Welcome To My Family

“Louie?” Slater’s face matched hers shade for shade. “My father is called Lou at the country club, L.J. in board of directors meetings and ‘Sir’ when he strolls around this complex. Never Louie. Or not until he ran afoul of Tim O’Halloran, that is.”

This information set Kat back on her heels. Somehow, it wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. Now she didn’t wait for an invitation but plopped down in one of Slater’s wing chairs. “Your father’s on the board here?” she whispered.

“He stepped down from the presidency last January.” Slater shrugged impatiently. “He’s board chairman, just like his father was before him. What isn’t like my grandfather is the irresponsible way L.J.’s behaved since he met Tim O’Halloran and his hoodlum pals. Instead of good works, he spends his spare time on poker or at the track.”

“Seems to be a lot of that going around,” Kat said, shaking her head. “If it’s any consolation, it’s not normal behavior for my pop, either.”

Slater drummed his fingers on her manila file. “Regarding the job. I take it you’re aware of how I feel about instituting this position in my company?”

“One would have to be the village idiot not to pick up on that.” Kat looked away and caught her lip between her teeth. “So…” She worked to get a grip on her cartwheeling emotions. “Did you ever figure out what was wrong with your car?”

Slater straightened. Once again she’d thrown him off balance. Damn, but he couldn’t stop looking at her lips…. The CEO in him beat a hasty retreat. As he stared at her, he saw that concern darkened her huge eyes, tugging on his sympathy. Plus, Slater noticed an appealing smatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose. “This is not a social chat we’re having, Ms. O’Halloran,” he said, attempting to regain control. “Nothing about that car concerns you. Got it?”

Kat scooted forward in her chair but felt her skirt catch. It was a curse of being short; her feet never quite touched the floor when she sat in big, roomy chairs. “Got it,” she repeated, her reply sounding a trifle breathless, which might have been partly because his eyes followed the tug of her hands on a ridiculously short skirt. “I work here, but I don’t ask questions about the product.” She returned his frown. “Makes no sense to me.”

“Speaking of your job. Is that your normal work attire?” Almost before the remark was out of Slater’s mouth, he cursed himself for saying a word.

Kat laughed. She couldn’t help it. The family had coerced her into wearing a suit and he didn’t like their choice. “At the resort, I generally wore sweats. Weather permitting, shorts.”

“No shorts,” Slater sputtered. “This whole notion of play at work is ridiculous. I don’t know what possessed the other automakers. It only lengthens the overall workday when you give longer lunches and extra breaks to accommodate recreation. Don’t workers want to get home to see their wives and kids anymore?”

“Have you talked to staff at Motorhill? Or plant managers in Detroit? Absence goes down and productivity up where they have recreation programs. I interned at a facility where they started a new program. I can personally vouch that it did make a difference.”

Slater declined comment. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers against his lips. “What equipment would you need to get something minimal going?”

Kat was extremely glad she’d climbed out of bed last night to draw up a list. She extracted it from her purse and pushed it across his desk.

As Slater perused it, his straight brows almost met over his nose.

Kat chewed her lower lip again and waited for him to throw the list in his wastebasket.

But when he spoke, Slater sounded calm enough. “Space isn’t an issue. I’ve got an empty warehouse and plenty of ground to grade for a ball field. Equipment is something else. I think it’s only fair to tell you, Ms. O’Halloran, I have an attorney checking for loopholes in the proposal our workers presented to the board. The minute he finds one, your program is history. Surely you understand my reluctance to invest in equipment.”

Kat steepled her fingers in a gesture exactly like his. “Do you work out?” she asked bluntly, knowing he had to in order to remain so lean and trim.

“Every day.” He glanced up. “I’d go crazy if I didn’t. I don’t, however, exercise during work hours. I belong to a twenty-four-hour gym.”

“Which costs you two thousand bucks a year. Right?”

He shrugged. “More or less.”

“More would be my guess. However, the men and women who work here probably didn’t hatch from a long line of CEOs. Surveys show blue collar workers eat too much bread and too few fruits and vegetables. Heading in this morning I passed a score of people who were overweight. Exercise lengthens life. That, Kowalski, is fact. Exercise also sharpens mental acuity.”

“I’m not disputing the merits of exercise. I just have more important things to worry about. Like if we don’t produce cars around here, those same people won’t even have bread on the table.”

“Then Flintridge is in a financial bind.”

“Who told you that?” He catapulted from his chair, smacking both hands flat on the desk.

Kat shrank back into the oversize chair. “I heard there’s a rumor to that effect floating around Motorhill.”

“Dammit,” he swore, slamming her folder closed. “Squelch it,” he ordered.

“Me?” She leaned toward him. “I’ll admit I have family working at Motorhill. But they didn’t start the rumor. And I sure didn’t.”

He eyed her coldly in what became a fierce glaring match that lasted until his intercom buzzed. Shifting his attention to a console on his desk, Slater flipped a switch. “Yes, Hazel, what is it?”

“Have you forgotten you were meeting…someone for lunch?”

He spared a glance at a wafer-thin watch. “Yes. Is she on the phone?”

The response was affirmative.

“Extend my apologies and tell her to order our salads. I’ll have a chicken Caesar.” He severed the connection with the confidence of a man assured that whatever he commanded would be done.

Kat stood. It would be a cold day in hell before she ordered any man a salad via secretarial request. Or if she did, he’d be wearing it when he did manage to show up. “Does this conclude our discussion?” she asked. “Or shall I return after lunch?” She led the way to the door.

“Let’s resume at three. Meanwhile, I’ll have Hazel show you the office I’ve assigned you. It’s directly below on level nine.” He opened the door and beckoned his secretary.

“If you ask me,” Kat muttered, “you take darn long lunch hours for someone who doesn’t approve of recreating on company time.”

Hazel Carmichael rushed up to meet them just then, so Kat missed the crimson tide that flowed up Kowalski’s neck.

“Take Ms. O’Halloran to room 910 before I get into trouble with the employees for firing her, Hazel. I want her back at three, so please clear my calendar.”

“Very good, sir. Enjoy your lunch with Ms. Bellamy.”

Ms. Bellamy. Kat wondered what she did for a living since she had time to lunch all afternoon. The notion of him dallying with some do-nothing socialite while she twiddled her thumbs, sitting around waiting for his instructions, stuck in Kat’s craw. Then, disgusted to think she cared what he did and with whom, she swept all images of her arrogant boss aside and dutifully followed his secretary. She didn’t envy Mrs. Carmichael having to choreograph Kowalski’s love life. It seemed a demeaning task.

“Here we are, dear.” Mrs. Carmichael unlocked a door. “I didn’t know precisely what supplies a recreation specialist might require, so I ordered the usual pens, pencils, tape and such.”

Kat stepped inside. “At the resort, I had a fourth of this space, a host of kayaks, paddles, five bags of assorted sports balls, a desk and two file cabinets.”

The secretary looked horrified. “No one mentioned sports equipment, Ms. O’Halloran. I’m afraid nothing’s been ordered.”

“Call me Kat. And don’t worry. Kowalski has my equipment list. I would like a roster of personnel, broken out into shifts with lunch and break times, if possible.”

“I’ll call Wendy after lunch and tell her you need it first thing in the morning.” Slater’s secretary jotted herself a note.

“Lovely,” Kat murmured. Just what she needed, another visit with the company fashion plate. Especially since she’d be wearing sweats tomorrow.

Mrs. Carmichael homed in on Kat’s remark. “If Wendy gives you trouble, call me. I’ll collect the list for you.”

Kat smiled. So she hadn’t imagined the friction between those two.

The woman suddenly checked a watch hanging from a slender neck chain. “It’s our lunchtime, too, Ms….er, Kat. If you haven’t got any plans, you’re welcome to join me in the cafeteria.”

“Thank you, I’d love to join you for lunch. Let me stow this packet in the desk and I’ll be set to go. Will I need to wear my badge?”

“No need. Oh, I almost forgot, these are your office and building keys. Slater will show you the warehouse and give you that key, I’m sure.”

Kat tucked the key ring in her purse, and tossed the badge into a drawer. The badge that Ms. Nelson considered simply a waste—as she’d announced in a snide voice loud enough for all in her office to hear—because it was only temporary.

“By the way,” Kat asked as they left the room. “If it’s not telling tales out of school…how stable do you think my position is?”

Mrs. Carmichael cast a glance up and down the hall. When it appeared they were alone, she said, “Tool-and-die workers have asked for it every year since Motorhill developed their program. They offered to take it in lieu of a raise. But maybe you aren’t aware that Flintridge is family-owned except for a small amount of common stock. Benefits and wages are board decisions. L.J. was scrupulous about keeping up with union salaries, as was his father. But neither was big on frills. I don’t know why everyone assumed Slater would be less conservative.”

“He’s not?”

Kat’s companion rang for the elevator. “Product-wise, no.” The elevator arrived, but it was full. Giving a shake of her head, Hazel fell silent and headed for the stairs.

Kat didn’t want to pressure her, but she was sharp enough to recognize when a plum had been dropped into her lap. She might never lunch with the president’s secretary again and there were things she wanted to know.

As they left the building by the back door and started down a tree-lined walkway, Kat murmured, “The landscaping here is beautiful. One of the Kowalskis must have had an appreciation for gardening.”

“All of them,” Mrs. Carmichael said. “At least, the three I’ve worked for.”

“You worked for Slater’s grandfather? You don’t look that old.”

The woman blushed. “Not as executive secretary. I came here in my twenties. The company was smaller then. That Slater was a people person. He got down in the trenches with his employees. He retired soon after I began.”

“Ah. So your boss is named for his grandfather, but isn’t like him?”

“Excuse me…but I had the impression you knew Slater already.”

Kat glanced up and caught the curiosity in the secretary’s gaze. Mrs. Carmichael was doing some digging, too. Kat grinned. “Don’t tell him I ratted.” She explained how they met, finishing the tale before they reached the cafeteria line. Talk shifted as they selected lunch salads and found seats away from the crowd.

Mrs. Carmichael smiled. “Cars,” she said abruptly. “The car vision is something all the Kowalski men are born with. Slater’s grandfather was obsessed by the Ridgemont. L.J. poured heart and soul into the Ridgecrest. And now Slater slaves day and night on his dream car. Makes for a poor life, if you ask me. Although no one does.”

“Those first two cars were wildly successful,” Kat allowed. “But when you say obsessed, where does that leave family? Wives, for instance?”

Mrs. Carmichael didn’t say anything for a moment. At last she said, with a twinkle in her eye, “Slater isn’t married. Every unattached female employed here envisions herself the next Mrs. Kowalski. The most persistent is Wendy Nelson.”

Suddenly Kat saw things more clearly. “Well, you now have one employee who doesn’t see herself married to the boss,” Kat announced. “But what’s wrong with your rumor mill? Don’t these ladies know he takes three-hour lunches with Ms. Bellamy?”

“Goodness,” Mrs. Carmichael exclaimed, “she is Slater’s great-aunt. She’s eighty. I call her the dowager CEO. If she had her way, she’d still be chairman of the board. Her father started Flintridge Motors. Bless Slater’s heart, the boy lunches with her faithfully once a month. L.J. avoids her at all costs.”

Kat pretended interest in her food. She didn’t want to hear anything redeeming about the current president of Flintridge Motors.

“Is something wrong?” her lunch partner inquired. “I shouldn’t be talking out of turn like this. I don’t, usually. You needn’t worry that Slater will chase you around the desk. He’s a gentleman.”

“I’m not interested in his personal traits. I grew up in a family of men obsessed with automobiles. They work for Motorhill.” Kat shrugged. “If and when I marry, you’d better believe the man will have hobbies. And he’ll have time for me.”

“Motorhill?” Kat’s companion looked confused. “I heard you’d come to us all the way from the West Coast.”

Kat wrinkled her nose. “I did. From Washington State, where I went to escape being pushed down the aisle with a Motorhill accountant. As it turns out, his financing was a little too creative and he now resides in a…shall we say, state-owned facility. After that disaster, my family wisely decided to let me find my own husband.” Kat didn’t see any reason to mention that she’d been called home because of Louie Kowalski. It would only muddy the waters.

“O’Halloran. You’re of Irish extraction? That explains your beautiful creamy skin.”

Kat blushed. “Carmichael. Is it possible you’re from the Hill?”

“No.” The secretary’s eyes filled with tears. “My husband was a fuel scientist at Motorhill. He was killed in a laboratory explosion long ago—before our second anniversary. His parents weren’t fond of me. So after he died, I applied for a job here and moved back to this side of the river. I’ve never returned to the Hill. Too many bad memories.”

“I’m sorry,” Kat said sincerely. Rivalry between the car companies often extended into private families. “Do you have children?”

The woman shook her head, blew her nose and began to gather her things.

Kat realized lunch was over, as was her informal chat with Slater’s secretary. She felt there was more sadness in Hazel Carmichael’s life than had been explored, but very likely the woman would keep it locked inside forever.

“Thanks for taking me under your wing,” Kat said on the walk back to the administration building. “The first day is the hardest. I believe I’ll go familiarize myself with the policy and procedures manual. See you at three.”

“It’s been my pleasure,” Hazel said. “You’re a refreshing young woman, Kathleen—if I may call you that. In my estimation, Kat doesn’t fit you.”

Kat blushed again. Another curse of her fair complexion. “Pop called me kitten. My brothers switched to Kat because of the way I fought them when I was a kid. See you at three,” she murmured, hopping out of the lumbering elevator on the ninth floor. As the door closed and Hazel rode on up, Kat recalled that the president at Motorhill had a private lift. His secretary had her own electronic card to operate it. The no-frills policy extended here across the board.

The company’s three-inch manual was fairly standard. Kat leafed through it, read certain chapters. When she grew tired of that, she prowled her office and inspected the view from her two windows. Her corner office sat directly below Slater’s, so she had a similar view. But her other window faced the river. Kat hadn’t realized the river flowed through this industrial park. Her mind flashed to her kayaks. What a good inexpensive way to add to her program.

She made a mental note to look up depth, grade and regulations for running the river at this point. To kill more time, she studied the map of the complex Hazel had given her. Even then, Kat still had an hour on her hands. It wasn’t her nature to sit idle. Having gone beyond the shock of discovering that her boss and Louie Kowalski’s son were one and the same, Kat was ready to just get on with the job.

By two-thirty she was so bored, she actually resorted to reading the yellow pages in the phone book. Perhaps she’d price some equipment on her own. From what Mary had said the other night, Kat expected to have to fight for space, but it seemed Kowalski was going to be decent about that, at least.

At five minutes to three, she again stood in front of Hazel’s desk.

The woman glanced up. “Hello, Kathleen. My goodness. Is it that late already? The boss is meeting with his chief engineer. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

“Thank you,” Kat said. “Maybe I’ll look at your rogues’ gallery, if you don’t mind.”

“Do. Down that hall, you’ll find portraits of our current board members. They were just mounted last week and look very nice.”

Kat spent some time studying Adelaide Bellamy and Louis J. Kowalski. Both had kind eyes. She observed that Slater’s dad looked almost mischievous, which dragged a reluctant smile from Kat. Somehow, she felt like a traitor to her family. Considering this, she wandered into the reception area again. She had backtracked to very near Slater’s office when suddenly his door was thrown open and out burst an energetic man about her own age. His shirtsleeves were rolled above his elbows, exposing muscular forearms. Unable to halt his forward motion, he ran right into Kat. The armload of blueprints he carried went flying.

“Excuse me,” she gasped, bending at once to help retrieve the scrolls. “I’m so sorry,” she said, even though he was the one who had’t been paying attention.

“My fault,” he declared, ending with a low-wolf whistle. “And who might you be?” he murmured, slicking a hand through nut-brown hair. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Straightening, her arms filled with his blueprints, Kat blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Casually, the man leaned against Slater’s door frame.

Almost immediately, Slater appeared behind him. He, too, was in shirtsleeves, and he frowned as his engineer said, “I think I’m in love. Somebody introduce me to this woman.”

“Seems to me you have enough woman trouble, Scott, without looking for more,” Slater said emphatically. In an obvious move, he stepped between Kat and his engineering chief.

The man holding the blueprints widened his eyes. “Why didn’t you say she was private stock, old buddy?” He backed away, but his eyes remained curious.

Kat sucked in an audible breath. “I’m no one’s stock. I’m the new recreation specialist at Flintridge,” she said firmly, stepping around Slater to shove the blueprints she’d rescued into Scott’s arms.

“Why were you lurking outside my door?” Slater demanded, again insinuating himself between the two.

“I wasn’t lurking.” Kat was quick to defend herself. “I was looking at pictures. This man—uh, Scott, flew out the door and…and…” She realized her voice had risen and a group that stepped off the elevator had ears perked. She clamped down on the O’Halloran temper.

Slater dismissed his engineer with a word. He ushered Kat inside his office and forcefully shut the door. “I knew hiring you would be trouble,” he said, pushing down his shirtsleeves, fumbling to replace gold cuff links lying loose in a tray on his desk.

Kat fumed silently over the unfair assessment, watching him take his suit jacket off the back of the chair and shrug into it.

“I did nothing,” she said tightly. “And your…that poor engineer was just indulging in a bit of harmless flirting. Which, I might add, I would have handled without your help.”

“Scott Wishynski is neither poor nor harmless. I pay him top dollar, which he spends on a wife and miscellaneous girlfriends scattered throughout the complex.” Slater’s eyes roamed over her. “Frankly, I wouldn’t have considered you his type.”

Kat leaned on his desk and yelled, “Whatever type that is, I’m definitely not it!”

“That’s what I said. Scott and I generally agree on looks. Redheads, mostly. The difference is…I don’t condone cheating or dating anyone on staff. In your position, where you’ll be dealing with a lot of men, I suggest you adopt my policy, Ms. O’Halloran. Now, shall we get started on your tour?”

His lecture fueled a blaze of temper Kat found hard to control. She longed to wipe that smirk right off his face. Except that he really hadn’t said anything she could dispute. Still, he needn’t think he could dictate how she conducted her personal life. “You’re the boss at work. But I’ll do as I please on my time,” she said, stepping aside to let him pass. Then she had to run to keep up. Slater’s longer legs carried him quickly through the corridors, when they’d left the elevator, along the walkway. Kat was definitely not used to shoes with heels.

“I have some bad news,” he said when they arrived at an open arena mounded with mud. “That last storm soaked the ground. My grader got stuck today. We won’t be able to clear this field for your ball diamond. Not for a few weeks.”

“More than one ball diamond, right?” Kat asked.

“Isn’t one enough?”

“You employ both men and women.”

“I didn’t realize ball fields were like rest rooms, where codes require his and hers.”

Kat arched a brow. “I assumed you’d want to run women’s teams and men’s teams simultaneously, like they do at Motorhill.”

Slater thrust his hands in his pants pockets and ignored her jab. “The warehouse I earmarked for your use is there.” He pointed to a flat-roofed building out in the middle of nowhere.

“I’d hoped for a more central site.”

“Look, it’s empty. Take it or leave it.”

“You’re being deliberately difficult, Mr. Kowalski,” Kat said. “People who work in the south end of the complex, which I might point out is most of your staff, couldn’t get here in time to use the facility on a regular break.” She pulled a creased map of the sprawling complex out of her pocket and unfolded it. “What about this building?” She pointed to one in the very center. “I understand it’s also empty.”

“At the moment, yes. It’s also surrounded by restricted design labs. Would you mind telling me how you knew it was vacant?”

The wary expression on his face reminded Kat of what her brother had said about Louie Kowalski maybe tapping Pop’s brain. Were they testing Motorhill’s techniques in one of those labs? Was that why Slater wanted her out of reach? Well, Kat sure wasn’t going to tell him Hazel had suggested that building. “Are you making some areas off limits to me?” she asked aggressively.

He frowned down into her eyes without answering. The low-hanging clouds suddenly started to spit rain, and Slater gripped her elbow to guide her back to the path. “I wasn’t aware until today that my new recreation specialist had so many family ties at Motorhill. I do expect loyalty from my employees.”

“Loyalty or blind obedience?” Kat asked. “There is a difference.”

“Loyalty…” A whistle blared three short blasts just then, cutting off whatever else he might have said.

“Loyalty is earned, Mr. Kowalski. I assume that whistle means it’s quitting time. Will that be all, or am I now officially on overtime?”

Slater dismissed her with a curt nod.

Kat spun and marched off toward the parking lot.

In a foul mood now, Slater strode in the opposite direction through intensifying rain. It seemed he was destined to get his suits soaked when dealing with that woman. And yet, he thought nastily, a cloudburst was minor compared to all the other things he found irritating about his newest employee. Her sassy mouth, pixie grin and legs far too long for a woman who couldn’t be over five foot two…Those complaints headed a list that ended with the fact that her name was O’Halloran.

CHAPTER THREE