Reunited in Love (The Maverick Billionaires, Book 9)

Chapter One

They say redheads can have a temper. Ava Harrington did not. At least, not usually. But today, she was furious. When she left her San Juan Bautista care facility, she’d been near boiling. And not due to the unseasonably warm late-September weather. Now, as she entered her San Francisco headquarters after the ninety-minute drive north, her anger had turned into a raging inferno.

In the elevator, she punched the button for the top floor, almost breaking her nail. What she’d witnessed in the care home’s dining room had filled her with horror. The situation was horrendous, and even now, she trembled with the aftereffects.

As she passed through the accounting department, her high heels stabbed the carpet. But despite her roiling emotions, she smiled at her assistant, Naomi Wells, as she entered the outer office of the executive suite. None of this was Naomi’s fault.

And yet her blond, thirtysomething assistant seemed to be quaking behind her desk.

Ava ratcheted down her temper. She liked to think of herself as a good boss. She was firm, she was take-charge, but she secured what she wanted through diplomacy rather than haranguing. While male executives could rant all they wanted, when a female executive went off on a tear, she was labeled a ballbuster and even worse.

Though she desperately wanted to rant about what she’d witnessed this morning, she couldn’t lay that on her assistant.

Naomi handed her a sheaf of pink message slips, her hand trembling slightly.

“Can you brief me on the contents?” Ava asked.

Naomi was good at synopsizing notes. Out of respect for her residents at the San Juan Bautista senior living facility, Ava had turned off her phone’s ringer. And on the way back, as her driver negotiated the freeway, she’d formulated her response to what she considered a grievous incident that needed immediate action when she returned.

Though she’d asked Naomi to brief her, Ava was already thumbing through the message slips. She actually felt her gorge rise at what she read.

“It seems that in several of the Bay Area facilities,” Naomi began, swallowing hard, “there are reports of nasty behavior from the catering staff. So far, the facility directors have handled such incidents on their own, but they’re becoming common enough that three of our directors felt the need to report this to you.”

Holding the pink message slips, Ava felt this morning’s entire deplorable scene flood her senses all over again.

She’d been heading to the staff table in the back of the dining room to confer with her management team. Close to the end of the lunch hour, few diners remained, but as she’d crossed the room, waving to those she knew, she’d heard the low growl of a middle-aged server as he leaned close to Mrs. Greeley.

“Look at the mess you made,” he hissed. “You eat like a pig at a trough. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Ava had been so stunned she’d stopped right there. Unable to move. So shocked she couldn’t say a thing. Until Mrs. Greeley quietly began to cry.

She’d rushed to comfort the woman. And to confront the server. The nerve of the man. With a soothing hand on Mrs. Greeley’s shoulder, she spoke to him in the deadliest of voices. “First of all, Mrs. Greeley has macular degeneration, and she can’t see her food.” She pointed to the plate. “You’re supposed to put her meat at twelve o’clock, the potatoes at three, vegetables at six, and bread at nine. Otherwise, she doesn’t know what’s on her plate.” She speared the man with a scathing look. “Secondly, she accidentally dropped her fork and you—” She pointed at the man’s chest, her manicured nail just short of knifing him. “—didn’t get her a clean one. Third—” She lasered him. “You never, ever speak to one of our guests that way. And fourth.” Her nostrils flaring with anger, she smiled like a feral animal. All teeth. “You’re fired.”

The man spluttered for a couple of seconds before he finally said, “You can’t fire me. I don’t work for you. I work for the catering company.”

She glared at him. “Then they’re fired too.” Her eyes narrowed on him, and his face turned pasty.

As the man scuttled away, she sat in the empty chair next to Mrs. Greeley. “Are you all right? Here, let me help you.” She arranged Mrs. Greeley’s food in the appropriate spots on her plate and retrieved a clean fork from another place setting.

Across the table, one of Ava’s favorite ladies, Edith, punched her fist in the air. “You go, girl.” She grinned at Ava. “I’ve wanted to tell him where to get off for ages.”

“I’m so sorry this happened. But rest assured, you won’t have to put up with that kind of behavior anymore.” She’d spent a few more minutes with the two women, until Mrs. Greeley seemed calmer.

And now Ava had come back to more reports of the same kind of nastiness at other facilities.

She looked at Naomi. “Please get George Twisselman on the phone.” Her voice was tight, her anger still at a boil. The new president of Consolidated Catering was about to feel the brunt of it. Then she managed a smile for her assistant. “Thank you.”

Ava made personal visits to each of her retirement communities, senior living homes, and memory care facilities at least once a year. As CEO of Harrington Community Care International, with more than a hundred facilities in the US and now expanding globally, once a year was the most she could manage. But with her five Bay Area senior communities, she took one morning every other week to visit, wanting to keep in touch with the workings of each residence and getting to know the people living there.

And now, having been gone for several hours, and with Naomi’s usual efficiency, reports and letters to be signed had stacked up on Ava’s desk.

Her office wasn’t ostentatious, but large enough for her desk and credenza with two computer monitors, a sofa and two chairs for chatting with suppliers or clients, and a corner conference table. She also had her own bathroom, complete with shower, along with a closet of clothing in case she had to make a quick change. The furnishings were tasteful, though not overly expensive, but the view of the San Francisco Bay made the space spectacular, the sun sparkling on the water, the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge brilliant in the afternoon light.

Unfortunately, Ava wasn’t in the mood to appreciate the magnificent view.

Her office phone rang, and she rounded the corner of the desk to pick up the receiver. “Yes, Naomi?”

“I have George Twisselman on line two.”

“Thank you.” Ava switched over. “Hello, Mr. Twisselman.” She didn’t want to act the ballbuster and went for polite, rather than ripping him a new one the way a male executive could do with impunity. “Ava Harrington here, from Harrington Community Care International.”

“What can I do for you, Ava?” George said, skipping the more formal address she’d used with him.

She’d worked with Consolidated Catering for a couple of years for her San Francisco Bay Area needs, but George, the new president, had come in a few months ago. As he’d set about cutting costs, hours, and wages, people were leaving and he was hiring new. She’d discussed her concerns with George over all the new staff. “We’re transitioning,” he’d told her. “But we’re getting up to speed, and our menus will continue to surpass your standards.”

And that was true. There’d been no complaints about the food. She’d tried it herself, and everything was tasty.

But the attitude and behavior complaints were new. She needed to jump on the problem immediately.

“George,” she said sternly, “you assured me you had the new staffing situation under control. But your transition period is over, and it’s not working at all. I’ve had various reports from different facilities regarding the way some members of your staff have been treating our residents. I won’t tolerate such disrespect. What are you going to do about it?”

The ball was in his court. But he didn’t run with it. “As you know,” George said, his voice oily even over the phone, “our first consideration is providing adequate meals, which we do. We can’t be responsible for any touchiness your residents might feel. They’re older, and they get their feelings hurt over trivial things.”

“Excuse me?” Every molecule of her blood was boiling now. She could have blown her stack at him. But she’d discovered that a polite response was the better way to get what she wanted. If they were rude—like a man could be—women weren’t listened to. Even though she wanted to tell him to go pound sand, she said, “Telling one of my residents—or anyone for that matter—that she eats like a pig at a trough is not trivial. And I fired your man on the spot.”

George Twisselman sputtered, “You can’t fire anyone. They work for me.”

She bared her teeth like a jungle predator and only wished he could see. “That’s what your man said. But what I hear, George, is that you’re unwilling to discipline your employees. You don’t even seem to understand that they need training. Therefore, our association isn’t working. And this contract is terminated.”

He sputtered again, maybe apologies, but Ava no longer cared to listen. She ended with a polite, “Have a good day.” After she’d hung up, she said aloud, “And you’re fired.”

It felt good. She’d kept her temper in check and was polite throughout. The way she was expected to be. But the job was done. She wasn’t putting up with that kind of crap.

Her elation lasted less than thirty seconds. What the hell would she do now?

* * *

Three hours later, Ava was still groaning, this time in extreme frustration. She’d managed to find a company that would step in for two weeks at the five facilities. But that was the time limit.

Looking over the long list of caterers Naomi had drawn up for her, she’d crossed off every single company after phone calls where she’d practically begged. But it was a no-go. The staff was ill, or the owners were going out of the country, or they were leaving to see their kids get married, or they didn’t do the kind of catering she needed. The reasons abounded. She’d worked with a lot of these outfits before, and she had to say that some of them just simply sucked.

Ava had found catering to be the most difficult part of running her care homes. That was why she’d been so thankful to find Consolidated Catering. She’d hoped it would be long term. They weren’t perfect—no one was—but after Twisselman had taken over, things had rapidly gone downhill. She’d given him a chance. He’d failed miserably.

Picking up the phone instead of yelling out the office door, she asked Naomi, “Is this everyone?”

Her assistant had called half the people on the list. “That’s it.” Naomi’s voice held the same defeat Ava felt. “We’re completely out of catering options after the next two weeks.”

But Ava refused to roll over. “There’s always another option. We just need to think outside the box.”

With those words, a face popped into her mind. Ransom Yates.

Why on earth would she even think about him? He was a master chef. He owned restaurants, and he catered galas and huge receptions, not ongoing dining room needs. He’d never stoop to working at this level anyway. There was no glamor in providing good, basic food for senior living homes.

Besides, she’d never work with him, not after what happened fifteen years ago. So what if he haunted her dreams and sometimes entered her thoughts in the daytime too?

There was absolutely no way she’d ever call him.

Ava glanced at the phone, its digital clock blazing at her. Time had gotten away from her, but it would be a short walk to the restaurant for the family mastermind, a name she’d coined for the gathering. In fact, she’d pushed for these meetings, wanting her own family to have the same camaraderie the Mavericks enjoyed.

With Dane finally admitting he had feelings for his personal assistant, Cammie—after twelve freaking years!—it was the right time. She adored her family, and they’d always been close, especially after their parents had died almost eighteen years ago in an avalanche while skiing in the Alps. Ava had been in her first year of university and Dane two years ahead of her. They’d both had to drop out to take care of the younger kids—Troy and Clay still in high school, Gabby in middle school. Ava and Dane had been each other’s rock.

The timing for tonight’s mastermind couldn’t have been better, because the only choice she had now was to ask the family for help. Her brothers and sister were some of the best resources she had, and she was about to send out a distress signal to them.

As Ava stepped out of her office building, a blast of cool air hit her. It was only the third week of September, not quite autumn yet, but the San Francisco fog had rolled in, eclipsing the heat from earlier in the day and turning everything as cold and damp as if it were winter. She was glad she’d put on her overcoat.

Hustling down the busy street, she clutched her coat tight around her neck as a sudden gust of wind blew through. They were meeting at a tapas restaurant only a couple of blocks away. Ava had always been the party planner, from birthdays to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. Even as the so-called big boss at work, she’d planned all the birthday parties, bridal showers, and baby showers. She liked seeing the results and the fun everyone had. Yet somehow she was still on the outside looking in. It was probably her own fault—fear of too much fraternization with her employees. But now, she might have a bridal shower to look forward to. Although neither Dane nor Cammie had mentioned wedding bells yet. They were so cute, she thought with a smile. Dane would probably bop her on the arm if she ever said that aloud.

At the crosswalk, she waited to make sure the drivers would actually stop for her. You took your life in your hands if you stepped out just because a traffic light had changed.

Sure enough, she would have been flattened by a bus thundering by.

Yet, in the next moment, she was flattened, at least emotionally. There he was on the side of the bus. Ransom Yates. The famous chef. With his own cooking show, Recipes from Ransom.

God, the man was gorgeous, even after fifteen years. No, he was better. With light streaks of silver in his dark hair and those deep mocha eyes that could see right into you, he was to die for. At forty-six, Ransom Yates was the epitome of a silver fox. No wonder his marketing company put his face on the sides of buses. And billboards. And magazine covers. Ten years younger than he, Ava wondered if she’d held up as well. Of course, the photo was probably airbrushed to smooth out every flaw the man had.

Except that he hadn’t had a single physical flaw fifteen years ago.

The bus blew by, and the cars behind it stopped for her. She stepped into the street, and damned if the man wasn’t on the back of the bus, too, as if he were haunting her.

If she didn’t know better, she’d say the photo actually winked at her.