âHow about this? You give me advice. If at the end of the month, the business is still sinking under my direction, I will sell it to you at a very fair price.â
A ghost of a smile whispered across Macâs face.
For a moment, that smile made him look handsome, desirable. The kind of guy youâd sit down with at the end of a long day, with a glass of wine and a view of the water.
Good Lord. Now she was waxing romantic about the corporate raider who wanted to destroy her familyâs pride and joy.
Savannah perched on the edge of the desk. âYou know, if you agree to my plan, people might start to call you nice and charming.â
âThatâs your best reason for why I should help you? To change public perception?â
âThat, and earn a chunk of good karma points. Everyone needs those, even evil corporate raiders.â
His gaze locked on hers. âIâm not evil.â
She leaned in, closing the distance until she caught the scent of his cologne, something dark and mysterious, like the man who wore it. âThen prove it.â
* * *
The Barlow Brothers: Nothing tames a Southern man faster ⦠than true love!
Chapter One
When Mac Barlow was born, people claimed they heard his grandpa say, âThat boy is gonna be somethinâ when he grows up. I can just see the fire burninâ in his belly.â Grandpa Barlow had died twenty years ago, so there was no one to prove or disprove that moment when Earl Ray Barlow held his first grandson. But the rumor had stuck in the family, growing into a legend, embellished by aunts and uncles and siblings, like extra tinsel on a Christmas tree.
Of course, anyone who knew Mac Barlow knew heâd definitely grown up and into those words. His days did indeed revolve around a roaring fire in his gut for more, his life filled to the brim with long lists of things to do, people to call, deals to make. Heâd started when he was a freshman in college, starting with a little seed money heâd accumulated working part-time at a car lot while he was in high school. From the day heâd collected his first paycheck, and had grown into one of this yearâs Thirty Under Thirty touted in Forbes magazine.
So when he roared into Stone Gap, North Carolina, on a Sunday afternoon, it was to kill two birds with one stoneâattend his brother Jackâs wedding and finalize a business purchase that would add to the Barlow Enterprises coffers.
A purchase that was being thwarted at every possible turn by one singularly stubborn woman. But Mac had never met an obstacle he couldnât beat, a deal he couldnât close, which was what had him here, in person, to get Savannah Hillstrand to see the light, literally, and sell to him. Today.
Mac roared down the streets of Stone Gap, a passing figure on a Harley some might think a ghost, considering he was dressed all in black and driving, as usual, at breakneck speed. He leaned into the curve, nearly kissing the asphalt as he turned on to the street where heâd grown up. These moments on the bike, too few for his liking, were when Mac was finally able to shed the skin of the executive he was during the week. No suit, no tie, no one calling him or emailing him or knocking on his door, wanting a decision. Just him, the bike and the road. It was about as close to a vacation as Mac Barlow got.
He passed through Stone Gap in a moment, like the blip it was. Parts of the town were still frozen in time like some antebellum reenactment of the gentrified preâCivil War days. He barely slowed for the light downtown, hardly glanced at the buildings that hadnât changed in decades. He kept on going, taking the Oak Street shortcut to the highway. Once he hit I-95, the road opened up and he pushed the throttle. The wind whipped past him, fighting the Harley every mile he rode. Ten miles up, he exited the highway and pulled into the parking lot of an office building.
For a meeting that was only going to end one wayâwith Mac getting what he wanted.
One lone car sat in the parking lot, a pale blue Toyota that had seen better days. Mac flipped out his cell phone and dialed Savannahâs cell. While he waited for her to answer, he glanced up at the glass building, which reflected the late-afternoon sun like a prism. Solar panels covered the roof, angled toward the midday light. The Hillstrand sign itself was powered by a quartet of solar panels, and shaped like a rising sun cresting over the horizon. Nice, Mac thought.