Weekend with the Tycoon (5 page)

He hoped he’d made a good choice. This had all been Marlene’s idea. She’d pulled the files on all the attractive single women who worked for the company and ran background checks on them all. Samantha hadn’t been included in the original batch, but after he’d seen her performance under fire at a meeting, he’d told Marlene to pull her file.

“I don’t really care which one it is, Marlene,” he remembered telling her. “I just need someone discreet, polite and capable of handling my family. No drama. I just want to fly to the island, make it through these blasted events, and leave in one piece with all my energy intact for the big merger talks.”

He’d barely looked at the headshots, well, not entirely true. He had lingered a bit over Samantha’s, but then he’d closed the file, determined to let Marlene handle the task. Only really, she hadn’t, not the way he’d initially planned. He hoped he didn’t regret his impulse. He still didn’t fully understand what had come over him, and why he had let, putting Samantha Jones’ file back on top.

He had promised himself he would be completely logical with relationships with women after the disaster that had been Jane, his long-term college girlfriend, who had nearly become his wife. She had been wrong for him in so many ways, yet how she’d wrapped him around her finger was still a mystery. None of his friends had liked Jane, in fact, they all urged him to break up with her all during college, but somehow she’d held him enthralled for five long years, until she’d broken his heart. No woman would ever be allowed that close to him again.

So Samantha had made first cut, and he’d then casually put her folder on top and said something about starting with her. He’d pretended to ignore Marlene’s piercing, questioning look. Blake now mulled over what he knew about her other than the obvious physical charms, which were proving to be more of a distraction than he had expected, but so far he knew she was prompt, and efficient. Her work reviews raved about her diligence, initiative and intellect. Her upbringing would make her fairly comfortable with his family’s old Southern money elegance. Yes, he’d chosen well. His mom would love Samantha’s blonde Audrey Hepburn look. His dad liked anybody his boys brought home so he wasn’t worried about fooling his old man.

Blake thought back to the moment Samantha froze on the rooftop near the helipad. Even with the oversized black-rimmed sunglasses covering half of her face, Blake had seen the terror wash over her. He’d been irritated by her fear, but there hadn’t been time to pick someone else. He just hoped she didn’t have any other phobias. At least she hadn’t made a fuss once he’d buckled her in the helicopter.

Now, he’d wished he had asked her about motion sickness. Maybe he’d send her back on the ferry after the weekend was over.
Yes, that was a perfect idea
, he thought. She didn’t need to be back as quickly as he did, and by Sunday afternoon, their act would be over. Everything would go according to his plan. Things always did for Blake Putnam. He made sure of it.

*

Samantha felt her
stomach lurch into her throat, and she opened her eyes to search for a barf bag but realized the helicopter was dropping and before she knew it, they’d landed on an orange helipad.
Thank God
, she thought.

The roar of the propellers faded away quickly and Blake hopped out of the front seat, climbed down and disappeared. The pilot climbed out and opened the door for her. Samantha sat frozen, not trusting her legs to be able to walk down even a couple steps.

“Wasn’t that a blast, Samantha?” the pilot asked, expertly unbuckling the safety harness while Sam sat motionless. “Did you see that huge pod of dolphins? Hey, you Ok?”

“No,” she answered, trying not to cry.

“Oh, no, here, let me help you,” the pilot said, climbing backwards down the stairs and half-carrying Samantha behind him.

Once back on solid ground, Samantha felt better. The helicopter pilot handed her a cold water bottle and Samantha gulped it hoping to settle her nerves and stomach. A white golf cart with a script P painted on the side in orange waited and their luggage had been loaded in the back.

“Ready to meet the family?” Blake said, impatiently looking at his watch.

“Oh, yes, I’ve never felt better. Thanks for asking,” Samantha said, glaring at him before finishing the water bottle.

“Maybe you should take something for your stomach before you travel,” Blake said.

“Maybe I will if I know how and when I’m going to travel,” she snapped before she could stop herself.

He stiffened.

“Next time you pick a file, you might want to mention the helipad.”

“Are you planning to snipe at me all weekend?”

“Nope,” she screwed the cap back on the bottle.

“Good,” Blake said, and turned away.

He walked to the golf cart, greeted the driver and climbed into the front seat, of course, leaving Samantha to walk over on shaky legs by herself. She made it, smiled at the driver and climbed into the back seat alone. She realized now how she’d underestimated the power of the weekend. She’d be miserable all weekend, not knowing what was coming next and expected to follow behind Blake like an obedient dog. She wouldn’t be able to handle his aloof and condescending personality through cocktails much less dinner. She’d mess up and be out of a job by Monday.

B
lake wished there
was more than water in the bottle he was chugging as he sat next to the driver, with Samantha in the back seat of the golf cart. Soon he’d be dealing with his entire family, something he tried to avoid whenever possible. He loved them all, individually. In groups, well, they were overwhelming. Especially his two brothers, who were, by their choices, proving themselves to be as weak as his own father.

James already worked for Putnam Industries and was the heir apparent. Putnam Industries was one of the largest paper companies in the U.S. His family was responsible for more deforestation than he could swallow – and they continued to be despite the grave environmental warnings. Nearly four billion trees worldwide are cut down each year for paper. Those numbers disgusted Blake in a digital world, even as it made his family even wealthier. World consumption of paper had grown 400 percent in the last 40 years. Every board meeting Blake attended left him in despair.

“People still need paper, son,” his father Richard would tell him whenever he mentioned the trees. “Don’t be a tree hugger. You know we have a massive reforestation program. And Putnam Industries employs thousands. Without us, what would those people do for a living?”

Blah, blah, blah was all Blake heard. His grandfather had started the business back in 1898, and today it had grown to more than 60,000 employees, headquartered in Atlanta where everyone in his family still lived, except Blake. The company prided itself on being the largest producer of plastic lids and paper cups, manufacturing for fast-food giants like McDonald’s, Wendy’s, Subway and the rest. All Blake envisioned was the ever-expanding plastic garbage dump in the middle of the ocean, a dump with his family’s logo floating on top, choking everything in the seas.

As much as Blake was angry with his father and with how James was steering the business, Blake had loved his grandfather. He was such a visionary. Blake was certain his grandfather would have rolled the entire business into a model for the future, renewable paper or something, instead of the past. That’s what Blake would do with his genetics company. He would help people, help decode disease, provide individuals with answers. Save things, people, animals and plants, instead of killing trees and all that depended on them. His short-sighted and selfish family chose money over the earth, the familiar over innovation.

Blake also wished he could just drive himself somewhere, but no, he was back with his family and that meant being driven. And it meant being polite to the drivers like John who was driving the golf cart now. All the Putnam kids were grown and capable of driving themselves, but his family insisted on being driven around the estate. Some of the people who worked here had actually worked for Blake’s grandfather, too, and probably had a stronger backbone than any of the Putnam men, he thought.

“Thanks John,” Blake said as he pulled the golf cart up in front of the main entrance of the Putnam’s Indigo Island Plantation estate. Blake hoped Samantha would get over her motion sickness soon. He needed her making a good impression from the start, so he wouldn’t have any worries this weekend. And she looked much better when she smiled. A smile he hadn’t seen since they’d lifted off from the flight pad on top of his office building.

“We’re here, Samantha,” Blake said, and after hesitating, he stretched out his hand to help her from the cart. Her touch felt stirring. Her hand was small, and soft but the electricity was powerful, a current between them, even more intense than in his office. He found himself trying to see her eyes, her expression behind her sunglasses. Why had he let Marlene pick such a big pair? He had held her hand too long, he realized, and dropped it, breaking the connection.

“Welcome to the Putnam’s,” he said, realizing he had to be smoother than this.

He would have to touch her to appear normal, but when he touched her, he felt…. He stopped that train of thought.

“This is a house?” Samantha asked. “Your house?”

She gazed up at what was a replica of an original plantation house built at the turn of the century for one of the wealthy indigo farming families. At one point, the indigo plant grown to make dye had been a bigger crop on the island than oysters, Blake knew. But now, of course, Indigo Island’s biggest crop was its wealthy southern families and their second, or third, homes.

“It’s a replica of the plantation home that used to be here, one that was wiped out by a hurricane decades ago.”

She listened to him intently, and Blake, who loved history, continued.

“Mom researched the history and while it has all the finest of everything modern, she tried to make it seem like it has always been here. Of course the two wings on either side are contemporary,” Blake added.

“Of course,” Samantha said, and somehow, that two-word response left him feeling both spoiled and clueless. Two things he despised.

“Are you mocking me?” Blake asked, his voice hushed to a whisper, anger flowing through his veins replacing whatever positive energy had been there a moment before.

They were climbing the brick stairs up to the main wrap around porch. Samantha stopped and took off her sunglasses.

“Why would you think that?” She asked.

Blake stared down into her guileless eyes and had no idea what he’d been about to say.

“Blake,” his mother flung open the door. “You are finally here.”

She enveloped him in a hug, but he could see her attention immediately fixated on Samantha.

Even though his mom had never been the cuddly, play-on-the-floor-with-you type of mom, Blake respected her. Evalyn was elegant, refined and strong. The one in the family most like himself, Blake thought.

He kissed her on both cheeks.

“Now the family is all together,” she pulled away from him slightly and ran her slim fingers through her blonde hair, cut in a stylish bob.

“Are you going to introduce me?” She teased and smoothed the skirt of her floral cocktail dress and pink shoes. “We’ve all been taking bets on who would be skilled and intriguing enough to pull you out of a board meeting for a date, much less a second date or maybe even a third.”

Her eyes scanned Samantha intently.

“Mother, this is Samantha Jones,” he said, and exhaled as Sam’s face lit up with her signature smile, and she stepped forward to shake his mother’s hand.

“None of that,” she said, and quickly hugged Samantha. “So nice to meet you dear,” Evalyn said. “Please come inside you two. This afternoon heat is intolerable.”

*

Samantha gave Mrs.
Putnam her best fake smile and then felt guilty. She seemed so warm and nice. How did she end up with a son as cool as Blake? Samantha still wanted to give him a piece of her mind for not telling her about the wedding and the helicopter but, seeing how happy his mom was to see him made Samantha remember her role in this whole set-up. She was to be seen, to smile, and not to be heard. She didn’t matter aside from being a quiet, manageable presence so Blake didn’t have to answer uncomfortable questions.