Page 12 of Turning Up the Heat

“How was Jamaica?” he asked, going to the wet bar and pouring himself a glass of rum, even though it was before noon.

“Good,” Tom said. “Informative. I made some good connections.”

“Did you run into the Rexfords?”

Tom nodded. If his father had any idea just how he’d run into the Rexfords... “Yes, of course.”

“I heard the girl was the toast of the conference.”

Tom bristled at his father’s use of the word girl. Gemma was a grown woman, and he couldn’t help but defend her. “Gemma Rexford is one of the best distillers in the world. And she has the product and awards to prove it. She gave a presentation on an overview of the process. But she obviously didn’t share any secrets or the ins and outs of it.”

John shook his head. “She must be more clever than she looks. Although, she looks pretty good, eh? There’s a lot going on in that pretty little head of hers.” Tom opened his mouth to defend Gemma, but his father finished his rum and left the glass on top of Tom’s desk. He stood to leave.

“I’ve been looking at the profit and loss report from last month. I was hoping we could talk about it.”

His father waved him off. “Ignore that for now. We’re taking care of it.”

Tom wanted to discuss it. Cain Rum was losing money every month. If they didn’t make changes, Tom knew that when it came time to take over the company, there might not be a business left.

Before he could counter, his father was gone, and Tom was again alone in his office. He looked at the glass that his father had left on the corner of his desk. Condensation had pooled on the dark oak wood. Tom picked up the glass and wiped away the water. Polishing the shiny surface with the cuff of his sleeve, he saw that there was no damage. Much longer, and the wood would have tarnished. That was John Cain, all right—no consideration for anyone else. His father was selfish, dismissive, stubborn.

Tom hated that he hadn’t stopped the things his father had said about Gemma. She was smart, capable, beautiful, sexy... His thoughts trailed off, and his tailored suit felt tight, restrictive. He was too hot, too confined. He needed to get away from the office.

Tom looked again at the stack of phone messages on his desk and the meetings and appointments that filled his schedule. He dialed his assistant in the next room.

“Yes, Tom?”

“Alison, I need a flight. Can you see if the jet is available?”

“Really? There’s nothing in your schedule out of town.”

“Something just came up. I need to leave as soon as possible.”

“Sure thing. Where are you going?”

“Miami.”

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