The CEO Buys In
Page 29
Chloe sat down hard on the desk chair and racked her brain. What the heck was she supposed to discuss with the CEO of Trainor Electronics? She cast a quick glance at him. He looked so ill and drawn. She fought back a nearly overwhelming urge to reach out and smooth a curl of his tousled hair off his forehead. The paperback on his bedside table caught her eye. “Why don’t I read your book to you?” she suggested.
“I’d rather you told me what books you like to read,” he said, turning his bleary gaze on her.
She remembered he was reading a thriller. “I liked The Bourne Identity.”
“Movie or book?”
“Both. I think the movie did a good job of capturing the essence of the book.” This wasn’t going well. He wanted her to talk, and instead they were playing twenty questions. “Why don’t I tell you about some of my experiences as a temp?”
He shifted so that his head was supported by the pillows. “I’m all ears.”
She always told Grandmillie about the funny or mind-bogglingly stupid things that happened at her temporary jobs, so she had a collection of stories. Of course, she changed the names to protect the innocent, the crooked, and the downright stupid. After about three of them, Trainor’s eyes closed. She stopped talking and stood up to leave the room so he could sleep.
The murmur of his voice stopped her. “Why did he invite me?”
“Excuse me?” she said.
He lifted his head, looking surprised. “Did I say that out loud?”
“You said something out loud.”
He made a gesture of frustration as he stared out the windows. “I haven’t seen my father in two years. I’ve spoken to him maybe half a dozen times in that period. Why would he decide I should be at his shotgun wedding?”
Did he really want her to answer that? She waited.
Trainor turned to her. “Why?”
So it wasn’t a rhetorical question. “You’re family,” she said. “Blood is thicker than water.” She winced at how trite that sounded.
“You can do better than that.”
“Okay, fine.” Chloe flopped into the desk chair again. She was getting tired of its upright ergonomics and looked longingly at the comfortable armchairs in the seating area. Unfortunately, they were too big to drag over to the bed. “Family is one of the constants in anyone’s life. You always have to deal with them, even if it’s to decide you don’t want to deal with them.”
“Now you’re interesting me,” Trainor said.
She made a face at him. “However, most of us continue to stay in touch with our families because there is a history we share with them that we share with no one else in the world. They are the witnesses to our life at all its stages. I would guess your father wants you to be part of this new and probably nerve-racking phase of his life in some way.” This was getting too serious, so Chloe shrugged. “Or maybe he just wants a really nice wedding gift.”
Trainor gave a crack of laughter. “If you’re thinking china, my father considers a US military–issued mess kit a more than adequate table setting.”
Since he had started the personal conversation, Chloe found the nerve to ask, “Why haven’t you seen your father in two years?”
His eyes went cold, and she thought she’d pushed him too far. Then he shook his head. “I don’t like the Marines, and he doesn’t like anyone but Marines.”
“But you’re his son, and you’re not exactly a miserable failure.”
Trainor picked at a fold in the sheet beside him. “I was the first male in my family in five generations not to attend a military academy. The general handed down the prized family sword to the son who will never wear a uniform. He can’t forgive me for that.”
“Seriously? You run a multinational corporation that you started with your own personal invention. How could he not be proud of you?”
“Not good enough. I’ve never risked my life for my country.”
“But your batteries are used by the military. You’ve made soldiers’ lives safer and better, both personally and professionally, by providing reliable, long-term power for their computers and cell phones and gizmos too secret for me to know about.”
“I think you should tell him that. In person.” A calculating smile that she distrusted drew up the corners of his mouth. “Come with me to his wedding.”
She shot off the chair so fast that it scooted backward on its wheels. Her first thought was how thrilling it would be to spend a day as Nathan Trainor’s date. Her second was that he was mocking her. She held a tight rein on her words and managed to come up with, “That’s not funny.”
Annoyingly unruffled, he nodded. “I agree, and because it won’t be at all amusing, I would pay you generously for your time.”
“Why do you think money will overcome my objections to everything you propose?” She was beginning to feel insulted, despite the fact that money motivated her very powerfully because of her worries about Grandmillie’s future care. He’d found her vulnerability and was exploiting it for his own ends. She didn’t like that about him.
He looked vaguely surprised. “Ben told me you agreed to come here after negotiating an increase in your pay. I assumed that would work on other matters as well.”
She bit her lip, upset that he saw her as being so crass. “I’m not as mercenary as you think.”
“Mercenary is another one of those unnecessarily judgmental words. You have a realistic idea of your own value,” he said.
“I’d rather you told me what books you like to read,” he said, turning his bleary gaze on her.
She remembered he was reading a thriller. “I liked The Bourne Identity.”
“Movie or book?”
“Both. I think the movie did a good job of capturing the essence of the book.” This wasn’t going well. He wanted her to talk, and instead they were playing twenty questions. “Why don’t I tell you about some of my experiences as a temp?”
He shifted so that his head was supported by the pillows. “I’m all ears.”
She always told Grandmillie about the funny or mind-bogglingly stupid things that happened at her temporary jobs, so she had a collection of stories. Of course, she changed the names to protect the innocent, the crooked, and the downright stupid. After about three of them, Trainor’s eyes closed. She stopped talking and stood up to leave the room so he could sleep.
The murmur of his voice stopped her. “Why did he invite me?”
“Excuse me?” she said.
He lifted his head, looking surprised. “Did I say that out loud?”
“You said something out loud.”
He made a gesture of frustration as he stared out the windows. “I haven’t seen my father in two years. I’ve spoken to him maybe half a dozen times in that period. Why would he decide I should be at his shotgun wedding?”
Did he really want her to answer that? She waited.
Trainor turned to her. “Why?”
So it wasn’t a rhetorical question. “You’re family,” she said. “Blood is thicker than water.” She winced at how trite that sounded.
“You can do better than that.”
“Okay, fine.” Chloe flopped into the desk chair again. She was getting tired of its upright ergonomics and looked longingly at the comfortable armchairs in the seating area. Unfortunately, they were too big to drag over to the bed. “Family is one of the constants in anyone’s life. You always have to deal with them, even if it’s to decide you don’t want to deal with them.”
“Now you’re interesting me,” Trainor said.
She made a face at him. “However, most of us continue to stay in touch with our families because there is a history we share with them that we share with no one else in the world. They are the witnesses to our life at all its stages. I would guess your father wants you to be part of this new and probably nerve-racking phase of his life in some way.” This was getting too serious, so Chloe shrugged. “Or maybe he just wants a really nice wedding gift.”
Trainor gave a crack of laughter. “If you’re thinking china, my father considers a US military–issued mess kit a more than adequate table setting.”
Since he had started the personal conversation, Chloe found the nerve to ask, “Why haven’t you seen your father in two years?”
His eyes went cold, and she thought she’d pushed him too far. Then he shook his head. “I don’t like the Marines, and he doesn’t like anyone but Marines.”
“But you’re his son, and you’re not exactly a miserable failure.”
Trainor picked at a fold in the sheet beside him. “I was the first male in my family in five generations not to attend a military academy. The general handed down the prized family sword to the son who will never wear a uniform. He can’t forgive me for that.”
“Seriously? You run a multinational corporation that you started with your own personal invention. How could he not be proud of you?”
“Not good enough. I’ve never risked my life for my country.”
“But your batteries are used by the military. You’ve made soldiers’ lives safer and better, both personally and professionally, by providing reliable, long-term power for their computers and cell phones and gizmos too secret for me to know about.”
“I think you should tell him that. In person.” A calculating smile that she distrusted drew up the corners of his mouth. “Come with me to his wedding.”
She shot off the chair so fast that it scooted backward on its wheels. Her first thought was how thrilling it would be to spend a day as Nathan Trainor’s date. Her second was that he was mocking her. She held a tight rein on her words and managed to come up with, “That’s not funny.”
Annoyingly unruffled, he nodded. “I agree, and because it won’t be at all amusing, I would pay you generously for your time.”
“Why do you think money will overcome my objections to everything you propose?” She was beginning to feel insulted, despite the fact that money motivated her very powerfully because of her worries about Grandmillie’s future care. He’d found her vulnerability and was exploiting it for his own ends. She didn’t like that about him.
He looked vaguely surprised. “Ben told me you agreed to come here after negotiating an increase in your pay. I assumed that would work on other matters as well.”
She bit her lip, upset that he saw her as being so crass. “I’m not as mercenary as you think.”
“Mercenary is another one of those unnecessarily judgmental words. You have a realistic idea of your own value,” he said.
