Tycoon Read Free Page B

shook her head, and Mrs. Webber answered, “My father. The business was renamed when we came to America, but brewing beer has been in my family for generations. I was raised with the smell of grain and hops on my hands.”
    The older woman’s chin lifted proudly. “The business is as much mine as my husband’s, if not more so. But your Mr. Harper and his people never address me. Never ask the questions of me. Never even consider my input. I will not go into business with a man so inconsiderate in his thinking.”
    Erik turned a dull red and Ted’s jaw hung open. He’d never dreamed. Of course, he also hadn’t asked. How had his research been so completely inadequate? Ted would be cabling his team at the bank tomorrow to share his displeasure.
    â€œThat is terrible,” Clara agreed. “Though I refuse to believe Mr. Harper meant you any disrespect.”
    Mrs. Webber’s brow flew up, one step shy of a sneer. “Is that so? And what makes you so certain, Miss Dobson?”
    â€œMr. Harper has no objections to women in business. In fact, that’s how he and I met.”
    Panic, rich and thick, flooded Ted’s veins, rising to strangle his tongue. He’d faced down presidents, congressmen, thugs, Tammany Hall . . . but one slip of a woman completely flummoxed him. What in God’s name did she plan to say next?
    â€œMiss Dobson,” he managed before she rolled right over him.
    â€œI work at the perfume counter at Hoyt’s. Men, as you may imagine, buy a considerable amount of perfume. And some of them won’t talk to the girls at the counter. I don’t know whether it’s embarrassment or resentment of our being employed, but Mr. Ross—he’s the manager—hangs about just in case the men want to discuss women’s perfume without a female present.” She snorted. “Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous?”
    Hell’s bells, where was this story headed? At least Mrs. Webber seemed to be following the story with rapt interest, while Erik appeared as confused as Ted.
    â€œAbsurd,” Mrs. Webber agreed.
    â€œEntirely absurd!” Clara said. “Well, one day, Mr. Harper walks up to the perfume counter. There was a birthday—your secretary, wasn’t it, dear?—and anyway, the manager—”
    â€œMr. Ross,” Mrs. Webber supplied.
    â€œExactly, Mr. Ross. He walks over just as I’ve helped Mr. Harper choose the perfect scent—Amber Rose, in case you were wondering—and tries to steal my sale. He asks to show Ted some other perfumes—more expensive ones, no doubt—and leads him away.”
    â€œAnd what happened?” the brewer’s wife asked anxiously.
    â€œMr. Harper stopped and said, ‘While I appreciate your offer of assistance, this young lady has been very helpful. I daresay she knows more about perfume than any person in the store, and I’d like her to receive the credit for my sale.’ Can you imagine? I nearly swooned.”
    Clara reached over and patted his shoulder. “He’s a very kind and considerate man, Mrs. Webber. But even the most kind and considerate of men need a kick in the behind some days. Now, Mr. Harper, shall we switch seats?”
    * * *
    Clara stifled a yawn as they bid good night to the Webbers.
    They were lovely people, truth be told. Hardworking. Sturdy stock, as her father would’ve said. And she’d enjoyed the evening, truly, but there was only so much a girl could listen to regarding the inner workings of a brewery.
    As they returned to Ted’s private car—she now knew he worked for a large bank and must be very important there—he kept a tight clasp on her arm. Was he annoyed with her? Possibly she’d gone too far with her story tonight, but obviously he should have been dealing with Mrs. Webber all along.
    She hadn’t heard what the two had decided before they broke from dinner. At