Call Me Mrs Miracle. Debbie Macomber

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      “Your father will see you now,” Mrs. Coffey said. Dora Coffey had served as J.R.’s executive assistant for at least twenty-five years and knew as much about the company as Jake did—maybe more. He hoped that when the time came she’d stay on, although she had to be close to retirement age.

      “Thank you.” He walked into the large office with its panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline. He’d lived in the city all his life, but this view never failed to stir him, never failed to lift his heart. No place on earth was more enchanting than New York in December. He could see a light snow drifting down, and the city appeared even more magical through that delicate veil.

      Jacob R. Finley, however, wasn’t looking at the view. His gaze remained focused on the computer screen. And his frown told Jake everything he needed to know.

      He cleared his throat, intending to catch J.R.’s attention, although he suspected that his father was well aware of his presence. “You asked to see me?” he said. Now that he was here, he had a fairly good idea what had initiated this summons. Jake had hoped it wouldn’t happen quite so soon, but he should’ve guessed Mike Scott would go running to his father at the first opportunity. Unfortunately, Jake hadn’t had enough time to prove that he was right—and Mike was wrong.

      “How many of those SuperRobot toys did you order?” J.R. demanded, getting straight to the point. His father had never been one to lead gently into a subject. “Intellytron,” he added scornfully.

      “Also known as Telly,” Jake said in a mild voice.

      “How many?”

      “Five hundred.” As if J.R. didn’t know.

      “What?”

      Jake struggled not to flinch at his father’s angry tone, which was something he rarely heard. They had a good relationship, but until now, Jake hadn’t defied one of his father’s experienced buyers.

      “For how many stores?”

      “Just here.”

      J.R.’s brow relaxed, but only slightly. “Do you realize those things retail for two hundred and fifty dollars apiece?”

      J.R. knew the answer to that as well as Jake did. “Yes.”

      His father stood and walked over to the window, pacing back and forth with long, vigorous strides. Although in his early sixties, J.R. was in excellent shape. Tall and lean, like Jake himself, he had dark hair streaked with gray and his features were well-defined. No one could doubt that they were father and son. J.R. whirled around, hands linked behind him. “Did you clear the order with...anyone?”

      Jake was as straightforward as his father. “No.”

      “Any particular reason you went over Scott’s head?”

      Jake had a very good reason. “We discussed it. He didn’t agree, but I felt this was the right thing to do.” Mike Scott had wanted to bring a maximum of fifty robots into the Manhattan location. Jake had tried to persuade him, but Mike wasn’t interested in listening to speculation or taking what he saw as a risk—one that had the potential of leaving them with a huge overstock. He relied on cold, hard figures and years of purchasing experience. When their discussion was over, Mike still refused to go against what he considered his own better judgment. Jake continued to argue, presenting internet research and what his gut was telling him about this toy. When he’d finished, Mike Scott had countered with a list of reasons why fifty units per store would be adequate. More than adequate, in his opinion. While Jake couldn’t disagree with the other man’s logic, he had a strong hunch that the much larger order was worth the risk.

      “You felt it was right?” his father repeated in a scathing voice. “Mike Scott told me we’d be fortunate to sell fifty in each store, yet you, with your vast experience of two months in the toy department, decided the Manhattan store needed ten times that number.”

      Jake didn’t have anything to add.

      “I don’t suppose you happened to notice that there’s been a downturn in the economy? Parents don’t have two hundred and fifty bucks for a toy. Not when a lot of families are pinching pennies.”

      “You made me manager of the toy department.” Jake wasn’t stupid or reckless. “I’m convinced we’ll sell those robots before Christmas.” As manager, it was his responsibility—and his right—to order as he deemed fit. And if that meant overriding a buyer’s decision—well, he could live with that.

      “You think you can sell all five hundred of those robots?” Skepticism weighted each word. “In two weeks?”

      “Yes.” Jake had to work hard to maintain his air of confidence. Still he held firm.

      His father took a moment to consider Jake’s answer, walking a full circle around his desk as he did. “As of this morning, how many units have you sold?”

      That was an uncomfortable question and Jake glanced down at the floor. “Three.”

      “Three.” J.R. shook his head and stalked to the far side of the room, then back again as if debating how to address the situation. “So what you’re saying is that our storeroom has four hundred and ninety-seven expensive SuperRobots clogging it up?”

      “They’re going to sell, Dad.”

      “It hasn’t happened yet, though, has it?”

      “No, but I believe the robot’s going to be the hottest toy of the season. I’ve done the research—this is the toy kids are talking about.”

      “Maybe, but let me remind you, kids aren’t our customers. Their parents are. Which is why no one else in the industry shares your opinion.”

      “I know it’s a risk, Dad, but it’s a calculated one. Have faith.”

      His father snorted harshly at the word faith. “My faith died along with your mother and sister,” he snapped.

      Involuntarily Jake’s eyes sought out the photograph of his mother and sister. Both had been killed in a freak car accident on Christmas Eve twenty-one years ago. Neither Jake nor his father had celebrated Christmas since that tragic night. Ironically, the holiday season was what kept Finley’s in the black financially. Without the three-month Christmas shopping craze, the department-store chain would be out of business.

      Because of the accident, Jake and his father ignored anything to do with Christmas in their personal lives. Every December twenty-fourth, soon after the store closed, the two of them got on a plane and flew to Saint John in the Virgin Islands. From the time Jake was twelve, there hadn’t been a Christmas tree or presents or anything else that would remind him of the holiday. Except, of course, at the store...

      “Trust me in this, Dad,” Jake pleaded. “Telly the SuperRobot will be the biggest seller of the season, and pretty soon Finley’s will be the only store in Manhattan where people can find them.”

      His father reached for a pen and rolled it between his fingers as he mulled over Jake’s words. “I put you in charge of the toy department because I thought it would be a valuable experience for you. One day you’ll sit in this chair. The fate of the company will rest in your hands.”

      His father wasn’t telling him anything СКАЧАТЬ