hell don’t."
"Oh, I think we could manage to round one up," Ian replied.
"Thanks a lot," Chase mumbled. As he watched the professor weave his way toward the parking lot, he realized he’d have to come up with a good excuse for blowing off his party. He flung the invitation at Ian. "What’s got into you? Why would I ever go to this stupid thing? Rachel’s never going to give in. At least I know where we stand with Blaine."
Ian’s silence and furrowed forehead said it all: they were dealing with a kid who could very well take them for every cent, if they weren’t paying close attention. But Chase had never been the kind of person who needed to sell himself to anyone, least of all a member of the female gender. They had always come willingly and with predictable expectations, and he’d never failed to deliver. Well, at least before Rachel Lyons screwed with his head.
"Okay. I admit I shouldn’t have gone along with boy wonder," Chase conceded. "But just how am I supposed to get Rachel to change her mind?"
Ian pulled his cap on backward and smiled. "You wouldn’t be askin’ yers truly for advice on talkin’ to a fine lady, now would ya?"
Before Chase could reply, Ian smacked his back. "C’mon, Cap'n. We got work to do."
Chase rationalized to himself as he followed Ian down the dock: He did win her over once. Who’s to say he couldn’t do it again? Besides, by getting Rachel out of his system once and for all, he’d know for sure leaving her wasn’t the worst decision he’d ever made in his life… just an unavoidable one.
Eight
Rachel had been in her office since dawn, making calls and repeating her spiel to board members all over town. She double-checked her tally: four voting yes, four leaning toward no, and one undecided. Dear Megan Van Dozer. By tomorrow’s 10:30 A.M. meeting, if she didn’t win the trenchant woman over, she might as well kiss her father’s pending honor and recognition goodbye.
Chase's history wasn’t making the time-consuming process any easier either. One scan of his file confirmed what Rachel had already surmised. Although he had an amazing gift for recovering the unattainable, exorbitant expenses had nearly wiped out his amassed income. With full-time salaries for four crew members, workmen’s comp insurance, busted equipment, and long-term legal battles, it was remarkable his business had survived as long as it had.
Evidently he was as thoughtless with his management dealings as he was with his personal relationships.
Rachel slipped out of her seat and walked into the next office. "Marcy, do we have any more information on Trident Ventures?"
The sturdy administrative assistant was an invaluable asset. She'd been with the firm since its conception. And although a good portion of her time was now spent bringing the new president up to speed, she had the remarkable ability to pinpoint the exact location of virtually anything within the building’s stone and mortar walls.
"Let me think," she replied, resting a hand on her desk. "If memory serves, there’s another Trident folder in the storage room’s file cabinet."
Oh, great. Rachel had no desire to wander past Tom Nash’s open doorway. Over the last three weeks, he seemed to be materializing everywhere: Starbuck’s, Kinko’s, the San Palo Library. Yet with the founder's recent passing and his only heir's new promotion, she was hard-pressed to avoid the executive director. In order to pay off the loans she had cosigned for her father, she had no choice but to dig her heels into her assiduous job and disregard Nash’s persistent advances.
"Is there any chance you could bail me out here?" Rachel asked Marcy. "I’ve got to get my report finished before tomorrow morning."
Marcy pointed at the stacked volumes on her desk. "Wish I could help you, but I don’t know how I’m going to get through this as it is. Mr. Nash is leaving for Atlantic City in the morning and wants a summary of discretionary expenditures by
"Oh, I think we could manage to round one up," Ian replied.
"Thanks a lot," Chase mumbled. As he watched the professor weave his way toward the parking lot, he realized he’d have to come up with a good excuse for blowing off his party. He flung the invitation at Ian. "What’s got into you? Why would I ever go to this stupid thing? Rachel’s never going to give in. At least I know where we stand with Blaine."
Ian’s silence and furrowed forehead said it all: they were dealing with a kid who could very well take them for every cent, if they weren’t paying close attention. But Chase had never been the kind of person who needed to sell himself to anyone, least of all a member of the female gender. They had always come willingly and with predictable expectations, and he’d never failed to deliver. Well, at least before Rachel Lyons screwed with his head.
"Okay. I admit I shouldn’t have gone along with boy wonder," Chase conceded. "But just how am I supposed to get Rachel to change her mind?"
Ian pulled his cap on backward and smiled. "You wouldn’t be askin’ yers truly for advice on talkin’ to a fine lady, now would ya?"
Before Chase could reply, Ian smacked his back. "C’mon, Cap'n. We got work to do."
Chase rationalized to himself as he followed Ian down the dock: He did win her over once. Who’s to say he couldn’t do it again? Besides, by getting Rachel out of his system once and for all, he’d know for sure leaving her wasn’t the worst decision he’d ever made in his life… just an unavoidable one.
Eight
Rachel had been in her office since dawn, making calls and repeating her spiel to board members all over town. She double-checked her tally: four voting yes, four leaning toward no, and one undecided. Dear Megan Van Dozer. By tomorrow’s 10:30 A.M. meeting, if she didn’t win the trenchant woman over, she might as well kiss her father’s pending honor and recognition goodbye.
Chase's history wasn’t making the time-consuming process any easier either. One scan of his file confirmed what Rachel had already surmised. Although he had an amazing gift for recovering the unattainable, exorbitant expenses had nearly wiped out his amassed income. With full-time salaries for four crew members, workmen’s comp insurance, busted equipment, and long-term legal battles, it was remarkable his business had survived as long as it had.
Evidently he was as thoughtless with his management dealings as he was with his personal relationships.
Rachel slipped out of her seat and walked into the next office. "Marcy, do we have any more information on Trident Ventures?"
The sturdy administrative assistant was an invaluable asset. She'd been with the firm since its conception. And although a good portion of her time was now spent bringing the new president up to speed, she had the remarkable ability to pinpoint the exact location of virtually anything within the building’s stone and mortar walls.
"Let me think," she replied, resting a hand on her desk. "If memory serves, there’s another Trident folder in the storage room’s file cabinet."
Oh, great. Rachel had no desire to wander past Tom Nash’s open doorway. Over the last three weeks, he seemed to be materializing everywhere: Starbuck’s, Kinko’s, the San Palo Library. Yet with the founder's recent passing and his only heir's new promotion, she was hard-pressed to avoid the executive director. In order to pay off the loans she had cosigned for her father, she had no choice but to dig her heels into her assiduous job and disregard Nash’s persistent advances.
"Is there any chance you could bail me out here?" Rachel asked Marcy. "I’ve got to get my report finished before tomorrow morning."
Marcy pointed at the stacked volumes on her desk. "Wish I could help you, but I don’t know how I’m going to get through this as it is. Mr. Nash is leaving for Atlantic City in the morning and wants a summary of discretionary expenditures by
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