My Man Pendleton Read Free

Sr., who most closely resembled a white-haired Burt Lancaster playing his most eccentric role to the hilt, bowed his head in silent acknowledgment of Pendleton's gratitude. Pendleton tried not to throw up.
    The other executives nodded and welcomed him quietly, but somehow their greetings seemed a bit strained. Pendleton shrugged off his odd feeling to new-kid nerves, greeted them quietly as a group, then turned his attention back to his employer.
    "We have a lot to cover today," McClellan, Sr. continued. "We're launching our new ad campaign next month, and with this new FCC ruling, we may very well be returning to television. Carmichael is handling that and will give us her report shortly."
    He nodded toward his sole female executive, who nodded back in silence, each of their expressions somber and intent. Suddenly, Pendleton wondered if there was some kind of secret handshake or something that he should have learned in training.
    "Also," the CEO went on, "as much as I hate to give in to the annoying little buggers, I honestly don't think we can ignore the Louisville Temperance League any longer. Though what those people think they're going to accomplish in this day and age, I can't begin to imagine."
    Beside him, McClellan, Jr. grunted something that Pendleton assumed was an agreement. And he had to confess himself that he couldn't recall hearing the word temperance uttered by anyone anywhere in oh, say … his entire lifetime.
    "For now, though, I've decided to let Holt, Jr. here handle them," McClellan, Sr. continued.
    Much, evidently, to his son's surprise. Because McClellan, Jr. turned to face his father as the other man was making the announcement, his face etched in obvious surprise and consternation.
    In profile, Pendleton noted, the two men looked almost exactly alike, save the evidence of the twenty-five or thirty years separating them that McClellan, Sr. clearly wore with honor. McClellan, Jr., even sitting, was as tall as his father, as good-looking, as blond as the senior had probably been in his youth. He also appeared to be every bit as capable, as self-assured, and as intimidating as his old man was now.
    "Hold on," he said to his father without a trace of deference, something that went a long way toward putting him on Pendleton's list of people to be admired, a list that was none too lengthy. "Just when were you planning on telling me about this?"
    The elder McClellan eyed his son with much impatience. "I'm telling you now."
    "Oh, well, thank you so much for the warning," the younger man said sarcastically.
    "I had to tell you sooner or later, Holt," his father retorted with equal sarcasm. "Otherwise, you wouldn't know what the hell you were doing."
    McClellan, Jr. ignored the jab. "And do you think it's wise to put me in charge of something like that?"
    McClellan, Sr. shot his gaze abruptly—anxiously—around the table before pinning it back on his son. "And why the hell wouldn't it be wise, son?"
    McClellan, Jr. narrowed his eyes at his father, and a single muscle twitched in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. Hard. My, my, my, Pendleton thought, but this was getting rather interesting. He'd never worked in a family-run corporation before, though he'd heard tales from colleagues in like positions. He'd always wondered how true to life TV shows like Dynasty and Dallas had been. Not very, evidently, he thought now. Because the weighted responses of the two McClellans were proving to be far more entertaining than either of those TV shows had been.
    McClellan, Jr. was the one to break the standoff, though when he did, his words were in no way successful in cooling the antipathy burning up the air between the two men. "In light of the, uh… " He suddenly seemed to remember that the room was full of people—people who were focused very carefully on the byplay—because he quickly arced his gaze around the table, much in the same way his father had, before glancing back at the elder McClellan and lowering his