The Man Behind the Pinstripes Read online

  The estate’s housekeeper, Mrs. Harrison, answered the door. She told him that Grams was in the lab, which he expected, and Becca was in the study, which he hadn’t.

  Every nerve ending went on alert.

  She shouldn’t be allowed to have free rein on the estate. She shouldn’t be allowed to sit in the same study where his grandfather put together Fair Face. She shouldn’t be here at all.

  He stood in the doorway of the study, watching Becca.

  With a laptop at her left, she hunched over the desk, pencil in hand, scribbling notes on paper. She wore a green T-shirt. He assumed she had on shorts, but he saw only crossed long legs and a bare foot swinging beneath the desk.

  “Working hard?” Though he imagined her brainstorming ways to con Grams out of money rather than actual work.

  Becca’s gaze jerked up. Her eyes widened. She set her pencil on the desk. “Caleb. I didn’t know you were stopping by.”

  “I thought I’d see if you have any questions about the business plan we talked about last night.”

  “That’s what I’m working on.”

  Convenient. Unless she was lying. He took a step toward her. “Let me see what you’ve done.”

  She frowned. “I only started this morning.”

  “I’m your advisor,” he said in an even voice. No reason to make her aware of his suspicions. “It’s my job to keep you headed in the right direction.”

  And make sure she didn’t hurt what mattered most to him.

  Becca eyed him warily. “I didn’t realize CEOs micromanage their employees.”

  “You don’t work for me.” If Becca did, he would have fired her yesterday when she gave away her true intention.

  Trying to get rid of me?

  Sort of.

  Not sort of. He had no doubt she’d wanted him gone so she could scam Grams out of as much money as possible. That was why he’d agreed to advise them, why he’d participated in a conference call on the way over here, why he’d be checking in with them daily.

  To protect Grams. To protect Fair Face.

  “But I’m advising you.” For now. He’d hired a private investigator to do a background check, but until the man reported back Caleb was sticking close to her, even if it messed up his schedule. “I take that role seriously.”

  She straightened the papers and handed the stack to him. “Here.”

  He ran his thumb over the edges. Too many to count quickly. “A lot of pages for starting this morning.”

  Her mouth tightened. “I didn’t plagiarize, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  Her defensive behavior suggested she knew Caleb was onto her. No reason to be all that subtle about his suspicions. Maybe she’d get scared and take off on her own. That would make things simpler, especially with Grams.

  Tension, thick and unsettling, hung in the air.

  Underneath the desk, her foot swung like a pendulum gone crazy. Back and forth, speeding up each time the blur of fluorescent-painted toenails came toward him.

  “I wasn’t suggesting anything.” Caleb didn’t trust Becca. But he couldn’t deny she...intrigued him. He held the papers in the air. “Only making an observation.”

  “I found a business plan template online,” she said to his surprise. “The website explains what to write where and gives you text boxes to fill in. You download the plan into word processing software.”

  “Handy.”

  “Yes.”

  Caleb read through her rough draft, making mental notes as he went. He set the plan on the desk.

  “So?” she asked, her voice full of curiosity.

  “Not bad.” He waited for a reaction, but didn’t get one. She either didn’t care or had tight control of her emotions. He would go with apathy. “Hold off on working on the executive summary until the business plan is complete. That way you’ll have a better idea of who and what the company is all about.”

  She rested her elbows on the desk and leaned forward. Her V-neck T-shirt gaped, giving him an enticing peek of ivory skin, beige satin and cleavage.

  He enjoyed the view for a moment, felt his temperature rise and then looked away. This wasn’t the time to be distracted by a nice, round pair of breasts.

  “What else?” she asked.

  Becca sounded interested, not apathetic, as if she wanted to know what was wrong and how to fix it. That was unexpected.

  Caleb picked up the business plan and scanned the pages again. He’d read through enough business plans over the years with his personal venture capital/angel fund to offer some quick fixes. “This is a good start, but you need specific goals and a more concrete direction. The product descriptions are excellent, but you’re missing pricing information or market comparisons. You’ll need hard facts, start-up costs, projected balance sheets. ‘The products will sell themselves’ isn’t a sales and marketing strategy.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “There’s so much more to this than I realized.”

  “That’s what I was trying to tell you and my grandmother yesterday.” The more discouraged they got, especially Becca, the better. “There are easier ways to make money than starting your own business.”

  She stared at her hands. “Making money has never come easy for me or people I know.”

  “My grandfather told me hard work always pays off.”

  “I’ve heard your grandfather was a wonderful man, but sometimes hard work doesn’t put groceries in the cupboard.” Without a glance Caleb’s way, she made notes on another piece of paper. “Anything else I should add?”

  “Make these fixes first, then I’ll review it again.” He handed back her pages. “Writing something like this is an iterative process.”

  “That sucks, since Gertie wants the plan finished tonight.”

  Grams could be impatient. When she’d presented the baby products, she’d wanted them on the market in less than three months. It had taken almost a year. “I’m surprised she didn’t want it done yesterday.”

  “Two dogs needed baths last night. Otherwise, she would have told me to get it done. In a nice way, of course.”

  Grams could be firm, but “in a nice way” described her perfectly. “When did you move in?”

  “February.”

  Four months ago. Had it been that long since he’d been to the estate? He couldn’t remember. “You’ve had plenty of time to figure out how my grandmother operates.”

  “She’s the best boss. Ever.”

  So adamant. Loyal. The woman deserved an Oscar nomination for her acting abilities. “Grams likes getting her way.”

  Becca stared down her nose at him. “Most people do.”

  “You?”

  “If it ever happened, I’d probably like getting my way.”

  If. Probably. Her words raised more questions.

  “But I never get my way,” she added. “Let me tell you. It sucks.”

  Caleb had never met a woman like Becca Taylor. She might be a scammer, but the way she spoke her mind was...entertaining. She added color and expectation into predictable life. He would miss that when she was gone. But he would survive.

  * * *

  The next day, Becca finished her morning run with Maurice. She walked to the kennel with the dog at her side.

  Sweat covered her face and dripped from her hair. Her legs trembled from the exertion. “Let’s get you put away so I can see what Gertie needs.”

  “My grandmother wants you up at the house.”

  The sound of Caleb’s voice sent goosebumps prickling Becca’s skin. A strange sensation, given how sticky and hot she felt at the moment.

  But strange and Caleb seemed to go together. Three visits in three days. For someone claiming to be busy, he had a lot of time to check up on—make that “advise”—her. Though today w
as Saturday, and based on his casual attire, a pair of cargo shorts and a T-shirt, he wasn’t going into the office today.

  “You run,” he said.

  “The dogs run.” She opened the kennel door. The blast of cool air refreshed her, kept her temper in check. “I hold the leashes and get dragged along.”

  “You’re not a runner.”

  “Do I look like a runner?” She glanced back at him. “Don’t answer that.”

  Caleb smiled, but whether his smile was genuine or not remained to be seen. He followed her into the kennel, the door closing behind him. “Why do you run if you don’t like it?”

  She not only didn’t like running, she didn’t like Caleb being underfoot. His wide shoulders and height made the spacious kennel feel cramped and stuffy.

  “Some of the dogs prefer it to walking.” Becca opened the door to Maurice’s space complete with pillow bed and a doggy door that led to his own grassy dog run. She unhooked his leash and let him loose inside. The dog went straight for his stainless steel water bowl. “So we run.”

  “You really are a dog person.”

  “Muscle tone is important. Dog judges don’t like to see flabby or fat dogs in the ring.”

  “You run the little ones, too?”

  “I walk them.” She checked each of the dog bowls to make sure they had enough water to get them through the next couple of hours. “How briskly depends on their legs.”

  “When do you walk them?” he asked.

  “I already did.” She wished he’d go bother someone else. Maybe he was trying turn on the charm and play nice. But he looked good today. He exuded confidence, and a part of her wanted to reach out and grab some for herself. That was bad. Becca didn’t want to notice anything about Caleb Fairchild. She was thinking about him too much as it were. Maybe she was lonely. An animal control officer she’d met at the animal hospital had mentioned meeting for coffee. Going on a date with him might take her mind off Caleb. “They’ll get another walk later if it’s not too hot.”

  “Sounds like they are lucky dogs.”

  “Anyone who is fortunate to have Gertie on their side is a lucky dog.”

  “Including you?”

  “I’m the luckiest.” She motioned to the door. “I need to see what Gertie wants.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Figures. “I’m sure you want to spend as much time with your grandmother as possible.”

  “That’s right.”

  Liar. Becca bit her tongue to keep from saying the word aloud. Caleb spent twice as much time with her than Gertie.

  Okay, his insights on the business plan had been useful. Becca would give him that much credit. But the way Caleb watched her, as if trying to catch her doing something wrong made her so self-conscious she was having trouble sleeping. Something she hadn’t had since leaving prison. She didn’t like it. Didn’t like him.

  Maybe if she kept working hard and proved herself writing the business plan, Caleb would continue visiting his grandmother, but leave Becca alone. She hoped so because whenever he came close physical awareness shot through her like an electric shock.

  She found Gertie, dressed in a lab coat and black pants, sitting on a bar stool at the kitchen’s island. Mrs. Harrison washed vegetables. A young woman named Maura, who helped cook and clean, stood at the stove, stirring whatever was inside a saucepan.

  “You wanted to see me,” Becca said.

  “Yes.” Gertie clapped her hands together. “I have some news. A sort of good news/bad news kind of thing.”

  Becca had never known Gertie to have any bad news until today. “Start with the bad so we end on a high note.”

  “I can’t go with you to the dog show in Oregon next weekend,” Gertie announced.

  Becca’s chest tightened. She took a step forward. “Is anything wrong?”

  “Oh, no, dear. I’m fine, but I found out an old friend is being thrown a surprise party. It’s not something I can miss.”

  That wasn’t really bad news. Not compared to some of the bad news she’d dealt with in the past. She would miss Gertie’s company, but her employer needed to get out of the lab more. “Go have fun. I’m used to doing shows on my own.”

  “You won’t be alone.” Gertie bounced from jeweled slipper to jeweled slipper and back again. “That’s my good news. Caleb is going with you so he can see the products in action.”

  No. No. No.

  Becca staggered back until she bumped into something solid and around six feet tall.

  Caleb.

  She jumped forward. “Sorry.”

  “No worries.”

  Maybe not for him, but this wasn’t good news at all. A weekend with Caleb watching her every move, waiting and hoping she screwed up. Not to mention the strange way he made her insides quiver. She couldn’t let this happen. “Have you ever been to a dog show before?”

  “No, but I need to know how the products work in order to help you.”

  Caleb would hate wasting time at a dog show. She had work to do, but he would be standing or sitting around, bored out of his mind. She wouldn’t have time to entertain him or be subjected to another of his inquisitions.

  There had to be a way to convince him not to go.

  * * *

  On Monday, the clip of Caleb’s Italian leather wingtips against the estate’s hardwood floor echoed the beat of his heart. Working with Becca on the business plan, he’d learned two things about her: she was from a small town outside Twin Falls, Idaho, and her father’s first name was Rob. Information his private investigator had used to perform a background check.

  The jig was up. Caleb had known his instincts were right about her.

  His hand tightened around the manila folder containing irrefutable proof Becca Taylor was trying to scam his grandmother. He strode into the estate’s solarium with one goal in mind—get Becca away from his grandmother. “Hello, Grams.”

  “Caleb.” She lounged on a chaise holding a glass of pink lemonade complete with a pink paper umbrella. “Thanks for letting yourself in. I was standing most of the day, and my feet hurt.”

  He kissed her cheek. “You shouldn’t spend so much time in the lab.”

  “It’s what I do.”

  Not for long. The crazy dog care line would soon be nothing but a footnote in Grams’s life, a distant memory along with Becca. He crinkled the edge of the folder. “Where’s your consultant?”

  “At the animal hospital.” Grams placed her drink on a mosaic end table she’d purchased in Turkey. “You’re stuck with me.”

  “I came to visit you.”

  Grams placed her hand on her chest. “I’m touched. What did you want to talk about?

  He sat in a damask covered chair next the chaise. “Becca.”

  Grams’s eyes softened with affection. “Becca has been spending so much time writing and revising the business plan. You’ll be impressed.”

  Caleb doubted that, but he reminded himself to be conscious of his grandmother’s feelings. “I learned disturbing news today. Becca Taylor isn’t who you think she is.”

  “I know exactly who Becca is.” Grams sounded one hundred percent confident. “She’s a sweet, hardworking woman and my friend.”

  One who takes, takes, takes before hightailing it out of there.

  “Your friend Becca, aka Rebecca Taylor, is a convicted criminal. She spent three years at the Idaho Women’s Correctional Center.” Caleb expected to see a reaction, but didn’t. Maybe Grams was trying to take it all in. “We’re not talking shoplifting, Grams. Theft, trespassing and vandalism.”

  Grams tapped her finger against her cheek. “How did you find out?”

  “A private investigator.” He raised the folder in the air, careful to keep his excitement out of his voice. “I know you consider
Becca a friend and she’s been helping you, but she’s taking advantage of you. Fire her. Get her out of the guesthouse. Out of your life. Before she hurts you and robs you blind.”

  “Just because a person makes a mistake in the past doesn’t mean they’ll repeat it in the future.”

  “She is a crook.” He didn’t understand why his grandmother was being so understanding. She should be upset, furious. Maybe she was in shock. “I’ll bet Becca learned more ways to break the law while she was in jail.”

  Grams picked up her pink lemonade and stared into the glass. “Becca told me all about her time in prison.”

  “You knew about this?”

  “She told me everything before she accepted my job offer.”

  Outrage choked him. “Yet you hired her anyway? Let her move in?”

  “She made a youthful mistake.”

  He scoffed. “That mistake landed her in jail.”

  “She paid the price for her actions. Learned her lesson.”

  “We’re not talking about an overdue library book.” He stared at his grandmother in disbelief. “You can’t have a criminal working for you. It’s not safe.”

  “Becca would never hurt me.”

  “She is a convicted—”

  “I respect her honesty and integrity,” Grams interrupted. “I’m not going to hold the past against her. Neither should you.”

  “Don’t make me out to be the bad guy here. I didn’t rob anybody,” he countered. “I’m trying to look out for you, Grams. That’s what Gramps wanted me to do. You have a big heart. People have taken advantage of you in the past.”

  “People need the opportunity to make a fresh start.”

  Caleb’s jaw tensed. “You gave my father plenty of fresh starts. He blew every single one.”

  “Becca is nothing like him.”

  “That’s true,” Caleb agreed. “My father was never in jail.”

  “Your father had his own issues,” Grams said. “But even if he’d gone to jail, it wouldn’t have changed the way I felt about him. People deserve another chance.”

  Everyone meaning Becca. And...his father.