Chapter 1

Wesley Pierce often thought about the day he met Dean Hensler. He recalled every detail of the cocktail party but couldn’t come up with a single reason why. The party had been entirely forgettable. It was Dean Hensler he couldn’t forget.

            Wesley knew at once the man who introduced himself was Dean Hensler. He was younger than he had pictured him. He didn’t hear the stutter he often heard during their phone calls. Instead, he heard Dean’s deep yet soft voice. He wasn’t handsome by traditional standards, yet there was something magnetic about him. He stood tall and stiff and carried his firm but slender build with gentle masculinity. His sandy hair was thinning. His blue eyes were clear and bright and seemed to penetrate your soul.

            Wesley was intrigued by Dean’s body language. Every movement seemed to be exaggerated—calculated. He slid his palm down his tie before lowering it to his side. He often held one hand over the other in front of his belt buckle. Quirky seemed like the proper word to describe Mr. Hensler. Magnetic kept popping into Wesley's mind.

            What Wesley should have found unusual was that he noticed so much about this man. He was just another business associate and, until today, a voice on the phone. Interesting how he would feel a peculiar enthusiasm when Deborah told him Dean Hensler was on the phone.

            The cocktail party was being held to celebrate the merger of Amalgamated Plastics and Saxton Industries. The merger created the largest manufacturer of disposable hospital supplies in America, probably globally. As one of the prime operatives in this merger, Wesley should have recalled those statistics. Such minutia makes excellent cocktail party chit-chat. Wesley was often disappointed with his failure to conjure up trivia when necessary; he was all about significance, importance, and relevance.

            Dean Hensler seemed tense when he introduced himself. “Hello, Wesley, I’m glad to meet you. I’ve kept all of your p-p…perfectly written correspondence. I remember our phone c-calls too, especially the one when you were displeased with my quarterly revenue projections.”

            His eyes were riveted on Wesley, almost probing. Did Dean really want to resurrect the inaccurate revenue projections? That had been months ago. Wesley recalled he had been short on patience that day. He had tried to avoid the call turning into a heated discussion. Finally, agreeing with Wesley, Dean conceded and closed the debate with a sigh. “You win. I will accept your numbers.”

            “Yes, I do recall the conversation,” Wesley said, smiling. “It was days before the annual board meeting. I must admit I’m a stickler when it comes to numbers that I give to the board.” He noticed that Dean was paying close attention. “Numbers that go out of Amalgamated under my signature must be accurate and timely. You’ll get used to it after we do a few number crunches together.” Wesley was sure that the discussion of the testy phone conversation was over, hopefully for good.

            “How did you know it was me?” He extended his hand to Dean. Their handshake was firm. His father taught Wesley to look for a firm handshake when meeting a new business associate.

            “Last week, I asked Deborah in your office how I could spot you at the big cocktail party. She told me to look for the most handsome guy there. I had no trouble finding you,” Dean told him with a pleasant smile.

            Wesley Baron Pierce III was indeed handsome—very handsome. He assumed this was the result of a shuffle of genetic cards. He did not find many pictures of his male ancestors who came close to being as attractive. Perhaps it was as simple as luck. He had thick brown hair, ideal for the longer styles. Perfectly arched eyebrows crowned his pale blue eyes. His full lips and perfect teeth enhanced the image further. Wesley avoided coffee and wine for fear of staining those brilliantly white teeth. His mother often rolled her eyes at Wesley’s obsession with dental hygiene. Teeth later became a cringe-worthy topic between Wesley and his wife.

            His muscular, toned build had nothing to do with genes. It was the direct result of a vigorous exercise regimen. He also subscribed to whatever the latest healthy diet happened to be. He never underestimated vanity and charm as contributing factors to good looks. Throw in an extensive and stylish wardrobe, and you capture the full image of Wesley Baron Pierce III. He would admit to you privately of being guilty of one of the seven capital sins – pride. Perhaps after you knew him better, he might confess to a few others.

            Wesley did not want to discuss the revenue projection reports. They were at a party, and it wasn’t the time to kick around old business disputes. Furthermore, He did not want to upset Dean since Dean would be his assistant on Monday morning. He wanted their relationship to get off to a good start. He would insist on nothing less than a first-rate relationship.

            Dean also squelched the whole revenue report issue and changed the subject. “I guess my little s-s-speech problem leaves little doubt about who I am.” Dean stunned Wesley by addressing the speech issue so soon after they met. Wes was aware of the problem as they had spoken several times during the pending merger. “You may be handsome, but I stutter. Our co-workers won’t have trouble telling us apart,” Dean said with a broad smile.

            Their conversation was interrupted when Joe Chandler spotted them and strolled in their direction. “Hey, you guys,” he almost shouted as he came closer, both fists stuffed into his jacket pockets. Joe was never going to win the best-dressed award at Amalgamated. “I wanted this introduction to be more ceremonious. Did you two meet each other at the bar? You guys are going to be a natural together. I know it. You’ll do a great job yanking these companies into the 1980s.” He took another sip of his cocktail. “I admire your work ethic. You guys are going to be a natural together,” he repeated.

            Joe Chandler, Vice President of Finance for Amalgamated Plastics, had been the driving force behind the merger and was now looking forward to retiring. Ruddy-faced with thinning white hair, he could be called “a little rough around the edges.” Still, he enjoyed the complete confidence of Amalgamated Plastic’s Board of Directors. The entire finance staff held him in high esteem, including Wesley Pierce. Wes once heard himself described as Joe’s ‘lapdog’. He could have been called a lot worse.

            Both men shook hands with Joe. Jean Gillen, head of Human Resources, was right behind Joe; she always seemed to be right behind Joe. After a formal introduction to Dean, she warmly shook his hand. “Boy, I hope you guys get along as well as Joe thinks. You’ll be spending a lot of time together. When I saw your travel budget, I had to ask Joe if it was accurate” Jean picked a few pieces of cheese and a glass of white wine. “He assured me it was in order.”

            Jean Gillen, who preferred to be called Ms. Gillen, was a bit of a frump and well into her fifties. There were always questions on whether she had any expertise in human resource matters or perhaps held the naughty negatives to the 1965 Holiday Party. Wesley recognized her influence and made it a point to get along with her. Wesley managed people with the same expertise that he managed finance with an infinite capacity for detail. Remember the essentials and ignore the minutiae but make sure you know the difference. It also doesn’t hurt to latch on to a few personal shortcomings, just in case.

           With a minimum effort, Joe always managed to keep the topic of conversation on business. “You know, Wes, you have to consolidate the bank accounts at the branch offices. We need treasury standards and internal audits. Banking is changing, and we’ve got to keep up with those changes.” Wesley moved away from Joe to avoid the spray of saliva as he pontificated. “The last time I was in Dallas, I was so pissed off with the whole process. Christ, it was like going back to the 1950s. The two of us need to sit Monday morning and plan how to consolidate all of this into one viable, well-run company.” Wesley debated whether it would be rude to walk away to the bar for another drink. Joe went on. “I’ll provide you with plenty of technical support. Jean will be available for any staffing issues.”

            Wesley was no longer paying attention to Joe’s rah-rah speech. Joe did not mention Dean’s involvement in all the changes and training. He sensed he would be the one to do all the training and consolidating. Why didn’t Joe consult him before he hired Dean Hensler? Wasn’t Dean capable of consolidating the banks? And what about Dean Hensler’s speech problem? He didn’t need his assistant stuttering his way through branch offices, training the staff on reporting inaccurate revenue projections. He chastised himself. He had closed the door on the discussion of those old revenue projections. Let it go, he consoled himself.

            Although Joe did not mention Dean’s contribution to the merger, Wesley wondered why he thought about Dean Hensler for the remainder of the afternoon. He looked over Dean’s resume as soon as Joe was about to bring him on board. He was qualified. He would make sure that Dean assumed his share of the workload. He glanced at Dean again, who appeared to be engrossed in Joe’s blathering. His eyes were focused directly on Wesley. Maybe he wasn’t gazing into Wesley’s soul, just taking a glance for the time being.

            Wesley would discuss this whole matter with Joe, but first, he would discuss it with his father. Wesley’s father was a good advisor.