Cowboy Casanova - Lorelei James [64]
So at the end of the day, she felt she’d accomplished something. So much of her duties as bank president were busy work. Seemed she spent her life on the phone.
Not that she minded. She’d taken the position because the regional manager assured Ainsley that the bulk of her job would be schmoozing locals into switching a portion of their banking business to National West. Ainsley could handle PR; it’s what she did best. She figured the event would show the locals that this bank was interested in investing in the community. In the next month she’d approach individual businesses, touting the benefits of diversifying their banking needs.
During her divorce, she’d needed a career change. Intrigued by the management end of banking, she’d taken over a small branch office in a low-income suburb of Denver no one else wanted to tackle. Determined to keep the branch from closing, she’d approached every business, big and small, in the three-mile radius, talking up the benefits of banking locally. She used the bank’s allotted community funds to resurrect small community events that were underfunded, but much beloved. She volunteered her time, which had a huge impact on convincing locals of her sincerity. The hard work, the unpaid hours of overtime, had paid off. In that year she’d increased that branch’s business banking operation by twenty-five percent and the personal banking business by thirteen percent. Quite a coup for a woman who’d spent the previous six years as a PR assistant.
Now here she was in Sundance, basically starting over again. With her PR savvy and Turton as the bean counter, on paper they looked like an unbeatable team to make this branch a rousing success from the get go. But in reality, Turton was bitter Ainsley had been awarded the job. And she still hadn’t figured out the best way to deal with him.
Jenny knocked on her door. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s an extremely agitated woman pacing in the lobby. Turton tried to help her but she refuses to talk to anyone but the bank president.”
“I’ll be right there.” Ainsley set aside the stack of files, and straightened her short suit jacket as she made her way around the desk.
But the agitated woman met her at the office door. “Are you the bank president?”
“Yes. I’m Ainsley Hamilton. What can I do for you?”
“Don’t treat me like an idiot, for starters.”
Okay. So she was testy. “I’d appreciate the same courtesy, Miss…”
The petite redhead looked up. Her large eyes were a pale shade of blue that made her pupils stand out. A striking combination, given the woman’s gamine features. “Sorry. I’m Joely Monroe.”
“Well, Miss Monroe, let’s talk in my office. Could I get you something to drink?”
“I don’t suppose you’ve got vodka?”
Ainsley muttered, “I wish. We’ve got coffee. Water. Hot tea?”
“Nothing, thanks.”
“Have a seat.” After they’d both settled, Ainsley said, “Is there a problem with your account?”
“I don’t have an account here. That’s the problem.” She jammed a hand through her hair, cut in an asymmetrical style few women could pull off. “My accounts have always been with Settler’s First. Not by choice, I assure you. But there is no bank in Moorcroft and I didn’t want to drive even farther to Spearfish to do my business banking.”
“Your business is in Moorcroft?”
“I have a medical practice. Small town doctor-type stuff, it’s just me and two nurses. Anyway, we’ve been having problems with our credit card machine. It locks up, and then it won’t generate reports. A big pain in the butt since so much business is done on that machine. Settler’s First installed the machine as part of their full-service banking promise. But any time it goes down, their advice? Unplug it from the wall for a couple minutes and plug it back in. When that doesn’t work, they claim it’s my Internet connection causing the problems, which it’s not. The machine has gone down fifteen times in the last month. And not once has anyone from that bank contacted me to see if the problem is fixed, or if they should show up and troubleshoot