“Forget it. I want to change the terms of your contract. Blake Glassware isn’t some penniless beggar looking for a handout. We’ll pay you when you finish the job.” He reached into the paper bag and thudded a carton of food on the counter. “You won’t have to wait for your money.”
A penniless beggar. Mitch’s pride was at stake, but she thought about the pile of bills he tackled yesterday and didn’t want to add her invoice to the pile. “No, Mitch. The whole point of my work is to boost your sales. I don’t deserve to get paid if you don’t see results.” She shrugged and admitted, “Besides, I don’t need the money.”
“You don’t need the money? Never heard anyone say that before.” His keen eyes surveyed her gleaming black heels, navy blue skirt, silk blouse, and zeroed in on her gold watch. “I can’t think of a single person who can work for a month and not get paid.”
Oops. Admitting she didn’t need the money was a huge tactical error. Stalling for time, she opened the dishwasher and the handle fell off. Snatching the piece of black plastic off the floor, she jammed it into the slot and retrieved two clean forks. “I have money socked away in savings, so I can get by. I wanted to cut your father a break, because he took a risk when he hired me. Usually, I write code and develop marketing tools behind the scenes. This is the first time I’ve worked directly with a business.”
He jammed a hand through his thick blond buzz cut. “What are you up to?”
Anger inched up her spine. She tossed the forks onto the counter. “I’m not up to anything.”
He snorted. “Either you’re filthy rich or you have an agenda. Which is it?”
“Filthy rich?” The pejorative term sent a sharp pain into her chest. Unwilling to stand there while he threw accusations, she strode into the living room.
Heavy boots clomped behind her. “Where are you going?”
She turned and snarled, “Is this because I’m a consultant? Would we be having this stupid conversation if I were a glassblower? Or an accountant?”
“Doesn’t matter what job you’d taken at my factory. I’d still want to know why you’re working for nothing.”
“This was the only way I could get experience working directly with a customer. But if you’re determined to pay me, fine. Cut a check for what you think I’m worth.”
His index finger pointed to the gold watch on her wrist. “You’ve got enough money to work for free, you dress like you belong in New York City, and I can’t get you to say more than two sentences about the ex-boyfriend who’s looking for you or the father you’ll work for. What’s going on?”
Ah. Her reluctance to open up about her private life bothered him. But throwing accusations at her didn’t compel Jaye to reveal the painful reasons why she ended up in this remote little town. She yanked the hem of her blouse out of her skirt, but the band of tension around her middle remained. “I feel sorry for all the consultants who walked into your factory before me, because they had no idea you’d interfere. I just want to do my job, which isn’t easy with you standing in the way. ”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Mitch opened his arms wide and stared with narrowed eyes. “Name one thing I’ve done to stop you from doing your job.”
“I need pictures of glassblowers working in the studio. You won’t let me take any.”
“For safety reasons, Jaye. My men are working with 2,400 degree glass. I need to keep distractions to a minimum.”
“I already told you I won’t use a flash, but you won’t let me inside the studio no matter how careful I am.” Frustration raced through her veins, powerful and potent. “You don’t want me to take pictures because they will become part of the website. How strange, considering the online store will help your company.”
“How the hell do you know what’s good for my company? Were you here fifteen years ago laying the brick for the walls? Do you know how to do every single job in the building?” Scowling, he jabbed his forefinger toward her. “What gives you the right to claim any sort of expertise for the business I’ve built from the ground up?”
“I don’t know how to do your job, Mitch. I just want to do mine.” Ever since she arrived in Shinglehouse, her efforts on behalf of Blake Glassware hadn’t satisfied Mitch. Would she never please him, just like her father? The possibility threatened to crack her in two. “Nick believes in me. Why don’t you talk to him and see why?”
His hands balled into two tight fists. “Talking to my father won’t solve anything.”
“You two are partners. If you don’t start working together, your differences will fracture the factory.” With angry flicks of her fingers, she unbuttoned her collar.
Mitch’s gaze dipped to her throat and jerked up again. “My father and I have hardly spoken for two years and the factory is still standing.”
“Coincidentally, your profits haven’t risen over the past twenty-four months.” She arched her brow. “Clearly, Blake Glassware’s stagnation has been caused by the strife between you and your father. A lowly consultant can see that. Why can’t you?”
Mitch’s frown carved a deep vertical line between his eyebrows. Shifting his gaze to the fireplace, he pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead.
She strode past him, too hurt by his use of the term filthy rich to continue the conversation.
Mitch’s rich baritone rose into the brittle silence. “I don’t believe this. You’re walking away again?”
“I’m angry and I need to cool off.”
“I’m angry and I want to fight.”
“Go ahead.” She waved her hand in the air and kept walking toward the haven of her bedroom at the end of the hall. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of ammunition to carry on by yourself. Forgive me for not waiting around to see if you’ll
