One Kiss In... Hawaii. Jill Monroe

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      “What’s going on?” As he slowly lowered himself into one of the sleek leather chairs, he looked from one bleak face to the next.

      “We’ve lost the Decker account,” his father said, his complexion unnaturally pale.

      David felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Thurston Decker was their second biggest client. “How?”

      “That’s not all,” his uncle added, his features pinched. “It looks as if Cromwell may jump ship, as well.”

      Bewildered, David looked to Peter, who was staring at his clenched hands. “I don’t understand.” David shook his head. “They’ve both been with us for two generations without a single complaint. We’ve done an excellent job for them.”

      “They don’t dispute that.” His father removed his glasses and carefully began cleaning the lenses. “They’re citing the economy.”

      “That’s bull.” Harrison angrily ran a hand through his graying hair. “It’s Thurston’s grandkids who’re responsible. Those greedy little bastards. They’re edging the old man out of the company and making a bunch of jackass changes.”

      “No point in getting steamed,” David’s father said wearily. He rarely got angry or displayed much emotion. David was much like him in that way. “We need to focus on bringing them back around.”

      “I doubt that’s a possibility,” Peter opined. He was a quiet, studious man, who’d joined Pearson and Stern a year before David, and arguably knew more about what was going on in the firm than either of the two senior partners. “I heard that Fritz Decker, the oldest grandson, has already hired one of his former prep school buddies who bought in to Flanders and Sheen. And for a much smaller retainer.”

      “How reliable is that information?” David asked.

      Peter’s mouth twisted wryly. “We can forget about Decker’s business.”

      “Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to loyalty?” Harrison exhaled sharply and eyed David. “You might not know this, but your grandfather had just started this firm when Thurston Decker got into the booze business. He started out with one store and a bar. When he got tangled up with a moonshiner, your granddad took him on as a client for next to nothing.”

      David had heard the story and just nodded. “What about Cromwell? Did we screw up, or is he playing the economy card, too?”

      Peter shrugged. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

      “Do we have a chance of wooing him back?”

      “Good question.” His father put on his glasses. “We’ve lost a few smaller clients in the past couple of months, legitimately as a result of the economy, and nothing that would ordinarily concern us, but at this juncture, throw Decker and Cromwell into the pot and we’re in trouble.”

      David sank back in his chair, his head feeling as if it weighed a ton. He never thought he’d see this day. Pearson and Stern had been a reputable, prestigious firm his entire life. “What happens now?”

      “We cut back,” his father said. “No more weekly fresh flower deliveries, and the daily catering for the break room and conference rooms are to stop. You’d be as shocked as I was at how much those two items alone will save us.”

      “What about layoffs?” Peter asked.

      The question startled David, especially when neither his father nor his uncle balked. He hadn’t dared allow his imagination to go that far. Naturally he understood this was serious, but there had been other lows in Pearson and Stern’s history and they’d always taken pride in keeping every one of their employees. “Layoffs? Surely we’re not at that crossroad. We haven’t tried to drum up more business yet.”

      “Not quite true. Your uncle and I have made some calls, but we’ve come up empty.”

      David stared at the defeated look on his father’s tired face, and the heaviness in his chest grew. It wasn’t just his reasoned approach to business that made David admire the hell out of his dad. He’d always been a fair employer, a dignified member of the bar association, and David was glad that he’d recently been able to pull back from the office to spend some much deserved time on the golf course. “I can make some calls, too,” he said, withdrawing his BlackBerry from his pocket. “A couple of my old law professors from Harvard should be able—”

      “David. Wait.”

      He glanced up.

      “There is something you can do. That sharp young attorney, Mia.”

      “Mia Butterfield,” Peter clarified.

      “Right.” Lloyd Pearson leaned forward. “There is a potential new client considering our firm. A very big client, who requires the administration of a rather large charitable foundation. That means a hefty retainer and billable hours for two to three full-time attorneys.”

      “What does this have to do with Mia?” David asked, confused. “You do know she no longer works here.”

      “Sadly, yes, because the new client has stipulated that Ms. Butterfield be in charge of the account.”

      “That makes no sense. Mia never did estate planning.” David exhaled. “We have a stable of extremely talented tax and estate-planning attorneys. Or I could take on this new account myself.”

      His father shook his head. “I’m afraid not having Mia Butterfield handle the account is a deal-breaker, and no, there was no further explanation. You worked most closely with her. You’ll have to convince her to come back.”

      “I doubt that’s possible.” He vividly remembered the day she’d delivered her letter of resignation. She’d stayed while he read it, then without hesitation on her part or even a trace of regret she was out the door.

      “Offer her a bonus, a promotion, certainly a raise. Whatever it takes. We need this business, David, or we bring out the chopping block.”

      David loosened his tie and sank back. It was no use denying he wanted to see her again. For an instant he had wondered if her leaving would end up being the best thing that could’ve happened.

      Damn it. Yeah, he wanted to see her again all right. But not like this.

2

      THE HOTEL HADN’T CHANGED much in six years. Which was a very good thing because why mess with perfection? The lobby was airy and open, the fragrant scent of exotic flowers and salt water carried on the breeze that never failed to cool Mia off no matter how warm and humid the air.

      She and Lindsey were headed to the Plantation Bar—by way of the sundry store to pick up a pair of sunglasses Lindsey had forgotten to pack—when they spotted Shelby walking through the lobby, alongside a bellman who carried her two designer bags.

      “Look at her. She’s already tanned,” Lindsey said, shaking her head. The short pink sundress bared her shoulders and most of her legs, and a few more highlights had been added to her tawny-colored hair. She looked relaxed and happy, as if she’d already been here a week. So Shelby.

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