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Stan Daniels sighed deeply. He seemed to do that a lot around Iain—who had probably paid for the three-thousand-dollar suit the prat was wearing. So he could save his sighs for other clients, because Iain wasn’t having it.
“Cut the drama, mate. Just give me the highlights already.”
“Let the man talk, Iain. It’s why we’re paying him, i
“What this means,” Stan said, “is you’ll pay more in taxes, shell out more for inspections, and have to jump through more governmental regulation hoops. Get used to it.”
“How much more are we talking about here?” Iain asked.
“A couple million, give or take.”
Iain pushed back his chair and stood, pocketing the dice as he walked across the room. “That sounds like pocket change to you, does it?” Stan came from money and had gone to a fancy Ivy League school. Probably grew up using hundred-dollar bills to wipe his privileged ass.
“Do we really have to do this today?” Stan asked. “It’s pocket change to you too, Iain. You have a multimillion-dollar project you want to implement. This is a drop in the bucket.”
“He’s right, Iain,” Marc said. “We’re not the poor lads from Manchester anymore. It’s all a matter of perspective.”
At the credenza in the corner, Iain poured coffee from an antique silver pot. Drinking from the delicate china cups always made him feel faintly ridiculous, but it added to the traditional British decor. No sense in having four-thousand-dollar Chippendale chairs only to drink from a cheap ceramic mug. Presentation was important. And two million really wasn’t much in the bigger scheme of things, but he didn’t take any of it for granted. Not a bloody pe
“Send us copies detailing the changes, and cc my project manager, yeah?” Iain sipped his coffee—strong, black, bitter. He glanced over at Stan. “Was there something else? I’m getting billed for every moment you stand there looking like a twat.”
The bald man smiled. “I don’t charge for looking like a twat. That one’s on the house.” He bent to pick up his briefcase. “Always a pleasure, Iain.”
“Fuck off.”
“Nice seeing you, too.” Stan nodded at both men and left the room.
Once he was gone, Marc paced the floor. “She’s coming this morning?”
“Yeah. Should be here in a few.”
“We don’t need to do this,” Marc said. “There are other investors. We could develop the properties slowly, take our time.”
“And we may have to,” Iain said with a shrug, “if this doesn’t pan out.”
“It probably won’t. Bry
“It’ll work, trust me. Hiring Bry
“It feels wrong, using this girl to get to her relatives. Seedy, yeah?”
“It’s called networking,” Iain said. “No different than glad-handing at a cocktail party or going to a charity di
Marc stopped treading over the hand-loomed rug. “Whilst I’m not convinced that this is our best solution, the course she’s teaching might actually do you some good. Your leadership skills are a bit lacking, aren’t they?”
Iain paused, the cup midway to his lips. “What the bloody hell are you on about?” Iain was leadership personified. He had the portfolio and bank balance to prove it. “There’s nothing wrong with the way I lead, mate. I get results.”
“You do,” Marc agreed. “But you also hack off a lot of people. And those you don’t offend are scared shitless of you.”
“Good.” He didn’t give a damn if people feared him, as long as they did their jobs properly. This wasn’t a popularity contest. No one got a prize for congeniality. “If they don’t like working here, they’re free to quit.”
“Which explains our high turnover rate. You could stand to be a little nicer to people. Wouldn’t kill you none, would it?”
“I expect people to show up and do their jobs. In return, we pay them very well at the end of each week. I’m not their mate. End of.”
“The accounting department nearly piss themselves every time you walk into the room,” Marc said.
“And?” Nothing wrong with that. At least his employees respected him.
“My gran used to say you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”
“That’s daft, it is. Why would I want to catch flies?” Strolling to his chair, Iain carefully set the cup and saucer on his desk, then tugged on the bottom of his waistcoat before resuming his seat. “This scheme is going to work. Bry
“I’m on it, but I still say your management style could use an overhaul.”
“Bugger off. By the way, how’s Melanie? Haven’t seen her in weeks.”
“Fine.” Marc combed his fingers through his hair, leaving it more disheveled than before. “Things are fine.”
Something was definitely going on there, but if Marc didn’t want to talk about it, Iain wouldn’t pry. None of his concern, as long as it didn’t interfere with business. “We can’t afford to have you distracted right now. I need you focused on this project.”
Marc’s blue eyes turned glacial. “Since when have I ever cocked-up on a project? I’ll do my bit, you do your part. But if we’re relying on your charm, we could be in real trouble.”
“Fu
Management training nonsense—Iain couldn’t think of anything more useless. And his management style didn’t need an overhaul. He and Marc had built this company from nothing, in spite of a crap economy. Fine, Iain was sometimes harsh with his employees, but if they couldn’t handle it, they probably didn’t belong here. Besides, he didn’t get his jollies from being cruel. Everything he did, every decision he made, was for the benefit of Blue Moon.
A few moments later, Amelia knocked on the door and slipped into the room. “Iain, your appointment’s here.” Ames was a lovely woman—professional-looking in a conservative black dress. No one would ever guess that they’d met in a strip club.
Iain had been a bouncer, Ames a bartender. When the business started taking off, he’d brought her onboard full time—steady hours, full be
Until now, he hadn’t realized he’d been fondling the dice once again. Shoving them into his pocket, he stood and do
She shook her head. “No problem.”
“Then why are you still here?”
“Iain, your trainer’s a woman.”
He hadn’t told Amelia about his plans for Bry
“She’s very pretty. And she seems so nice. Just for once…don’t be yourself.”