Corporate Affair (The Small Town Girl series) Read online

  Cover

  title page

  Corporate Affair

  ...

  Linda Cunningham

  ...

  Omnific Publishing

  Dallas

  Copyright Information

  Corporate Affair, Copyright © 2013 by Linda Cunningham

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  ...

  Omnific Publishing

  10000 North Central Expressway, Dallas, TX 75231

  www.omnificpublishing.com

  ...

  First Omnific eBook edition, March 2013

  First Omnific trade paperback edition, March 2013

  ...

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ...

  Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  ...

  Cunningham, Linda.

  Corporate Affair / Linda Cunningham – 1st ed

  ISBN: 978-1-623420-17-8

  1. Contemporary Romance—Fiction. 2. Vermont—Romance. 3. Office Romance—Fiction. 4. Small Town—Romance. I. Title

  ...

  Cover Design by Micha Stone and Amy Brokaw

  Interior Book Design by Coreen Montagna

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my mother, Betty Waidlich,

  because she was the first one to read it

  and she really liked the story

  Chapter One

  AIDEN STEWART STOOD WITH HIS HEAD BENT, letting the pulsating hot water of the shower beat down on the back of his neck. He remained there, motionless, for a minute or two before he reluctantly turned the water off and stepped out onto the soft, white bath mat. He grabbed one of the fluffy towels and began to dry himself.

  Aiden was just vain enough to pause as he caught his image in the large, gold-framed mirror opposite the shower. He took pride in the tall, lean body he saw reflected there. His muscles were not bulky like those of a man who spent too much time trying to outdo his last bench press. Instead, they were the long, supple muscles of a true athlete, the muscles of a healthy, thirty-two-year-old man who was comfortable in his own skin, who was used to doing anything physical with ease and grace. He towel-dried his dark brown hair and glanced into the mirror again. It fell attractively around his face, framing his black-lashed, clear brown eyes. He smiled at what he saw, fondly recalling some of the compliments women had offered concerning those eyes, as well as the way his long nose and high cheekbones were softened by the curve of his full lips.

  Aiden was just vain enough to take pleasure in his own physical attributes and, whenever he had the opportunity, use them to get what he wanted. Especially from women. He reflected on this as he picked up his toothbrush. He sighed, feeling the game was getting a little out of control. He was juggling four women in four locations at the moment, and that was a little much, even for him.

  A bold knock on the bedroom door jolted him out of his self-serving reverie.

  “Yes?” Aiden called out, wrapping the towel around his waist and going to the door.

  “You in there, son?” his father asked. Aiden loved visiting his parents’ gracious home outside of Portland, Maine. The house was welcoming, soothing, and beautiful, much like his mother herself. A visit always made Aiden feel secure and comforted, just as he had felt growing up there.

  “I’m here.”

  “Well, open the door and let me in!”

  A visit with his mother, however, also meant a visit with his father. The cantankerous old Yankee had built his life from the ground up and was careful not to let anybody forget it. Aiden sighed, and opened the door.

  “You’re not dressed yet!”

  “It’ll take me two seconds,” said Aiden calmly as he began to pull on his clothes. “What’s the big hurry?”

  “Are you prepared for this meeting?”

  “Ah, yes, I guess so.”

  “Now, Aiden, you’ve got to be prepared. I need to acquire this company to keep us on top. Trade Winds is still the biggest communications company in northern New England, and I want to keep it that way! Acquiring ChatDotCom will give us a greater range and a jump on where the growth will take place over the next twenty years. Gene Palmer is a savvy businessman. I’ve known him for years. He took off to Vermont where he could be a big fish in a little pond, and he’s done real well for himself. Created and sold two businesses before Chat, but now he’s old and it’s no secret he’s sick. He wants to retire. Palmer will cave. And we have to be there when he does.”

  “Dad, I know all this. We talked about it last night.”

  “You’ve got a three-hour drive ahead of you. Why did you stay out so late last night? Was it that Webb girl?”

  “I was out with Jennifer Webb, yes.”

  “Well, you stayed out too late.”

  “Dad, I’m thirty-two.”

  “Is it serious between you? You’ve been seeing her off and on since high school.”

  “That’s just it, Dad, off and on.”

  “Well, I’m not that impressed with her. Never was. She thinks she’s entitled, like so many kids your age. She thinks because her father is head of the finance committee at the hospital and she went to Harvard she’s better than everybody. I’m not that impressed with her father, either, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t ask, Dad,” Aiden muttered as he threaded his belt through the loops of his gray slacks. He picked up a blue and yellow striped tie and turned toward the mirror over the dresser.

  “When are you going to find yourself a real woman and grow up?”

  “Dad—”

  But his father was not listening. The older man sputtered as he changed the subject back to business. “The only thing we have to be careful of is this guy Christopher Fenton. He’s—”

  “I know, Dad. He’s president of Fenton Industries.”

  “He’s more than that! He’s the power behind Fenton Industries! He’s ruthless. A corporate raider. Frankly, I don’t think he’s mentally sound, but he’s smart—and not in a good way. As soon as he finds out that Palmer’s ready to retire, he’s going to make his move and try to snatch up ChatDotCom. He knows we don’t have a lot of cash right now and we’re expanding. It’s my opinion he has the wherewithal to outbid us.”

  “Now, Dad, you don’t know that.”

  “Trust me, I know. Fenton is smooth and cagey. Just a little older than you. Clawed his way up. And he’s not a spoiled rich kid, either, like you. That makes a difference. Aiden, you’re a grown man now. It’s your job to make sure Trade Winds acquires Chat before Fenton gets wind of it. If he found out we were going after it, he’d try to steamroll us right under. And believe me, that guy will stop at nothing! We want Chat for what it is: communications. That’s what we do. Fenton is just a jackal. Feeds on dead things. He’ll just buy it up and chop it up and sell off the pieces. That’s how he makes his money.”

  Aiden glanced at his father as he straightened the knot of his tie.

  The old man’s eyes bored into his. “Trust me,” he repeated, “I know the type.”

  Aiden sighed. It was pointless to argue with his father. It was like trying to drown a fish. Instead, he slipped on his sport coat—a dark blue linen and silk blend appropriate for the warm spring day. “Hey, Dad, what do you know about this Fitzgerald guy? Is it mandatory that he come with the company
? What if we don’t want him?”

  Aiden’s father shook his head vigorously. “I don’t know anything about him,” he said, “except that Gene Palmer won’t consider a sale from anybody unless Fitzgerald goes with it, in full capacity as CEO and for five years. I got that much from talking to one of their board members on the golf course yesterday.”

  “So that means he’s in control of ChatDotCom for the next five years, even as part of Trade Winds?”

  “Yes, unless we find a loophole. Now, if the guy’s doing his job, then we leave him right where he is. It’s your job to find out what’s going on. And don’t forget, before you start worrying about this Fitzgerald guy, we’ve got to acquire the company first.”

  A female voice called up the winding staircase. “Gordon, are you up there bothering your son?”

  Immediately, Aiden saw the old man soften.

  His father called back down. “We’ll be right down, Nellie.” He leveled his eyes at his son again. “Hurry up, Aiden, your mother’s waiting breakfast for us.”

  Aiden followed his father down the stairs and into the large kitchen at the back of the house. They sat down at the big antique farm table in front of steaming mugs of coffee, and Nell Stewart set their breakfasts of sausage, scrambled eggs, and English muffins in front of them as she had been doing since Aiden could remember. Then she took her own seat opposite her son.

  Nell Stewart was seventy-six years old, still lithe and active. Her few gray hairs softened the color of her thick wavy hair from its original dark brown to a lighter, tan color. She wore it caught in an elastic, low on the back of her neck. Her face bore the wrinkles of her age, but it was easy to see the beauty she had been. Gordon Stewart reached over and squeezed his wife’s hand. It was a gesture of affection familiar to Aiden. He watched them in silence for a minute as they all started to eat, and his mind wandered.

  Aiden was the youngest child. His two older sisters were nearly grown when he was born. They had been raised during the lean times. He had heard the stories of how his father’s business dealings had nearly failed several times, threatening the family with bankruptcy. His sisters had told him how they’d had to move into this now beautiful, gracious home when it had been an old, decrepit, and neglected house with a leaky roof and no insulation against the Maine winters. It sat on a spit of cliff so close to the Atlantic’s waters that the salt spray coated the windows during the autumn storms. The family had lived downstairs in the house for the first ten years, heating it with wood stoves, but both Gordon and Nell knew the value of ocean view land and the potential of the house itself. They just had to stay afloat till the potential became a reality.

  Aiden’s sisters had lived through the hard times, but Aiden was the child of his parents’ success. Born right after his father’s first real profitable business coup, Aiden had been raised in the lap of luxury. He had foggy memories of the house being renovated and his mother’s careful planning and execution of those renovations. He also remembered his father asking her repeatedly if she didn’t want to move and build a new house. Aiden was glad his mother had wanted to stay where they were. It always impressed people, especially the women he brought home, to see the place with its magnificent views of Casco Bay. Aiden liked to bring them down the steep wooden stairs, gray with age, that ran across the face of the cliff to the small private, pristine beach. He enjoyed watching how obviously impressed they were when he opened the boathouse door and revealed the sleek and shining Nellie Bly, his father’s prized wooden sailing yacht.

  “What are you thinking about, Aiden?” asked his mother. “You’re staring off into space.”

  “Oh, uh, I was just looking out the window. It looks like spring is finally here. The lilacs are blooming. They weren’t even budded the last time I was here.”

  “Yes! And about time. It’s been a long winter. I’ll open the windows today and let the smell of lilacs fill the house. Are you coming back here to your condo, Aiden, or are you staying in Vermont?”

  “I think I’ll just wrap it up and come back to the condo. I have a date.”

  Gordon snorted. “You had a date last night.”

  Aiden laughed “Well, I have another date tonight.”

  “You should date less and tend to business more.”

  Aiden cut the conversation short. “I better get going,” he said, rising from his chair. His parents stood, and hand in hand, followed him to the door. Aiden bent down and kissed his mother on the cheek. “Love you, Mom,” he said.

  Gordon caught him in a great bear hug. “Do your best, Aiden! Get this thing in the bag!”

  An hour later, Aiden was driving through New Hampshire on the old Route 4, headed for central Vermont. His thoughts drifted. He thought about his date the previous night with Jennifer Webb. They had gone to Hugo’s, one of Portland’s finest restaurants in a city of fine restaurants. He didn’t know why he couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for Jennifer. He genuinely liked her. They had known each other a long time and had dated sporadically—sometimes seriously, sometimes not—since high school. Jennifer was a tall, attractive girl, Harvard educated in economics, a broker for the upper echelon clientele at Greater Bank of Maine in Portland. Her family, although not close friends with his, was a familiar entity. She had an abundance of energy and they shared similar interests in sailing, skiing, and hiking, but the relationship would not progress beyond a certain point. Last night they had had sex, which Aiden could only describe as rather clinical, on the sofa of her house on Cape Elizabeth. She had not invited him to stay the night, and he had been relieved because he hadn’t wanted to.

  Then there was Alexis, the cool blonde he would sleep with tonight. She lived in Boston, and he had met her at a business seminar there. She had driven up the night before and had spent the day with her college friend. He’d had only been on two dates with her, but Aiden knew she was ready. She had a body most men would salivate over, and he knew was in for a night of physical pleasure. He had even called his cleaning lady to ask her to put flowers on the dining room table and in the bedroom and to have the bed freshly made. He was that sure of himself.

  Aiden’s thoughts moved on to his parents. Perhaps they were part of the reason he went from woman to woman, or juggled two or three at once. Where, he thought somewhat sardonically, would he ever find a woman who made him feel the way his mother obviously made his father feel? Where could he possibly find a woman who loved him as completely as his mother loved his father? It was hard, especially these days, to live up to such an example. Every time Aiden thought of marriage, he thought of his parents. That was what marriage was. It was love, respect, sticking together through all the ups and downs of everyday life. It was someone who squeezed your hand at breakfast. It was being kissed on the top of your head as you sat brooding over your books.

  Aiden stared at the ribbon of road stretching out ahead of him. He heaved a deep sigh and dismissed his idea of marriage, one like that shared by his parents, as unattainable.

  Chapter Two

  AIDEN PULLED INTO CLARK’S CORNER, Vermont, exactly three and half hours after leaving Portland. The BMW’s GPS instructed him to turn left and follow the road along the river for two-point-four miles. He slowed to the posted speed limit of forty miles per hour.

  “Destination on right in point-one miles,” said the metallic voice of the GPS.

  Aiden saw the sign on the front of an old brick factory building that followed the edge of a canal that came off the river. CHAT.COM Communications For Today and Tomorrow. He turned as instructed and crossed a narrow bridge to a newly paved parking lot, pulled into a spot marked for visitors, and shut the engine off. He opened the door, stepped out into the sunny spring day, and stretched. It was ten thirty in the morning.

  Aiden looked up at the building. It had obviously been an old paper mill or perhaps a tool company, built along the rushing river during the heyday of the New England industrial boom. The building had been skillfully renovated, and the artistic details imparted b
y bricklayers of long ago were again visible. It was quite a grand structure, curving gracefully along the lip of the canal. Whoever had overseen the renovations had done so with an eye to not spoiling its original character, and the many windows winked once again in the morning sun. Aiden could almost see the droves of immigrant Irish, Poles, Italians, and Scots who came to this country early in the twentieth century for jobs in factories like these and the new lives such jobs would provide. He had always liked history, and he felt oddly comfortable as he walked through the door into the spacious lobby.

  The floors were the original hemlock wood of the factory. In those days the floors were oiled and swept daily until they weathered to a dark mahogany-colored finish. Today it was easy to see that they had been meticulously redone, shining brightly with the original dark-blond color of the natural wood. In the middle of the lobby was a circular, marble-topped desk, behind which sat a pretty young receptionist.

  “May I help you?” she asked politely. Her hair was long, unmoving, and unnaturally jet black. Her eyes were rimmed in smoky shadow, and the mascara had not been spared.

  “I’m Aiden Stewart. I’m here for a meeting with M. Jordan Fitzgerald.”

  “Oh. Oh my,” said the receptionist, warming ever so slightly, “you’re from Trade Winds. The company that wants to buy us. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you, Mr. Stewart. I’ll announce you right away. Just wait here. Can I get you coffee or anything?”

  The girl’s agitated manner amused him. My reputation must have preceded me, he thought.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Take your time. I’ll wait. And I prefer to call it a merger, rather than ‘buy.’”

  The girl hurried away through two big glass doors behind her desk, muttering, “Merger, yes, merger. That’s the word.”

  Aiden put his hands in his pockets and looked around. He wondered if CEO M. Jordan Fitzgerald was as excitable as his receptionist. He gazed at the reproductions of historic photographs that hung on the walls. Some were pictures of rows of men in front of the behemoth machines that once filled the building with their clanking metal voices. Others showed teams of horses bringing in wagons filled with hay, while still more were of the river, jammed with logs upon which balanced wool-clad men wielding their cant-hooks. How odd it was that one of the most successful small Internet providers should be cloistered away in the backwoods of Vermont. Well, the Internet could flourish anywhere, he thought, and that’s why we want to own these companies. We have to own them. As much as he tried to dismiss his father’s irritating lecture before he left Portland this morning, Aiden couldn’t. He knew in his heart that even at his advanced age, his father was still a consummate businessman. Aiden squared his shoulders as the receptionist came back through the big glass doors.