- -
- 100%
- +
Blake Preston? The former football hero of Icicle Falls High? He’d been four years ahead of her in school and she’d been too young for his crowd, but it was a small school and everyone knew everyone. He’d winked at her a few times when they’d passed in the hall, like that was supposed to make her day. It had.
Yes, good old Blake had been a player both on and off the field. But how the heck had he wound up as a bank manager? Banking and football didn’t exactly go hand in hand.
She frowned, remembering the jocks she’d shared classes with as a college business major, not to mention the one she almost married. Guys like that spent more time studying their playbooks than listening to what the professor had to say in lecture hall. Some of those doofs should never have been given a business degree, but they’d gotten one, anyway. Her doof not only got a degree, he’d dumped her and gotten the richest girl in their graduating class. (And a cushy job with Daddy, too.) Thank God she’d gone out of state for her college education. At least she’d never have to see him and Mrs. Doof again. Wherever he’d ended up, he was probably busy ignoring his company to play golf and lunch with his old frat buddies.
So what old frat buddy had given Blake Preston entrée into the world of banking? Whoever it was, he hadn’t done Icicle Falls any favor. She tossed the invite in the wastebasket and kept digging.
One more layer of paper down she found a ticking time bomb—another piece of correspondence from the bank, this one not so nice. Her heart shifted into overdrive and she fell back against Waldo’s big leather chair, sure she was going to have a heart attack. There, under the Cascade Mutual letterhead, was a cold but polite missive informing her stepfather that Sweet Dreams was behind on its loan payment. “As you are aware”—were they?—“Cascade Mutual Bank has a strict ninety-day grace period regarding overdue installment payments. This grace period has expired on your note in the amount of…”
Ooooh. The numbers danced in front of her eyes like tiny demons. No, this couldn’t be happening! She read on.
“Because Sweet Dreams Chocolates and Cascade Mutual Bank have a long-standing relationship, we are extending the grace period until February 28, at which time the aforementioned amount is due in full. It is hoped this matter can be resolved as soon as possible.”
Only if she started printing money in the basement. What in the name of Godiva was she going to do?
Hyperventilate! A bag, where was a bag? She couldn’t breathe. She was going to be sick. She needed chocolate! Her cell phone rang. The ring tone—Gwen Stefani’s “Sweet Escape”—told her it was Cecily and she grabbed it like a lifeline. “Cec, we… Oh, I’m going to pass out. Where’s a bag?” She rifled through desk drawers, but came up all she came up with was an old cigar, paper clips, rubber bands and—what was this? A stress ball. She scooped it up and strangled it.
“What’s wrong?”
“We— The bank. Oh, my God, I can’t believe this!” Samantha wailed, and burst into tears.
Now she’d made so much noise that Elena had rushed into the office. “What’s going on?” One look at Samantha and the blood drained from her face. “Madre de Dios.”
“Get me chocolate,” Samantha panted, and squeezed the stress ball again. These things were useless. She threw it across the room and grabbed a fistful of hair as Elena rushed off to find a dose of restorative chocolate.
“Sam, tell me what’s going on,” Cecily demanded.
“The bank is calling in their note. As if everything wasn’t already enough of a mess. As if we didn’t already owe the whole friggin’ world! My God, what did I ever do to deserve this? Is it because I bossed you guys around when we were little? I’m sorry. And I shouldn’t have stood up Tony Barrone for homecoming. No, that’s not it. It’s because I yelled at Waldo.”
“Sam, please,” Cecily pleaded. “You’re scaring me.”
Be afraid. Be very afraid. What old movie was that from? Probably one where everybody died.
Samantha laid her head on the desk and pulled a newspaper over her. Now she understood why the groundhog went back underground when it saw its shadow. She wished she could dig a hole and pull it in after herself and never come out.
From a distance her sister called, “Sam? Sam!”
“I give up,” she moaned, pulling the phone under her paper tent and back to her ear. “I surrender. Match me up with a millionaire. I just want to lie around on a yacht somewhere in the Mediterranean and drink ChocoVine.”
“No, you don’t,” Cecily said firmly. “You’re not wired that way and you’d be bored out of your mind in a week.”
“I’m not wired for this,” Samantha whimpered.
“It’s going to be okay.”
Elena was back now, slipping an open box of truffles under the newspaper.
“Thank you,” Samantha said. She shoved a handful in her mouth.
Elena lifted a corner of the paper and peered under it. “What else do you need?”
“A new life.” Samantha pulled the newspaper off her head and forced herself to sit up and push her hair out of her eyes. “I’m fine,” she told both Elena and herself. “Just a temporary meltdown.”
Her secretary hovered, looking doubtful.
“Really. It’s okay.” What a big, fat liar she was.
Elena still looked dubious, but she got the hint and left, shutting the door behind her.
Samantha picked up her phone. “Okay. I’m okay now.” No, she wasn’t. Who was she kidding? Where were they going to get that kind of money?
“Maybe you could go over to the bank and charm the new guy in charge into giving you a little more time,” Cecily suggested.
They’d given her a little more time. Very little. “This is business. Charm doesn’t enter into it.” Damn.
“Charm enters into business more than you realize,” Cecily said.
Samantha sighed. “You’re right. I’ll have to go over there and talk to the new manager. Sweet Dreams is a vital part of the town’s economy. It’s in everyone’s interest for the bank to work with us and help us get through this rough patch.” That was exactly what she’d say to him. Rules could be bent if everyone benefited in the long run.
She took a deep cleansing breath and told herself she felt better already. Big, fat liar.
“There you go,” Cecily said encouragingly.
“And I’ll take him some of our wares,” Samantha decided. “Who doesn’t like chocolate?”
“Charm and bribery, a businesswoman’s best friends.”
Samantha sure hoped so. She thanked her sister for the shrink session, then buzzed Elena on the office phone.
“You okay now?” Elena asked.
“Yes,” Samantha lied. “Call down to Luke and tell him to put together the mother of all gift baskets.”
* * *
At 10:00 a.m. Samantha walked into the bank bearing a cellophane-wrapped basket filled to the brim with goodies from Sweet Dreams Chocolates. If this didn’t melt Blake Preston’s heart—well, then, he had no heart to melt.
Speaking of, there he sat at the manager’s desk in the far corner, a sandy-haired tackling dummy in a suit. Blake Preston looked more suited to a WWE Friday night smack down than to sitting behind a bank manager’s desk, deciding the fate of local businesses.
Lauren sent Samantha a welcoming smile from her teller’s counter, but the one she got from Blake Preston when he saw her approach his desk wasn’t quite so friendly. Wary would’ve been a better word for it. Even wary, it qualified for a toothpaste commercial. Whoa, that was some wattage, and she felt the electricity clear across the room. She couldn’t help checking his left hand for signs of a ring as he stood to greet her. None.
Never mind his ring finger or any other part of him. You’re here to do business.
She could almost hear her sister whispering in her ear, “Charm enters into business more than you realize.”
She donned her most charming smile and said, “Hi,” injecting her voice with goodwill. You like me. You want to give me a longer extension on my loan. “I’m Samantha Sterling from Sweet Dreams Chocolates. We went to high school together,” she added, hoping that would earn her some brownie points.
He held out his hand for her to shake. She took it and felt an even bigger jolt than she’d gotten from his smile. Maybe that was a good sign. Maybe they were going to hit it off. Maybe he’d be happy to grab a mop and help her clean up the mess she was in.
“I remember,” he said.
Right. You were older and too busy partying and cutting classes to pay attention to a nerdy underclassman. “I was just a lowly freshman, but you made quite an impression.” There, that was pretty darned charming if she did say so herself. “I thought you might enjoy some samples from the best chocolate company in Washington,” she said, handing over the gift basket.
He took it and stood there as if uncertain what to do with it. His computer and several piles of papers were taking up all the surface space on his desk. “Well, thanks. That was…nice. Have a seat.”
She sat and he sat, still holding the goodies.
“You’ll really like the chocolate-covered potato chips,” she said, pointing to her basketful of bribes. “Those are our newest product.”
“Interesting.” He shifted the fortune in chocolate sitting on his lap as awkwardly as though he were an old bachelor who’d just been handed a baby.
Okay, that took care of the charm. Next, she decided to play the sympathy card. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of it, but we’ve had a few challenges in our business. We just lost my stepfather.”
“I heard. I’m sorry,” he said, and looked properly sympathetic.
“Things have been a little chaotic and then this morning I discovered a letter from you.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid we have something of a problem. You’re behind on your loan.”
As if she wasn’t aware of that? As if she hadn’t read the friggin’ letter? She could feel her blood pressure rising and it took every last ounce of willpower she had to remain professional. “This business has been in my family for a long time. I’m the fourth generation.”
“Ms. Sterling. Samantha. I understand what this business must mean to you.”
No, you don’t. You have no idea. She was probably radiating anger. She tried her best to look charming. “Not just to me. We employ a lot of people, all who have families and live in this town.”
“I know that. I grew up here. But—”
Oh, no. Here came the but.
“But the kind of leniency the bank indulged in under the previous management is what got them in so much trouble.”
“I’m not asking for any more money,” she said, keeping her voice low so everyone in this fishbowl wouldn’t hear her. “I just need a few months to sort things out. If you could give us a little extra time, extend the loan…”
Now he was shaking his head sadly. “I’m afraid I can’t. I’d like to, but I can’t. As I said in the letter, Cascade Mutual has a strict ninety-day policy on past-due loans. We’ve already extended yours until the end of next month.”
“I recognize that,” she said, and trotted out her most charming smile, “but surely you can make an exception for extreme circumstances. All we need is another six months while we restructure the company.”
“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. “I really am. I wish I could extend the deadline but my hands are tied. You’re going to have to come up with that money before the end of February.”
“That would take a miracle,” she protested.
He heaved those big boulders that passed for shoulders in a helpless shrug. “We’ve got several churches in town. I think if I were you I’d have them start praying.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know, you have a sick sense of humor.”
“I wasn’t kidding,” he said. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help you further but I’ve got my orders.”
What was this, the military? “You’re a bank manager,” she said between gritted teeth. “You could do some managing and find a way to work with me.”
He shook his head. “Don’t think I haven’t been trying. I’m aware of what your company means to the community and I appreciate your situation.”
“I’ll just bet,” she growled. Oh, very charming, Samantha.
Well, who cared? Her ship had already gone down and she was now bobbing in the icy waters of despair. And she’d given him treats to eat while he watched her turn blue. All her business training, all her sister’s advice to be charming, fled before her rage. She stood and plucked the basket from his lap.
He blinked in shock. “What—”
“There’s no use wasting fine chocolate on those who don’t value it enough to want to save it from extinction.” And with her peace offering clutched to her chest, she turned and marched out of the bank.
* * *
The gaze of every bank employee was on Blake Preston, making him feel like a cockroach under a magnifying glass. Arnie Amundsen had left him here, an invader in a hostile land.
Of course, no one was overtly hostile. They were all too glad to have jobs for that. But he could sense his unpopularity from the polite yet lukewarm reception he’d been given, from the looks, sometimes thoughtful (What the hell are you doing here?), sometimes resentful (Who asked you to come back and meddle in our business?). He was there to get them out of the disaster their beloved Arnie had created. And if he hadn’t come to meddle in their business, they wouldn’t have a business, damn it! He knew it and they knew it. They just resented it.
And he resented the quickly snuffed snicker he’d heard in one corner of the room, the way Lauren Belgado over at her teller’s counter swallowed her serves-him-right smirk and went back to serving Heinrich Blum, who was making a deposit for Lupine Floral. The way heads lowered to hide smiles.
He pressed his lips firmly together in the hope that it would, somehow, stop the sizzle on his cheeks and neck. This would be all over town by five o’clock. Of course, no one would know the details. All anyone would be able to pass on was what they saw—him being an obvious jerk and upsetting their reigning queen of chocolate. Great, just great. Welcome back, Preston. He’d barely returned to his hometown, and he was already campaigning for Public Enemy Number One.
What was he supposed to do, anyway? He wasn’t king of the world. He was a bank manager and if he didn’t manage this bank well, it would go under. And all those old high school buddies and friends of a friend who wanted special treatment were going to have to get that through their thick heads.
Maybe that old saying was true and you couldn’t go back. Icicle Falls had been a great place to grow up. Church picnics, Boy Scout camping trips, fishing the river with Gramps. But now Blake found himself thinking he should have left small-town life in the idyllic past where it belonged. Taking this position hadn’t been a step up. It had been a step into a big pile of shit.
He adjusted his shirt collar that had gone suddenly tight and then went back to work on the loan application papers in front of him. But all he could see was Samantha Sterling’s full lips frowning at him. What had he been smoking when he decided to go into banking after he graduated from college? Heck, he could have followed his folks when they moved to Seattle and helped his dad run that Honda dealership. Or gone into computer sales and made a fortune. Or become a construction worker. Truck driver. Prison warden.
Right now he felt like a prison warden with everyone around him planning to stick him with a shiv, and all because of one angry woman. Correction, angry and unbalanced.
Of course, he could see how his predecessor had gotten sucked into making poor decisions. That long red hair, those big hazel eyes, that cute little tush—Samantha Sterling was hotter than the Wenatchee Valley in August. So were her sisters and her mother. He’d seen them around. They were a tag team of damsels in distress. He could imagine Muriel flashing a bit of cleavage and batting those thick-lashed eyes of hers at old Arnie and putting him in a trance where he’d happily give her everything, including the keys to the vault. Watching her and her daughter struggle so valiantly to keep the family business going, watching those big eyes fill with tears—the poor slob hadn’t stood a chance.
But Blake was made of sterner stuff. Of course he’d do all he could to support Samantha. He’d buy chocolates even though he was allergic to chocolate. Gram had a birthday coming up soon and he’d get her the biggest box of candy they had, and when his mother and sister were in town he’d send them to the Sweet Dreams gift shop to go crazy with his debit card. He’d even be willing to help Samantha brainstorm ways to raise funds—private investors or a loan from some of her cronies at the Chamber of Commerce. He’d have told her all that if she hadn’t had a meltdown and stomped off. But he couldn’t change bank policy just for her. He’d already gone out on a limb by extending her loan to the end of February.
It’s not your business to fix other people’s mistakes, he reminded himself. You can’t save every failing business in the state. Still, it seemed a shame to let this one die. He was well aware of the company’s history and it was the stuff of movies. Except right now the Sterlings’ story wasn’t looking like it was headed for a happy ending.
He forced himself to focus on the papers in front of him. It was impossible. All he could think about was what a villain he felt like. Sweet Dreams was Samantha Sterling’s baby and she was trying desperately to save it. If he had to lock the company’s doors and sell off its assets he’d be a baby-stealer and everyone in town would hate him. Almost as much as he’d hate himself.
* * *
Elena took one look at Samantha storming into the office and muttered, “Mierda.”
Samantha set the basket on Elena’s desk. “Take it home to your family and enjoy.”
Elena’s eyebrows drew together. “That is a lot of money there.”
“Consider it a bonus,” Samantha said. “God knows it’s probably the last one I’ll be able to give you.”
“You mustn’t talk like that,” Elena scolded. Sixteen years older and forty pounds heavier than Samantha, she sometimes forgot she was an employee and morphed into an office mother. “And why are you back with this?”
“Long story,” Samantha said, “and one I don’t want to tell.” Having shut the door on a fresh lecture, she then shut her office door on the world, plopped down at her desk and stared bitterly at the array of pictures on the wall.
Generations of successful family smiled at her. Great-grandma Rose and her husband, Dusty, wearing their best clothes, stood in front of the newly purchased building that would house Sweet Dreams Chocolates. Then there was Great Aunt Fiona and Grandma Eleanor posing in their aprons behind the counter of the retail gift shop in the fifties, and Grandpa Joe, smiling over his shoulder for the camera while he worked the line in the factory with a young José Castillo and George Loomis. There was a shot of Mom before she married Dad, sitting at the receptionist’s desk. And one of her and Grandpa, displaying the logo Mom had created for the seal on the candy boxes. There was Dad in front of the store, posing with his three daughters, the whole Sweet Dreams team gathered around and beaming. A caption beneath it read Success, How Sweet It Is!
She felt sick. She laid her head on the desk and closed her eyes.
A moment later Gwen Stefani started singing on her cell phone. Cecily again. Head still on the desk, she fumbled the phone to her ear. “Tell me you’re calling because you had a vision of money falling from heaven.”
“Sorry, no pennies from heaven. I had a feeling you might need to talk.”
What she needed was a rewind button. “I blew it at the bank.”
“What, did you walk in and shoot the new manager?”
“Worse. I gave him chocolate.”
“Bribes are good.”
“And then took it away.” What the heck was wrong with her, anyway? Was she having a psychotic break? Maybe she had multiple personalities and didn’t know it.
“Oh,” her sister said weakly. She could imagine Cecily falling into a chair in her little pink office at Perfect Matches.
“I started out charming, I really did,” Samantha defended herself. “But then he just sat there looking all smug, repeating that he couldn’t help me—like a big dumb parrot in a three-piece suit—and…I blew it, pure and simple.”
A sigh drifted over the phone line. “What would Dad say if he was here?”
He’d say, “What were you thinking, princess?” Or maybe he’d say, “You should have punched the guy’s face in.” Okay, probably not that.
“I don’t know,” Samantha said miserably.
“He’d say temper…”
Oh, yeah, that. “…and good business don’t mix,” Samantha finished with her. He’d told her that often enough, especially when she was young and impetuous.
And now she was so mature. Ha!
There was a long moment of silence before Cecily asked, “Maybe you should apologize to him?”
“Apologize! As in, ‘Gee, Mr. Dragon, I’m so sorry I got mad at you for breathing fire and devouring my village’?”
“He’s trying to save the bank like you’re trying to save Sweet Dreams.”
Ever the mediator, Samantha thought sourly. “He’s just trying to save his butt.”
Her sister heaved another sigh. “Well, you’re the business major. You know best.”
“Oh, that was cute.”
“Sorry. It’s just that, well, when it comes to business, you’re usually more in control than this.”
Samantha scowled. She hated it when her sister was right. Samantha was the oldest. She was supposed to be the most mature, the one who always knew what to do. Except when it came to Sweet Dreams, she seemed to lose all perspective.
“I wish I was up there to help you.”
“I’ll be okay,” Samantha said with a sigh. “No more meltdowns, I promise.”
“Call me if you need to.”
“Thanks I will. Meanwhile, go make some money.”
“Yeah, I should go. I’ve got a match-up cocktail party to plan and a client coming in ten minutes.”
Finding rich men for beautiful women, throwing parties at swanky restaurants—no wonder Cecily had opted for L.A. over Icicle Falls, Samantha thought as she hung up. Who would want to live in a small town when she could have the big city and beautiful people?
Samantha, that was who. She loved her mountain town with its picturesque setting and its friendly people, and she was proud that her family and their company were part of the town’s history.
She wanted them to continue to be part of its present, too. She drummed her fingers on her desk. What options did she have other than robbing the bank? Think, Samantha.
After an hour of thinking she had a headache and one last option—Waldo’s life insurance money. She wanted to go hit her mother up for a chunk of that about as much as she wanted to stick a knife in her eye. But it was for the good of the business and all their employees, she reminded herself, and she’d pay the money back. So get up and get over there.
She laid her head down on the desk again. Tomorrow. Like Scarlett O’Hara, she’d think about it tomorrow.
Except the clock was ticking and she couldn’t afford the luxury of waiting until tomorrow. She took a deep breath, stood and strode out of the office.
Chapter Four
No one is perfect. It’s important to remember this when working with family.
—Muriel Sterling, Mixing Business with Pleasure: How to Successfully Balance Business and Love
Muriel was in a swimming pool full of melted chocolate, competing in a swim meet, doing the butterfly stroke and trying desperately to catch up with her competition in the other lanes. Waldo stood at one end of the pool holding up a giant silver trophy cup brimming with fudge, and Cecily and Bailey were at the front of the throng, cheering wildly. “Go, Mom! You can do it!” But the chocolate was so thick that no matter how hard she pulled against it, she couldn’t make any progress.
She was halfway across the pool and heavily winded when in swept the Wicked Witch of the West on her broom. The witch wasn’t wearing her usual black garb. Instead, she was in an old-fashioned bathing suit from the early 1900s and she looked suspiciously like Samantha with hazel eyes and long red hair flying out from under her pointy black hat.