Jade vividly recalled that winter day last year when the project in Palmetto had been approved. Her presentation before GSS’s board of directors had been flawless. The topic had been so thoroughly researched that she had stockpiled an arsenal of statistics to support her arguments. The incisive questions put to her by the board members had been answered articulately and with enough elaboration to gain their trust without sounding ingratiating. She hadn’t given them the hard sell, but had let the facts and figures speak for themselves.
George Stein, the CEO, was the last surviving founder of GSS. Although he was nearly eighty, he was still at the helm of the conglomerate that had been founded when Charlie Chaplin was the number one box-office star. It had started with one steel mill and had, through the decades, continued to expand. Now GSS provided an umbrella for companies all over the world, encompassing myriad enterprises, both commercial and technical.
It was common for GSS to buy struggling companies and either dissolve them or reorganize their operations to make them profitable. Initially Jade had been hired to analyze three textile plants that GSS had acquired. Her extensive evaluation had resulted in a career-making meeting.
Her recommendation to the board had been to close the three existing plants and build a new, larger, more technically advanced one. Several board members had muttered assent. Mr. Stein, whose yellowish hands and bald head were speckled with age spots, had stared at Jade for a considerably long time. The rest of his body was ravaged by time, but his eyes were as keen as those of a twenty-year-old.
“You seem uncomp
romising in your position, Ms. Sperry.”
“I am. I’m certain that’s the only way GSS will make any money in the textile business. And Palmetto, South Carolina, is the perfect location for a plant like this because of its proximity to the shipping channel. What better way to utilize our own shipping interests and reach the foreign markets?”
“What about the management personnel of these plants? Do we simply unload them, too?”
“Not at all. I suggest we offer to relocate them in Palmetto, or, if they decline the offer, to give them six months severance pay when we shut down.”
At the conclusion of the discussion, Stein called for a vote. Jade’s plan was unanimously approved. “Very well, Ms. Sperry,” Stein had said after counting the show of hands, “the project is yours. Textile, is it?”
“Yes,” she had said, trying to camouflage her swelling elation behind a professional demeanor. “I’d like to call it TexTile.”
TexTile had now been in the developing stages for more than a year. GSS attorneys had quietly purchased land. By a narrow margin, the zoning had been approved by Palmetto’s City Council. Working jointly with David Seffrin, a developer under the auspices of GSS, Jade had retained the architect and already had the blueprints.
She was in Los Angeles to hire a general contractor. Once that vital job had been awarded, everything would be in place. She would move to Palmetto—which would undoubtedly come as a shock to the townfolk, who had no reason to link her to the vast land acquisition—and excavation would begin in preparation of building. She would start making arrangements to relocate the management personnel who had chosen that alternative.
A flurry of unrest had gone through the executive ranks of GSS when Jade had joined the company. Few men, and even fewer women, were hired as vice presidents. It took a while before her business acumen convinced others in similar positions that her youth and attractiveness didn’t nullify her competence. At first her male counterparts had given her a wide berth, circling warily, sniffing suspiciously, trying to determine how far her ambitions extended and whether she posed a threat to their individual aspirations.
They’d sniffed for other reasons, too.
Her legs had been chauvinistically discussed over drinks and in the men’s locker room at the company gym. Several among them, single and married, had expressed an interest in exploring her long, slender thighs all the way to the top. Unfortunately, none who had dared to test the waters had been granted even the privilege of wading.
Throughout her career in the business world, Jade had ignored petty gossip and sexual innuendoes directed at her. She kept her personal life just that. She avoided the inevitable inner-office politics. She didn’t invite confidences and shared none. She treated everyone in a friendly but detached manner. Her focus had always been on her work, not on her colleagues.
Within a very short time, she had proved her mettle at GSS and had been richly rewarded by being placed in charge of the TexTile plant. However, no one—not George Stein, not anybody—knew how vitally important this move was to her. She wanted to do a good job, and yes, she wanted to make the new TexTile plant a state-of-the-art, commercial success. But none had guessed that her obsession with returning to Palmetto with GSS’s clout behind her was more personal than professional.
“Soon,” she murmured as she left the lounge chair she had relaxed in while talking to Graham.
She moved to the window across the room. Her accommodations for this trip hadn’t been randomly selected. She had chosen to stay at this hotel because it was located across the street from a busy construction site. Other hotel guests might have viewed that as a disadvantage, but the unsightly view was exactly what Jade had requested when she placed her reservation.
Since her arrival in Los Angeles three days earlier, she had been spying on the construction site, jotting down details and impressions. Jade didn’t regard this as trickery, merely a sound business practice. If she wanted to succeed in wreaking havoc on Palmetto’s unjust economy, she could leave nothing to chance.
Finding the right contracting outfit for TexTile was essential. The contractor couldn’t be someone who would decide he didn’t like Palmetto and pull out midway through the job, or—what she feared most, because it had happened before—that he wouldn’t like working for a woman. And because Jade fully intended to oversee every facet of the TexTile plant she needed to have only the strongest allies in her corner. She had placed stringent demands on herself to be the smartest and toughest she could be. The people around her could be no less—especially the builder. For a long while, he and she would be GSS’s only representatives in Palmetto.
Before leaving New York, she had packed a pair of hightech binoculars. She used them now to assess the work in progress across the street. She wanted to learn how the contractor ran his daily operation. Were safety precautions enforced? Were materials wasted? Were his crews diligent or lackadaisical?
Aimed directly across the street at the corresponding floor of her sixteenth-story room, the automatic focusing mechanism instantly brought the construction workers to within touching distance. It was lunchtime. The laborers were idly joking among themselves as they uncapped Thermoses and unwrapped sandwiches. By all appearances, it was a convivial crew, which was a good sign and a tribute to the contractor. Movement just beyond her field of vision caught her eye and she moved the binoculars a fraction.
It was he.
This one man had attracted her attention the first time she had raised the binoculars and pointed them at the unfinished building. For three days he had continued to arouse her curiosity. Unlike the others, he wasn’t taking a lunch break. It seemed he never rested or associated with co-workers. He worked incessantly and independently, keeping his helmeted head down, his concentration focused on the business at hand.
Now, while he was hunkered down consulting a set of blueprints, a sudden gust of wind blew a corn-chip bag against his leg. She saw his lips move as he kicked the bag back toward the circle of workers. One picked up the cellophane bag and hastily stuffed it into his lunchbox.
Good for you, she thought. Keeping the work site clean was one of her prerequisites.
She had seen all she needed to see, but she was irrationally reluctant to lower the binoculars. His separatism intrigued her. His bearded face never smiled. She’d never seen him without his opaque sunglasses. He was wearing clothes similar to those he had worn yesterday and the day before—old Levi’s, a faded red tank top, boots, and work gloves. His arms were sleek and well muscled, the skin baked to a dark bronze. The temperature was mild, typical of Southern California, yet through the powerful binoculars she was able to see that sweat had dampened his dense chest hair and had formed a triangle in the cloth of his top.
As she continued to watch, he removed his hard hat only long enough to rake back a mane of sun-streaked brown hair that almost reached his shoulders. Then, just as he was about to replace his hat, he turned his head and looked toward the hotel. As though she had beckoned him, he seemed to be looking straight at her window. It sent a jolt through her.