definitely have Dad’s brain for numbers.”

  Our father had been a successful CFO of a Fortune 500 company. All through school, my family would tease me that I had the same affinity he did for numbers. But when he’d been alive, he’d worked a lot of hours, taking him away from his family for weeks at a time. The last thing I wanted was to be pressured into taking the job.

  “Yes. I will. But enough about me already. You guys go.”

  “All right. We’ll talk later. Call us if you need anything tonight with the girls,” Jen offered, giving me a hug. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  “I prefer a text,” Kevin quipped with a wink. He gave my shoulder a brotherly squeeze and ushered my sister out before she delayed one more minute.

  Going into the back yard, I clapped my hands for the girls. “Who wants to make cookies?”

  I might not ever hear from Brexy or be the next CFO, but at least I’d always be the most awesome aunt, particularly tonight when three little girls with exuberant f
aces came running in.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Simon

  When I’d first heard my newest assignment would be in Dallas, I’d been less than thrilled about the location. I was an urban dweller who preferred larger cities, such as London or New York. However, a job was a job, so I flew in from New York at the last possible moment before my scheduled dinner with the owner of the newest company I was looking to buy on behalf of my client.

  Only in small-town America did an owner wanting to discuss the potential sale of his business invite someone over for dinner rather than make a reservation at a fancy restaurant. But my client was adamant about purchasing this particular company and I didn’t make my millions by telling him no. The least I could do was drop by one of the local supermarkets to pick up a bottle of champagne beforehand.

  What I hadn’t counted on was meeting the charming Ms. ‘Quite’ Single Peyton at the market, of all places. She’d been a breath of fresh air. Especially since I’d spent the last few years in Manhattan meeting women who were more interested in my zip code or net worth than anything else. Of course, when you worked eighty hours a week, who had time for dating anyhow?

  I’d laughed more in the ten minutes spent with her than I could ever remember having laughed with anyone.

  Once I was in the back of the sedan and pulling out from the grocery store, I rang my assistant, Emma.

  “Hello, Simon,” she answered.

  Emma had been my right arm over the last seven years and probably knew me better than anyone else did.

  “Hello. You all packed?” She was flying out of New York tomorrow to meet me here and bringing along our accountant, Tom.

  “I am. However, I’m not sure what to pack for Kansas.”

  I grinned. “Texas. They get very perturbed here if you call it anything else.”

  Emma was British like me. And like me, she didn’t often get the whole state pride thing. It was decidedly American. Nevertheless, I’d learned it didn’t do us any favors to piss off people by lumping them into the wrong state. It was almost as bad as getting the American football teams wrong.

  “Fine. Fine. Is it hot?”

  “Not too bad this time of year.” It was March and mild. However, I was told that in August it would be a different story. “Do you by chance have a status on my International Driver’s Permit?” Without one, I wasn’t eligible to drive here in the States. I realized I’d prefer to pick Peyton up for a date instead of showing up with a driver.

  There hadn’t been a need to drive in New York City, which I’d called home for a decade. But if I was to be here in Texas for the next few weeks, I didn’t want to be chauffeured around. The look on Peyton’s face had been enough to confirm that wasn’t typical here in the Southwest. Plus, it had been a long time since I’d driven, and I was eager to try it again.

  “Yes. The permit came in. I’ll email you a photo of the document, so at least you’ll have proof until the hard copy arrives. Although I don’t understand why you wouldn’t prefer to have a driver.”

  “This isn’t New York. There’s a lot of space, and I’m anxious to take a car on the open road and step on the gas.” What could I say? Freedom was calling to me.

  “I’m sorry. I must have the wrong number. The Simon I know prefers not to waste any time and to work in the back of the car.”

  She wasn’t wrong. It was how I often spent car or plane rides.

  “You sure you want to rent a Mercedes? I can call back and get a fire-engine red Lamborghini.”

  “Funny. Actually, what would fit in better here would be a pickup truck.”

  “Oh, the horror. Next thing you know, you’ll be wearing boots and baling hay.”

  “Keep making jokes, and I’ll change our hotel reservation to the Stagecoach Inn.”

  Of course she had to have the last word. “As if you’d remember how to make your own reservation, let alone change one.”

  Once again, she wasn’t wrong.

  ***

  When I arrived at the owner of Maddox Consulting’s house, my first thought was that it was huge. After living in both Manhattan and London, where land was at a premium, I found it jolting to see such a sprawling house, with dozens more like it lining the street.

  The man himself greeted me at the door, clasping my hand in a firm grip. “Hello, Mr. Granger. It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

  “Please call me Simon, Mr. Owens.”

  “In that case, call me George.” He ushered me in. He was a big man with a bona fide Texas handlebar moustache. A silver belt buckle the size of a plate held up jeans that boasted creases which had obviously been pressed with care.

  I immediately wanted to like him. This wasn’t typical. Normally, I didn’t have feelings one way or another about the people involved with the companies we bought. In my job, there were no personal ties as I couldn’t afford to let anything like that get in the way of a deal.

  I offered up the bottle of champagne, and he took it gracefully. Now, after meeting the man, I guessed he would’ve preferred a bottle of whiskey.

  “Thank you. Hope you’re a steak eater. I’m grilling up some nice rib eyes.”

  “I am, indeed.”

  He led me out to the patio where he had the steaks on the grill. A woman who was around his age was setting the table on a beautifully decorated outdoor patio space that overlooked the pool just beyond it. Once again, the sheer amount of land was impressive.

  “Good. This is my wife, Carol. Carol, this is Simon Granger.”

  She greeted me with a kind smile. “Hello, Simon. Nice to meet you. Do you want me to take your suit jacket?”

  I was overdressed. That much was evident as she was also wearing jeans. “No, but thank you.”

  “We don’t stand on much ceremony here in Dallas, which is why I love this state and this city. Sorry, I should’ve told you to arrive casual,” George offered.

  Ironically, I felt the most comfortable in a suit, maybe because I spent most of my time in one. “It’s quite all right. I probably should’ve brought whiskey instead of champagne.”

  “No, no. It’s fine. So, your boss says you’re an expert in the art of acquisitions. Considering the man isn’t generous with compliments, it’s quite a feat to garner one.”

  I worked for Phillip Stone, billionaire and investor in over fifty companies and the owner of the Stone Group LLP. I’d been there for the last seven years and helped him buy over half of those companies. Sometimes he’d keep them; other times he’d turn around and sell the pieces. It was my job to advise what would make the most profit. Although Phillip wasn’t free with his compliments, as George pointed out, we’d struck a good balance. He trusted me enough with his money to find the best deals, and I turned over every rock to ensure we made good decisions.

  “I appreciate his faith in me.” I watched as George flipped the steaks with practiced ease.

  “Well earned, I hear. However, before selling my company, I want to be very clear about two things.”

  Something told me this man honestly meant whatever he was about to say. Most owners were simply out to make money, but George seemed different. “All right.”

  “One. I understand you want to interview all of the employees at Maddox Consulting to make a determination about who will fit into the new business. It’s basically a fancy way of saying you want to get rid of people you think won’t cut it.”

  In a word, yes. Sometimes there were people in a company who’d been in the same position a lot of years who became complacent. “We simply want the type of people who are committed to the long term, which will include a lot of change. Not all employees want a new financial system, new policies and procedures. The interview process is integral to ensure everyone is on board.”

  He sighed. “I get it. But you have to understand I care about these people. So in that vein of thought, I want to offer packages. I have some employees nearing retirement. I want to give them the option of an early retirement package. For everyone el
se, if you choose not to keep them, I’d like to give them a generous termination package.”

  Although most owners didn’t particularly care to do this since it dipped into their profit from the sale, his suggestion wasn’t unheard of. “I’m certain we can accommodate your request. And what’s the second condition?”

  “You let me be the one to tell my people. A lot of them have been with me a number of years. I want to be sure they understand my reasons. Also, you should be aware my director of accounting is the key to getting ninety percent of the information you need. She’s been acting CFO since Jerry retired. Hands down, she’s my biggest asset in the back office.”

  I made a mental note. The first course of business was discovery. Having a key person to assist us with the audit and interviews expedited things greatly. “Of course you can tell them however you choose once the sale is final. And we can certainly use a point person on the inside for the audit, so it’s good to hear you have someone capable for us.”

  Oftentimes, after examining the books and a company’s finances, the result was no deal at all and us walking away. One thing I never did was waste my boss’s money. Simply put: if he didn’t make money, then I didn’t make money.

  “Why don’t you walk me through your process for audit, and I’ll answer any questions you may have?”

  “Happy to.” It’s what I was here for. I might like George, but my loyalty would always reside with my boss and with my job.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Peyton

  Upon arriving home at midmorning on Saturday after my night babysitting my nieces, both Cooper and I took a nap. I think he was as happy as I was to climb into bed, his on the floor to the side of mine. Finally, we could get some uninterrupted rest. Watching a trio of girls under the age of eight was tough work. Not that I would trade it for anything, but Aunt Peyton needed some sleep where I wasn’t waking up every hour, paranoid I’d heard one of them get out of bed. How did parents do it?

  Once I’d recharged, I spent time cleaning my small two-bedroom house. I’d bought it five years ago because of the large, fenced backyard. The house itself was quaint and cozy with the perfect amount of room for me and Cooper. It was located in a quiet cul-de-sac in a family-friendly neighborhood only five miles from my sister’s house.