favorites. He had his arms stretched over the shoulders of the employees closest to him, all part of the circle. He had loved this company, every single inch of it, and loved every one of the people who worked here. No matter what decision she made, she had to make sure the employees kept their jobs.
Because they mattered to Willie Jay. Mattered more than anything else in his life. And maybe, just maybe, if she could keep that legacy alive, she could feel as though she’d mattered to her father, too.
“I’ll find a way to make this all work out, Dad,” she whispered. “I promise.”
His smile seemed to waver, but maybe that was just the tears in her eyes. She swiped them away, drew in a deep breath, then pulled a soda out of the fridge and headed back to the fifth floor.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the glass on the stairwell door. Good Lord, she looked the way she felt. Trying hard to be a sharp, sophisticated executive and failing miserably. A nice, neat suit, topped by a head of hair that looked as if she’d just rolled out of bed. At some point today, her long hair had gotten in her face while she worked, and she’d tied it back in a ponytail without a second thought. Just as she had a hundred thousand times on a job site. But here, with Mac Barlow, she’d wanted to be taken seriously, to be seen as a determined and capable CEO.
Nothing about that messy ponytail screamed force to be reckoned with. No wonder Mac kept saying she was in over her head. That was exactly the look she was sporting this afternoon.
She tugged out the ponytail and ran a hand through her long blond curls. She tugged the wisps of her bangs over her forehead, then did a quick glance to make sure the rest of her was shipshape. She wasn’t flirting with the guy, she reminded herself. Even if he did look like a cross between a bad boy and a millionaire. It would help her make her case. That was all.
On the short flight up to the top floor, she’d decided two things—she wasn’t going to sell to Mac Barlow no matter what he offered her. But before she told him that, she was going to see if she could find a way to get ideas from him as to what she could do. Somehow turn the conversation into one that gave her much-needed advice. Maybe then, if she could implement his thoughts, she could turn the company around herself. And send Mac on his way.
She needed a mentor, and she had one right here. The trick was getting him to give her concrete advice without realizing he was doing it.
She pasted a smile on her face, then strode across the office. Her steps faltered when she saw Mac sitting in the chair her father had always occupied, his attention riveted on the computer screen before him. Her father’s computer, the one she had been sitting at just moments before because it made her feel close to her dad, who she still missed as though she’d lost a limb. She wanted to yank Mac Barlow out of the chair. Instead, she forced that smile to stay in place and hoped it didn’t look as fake as it felt.
Okay, play nice. Try to engage him in a conversation that gives you what you need.
“We got off on the wrong foot, Mr. Barlow,” she said as she approached the desk. She held the soda in her hand toward him. “And I wanted to give you a...peace offering.”
He flicked a glance at the bottle. “I don’t drink soda.”
“Oh.” She took the bottle back, unscrewed the top and screwed it back on again. So much for that peace offering. “I’d like to talk to you about the company a little more.”
He kept clicking through the bookkeeping program, hardly giving her the time of day. “Miss Hillstrand, if this is another attempt to talk me out of—”
“Of course not,” she lied. Best to find a way to get him chatting about what he did, how he had become so successful, or at the very least, how he envisioned making Hillstrand Solar a good investment for his enterprise. Surely, running one business was like running another, and from that conversation, perhaps she could extract a few secrets to success, if there was such a thing. Give her a bathroom to restore or a kitchen that needed to be gutted and reconfigured, and Savannah was in her element. But here, at her father’s desk, with dozens of people looking to her for leadership and answers—she might as well have been running blind into a wall. Well, it was time for her to find her focus. “I merely thought you’d want an insider’s perspective. I’ve worked here practically since I could walk, and I’d love to give you some feedback. To help you make...a better decision.”
“And what decision would that be?” He swiveled in the chair. “Are you trying to talk me out of the purchase again?”
“Certainly not.” She screwed and unscrewed the bottle cap again, then chided herself for showing her nerves. A strong CEO never wavered, never showed doubt. Maybe if she played the part, it would eventually suit her. “I just wanted to get an idea of what you planned to do with the company, how you thought you would get it back on its feet if you bought it. Because we both know you can’t just flip it if it’s struggling.”
Mac returned to the computer and moved on to the next screen, peering down the list of receivables. “I rarely share my plans with other people.”
“I’m not other people. I’m the owner. And this company is like—” damn the catch in her throat “—family to me. I want to make sure it is taken care of and that everyone will be okay. That the family, so to speak, will remain intact.”
It wasn’t the company that was family, Savannah realized as she said the words. She knew the people who worked at Hillstrand Solar, of course. It was that the company, every last chair and slip of paper, was a part of her father. Willie Jay and Savannah had been like two peas in a pod, her mother had always said. He’d been her protector, her mentor, her hero, and without him in her life, a yawning cavern had opened in Savannah’s heart. Along with the sense that she’d never quite made him proud, never quite shown him what she could do. Taking care of the company filled that cavern. A little.
Mac scanned the list of jobs in production, then returned his attention to the receivables, probably doing the math to see if their monthly sales were up to snuff. She waited.
Finally, he let out a breath and pushed back from the computer. “I understand that need to want to protect everyone’s jobs, but sometimes that isn’t feasible.”
“But many of these employees have been here as long as my father was here. They depend on their paychecks. They’re honest and trustworthy and hardworking—”
“I’m not interviewing them, so save the résumés.” He waved toward the computer screen. “I’m looking at the bottom line. I make all my decisions based on the numbers. And the numbers are clear. You can’t support the amount of overhead you have.”
The sinking feeling in Savannah’s gut told her that Mac was right. Her father had been a great leader, but he had also been a softy, reluctant to fire anyone. “There must be a way to bring in more revenue.”
“There is. More sales. But your sales staff is already stretched pretty thin, and your biggest accounts have gone to your competitors. It takes time to woo them back, time to build up the sales again, time to get that money rolling in.”
“It’s easier to keep the bees you have with a strong hive than to go out and capture more.” She gave him a sad smile. “Something my dad used to say.”
His gaze met hers. She swore she saw a softening in his eyes, a connection between them. “My parents are big on sayings like that. Must be a Southern thing.”
“You don’t
