Disclaimer: *ahem* I'm not a 233-year-old Englishwoman, nor do I own any part of said author's estate. That is all. Carry on.


The Business of Persuasion


Chapter One: In Which We Meet Our Heroine

"Is it true, Ann?" Greta Harrison asked as I exited the conference room.

"What?" I asked, massaging my right temple. Board meetings always gave me a headache. Correction – any meeting involving my father and sister gave me a headache.

"We're being sold." Carleton Schmitt replied.

"Yeah. Sale's final on September 29."

"So long?" Greta asked.

"Dad's got some wacko requests. Plastic surgery for the new CEO. Honorary plaque."

"Standard Walter Elliot requests." Martha Russell sighed as she too exited the meeting. Everyone immediately scurried back to work. Martha patted me on the back, smiling gravely.

"And thus one era comes to an end." And then she left. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and say we'd had it coming since Mom died 14 years ago.

My name is Ann Elliot and I'm a workaholic. For the past 4 years, I've been battling a declining economy and a CEO with no business sense to keep Kellynch Company afloat. That has meant working weekends, late nights, and developing a physical and psychological dependence on caffeine.

My father, Walter Elliot, founded Kellynch some 35 years ago with my late mother, Catherine. While she was alive and in charge, Kellynch blossomed and flourished. But when she lost her battle with cancer when I was 12, the company (and our family) began a long journey to hell in a handbasket.

Martha tried to help. She was Mom's best friend and had appointed herself my unofficial guardian just after Mom started pushing up daisies. She didn't worry about my sisters – just poor, little, shy, quiet, easily persuaded me.

Beth, my other sister, had some sort of job at Kellynch. I wasn't sure that she actually did anything, really. She was the very foil of me – tall, blonde, beautiful, flirtatious, a serial dater who never hung onto a guy for more than a week. Definitely symptoms of Narcissistic Personality Disorder.

Maria, the baby of the family, had full blown Dependent Personality Disorder and hypochondria. (While taking AP Psych in high school, I diagnosed my entire family with some sort of personality disorder. Me? Mildly schizoid with moderate OCPD.) She was married to Charles Musgrove (commonly known as 'Chuck', but she refused to call him that) and had two little boys. They lived in Uppercross, WI, about 6 hours north of Chicago.

And me? My relationships? I hadn't dated seriously for 8 years. Sure, I'd gone out on a few dates with well-meaning guys – I even dated Chuck for a few weeks before convincing him that my baby sister might be a better match. I'm not sure he's ever quite forgiven me. But all my relationships had ended with a kiss on the cheek and a friendly goodbye.

Except for one.

Fredrick Wentworth.

We met as interns at Kellynch. I had just graduated from high school. He was going to be a junior at the University of Wisconsin – Madison in the fall. He'd grown up in a small town in central Wisconsin, not too far from Uppercross. I'd spent my entire life in the Chicago suburbs, until Mom died and Dad moved us into the city.

Fredrick was a gentleman – kind, polite, with a smile that made my heart take up tap-dancing. He was over a foot taller than me – not hard, since I was barely pushing 5'2" – with dark curl and bright green eyes. He was perfect.

We fell in love almost immediately. His apartment over a greasy pizza parlor became my second home. He asked me to marry him in August, on the fire escape of said apartment. I said yes.

Then I made the mistake of telling Martha. I'd never seen her so furious. Fredrick was on scholarship at Madison – on need-based financial aid, no less. His parents were blue-collar workers who had never attended college themselves. I thought it was an example of the American Dream – a skinny kid from the middle of nowhere could work hard, go to one of the best schools in the country, and marry the girl of his dreams (that would be me).

Martha used other words. He was looking for a free ride. Charity case. Lazy parents. I would have to support him. I was being foolish. Naïve. Irrational. Stupid.

And I listened. Shoved the right back into Fredrick's hand and fled to my school, Beloit College, a week and a half early.

I expected Fredrick to follow me – Beloit wasn't that far from Madison. Try to talk some sense into me. Give me a chance to explain.

He never came.

So I cried myself to sleep every night of first semester and threw myself into my studies. I was a triple major in Economics and Management (to please my father), German (because I loved the language – and so had Fredrick) and Sociology (fulfilling a promise to my mother – and to myself). I spent a semester abroad in Erfuhrt, Germany. I was planning on attending grad school in Germany, but as soon as I moved my tassel to the other side, my father hired me and I was stuck running his company for him.

So I was stuck, on my last day before a two week 'vacation' (visiting Maria in Uppercross was hardly my idea of R and R), orchestrating the sale of Kellynch so my father could retire and the company could be saved from bankruptcy.

I wasn't sure why Croft Inc. was taking the chance on us. We had been talking through lawyers. I was supposed to meet with the CEO and CFO when I got back.

"Any other questions?" I asked my employees wearily.

"Do we still have jobs?"

"I think so. Pretty sure. I'm not sure about me, though."

There was a chorus of disappointment.

"We'll miss you, Ann."

I shrugged, "We'll see."

I had everything done by 2 and was able to get an early start for Uppercross. If I got out of the city before rush hour (and skirted around the Dells), I could make it in just under 6 hours. With rush hour traffic? I preferred not to find out.

I pulled into Maria's driveway in record time. 5 hours, 27 minutes and no speeding tickets, thank you very much.

"Mar?" I called as I opened the front door. Uppercross was a quiet little town, population 16,000. No one ever locked their doors.

"Ann?" Maria called weakly from the living room.

"Aunt Annie!" Two high-pitched voices chorused and the 4-year-old twins – Aidan and Ashton – came thundering down the stairs and firmly attached themselves to my legs.

"Now you've done it, Ann." Maria grumbled, appearing in the doorway, "They were asleep."

"They were waiting for me on the stairs, Mar. Where's Chuck?"

"Charles," She immediately corrected, "is out. At his parents'. Without me."

"How are Charlie and Lily and the girls?" I asked, trying to convince Ashton to let go of my calf.

"Fine, I suppose. They haven't been over much."

"Hasn't Hannah been in Italy? And Laura just graduated from high school."

"Well, yeah." Logic. The archrival of all my family's complaints.

Aidan yawned. So did Ashton.

"Come on, little guys." I said, somehow managing to pick both of them up, "Let's go to bed."

They were almost asleep by the time we got upstairs. I read them 'Goodnight Moon', but they were out before I even finished the first page. As I closed the book and set it on the window seat, I heard the garage door groan open. Chuck must be home.

"Hey, Ann." He said, quietly shutting the back door, "I knew that was your old RAV4 out there." I've had my car since I got my license. In a rare stroke of practicality, Dad bought the Toyota for Beth when she got her license. When I turned 16, I got custody of the little white SUV I had named Ravvy. Maria bitched her way into getting a Volkswagen Beetle two years later and I've had the car ever since.

"Hey, Chuck. How's everybody at the Big House?"

He shrugged. "As dysfunctional as usual."

I snorted. "Don't even try calling your family dysfunctional, buddy. I've definitely got you beat."

"Charles Musgrove." Maria screeched, appearing in the doorway from the kitchen. He swore quietly in Swedish, a trait he picked up from his very Scandinavian college roommate.

"My darling!" He said dramatically, sweeping over and kissing her on the cheek. Maria's steely glare quickly melted.

"How is everyone up there? Did Hannah have pictures from Italy? I wish we could have gone with your parents last month. I've never been to Italy…"

I took the opportunity to grab my bags from the front hall, head up to the guest room, and pass out – fully clothed – on the bed.