She had gone on to graduate, then continued school long enough to get her teaching degree, but it had taken years to get over losing Steve.
Standing on the corner, she pulled her sweater a little closer against the breeze and waited till the stoplight changed to green. She crossed from Second Avenue to Third then continued toward Pike Street. The sun was out today but the air was damp and clouds had begun to gather on the horizon. Seattle got more than its share of rain but Autumn never minded. She had grown up in Burlington, a little town north of the city. The beautiful pines and nearby ocean were worth the clouds and rain.
As she walked the few blocks up the hill, Autumn enjoyed the feel of the wind tugging at her hair. Up ahead, the McKenzie building took up half a block. It was an old six-story structure that had been expensively remodeled and now served as headquarters for McKenzie Enterprises, a chain of upper-end sporting-goods stores. Pike’s Gym occupied the second floor. A few other tenants rented space, and there were shops and boutiques on the first floor along the street.
On her teacher’s salary, Autumn couldn’t afford the exclusive gym’s pricey fees, but she earned an annual membership in exchange for teaching summer rock-climbing classes. It was actually a lot of fun, she had discovered, teaching the skills she had begun to learn as a child from her father.
The double glass doors of the building appeared and Autumn walked into the sleek, marble-floored lobby, past Jimmy the security guard, who recognized her, nodded and waved, then she took the elevator up to the second floor.
A wall of glass revealed the gym and Autumn pushed through the door.
“Hey, Autumn!” It was Bruce Ahern, a muscle jock who worked out at least four hours a day and was already lifting weights. Blond and sun-tanned year-round, he was a nice guy who was always friendly but never pressed her for a date, and instead seemed content just to enjoy her friendship.
“Hi, Bruce. How’s it going?”
“Same ol’, same ol’.” He grinned, carving a dimple into his cheek. Then he hoisted a barbell loaded with a ridiculous amount of iron and began his bicep routine.
Autumn kept walking along the blue-and-gray carpeted floor, passing walls of mirrors. In the bicycle room, long rows of TVs entertained the men and women pumping away on bikes that went nowhere. Eighties music played in the background. Sometimes it was country; sometimes hard rock or hip hop. The staff was very fair about the gym’s musical selections.
Making her way into the women’s dressing room, Autumn headed for her private locker where she kept her climbing clothes. She pulled on stretchy black pants, perfect for climbing—not tight, but not so baggy they got in the way—a black T-shirt and a pair of soft leather climbing shoes that closed with Velcro tabs.
Once she finished changing, she stored her purse and street clothes in the locker and left to teach her second class of the summer.
Two
The headquarters of McKenzie Enterprises took up the entire sixth floor of the building. The president’s office looked out over the city streets all the way across the bay.
Seated behind his oversized mahogany desk, Ben McKenzie studied one of the half-dozen files stacked in front of him. His large, private office was done in dark wood accented with brushed chrome and deep dark burgundy carpets. There was a wall of windows behind his desk and a built-in bar in one of the sleek mahogany cabinets that lined one wall.
The intercom buzzed and Ben hit the button, allowing the voice of his secretary and personal assistant, Jennifer Conklin, to flow into the room.
“Your nine o’clock appointment is here,” she said. “Kurt Fisher with A-1 Sports.”
“Thanks, Jenn, send him in.” Ben rose from his leather chair and shot the cuffs on the crisp white shirt beneath the jacket of his navy-blue suit. His clothes were expensive and perfectly tailored to fit his tall frame, but he had earned every dime it took to pay for them and he was a man who appreciated quality and design.
He glanced toward the door. He wasn’t sure what Fisher wanted, but the man was head of acquisitions for A-1 Sports, a successful chain of low-end retail sporting-goods stores, so the conversation might prove interesting. With seventy-six stores around the country—and more popping up every day—A-1 posed tough competition for McKenzie’s more expensive, higher-quality merchandise, but so far his stores were holding their own.
The door swung open and Ben caught a glimpse of Jenn’s light-brown hair as she waited for Fisher to walk into the room. She was thirty-seven-years-old, married with two kids and had been with him for the last seven years, ever since he had incorporated the company. Jenn closed the door behind Fisher—slim, forty-something, with a reputation for being an aggressive, don’t-take-no-for-an-answer kind of guy willing to do whatever it took to reach his financial goals, which by the look of his flashy Armani tie were extremely high.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Ben asked. At six-foot-two, he was taller than Fisher, wider through the chest and shoulders, more athletically built. Though they both had dark brown hair, Ben’s was thicker and slightly curly.
“No thanks. I’m fine.” Fisher seated himself in one of the black leather chairs in front of the desk. Ben unbuttoned his suit coat and sat down across from him.
“So what can I do for you this morning, Kurt?” Ben smiled. He was always polite but he didn’t believe in wasting time.
Fisher lifted his leather briefcase onto his lap, popped the latches and pulled out a manila folder. “I think it’s more like what I can do for you.”
He set the folder on Ben’s desk and shoved it forward. “It goes without saying what a fine job you’ve done in building McKenzie Sporting Goods into the successful company it is today. As you know, A-1 has been equally successful in selling its line of less expensive merchandise. The company is growing by leaps and bounds and we’ve decided the next logical step is to add stores that sell more expensive, higher quality goods. Stores like yours, Ben.”
Ben made no comment, just leaned back in his chair.
Fisher tapped the folder. “This is an offer to purchase your stores, Ben—all of them. I know you’ll want to take it to your accountant and lawyer, but you’re going to see that the price and terms are more than fair.”
Ben didn’t bother to open the file, just pushed it back across the desk. “Not interested. McKenzie Enterprises isn’t for sale.”
Fisher smiled thinly. “Everything’s for sale—at the right price.”
“Not McKenzie. At least not today.” Ben rose from his chair. “Tell your people I appreciate their interest. If I change my mind, they’ll be the first to know.”
Fisher looked stunned. “You aren’t even going to look at it?”
“Like I said, not interested.”
Fisher picked up the file, shoved it a little too firmly back into his briefcase and rose from his chair. “A-1 wants your stores, Ben. You can expect to hear from us again.”
“The answer will be the same.”
Fisher made no reply as he marched rather brusquely toward the door.
“Have a good day,” Ben called after him, then smiled to himself as he sat back down. It was a measure of all he’d accomplished that a company as successful as A-1 wanted to buy his stores. Still, he had worked hard to achieve his success and there was still so much more he wanted to accomplish.
From the time he was a kid working for his dad at McKenzie Mercantile, his family’s rural mid-west department store, he knew business was what he wanted to do with his life. He had studied hard, been determined to go to college, excelled at nearly every high-school sport and been the president of his senior class.
The effort had won him a scholarship to the University of Michigan, and the sports he had loved helped him zero in on which direction to take.