“Cyrus, with all due respect, your father—”
“My father has been dead for almost ten years.” Cyrus stopped pacing and leaned over the phone so Hardy heard everything he said next, including the hard note in his voice. The comparisons to his father, Cyrus Senior, had gotten old long ago, and Hardy should know better. His father had never tolerated mediocre performance, and neither would he. “I’m the one in charge, and it would behoove you to find out what’s going on. I’ll be keeping a close eye on production levels moving forward, and if I don’t see an improvement, you’ll have a major problem on your hands. Get it done, or I’ll find someone who can. Have I made myself clear?”
There was a prolonged silence before the man spoke again. “Yes, I understand,” he said in a defeated voice.
“I don’t want to have another one of these conversations, Hardy. It wastes your time as well as mine. Have a good day.”
Cyrus jabbed the intercom button and disconnected the call. He hated having to deal with something as simple as quotas first thing in the morning. He hadn’t even bothered to have breakfast sent up because he’d wanted to tackle this problem right away. Production levels had fallen well below the norm. If they didn’t hit those numbers, they couldn’t fill orders, and if they couldn’t fill orders, they lost money. As if he didn’t already have enough on his plate with a possible trademark infringement from a small brewery in Canada and the equipment failure at their facility in Portland.
Cyrus rolled his shoulders and tried to release the tension, to no avail. He was a man of routine. It kept him on track, but since he’d missed breakfast, his routine was off, and tension settled in his neck and shoulders.
He’d hoped the day would progress more smoothly moving forward, but luck was not with him. At least not by the sound of the raised voices coming from outside his office. He strode to the closed door and opened it to see Roxanne in a heated argument with his wife, Daniella.
He came to a complete stop.
The sight of her stole every molecule of air from his lungs and temporarily left him without the ability to breathe. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d visited the company—more than two years at least.
As usual she dressed like the goddess she was in a black, short-sleeved jumpsuit with wide legs. A thin gold belt brought attention to her narrow waistline, and manicured toes covered in polish the same color of a natural pearl were on display in a pair of three-inch sandals that matched the belt.
Her eyes lifted to his and he clenched a fist to fight back the instantaneous tightening of his abdominal muscles.
“Cyrus, do you mind calling off your secretary?” She looked pointedly at Roxanne, who still blocked her path to his doorway.
“She’s doing her job,” he replied.
“Her job is to keep me out?”
“Her job is to make sure I’m not disturbed. I’m a busy man, and all kinds of random people like to come here and disrupt my day.” He leaned a shoulder against the door and folded his arms.
Her tawny cheeks blushed the color of fully ripe peaches. “I’m not a random person, I’m your wife.” True, but she’d been fighting to change her status.
“Roxanne, you can let her by, and while I’m with my wife, please make sure we’re not interrupted.”
“Yes, sir.” Roxanne stepped aside. She took her job seriously, which made her indispensable to him. If he said he didn’t want to be disturbed, Jesus Christ and a host of angels couldn’t get past her without an appointment.
Daniella cast a scathing look in the older woman’s direction before lifting her head high and stalking by. She traipsed past Cyrus with a stiff spine, and he followed more slowly.
He closed the door.