Beg for It (3 page)

There’d been rumors flying for months. Corporate takeover. A buyout. Mergers. Flat-out shutting down the entire production line and selling off all the assets. Dennis, Lynn, Patty, Jennifer, and Ryan—the Stein grandchildren who’d maintained their inherited positions within the company—had been reassuring the employees that nothing was going to change, no matter where Stein and Sons ended up heading.

Corinne doubted that was true. Everything changed, no matter if you wanted it to or not. Besides, she saw the numbers and the bottom line. She signed off on the paychecks and ran the quarterly reports. She’d been the one to let the rest of the office staff go when they needed to cut back on employee costs. Stein and Sons was in trouble, with no good way out in sight.

The board had turned down too many offers over the past couple of years, ones they probably should have taken back when the business had started off booming and they could’ve turned a hefty profit. It was now fizzling, without much to offer anyone. If they couldn’t turn around sales in the next few months, they were going to go under.

“We’re still not seeing enough growth,” she explained to the men and women sitting at the conference table across from her. Someone had laid out some bagels with a carton of the dairy’s garlic/rosemary cream cheese, and she’d already indulged herself in coffee with real fresh cream from the employee fridge. She was going to miss this if she had to leave.

“Patty was supposed to oversee the new marketing ventures,” Jennifer said, turning to her cousin. “What’s happening with getting the new products into local stores? Why aren’t we increasing orders?”

“We’re not only not increasing, we’re losing them,” Dennis put in.

Patty frowned and tucked a curl of graying brown hair behind her ear. “Look, it’s not that easy. We’re in direct competition with a lot of the local dairies we used to have business relationships with—”

“A million years ago,” Ryan interrupted.

Patty nodded at him but kept talking. “And none of
them
are dealing with all this fancy stuff. It’s straight up milk, cream, seasonal eggnog, ice cream, whatever. They’re selling to the big conglomerates too, for more money than we can afford to spend on more product than we can possibly utilize. So even if they’re not putting local products on the shelves, they’re profiting by selling to the big kids’ club.”

“Exactly,” said Dennis with a small thump of his fist on the table. “We need to serve a market with an expanded palate. That’s what we’re going for. We want to reach those folks who think nothing of driving into Philly for dinner because they’re sick and tired of nothing but chain restaurants. The kind who pair cheese with wine. Hey, have we looked into maybe getting in with some of the local wineries? Maybe a themed cheese spread or something?”

Corinne had heard people like that existed in Lancaster County. Transplants from New York or Philadelphia or even D.C. who’d fled “to the country” and suffered a long commute so they could raise their kids to play endless seasons of soccer on fields that reeked of manure. She’d been born and raised here in south central Pennsylvania. She’d never driven to the “big” city just for the sake of having dinner.

“People around here don’t want to eat herbed yogurt, Denny. They want the kind with fruit on the bottom. They might go for some fancy cheeses, but trying to sell them anise and lavender ice cream is just going to end up making us look like fools.” Patty said this last bit firmly, with a matching rap of her knuckles on the table. It was a habit most of the family had picked up from their parents, who’d learned it from their fathers, Morty and Herb.

“Look, we got into the Philly markets—” Ryan began.

“Only three, and only on a provisional basis. It’s more expensive to ship there. If we had more customers it would make the cost of shipping maintainable, but we don’t. We also have more competition from bigger dairies closer to Philly, and they’ve snagged the spots in the farmer’s markets, places like that where we
might
have a shot. Yes, we can reach the sorts of customers who’d love a candied walnut and rosemary goat milk ice cream, but only if we find a place that will carry the products. All around, what Corinne’s been saying is the simple truth.” Patty turned to Corinne with a sigh. “Not enough growth. Guys, we have to face it. We’re going to have to shut it all down.”

Ryan sighed. He was in charge of product invention and testing. “We could go simpler. It doesn’t have to be so fancy, I guess. Get back to basics, come at it from the nostalgia angle. Stein and Sons has been around forever.”

“I don’t want to sell. I never have.” This came from Lynn, usually silent, which meant that when he did have something to say, everyone listened. Before anyone could chime in to agree or disagree, he held up a hand. Lynn had started off in the company working in the dairy barn. He knew more about the cows and goats than any of the others. His brother Dennis liked to tease that Lynn wore manure instead of cologne, and Corinne was privately inclined to agree, but no matter what he had caked on his boots, Lynn commanded respect. “But I think it’s time we seriously considered the offer again.”

The offer.

That’s how all the owners referred to it, usually in a disdainful undertone or with a casually anxious sneer. For a company with a history of staying in the same family for generations without so much as a hint of a power struggle, the idea of passing the Stein Brothers legacy into the hands of a stranger had always been unthinkable. They’d received and passed up plenty of offers for other buyouts in the past, unanimously voting to keep Stein and Sons in the hands of its grandsons and granddaughters.

Now,
the offer
.

It had come in two weeks ago. An insultingly terrible offer, laden with restrictions and caveats that would’ve essentially crippled the company in the long-term. It would’ve gone straight into Corinne’s trash file, but it hadn’t come directly to her.

Lynn shook his head. “I don’t know that we have any choice. Corinne’s given us the numbers. We’ve tried everything we can think of. Nothing we do is working. It’s time to let go.”

“But if we sold, we wouldn’t have the business anymore,” Jennifer said. “It would be totally gone.”

“It’s going to be gone soon anyway, if we don’t see some turnaround,” Corinne said gently. “Something has to change. Or there won’t be anything left to sell except the physical assets.”

The cousins shared a look. Dennis cleared his throat. Patty sighed. Lynn looked stoic, and Jennifer’s red eyes gave away her emotions. Only Ryan looked resigned.

“My dad always said to quit before you got fired,” he said. “I’m sorry, guys. I wish I’d been able to come up with something that had really taken off.”

Jennifer squeezed her cousin’s shoulder. “Nobody’s firing you. It’s not your fault we can’t convince anyone to expand their palates.”

“I set up a meeting with the guy for you this afternoon,” Lynn said to Corinne. “His name’s Tony Randolph, and he represents the buyer. We need to discuss the terms. The buyer’s intentions. I’ll need you to get a real handle on what’s going to be best for Stein and Sons.”

“His intentions are to throw a couple of bucks our way and make us seem grateful to have it.” Patty frowned. “That offer was almost worse than declaring bankruptcy.”

“It’s certainly nothing close to what we feel the business is worth, I know that.” Lynn shook his head. “But this might be the best thing. It could be good.”

“Not much about this can be good,” Jennifer put in, then quickly pressed her lips closed.

“We have Corinne looking out for us,” Lynn said.

Corinne slid a fingertip across her phone to bring up her calendar. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Of course I’ll go to the meeting. What time?”

“I said you’d meet him at the StockYard Inn at two.” Lynn cracked his knuckles, then laid his hands flat on the table. “We trust you, Corinne. Hear what he has to say and bring it back to us. Help us figure it out.”

She nodded, looking at each of them in turn. Softly, she rapped her knuckles on the table. “Okay.”

Chapter Four

Reese Ebersole had bought and sold close to a hundred businesses. He’d acquired his first one twelve years ago using his meager savings, earned from his job bussing tables while he went to school, along with what had been left of the inheritance from his parents. The inheritance itself had not been substantial. He’d lost more money than his parents had ever earned in their entire lives. They’d meant it for him to finish school or pay for a wedding. Have a baby with a woman he loved. All the things they’d wished for him and would never see. Not because they’d both died far too early, but because Reese had never done any of those things.

He’d been too busy working. He’d had as many as thirty small companies in his portfolio, but currently owned only four that remained active. A string of kosher grocery stores. A tech company specializing in up-priced gadgetry appealing to people with too much money and not enough junk to spend it on. A media company with an emphasis on social media applications and development. The final company also specialized in something specific—catered holidays geared for überwealthy kinky people who wanted to travel in the lifestyle to which they’d grown accustomed. Bed and breakfasts with dungeons set up in actual dungeons, or buffet meals served on the bodies of naked, ornamentally beautiful men and women. The sorts of things they showed in the movies but normal people never did.

He had a penthouse flat in Philadelphia, a cottage in Ireland, a condo in Hawaii, and a pied-à-terre in Manhattan with a view of the Empire State Building. Mom would have tutted about the expenses of holding down so many households, especially without a woman to organize them. She’d have wanted to be sure each of them was fully stocked with toilet paper, milk, and eggs, and dishes that matched the silverware. Dad would not have been impressed with what he would have considered extravagance and indulgence. Dad would have counseled more caution. But beneath the criticisms, they both would’ve been proud, or at least Reese hoped. He guessed he would never know. He’d lost them both within six months of each other, long before he’d ever even made a bid on a business.

He’d stopped paying much attention to reports on his assets about two years ago when the numbers had reached a point where they’d become ridiculous, like playing with Monopoly money. Cash could buy and sell a lot of things, but Reese wasn’t naïve enough to believe happiness was one of them. Other things—cars, houses, tailored suits, fine wines. Those could bring at least the briefest interludes of happiness. Very rarely, however, had anything brought him joy.

Well, fuck joy. He’d given up on that a long time ago. For now it was enough to have the money he wanted to do whatever he pleased. As far as Reese was concerned, Heaven looked a lot like a long, long string of numbers in front of a decimal point.

Once, Reese’s Heaven had been something else to him, but that had also been a long, long time ago, before he’d become the man he was now. He’d learned to be ruthless. Uncompromising. How to cut a path for himself without caring much for who stood in the way. How to get what he wanted, no matter the cost. Reese had fled Lancaster County at twenty-three, but here he was again, and the gently wafting scent of manure that had drifted through the car windows as he drove had been enough to slam him back into the past and places he’d worked hard to forget.

Nothing he’d learned, it seemed, had taught him how not to look back.

“Still waiting? Can I bring you something to drink awhile?” The pretty brunette with the ponytail gestured at Reese’s empty wineglass.

“Yes. Two glasses of the Rendezvous Orchard Cabernet.”

“Do you want me to bring it when…she…gets here?” The lilt of the question made it clear she wasn’t sure what to think about the fact Reese might very well be on his way to being stood up. Or maybe she was just surprised that anyone in this rinky-dink town had ordered from a fifty dollar bottle of wine in the middle of the afternoon.

“No. Now. She’ll be here. She’s just running late, I’m sure.” He didn’t check his watch again.

He’d been waiting for half an hour. It was unfathomably rude and far from professional, but he couldn’t be surprised. Everything about Stein and Sons had smacked of small-town folksy standards, including handshake contracts and keeping what Reese thought of as country time. His parents had been that way. Languid and leisurely, getting there when they got there, wherever
there
was. And for his parents, it had never been very far.

She would be here. She had to be. He’d come all the way from Philadelphia. He’d had his personal assistant, Tony, confirm and reconfirm the meeting. She
was
going to show up.

Corinne Barton Levy, CFO of Stein and Sons.

Reese had been casually scrolling through one of the weekly emails he got from a service that collated information on companies ripe for buyout when he saw her name, and the past fifteen years had given him a roundhouse kick to the teeth. It would’ve be a lie to say he’d never thought of her in all that time; the truth was he’d never stopped thinking about the only woman to ever get him on his knees. Without a second thought, he’d forwarded the information to Tony with instructions on making an offer.

He’d known he was being a prick about it. The offer wasn’t half of what Stein and Sons was worth, even if Reese acquired it only for the assets and never even tried to turn it around. He’d made the terms too harsh for the minimal buyout amount to be worth it, a virtual slap in the face, purposefully insulting. Yet they’d asked him for this meeting, which meant they were seriously considering his offer.