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The young man nodded nervously.
Mr. Hamilton turned to smile at Grant. “Let’s get in there and get on with this. I will warn you that you might meet with some resistance from my daughter. She’s rather strong-willed, but she’s also very intelligent, and I’m sure she’ll listen to reason.” He smiled. “Especially if it comes from you and not me.”
Grant nodded. He was curious to meet the daughter. He was hoping that she wasn’t going to be some spoilt little rich girl. He didn’t want to dwell on that notion, though. It wasn’t fair to stereotype the woman based on the circumstances. Plus, given what he’d seen in the books, she was running the place well—if not in the way her father wanted her to.
Mr. Hamilton opened the door to the boardroom and gestured for Grant to go in ahead of him. He stepped inside and stopped dead. Chelsea! She’d been sitting at the table and got to her feet. She took two steps toward him before she, too, stopped dead. Her eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed when she recognized him. Grant’s heart was thundering in his chest. He’d wondered if he’d ever see her again. He’d entertained a dozen different scenarios of how things might play out if he did. But this? This had not been one of those scenarios. She was the daughter? She was the manager of Zosca, who he was supposed to bring into line?
Mr. Hamilton closed the door and came to stand between them. His smile faded when he saw the look on his daughter’s face.
“Chelsea. This is Grant Dawson. He’s here to help get Zosca back on track. I hope that you’re going to work well with him.”
Chelsea turned to stare at her father and then looked back at Grant. He wondered what she was going to say. Would she admit that they already knew each other? Grant doubted it, but panic surged through him at the thought of Mr. Hamilton knowing that she’d been in his bed less than twenty-four hours ago. He waited, every second feeling as though it lasted for hours.
Mr. Hamilton gave him an apologetic look. “Grant. I’d like you to meet my daughter, Chelsea. You might want to make the most of her silence. I assure you she’s normally much more vocal.” He scowled at Chelsea, and that seemed to snap her out of her shock.
She raised an eyebrow at Grant, and he tried not to remember how vocal she’d been on Saturday night. He couldn’t help it, her screams of yes, yes, yes! resounded in his head. He couldn’t help the smile that memory brought.
She smiled back; however, hers was a polite, frozen smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Dawson.”
“Please, call me Grant.”
She held his gaze, but he had no clue what she was thinking.
“Yes, you two should be on first name terms. You’re going to be spending a lot of time together, knocking things into shape.” He turned a stern look on Chelsea. “For the next few weeks, you’re going to be under Grant.”
Grant bit the inside of his lip. That’d suit him just fine—but Mr. Hamilton didn’t mean in bed. He’d swear he saw the ghost of a smile on Chelsea’s face, but it was gone as soon as it came.
“I don’t think you know what you’re saying, Dad.” Chelsea shot Grant a furious look.
“Yes, I do, and you’re going to do as I say.”
For a moment, Grant was afraid that she was going to tell her father that she’d already been under Grant, and he’d be out on his ass in no time. He needn’t have worried, though.
“I’m not going to accept an outsider coming in and telling me how to run the place. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing.”
Mr. Hamilton closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again. “Shall we take a seat and get down to it?”
~ ~ ~
Chelsea took a seat at the head of the table and waited. She needed to gather her wits. This was unbelievable! What were the odds that the guy she spent the night with—intending to never see him again—would turn out to be the very same guy her father had hired to turn Zosca around? She risked a glance at Grant. He was just as sexy in a suit and tie … dammit, no! She didn’t need to be thinking that. He was no longer an attractive guy she might want to sleep with. He was the enemy!
He smiled at her. The same smile he’d given her in bed yesterday morning. She shivered at the memory—of everything they’d done that night, and how great it’d been. She needed to pull herself together. She gave him a frosty smile in return.
“I think you need to understand the situation. You’ve been brought in to turn around a business that doesn’t want to turn around. The business likes the path it’s on.” She turned and scowled at her father before continuing. “Zosca is doing well, by most standards. Just not by my father’s standards. I don’t need you, and I certainly don’t need to be under you.”
She jutted her chin out and waited. She’d made herself clear, to both of them.
“Chelsea,” her dad began in a scolding tone.
“If I may, Mr. Hamilton?”
They both turned to look at Grant who gave them a disarming smile. “I’m glad this has come up right away. It allows me to raise the question that’s been on my mind since I went over the books yesterday.”
Chelsea cringed. After she’d left him, he’d spent the day going through her books? That was just wrong. She couldn’t believe she’d slept with the guy who was here to tear her company apart.
“I have to say that, in some respects, I agree with Chelsea. Zosca is doing well—by most standards.” He turned to her father. “I’d like to get clear about what you both want.”
“I want you to leave!” Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t totally true. She’d rather he just stopped being the guy her dad had brought in.
