Chapter 5: The Business Meeting

QUINN'S POV

When I awoke twenty minutes later, we'd pulled to a stop in front of a tall office building. A valet standing nearby opened my door and I scrambled out. I gazed up at the skyscraper, one of seemingly hundreds crowding the sky. Above the door read, 'Harper Industries' and I turned around in surprise.

"You own this building?"

Ford put his hand underneath my elbow again, leading me inside. "Come on."

We strolled inside where everyone from the security guards to the woman mopping an area of the marble lobby, greeted Ford by name. It became clear to me that Ford commanded respect by everyone who worked for him. Or maybe they all feared him. I didn't know which. I wasn't scared of him; he intrigued me. I'd never met anyone so severe. Was he capable of laughter? Joy?

I tagged along behind him into the elevator, vaguely admiring the way his black slacks clung to his firm backside. He'd put on his black jacket to match his pants and he looked breathtakingly handsome. I looked down at my own clothes and grimaced. The river water had stretched my sweater out of shape and Ford's coat nearly swallowed me. I could only imagine what my face and hair looked like.

I made an attempt to run my hands through my hair, but my fingers got caught in the spiraled tendrils. My hair had always been a complicated mess. I had a head full of natural brown curls and on most days, I loved it. I loved how the wide ringlets were unruly at times, wild, uncontrolled.

But today I felt disheveled and ugly -- particularly because I stood next to a man that oozed perfection from every pore. I pulled at the belt loops on my jeans, twisting my fingers in and out of the denim loops.

"Why are you fidgeting?" Ford asked me.

I raised my eyes to his. "Do I really need to sit in on this thing? Can't I wait in the lobby or something?"

"No. I want you near me."

My heart raced at his comment, although I was fully aware he hadn't meant it the way I'd heard it.

The elevator doors opened up to a posh lobby with two large seating areas on either side of a wide reception desk. The man at the desk leapt to his feet as we approached.

"Good morning, Mr. Harper," he welcomed.

"Is everyone here?"

"Yes, sir. They're ready when you are."

"I'm Quinn Mathers," I interjected. If I left it to Ford, he'd never introduce me to anyone.

He eyed Ford curiously and then shook my hand. "Collin."

"Miss Mathers will be sitting 'quietly' in on the meeting," he stressed and I stuck my tongue out at him. "Let's get started."

We entered through the glass doors behind the reception desk into a huge conference room where five men and two women rose to their feet at our arrival. They all seemed to be staring at Ford -- waiting for him to move, to speak, to sit.

The words, 'Harper Industries', were etched on the glass wall of the conference room and it became clear to me then. These people worked for him. Maybe everyone in the building worked for him.

"I apologize for having to push the meeting back. I was unavoidably detained this morning."

I knew he'd gotten in a dig at me, even though he didn't look my way. I grit my teeth. 'Who asked him to save me?' When he did turn to look at me, it was only to point to an empty chair near the corner of the room.

I, like everyone else in the room, took my cues from Ford. I sat in the chair like a punished schoolgirl in time out. No one even glanced my way. Perhaps, I wasn't the only wayward woman they'd seen. Maybe they were used to Ford bringing strange women to business meetings.

Collin sat near me with his laptop open on his lap. Ford took a seat at the head of the table and then his colleagues sat. When he moved they moved, I noticed. Watching people respond to him mesmerized me.

"Baldwin, let's hear it."

A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair held up a file and shook it fervidly. "We took a big hit last quarter. We lost several millions, as you'll see outlined in the cost analysis. We're not going to lose the farm, but I've got three kids in private school and I'd like to keep them there."

"Your kids will be fine -- all of ours will," another man piped up. "We've taken hits before; we'll bounce back."

"Would you be saying that if it were your millions being lost, Greg?" Ford countered, his tone dipping low.

I tremored in my seat at his icy growl, but the man seemed unaffected.

"This is the nature of futures. We all know that," Greg continued.

"And I pay all of you well to make sure we don't take significant hits like this. What are we going to do about recouping my seventy million dollars?"

I gasped audibly. Holy smoke! Seventy million dollars? He lost seventy million dollars? I wanted to cry for him. That kind of loss would make anyone want to jump from a bridge. Collin turned to glower at me over his shoulder and I closed my gaping mouth.

One of the women cut in. "We could sell some of our futures contracts -- maybe some in oil or gold."

Ford flipped through the file in front of him. "The price of oil and gold are too unstable now. We risk too much if the price goes against us."

"Not if we lodge a margin of the value of the contract with a third party. With a healthy spot market, we could get back what we lost in two days' time."

"It's a risk," another associate said.

"It's all a risk. We deal with risks every second of the day. I think It's a good plan."

"Excuse me," I interrupted softly.

Collin turned to glare at me again, but this time he shook his head, too.

"Excuse me," I repeated, but more loudly this time.

"This isn't a good time, Miss Mathers," Ford said sternly.

I stood from my chair and walked up to the conference table to stand at Ford's elbow.

"Do you only hold futures contracts for oil and gold?" I asked.

Everyone at the table looked to Ford, waiting for his prompting. He looked exasperated, barely raising a shoulder to shrug.

"Rubber and natural gas, as well. Excuse me, but who are you?"

"Quinn Mathers. Have you thought about investing in soft commodities like corn or coffee? The price of corn has not only been holding steady, but rising continually for months. And coffee is doing the same, thanks to outsourcing from other countries. It's being farmed cheap there and being sold at a seventy-five percent markup in the states. At that rate, you could have your seventy million back in less than six months with minimal risk."

The room fell quiet and all eyes were on me. I could feel the shift in the air. Uncertain eyes darted from one face to another.

"Soft commodities is not what we dapple in, Miss Mathers," Greg pointed out.

Ford rolled a pen between his fingers. "But maybe it should be."

"It can be incredibly hard to trade," Greg added.

"I agree. If you don't know what you're doing," I snipped.

A collective murmuring circled the room and I feared I may have overstepped my bounds. I knotted my fingers behind my back.

"If what Miss Mathers says is true, it could be a very lucrative investment and worth looking into. I want the numbers run. I want the agricultural stock reports on corn, coffee, wheat, and sugar for the past ten years so I can evaluate the trends. I also want the market analysis of the top ten trading companies in the U.S. I want to see where everyone else is putting their money."

"How do we get those? It's confidential," someone asked.

"That's what I pay you for. I'm flying back to D.C. tonight and I want an update by tomorrow afternoon. Be ready for a conference call at four o'clock."

Ford pushed his chair back and rose. I backed out of his way. He headed toward the door with Collin on his heels and me right behind them. The three of us entered the elevator together as Collin continued to hen-peck the keys of his laptop even as the doors shut. He slammed his computer closed as we descended and his hazel eyes landed on me, wide with astonishment.

"How did you know all that stuff about futures? She was great, wasn't she Mr. Harper?"

Ford didn't respond.

I pursed my lips at him. "I studied business at Georgetown with a concentration in financial markets and policy. I remembered reading about a man who made millions investing in soft commodities. A lot of firms undervalue soft commodities and the futures 'can' be more volatile. But, soft commodities play a big role in the futures market and if we can recoup the company's money quickly and sell quickly, no harm no foul."

"Wow. You'll be a great asset to the team," Collin gushed.

"She's not going to be part of the team," Ford declared resolutely.

"Oh."

I wrinkled my nose at Ford. "You probably won't see me again after today, but thanks for the compliment, Collin."

"Our loss. What time are we leaving for D.C.?"

"Not until later tonight. Miss Mathers would like to see a bit of the city."

I nearly broke my neck whipping around to look up at him.

"I'll call you when we're heading to the airport and you can meet us there."

"So...so you don't need me anymore today?" Collin stammered awkwardly.

"I do, but it's a personal matter. I'll call you about it later."