Windward Whisperings (10 page)

Except for Kitzie’s brief presentation, the meeting was agonizing. Paint fumes made both the
coffee and the “light as a feather” pastries taste like petrol.
He glanced at her. She sniffed like a cat poking her nose into someone else’s litter box. She
quickly straightened with ramrod posture and then said something to one of the shop floor
employees that made him snicker. All the time Garrett had known her, she’d had the ability to make
friends among the influential. Today, her focus was on the common folk. When her nose wrinkled,
he knew she wanted the floor back.
He was about to give it to her when a worker, a Cambodian, stood up. His face contorted with
worry. “What I do all day? Can’t go home. Family think I fired. Other friends, they so laughing, all
of them.”
Garrett said, “Kitzie, do you have anything to add?”
Kitzie looked at the shop floor guys. She spoke in another romance language, Spanish. He
picked up the cognates, sailing lesson, and dry-dock. For the benefit of the rest of the group, she
repeated it in English. “We’ll congregate an hour from now. The first sailing lesson will be on land, a
kind of orientation. We’ll keep at it as long as workers have a couple hours a day.”
Damn, she’s amazing.
Garrett looked at Torres. “Tell them they’ll receive their regular wages.”
“Sure. I’ll assure them of their wages. Let me review what I’m going to tell them with you first.
Their sailing lesson today will be on land. Tomorrow, they’ll launch boats, rig them, and start
learning to sail.”
“That’s exactly right.”
Torres’ rapid Spanish must have included taking a break. The workers stood while Torres
remained.
On their way out, the guys took seconds on the pastries and poured more coffee. Even with the
paint fumes, it went down better. With improved spirits, they headed outside.
Next, Garrett focused on the sales department. Using a whiteboard, he asked each salesperson
how much they thought they should earn per boat sold. From their silence, he knew he’d put them
on the spot. Not wanting to drop a sudden bomb on them, he gave them a figure and guided them
to set the amount larger than the amount they were making. “Try to stretch but be realistic.” He
glanced at the sales manager who used to bully him. If there were a way, he’d probably bully him
now.
Vinny Devine adjusted a Rolex on his thick wrist. “We’re not about goal-setting techniques.
Selling luxuries can’t be compared to selling necessities.” He looked over darkened glasses at
Garrett, his angled brows sloping down farther.
“I’m sure it’s hard work. I don’t know the particulars.” He decided to go ahead and launch the
torpedo. “I’m not accusing anyone of shirking their duties, but we need to make a change in the way
you’re paid. For the next six months, bonuses for selling will double. Salaries will be cut back by a
third. The Vegas convention is postponed.” He expected the sales manager to fire back.
Vinny let out a sarcastic laugh. He wasn’t the only one who grimaced. The entire sales
department took a dive, obvious when one of the men faced him. The man lifted his arm in an
expansive arc, thumped the inside of his arm with his left hand in a Roman gesture of derision. It
was more theatrical than flicking him the bird.
“We’re out of here. You can rot in hell.” Vinny motioned the salesmen to join his wake. One
guy halted for a moment and shouted, “We’ve wooed potential clients. We’re leaving. They’ll come
with us.”
Garrett decided to attempt the hard line. “You signed a noncompete.” He could get an
injunction to prohibit them from working for a competitor. The problem was, in some states, like
California and Texas, enforcing noncompete contracts was unlikely. He didn’t have the time,
attention, and money to deal with legal procedures that wouldn’t pan out.
“Gosh, we forgot.” Vinny rolled with laughter, but his forehead frowned. “We have amnesia.”
The salesmen let out a few hoots and accompanied him. The angry tidal wave disappeared
through the door.
He would have liked it if the meeting had ended with good karma, but he considered himself
lucky. As a final ta-da, the sales department hadn’t carried everyone else with them.
He studied Edgar as he pushed his chair back from the table. He dropped his head and wrapped
his feet around the legs of his chair. “What will we do without a sales department?”
“Some will wander back.” He took a deep breath. “Edgar, keep me informed. I expect the
repairs will take a week. Work with Kitzie on the bag method. Start training the men while repairs
are going on.”
Kitzie smoothed black hair off her forehead and leaned toward Edgar. “You’ll need to sign
forms before you start the repairs.” As always, she knew about reports and everything else. After the
meeting ended, she brought her former boss to Sedona’s receptionist station.
Garrett trailed behind and watched Kitzie talk with Sedona and skip ahead toward a file cabinet.
Kitzie pulled out a drawer and walked her fingers through the folders. When he passed the trio, she
was handing the form to Edgar.
Garrett left the office door open. He eased into the big leather executive chair. It was lonely at
the top. He gazed out the window to a view that captivated him.
When he was a little boy, his grandparents took him to the beach all summer long. He’d sit at
the edge of the sea, just sit and sink into the sand, becoming one with the ocean. How long had it
been since he’d felt the surge and retreat of the waves? Maybe what he wanted was for Kitzie to
rock him in her arms. He closed his eyes. Their office was too far from the ocean to hear its roar,
but he imagined it. He bent over a sales report, fully aware that Kitzie had walked past him. In her
corner, she was hopelessly distant. Still, she hadn’t resigned. He heard her kick off her pumps. Her
exhalation was so sharp it could have been a laugh.
“Are you crazy?” she asked.
He didn’t answer right away. “I’m glad you’re aligned with the staff. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t
be safe.” For the first time since he’d arrived, he considered flying his bodyguard from New York to
watch over her. He’d seen things get hot. So far for him, saving Naiad hadn’t become a contact
sport.
“I’m aligned with saving Naiad just as you are.” She stormed across the plush carpeting but
didn’t make it any farther than the coffeepot. “You can’t just ram your ideas through. I swear.
You’ve got the tact and sensitivity of a rampaging army.”
“I have six months. Naiad is sinking.” He wanted to succeed. “That’s not time enough for things
to improve with ideas from a suggestion box. I wasn’t hired to foster employees’ imaginations.”
“Garrett, I had to do
something
in there to rescue you from your command post.”
“Thanks.” He knew why he’d agreed to save Biltmore’s ass. He wanted a reason to come back to
Landings Beach. First and foremost, he wanted to see what had become of Kitzie. Second, he
wanted to be a hero to the townspeople who worked there. In any case, the project wasn’t sailing
along. “As an independent consultant, I haven’t had a need to develop intragroup skills.”
“I’m sure, but I’m going to rant anyway.”
“Go ahead.” To learn from her, he would have to tune in.
She laughed low in her throat. “All I could come up with was those freaking sailing lessons!
What a dangerous idea. Most of the shop floor guys can’t even swim.” There was a hard edge in her
voice. “I just hope they don’t take off their life jackets.”
“I didn’t have mine on the day you rescued me.” Drained, he set his elbow on his desk, arched
his hand across his forehead, and squeezed.
“Too macho is my guess.” She was beautiful when troubled.
“How about I give you a bonus? An additional ten dollars per hour per shop floor skipper?”
“Trying to buy me?” Her fist came down on his shoulder, but she was grinning. “Hey. It’ll work
out. Today, the lesson will be on land. I’ll need to use that gigantic fan for wind direction. Show
them how to tack through points of sail.”
He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “You’re a clever girl, Bon-bon-bonita. I shouldn’t
have taken Latin.”
“It got you high scores on the SAT.” Her smile lit her dark eyes. “Tomorrow, señor, I’ll have
them team sail. No more than fifty-feet from the dock. Pray for light wind.” She slid her arms
around his neck.
“You’ll teach basic maneuvers, like ‘push tillers toward trouble’?” He remembered her phrase for
tacking. “Hell, sounds like another potential law suit.”
She arched a brow. “We worry about different things. Today, I saw the worry in your face. It’s
disappointing, isn’t it, when good intentions are misunderstood?”
He sat on his desk. “You saw that.”
“It surprised me. I didn’t think anything would get to you.” Her eyebrows knit. “You want to
save this place. I really hope you can.”
“I’ve been looking for a big discrepancy, someone or something specific to blame.”
“Your shtick to put the salesmen on low salaries and high commission hit them hard. I have to
tell you, the way they’ve been paid made me suspicious.”
“Me, too, but maybe Biltmore is naïve in that area. Leviticus Blake hasn’t turned up anything
fishy. He did tell me Biltmore does his banking in Aruba. This week, that’s where he is.”
“Kind of weird, Biltmore needs bankers who don’t talk.”
“I might have to take Naiad through Chapter Eleven.”
“Well, Mr. Garrett Mackenzie, I can see why the bigwigs like you. You work hard.” She reached
her hand to his cheek and brushed across his late-morning stubble with a forefinger.
“Thanks. I need to go for broke, strip this operation to bare bones. Undersell to beat hell.”
She groaned. “That idea doesn’t appeal to me. Boats need a minimum of safety equipment.
Rigging has to be strong. The hull should float and be self-draining.”
“Those things will stay.” He didn’t want to tell her. He had to, sometime.
It might as well be now.
“Piermont Sails needs to go.”
“Yes, probably. No, yes, absolutely.” She sounded like any unhurried Californian but looked
away. She squared her shoulders and marched into her alcove.
He heard the shuffling of papers. “I’m the perfect boss.”
“Will
the perfect boss
please give me a seasickness tablet?”
“Can we talk about this?”
“No.” Her word was a mournful wail.
He wished she would pound him. He didn’t like the sound of her voice, but it was hardly
surprising. He slunk into his chair and waited.
Huddled in her corner, she said nothing for a good ten minutes.
“I didn’t mean to broadside you with it.” His phone rang. He didn’t take the call. He leaned back
and stared at the ceiling.
She breezed by him. When she glanced at her watch, her entire arm trembled. Her eyeliner was
smudged. “I’m okay.” She sniffed. “Can you tell me when it’s being offered?”
“Sure.” His arm grabbed her shoulder. “Kitzie?” He looked into her anguished eyes, brown
darkened to black. He’d never seen them change like that.
She didn’t fight him away. Tears streamed down her face.
He held her close. “I can’t think of any words of comfort. Piermont Sails is an important piece
of your past. I’m sorry. I underestimated your reaction. You’re suffering another loss.”
She stared up at him with eyes glazed with sorrow. “I’ve known. I’m aware Piermont isn’t
competing. You’re the only person in the world who understands, who shares how I feel right now.”
He hated himself, making her world cruel. “I’m not much of a mainstay, am I? I’m putting
Naiad ahead of your feelings. It was your family’s business.” He looked at her cautiously. He hadn’t
thought about how it defined her.
“I’ll work it out for myself. You don’t need to worry about it. Believe me, I half expected it.”
She straightened herself and slung her messenger bag on her shoulder. “Shop floor skippers are
waiting.”
He gently took her elbow until he was sure that she was steady on her feet. He saw her in a new
light, dignified. It made him want her more than anything. The weekend was four long days away.
“No matter what, life is precious and sweet.”
He guessed she’d said that because of her parents. As he watched her leave, he reminded himself
of his ridiculous purchase, the Avalon-40. Hell, he’d sell that, too.

Sails-for-sale was her way of putting it. He assigned her to the project out of consideration. That
way, she wouldn’t feel left out. She understood why it had to go, but her stomach churned. She
couldn’t sleep. She’d woken around three in the morning, popped a couple of Tums, and drank
water from her bathroom faucet.

Thor brushed against her legs. Every muscle in her body felt like a broken rubber band, but she
reeled her way into her home office. She fell into her chair, and her dog’s warm body curled over her
feet. She scratched his ears and opened the folder on her desk. Naiad didn’t run the sailmaking
department. There were no meetings, no decisions, and no initiatives.

Knowing Biltmore went from cheap to cheaper hurt. With rising costs of building maintenance,
labor, fuel, and materials, he should have marketed outside of Naiad. Looking at the financials, it
was clear to her. There’d been no interest. It had become a fossil.

A flood of fatigue overwhelmed her for several days. Somewhere deep inside her, she found the
strength to hold on.
By midweek, she’d completed a financial portfolio for Piermont. She felt proud at the depth of
her findings when she handed it to him. Wordlessly, he put it on his desk without looking at it.
“Oh my God, Gar. You already had the figures.” She felt foolish.
He didn’t look up at her. “It was the quickest way for you to know what’s going on with the
sailmaking department.”
“Do you have any more busywork for me?”
“No I don’t. I faxed broker names to Biltmore via his bank in Aruba. I recommended the
Manhattan Bank and Trust.” His tone was that of a weather reporter.
“What will it go for?” She wasn’t sure what she wanted it to go for.
Finally, he looked at her. This time sympathy showed in his warm brown eyes. “Not much,
Kitzie. The building and equipment will determine the price. The new owner will have to bear
employee contracts. They’re union.”
“What brokerage firm did you recommend?”
“Come on, Kitzie. Let it go. This part isn’t about you.”
Piermont Sails would be up for sale in moments. This insider information gave her a flutter of
both anxiety and hope. Weeks before, she’d told Edgar she’d never share more with him than the
board.
Never say, “Never.”