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Taming the Takeover Tycoon
Robyn Grady
Jack Reed spells trouble. But has trouble met its match?The business world trembles at the mere mention of Jack Reed, but Becca Stevens has no such fear. Her pleas for him to end his hostile takeover of Lassiter Media should be laughable. Yet there's such sincerity in her eyes, such a light his own life seriously lacks. Becca wants to show him just what his ruthless quest is costing others. And he goes along with her plan, seeing it as the perfect opportunity to woo her into his bed. But is he walking right into her trap–one that neither of them will want to escape?
“Give me a month,” she said, “and I’ll change your mind about dismantling Lassiter’s assets.”
Interesting. “So you think I’ll win this takeover battle?”
Becca lifted her chin. “Four weeks.”
“One day.”
“One week.”
“On one condition.”
“Name it.”
What the hell. “I’d rather show you.”
He slid a hand around her waist and drew her in as his mouth dropped over hers.
* * *
Taming the Takeover Tycoon is a Dynasties: The Lassiters novel— A Wyoming legacy of love, lies and redemption!
Taming the
Takeover Tycoon
Robyn Grady
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ROBYN GRADY was first contracted by Mills & Boon in 2006. Her books feature regularly on bestsellers lists and at award ceremonies, including the National Readers’ Choice Awards, the Booksellers’ Best Awards, CataRomance Reviewers’ Choice Awards and Australia’s prestigious Romantic Book of the Year.
Robyn lives on Australia’s gorgeous Sunshine Coast, where she met and married her real-life hero. When she’s not tapping out her next story, she enjoys the challenges of raising three very different daughters, going to the theater, reading on the beach and dreaming about bumping into Stephen King during a month-long Mediterranean cruise.
Robyn knows that writing romance is the best job on the planet and she loves to hear from her readers! You can keep up with news on her latest releases at www.robyngrady.com (http://www.robyngrady.com).
For Penny and Gracie,
Two very cool ladies.
xoxo
Contents
Cover (#ufad2fc0d-96a9-5710-847d-77bc5f0d874e)
Introduction (#u5dfbf4b2-f370-51e9-b667-f85dd897171c)
Title Page (#u8432b283-4f7d-5e8c-9be8-6d0737754adc)
About the Author (#u356a08fb-8920-5911-a750-7e100ff05579)
Dedication (#ub2e608dc-45ac-58ad-be17-9cb0430e37fc)
Family Tree (#u531b5e6a-e20a-5233-9d20-10482b1747f1)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Extract
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#u09918f22-9829-5bfe-a3fd-4bc7a7cb8640)
The Robin Hoods of this world were Becca’s heroes. As she watched Jack Reed strike a noble pose then draw back and release an arrow that hit dead center of his target, the irony wasn’t lost on her.
Jack Reed was no Robin Hood. He was anathema to everything she stood for. To every living, breathing thing she believed in. Beyond all else, people ought to give back—even sacrifice—to support others who need help. Some mistook that level of compassion for weakness, but Becca was far from easy prey.
Looking GQ-hot in jeans and a white button-down, cuffs folded back on strong forearms, Reed lowered the bow and focused on his guest. The slant of his mouth was so subtle and self-assured, Becca’s palm itched to slap the smirk off his face. She might have done it, too, if she thought it’d shake him up some. But it was said displays of true emotion only amused him.
Jack Reed owned a property in his hometown of Cheyenne, Wyoming, as well as two residences here in L.A.: an ultramodern penthouse apartment in a downtown high-rise building that he’d purchased as well as this spectacular Beverly Hills estate. With a quiver slung across his broad back, he sauntered over the manicured lawn to meet her. Although he was expecting her visit, Becca doubted he would welcome what she had to say.
She introduced herself. “Becca Stevens, director of the Lassiter Charity Foundation.” She nodded at the target. “A perfect bull’s-eye. Well done.”
“I took up archery in college,” he said in a voice so deep and darkly honeyed, the tone was almost hypnotic. “I try to squeeze some practice in every week.”
“Difficult with your schedule, I imagine.” All that dismantling of companies and banking the proceeds had to take up oodles of time. “I appreciate you seeing me.”
His smile, designed to disarm, got bigger. “Any friend of J.D.’s is a friend of mine.”
“If J. D. Lassiter were alive, he might not count you as a friend at the moment.”
The smile widened more. “Straight for the jugular, Ms. Stevens?”
Given Jack Reed was a highly successful corporate raider, he ought to be used to the approach. “I thought you’d appreciate it.”
“I only want to help Angelica Lassiter reclaim what she rightly deserves.”
Becca let out a humorless laugh and then sighed. “Ah, sorry. Just the idea of someone like you being in any way self-sacrificing...”
His gaze sharpened. “Angelica was J.D.’s only child.”
“You’re forgetting Sage and Dylan.”
“They are Ellie Lassiter’s orphaned nephews, adopted after J.D. and Ellie had been told by doctors—”
“I know the background, Jack.”
“Then you’ll also know that Angelica, J.D.’s own flesh and blood, was his favorite—that he’d entrusted her with the running of Lassiter Media those crucial months before his death. It makes no sense that his will should insult her with a paltry ten percent while controlling voting interest of J.D.’s multibillion-dollar company goes to Angelica’s ex-fiancе—” Jack paused for effect “—even if J.D. had handpicked Evan McCain for his daughter.”
“J.D. might have liked Evan for a son-in-law. No one would argue he has remarkable business sense.” Becca joined Jack as he headed off toward his target. “But Angelica trusted Evan. They fell in love.”
“Betrayed by the man she was ready to marry. Tragic, wouldn’t you say?”
Oh, please. “Evan had nothing to do with J.D.’s will.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But nothing stops him from reinstating to Angelica what should be hers now. He could do the decent thing by the woman he professes to love.” Jack’s lips twitched. “I don’t know how he sleeps at night.”
An image flashed into Becca’s mind—Jack Reed lying butt naked on a rumpled sheet, fingers thatched behind his head, an unmistakable thirst reflecting in the depths of his glittering onyx eyes. Nerve endings ignited and flashed over her skin. The tingle raced through to her core, all the way down to her toes.
Reed was an attractive man; she would go so far as to say he was exceptional. If half of what the tabloids published was true, hoards of women had surrendered to the drugging heat she felt radiating off him now. The effect was gripping—beguiling—and, in Becca’s case, about as welcome as boiling water on a third-degree burn.
As they continued to walk, she tried to stay focused.
“I’m here to implore you, in J.D.’s memory, to show some human decency. Walk away from this. After her father’s death, Angelica’s in no shape to link arms with the likes of you.”
“Don’t underestimate Angelica.” His classically chiseled profile hardened as his chin lifted a notch. “She’s stronger than you think.”
“Right now, she’s desperate.”
He laughed, a somehow soothing and yet cynical sound. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you, Becca?”
No time. “You own an interest in Lassiter Media and rumors are rife. People are bracing for a hostile takeover bid. The charity’s donations are down. Regular beneficiaries are actually looking at other options. Want to guess why?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
Damn right she would. “The name Jack Reed means trouble—the kind of trouble clear-minded people run a mile to avoid.”
He blinked slowly and grinned as if the description was something to savor. “As long as Angelica wants my help, I’ll give it.”
“You sought her out,” she reminded him, “not the other way around.”
“Your point?”
Her heart was pounding in her ears. No one wanted to make an enemy of this man, but Becca had a principle to defend. A fight to win. Hell, she’d faced worse situations than this and survived.
“I know what you’re up to,” she said as they neared the target, “even if Angelica can’t or won’t face the truth. After you’ve used her to gain majority control over Lassiter Media interests, you’ll aim the next arrow at her back. You’ll sell off Lassiter assets like you have with every other company you’ve acquired.”
“Got it. I wear the black hat.”
“Simple, isn’t it?”
“If only.”
Lord above, how she wanted to shake this man. “Seriously, how much money does one person need? Is this worth betraying your friend’s memory? J.D.’s family?”
“This is not about money.”
“With you, it’s always about money.”
His jaw flexed as he stopped in front of the target and freed the arrow.
“I understand your desire to help, but Angelica and I have this covered. And make no mistake.” His uncompromising gaze pierced hers. “We intend to win.”
Becca’s focus shifted from the steely message in his eyes to the arrow’s bright red feathers, the shaft’s long straight line and finally the weapon’s potentially lethal head. Then she thought of this man’s lack of empathy—his obsession with self-enrichment. How could this superb body harbor such a depraved soul? How could Jack Reed live with himself?
Becca took the arrow from his hand, broke the shaft over a knee and, shaking inside, strode away.
* * *
Jack watched Becca Stevens’s spectacular behind as she marched off in a fiery temper and had to smile.
When Becca had contacted his office hoping to meet, instinct had said to shake her off. If ever Jack set his sights on a target, he committed to that goal two hundred percent. No one and nothing would sway him. In certain circles, the term pathological was used to describe his drive.
No offense taken.
The same circles might suggest that his reasons for meeting Becca today had been selfish. That it was probable to very likely he would take advantage of his position in this Lassiter standoff for personal gain. And where Becca was concerned, Jack did mean personal.
As she disappeared over the rise, he smiled again.
What a woman.
His cell phone rang. Jack checked out the caller I.D. and, toeing Ms. Stevens’s broken arrow aside, connected. “Logan. What’ve you got?”
“Just making sure we’re still on track.”
Coming from humble beginnings, Logan Whittaker had worked hard to build a successful career. As a partner at Drake, Alcott and Whittaker Attorneys based in downtown Cheyenne, Wyoming, Logan had looked after J. D. Lassiter’s affairs, including the execution of J.D.’s last will and testament. The document had cast some challenges Logan’s way. Some unanticipated rewards, as well. Through work associated with settling the will’s terms, he had found his future wife.
“I’ve spoken with Angelica Lassiter again this morning,” Jack said. “She’s still going forward.”
“You’re sure about that? I’ve told Angelica more than once the will is airtight. J.D. was in his right mind when he drafted the terms. With majority voting interest, Evan McCain will remain chairman and CEO of Lassiter Media no matter how many punches she wants to throw. I thought she was finally coming around, listening to reason.”
Jack headed back toward the shooting line. “Sure, she has reservations. Her father was a huge influence on her life. Even with him gone, it goes against the grain to disappoint him and battle that will. But her heart and soul are in that company, Logan. She has J.D.’s stubborn streak as well as his keen bent for business.”
“How hard will you push her?”
“This isn’t my first rodeo.” When the attorney audibly exhaled, Jack wasn’t fazed. “You’re acting under strict instruction here.”
“I’m aware of my obligations, damn it. This still leaves a god-awful taste in my mouth.”
That all came with the territory...with being obligated, no matter what.
“No one said you had to like it,” Jack said.
Logan huffed. “You’re one hard-nosed son of a bitch, you know that?”
“That from a corporate lawyer.” Funny.
As Jack reached back to draw an arrow from his quiver, Logan asked, “How did your meeting with Becca Stevens play out?”
Logan was aware of Becca’s phone call and today’s arrangements.
“She might run Lassiter Charity Foundation,” Jack said, “but Becca is no Mother Teresa. She put on her boxing gloves and told me to back the hell away.”
“Did you toss her off your property?”
Remembering the fire blazing in those beautiful green eyes, Jack held the phone between his ear and shoulder as he slotted the arrow’s notch against his bow’s string. “I would’ve asked her to stay for lunch if I thought she wouldn’t try to run a butter knife through my heart.”
“Will she be a problem?”
“Lord, I hope so.”
Logan groaned. “For God’s sakes, Jack. Tell me you plan to keep your pants on here.”
“After the way you mixed Lassiter business up with pleasure, you’re in no position to lecture.”
When J.D. had bequeathed five million big ones to a mystery woman who didn’t want to be found, Logan had not only tracked her down, damned if he hadn’t taken her to bed, and more than once. Talk about calling the kettle black.
“I won’t deny certain lines got blurred,” Logan admitted. “But I fell in love with Hannah Armstrong and married her. I’ll hand my resignation in to the bar the day anything approaching marriage enters your head.”
Jack laughed. What an idea.
After the men disconnected, Jack resumed his stand behind the shooting line. He drew back the arrow and, enjoying the tension of the bowstring as he took aim, thought of Becca Stevens—the undisguised malice in her eyes, the sweeping conviction of her words. Then he imagined how darn good she would feel folded in his arms...how sweet her smooth, scented skin would taste beneath his lips. In his mind, Jack heard her whimper his name and then cry out as he sank into her again and again.
Jack released his shot and then shaded his brow to measure the result. When was the last time he’d missed a target’s center gold ring? This arrow had sailed clean over the top.
* * *
Felicity Sinclair’s blue eyes sparkled as she shifted her chair closer to the cafе table and lowered her voice. “Becca, I have something I need to ask.”
“About Lassiter Media?”
As Lassiter Media’s recently promoted vice president of public relations, Fee was always brimming with ideas. Since Becca’s appointment with the Lassiter Charity Foundation two years ago, the women had worked closely. More than that—they’d become good friends, the kind who shared everything, during good times as well as bad.
Winding golden-blond hair behind a dainty ear, Fee explained, “My question has to do with Chance Lassiter.”
“That would be your fiancе Chance Lassiter,” Becca teased.
As Fee reached over to grip her friend’s hand, the magnificent diamond on her third finger threw back light slanting in through the window.
“You were there when I needed to vent about that mess last month,” she said. “I have to say, it feels a little strange calling Cheyenne home. I love L.A....”
“Well, you’re here now. You’ll simply have to visit often.” Becca squeezed her hand. “Promise?”
“And you promise to drop in on us at the Big Blue.”
“I’ll bring my Stetson.”
Chance Lassiter was J.D.’s nephew, the son of the billionaire’s deceased younger brother, Charles. Chance had managed his uncle’s world-famous cattle ranch—the Big Blue—and while he’d been rocked by J.D.’s unexpected death, he’d gladly accepted, via his uncle’s will, controlling interest in the ranch he loved more than anything...although now, of course, his vivacious wife-to-be had taken pride of place in the charming cowboy’s heart.
Fee sat back. “I can hardly wait for the wedding. Which brings me back to that question. Becca, would you be a bridesmaid?”
Emotion prickled behind Becca’s eyes. Fee would make a stunning bride and, given her talent for organizing grand occasions, the ceremony was bound to be nothing short of amazing. Becca was even a little envious.
Marriage and starting a family were nowhere near a priority, but one day Becca hoped to find Mr. Right—a kindred spirit who got off on giving back and paying forward. This minute, however, all her energies were centered on helping the foundation survive the storm J.D.’s unexpected death and will had left behind.
Of course, there was always room for the wonderful women in her life and their very special requests.
Becca hugged her friend. “Fee, I would be honored to be a bridesmaid at your wedding.”
The women discussed styles for dresses as well as flowers for bouquets before the conversation turned to a far less pleasant topic.
As coffees arrived, Fee asked, “Have you spoken with Jack Reed yet?”
Suddenly feeling queasy, Becca nodded. Fee knew that she had hoped to get in Jack’s ear.
“The backyard of his Beverly Hills mansion houses an Olympic-standard archery field.”
Fee’s lip curled. “Your regular Robin Hood.”
“The joke of the decade, right?” Becca pulled her decaf closer. “I let him know how his association with Angelica is weighing on Lassiter Media, not least of all the foundation. A lot of the funding comes from Lassiter accounts, but other benefactors are shutting doors in our face. While the notorious Jack Reed has a chance of pulling off a takeover bid and then tearing everything apart, we might as well have leprosy.”
Fee flinched. “Jack does have a reputation.”
Huge understatement. “He’s the most ruthless corporate raider this country has given breath to. I hate to think of how quickly he’d chop up the company and sell off the pieces if he had a chance. He doesn’t give a flying fig where or how the foundation ends up.” Becca held her stomach when it churned again. “He’s a scourge on mankind.”
“You have to admit though...” Fee lifted her cup to her lips. “He is charismatic.”
“If you can call a snake charismatic.”
“And incredibly good-looking.”
Becca huffed—and then gave it up. “Sure. The guy is hot, in a Jay Gatsby kind of way.”
“Gatsby was gorgeous.”
“Gatsby was a crook.”
“Sweetie, let’s face it. Jack Reed is smoking.”
Becca’s stomach pitched again. “I was taught that power should be used for good. If you have brains and position, for God’s sake, help those less fortunate—even a little bit.”
“Good luck convincing Jack Reed of that.”
“Greed.” Becca shuddered. “It’s a disease.” When the waitress delivered their coffees, she pointed to an item on the menu. “Can I have a caramel fudge brownie, please?”
As the waitress made a note and walked away, Fee studied her friend curiously. “Since when do you have a sweet tooth?”
“In school I was always the chubby kid who tried to get out of gym. If ever I felt anxious—upset—I’d reach for cake or candy.”
Then she’d joined the Peace Corps and all that had changed. Her life had taken its sharpest turn yet.
Fee set her cup down. “Well, you’re the poster girl for svelte now.”
“That craving for sweet stuff doesn’t win too often anymore. Don’t worry,” Becca said as the waitress delivered the brownie. “I’ll fit into my bridesmaid’s dress.”
“I wouldn’t care if you were a size two or a twenty.” Fee had an awesome athletic build but she didn’t judge any book by its cover. “I just hate to see you this rattled.”
Becca bit into the brownie. As chocolate crumbs fell apart on her tongue, she almost sighed. She tried not to indulge; so many in this world did without. But, dear God, this was good.
“I believe in the foundation,” she said, sucking caramel off a thumb. “I believe in the work it does. Do you know how much we’ve helped with homeless services, with youth camps, with disaster relief?”
When she slid over the plate to share, Fee broke off a corner of the brownie.
“Your team does an incredible job,” Fee said and popped it in her mouth.
“And everyone on my staff wants to keep doing our job—raising funds, making a difference—one person and family at a time.”
Fee’s mouth twisted. “Unfortunately, it’s not your company.”
At the moment Lassiter Media was at the center of a tug-of-war primarily between Evan and Angelica, two people who ought to be working, and living, together, not pulling each other apart.
“J.D. couldn’t have wanted this dissention within the family when he drew up his will.”
“Given their connection,” Fee added, “how hard she worked in the company the months before her father’s death, I don’t get how he left Angelica so little. It doesn’t make sense.”
Becca broke off more brownie and mulled as she chewed. “John Douglas Lassiter was a smart man,” she reflected. “A good man with a big heart. The foundation was way more than a tax dodge to J.D. I have to believe he had a good reason for the way his will was arranged.”
“He must have known Angelica would fight.”
“Even her brothers are against her now.” At first, Angelica’s siblings had supported her attempts to find ways to challenge the will. No longer. “No one is left on her side.”
“No one except Jack the Slasher Reed.”
“For everyone’s sakes, I hope she gives it up soon, before any more damage is done.” To the family as well as the company, including the foundation.
“With Jack Reed egging her on, don’t hold your breath.”
An image formed in Becca’s mind...Jack Reed with a quiver slung over his back. He looked so arrogant. So flat-out sexy and self-serving. Becca growled. “It all comes back to Jack.”
“You’re not finished with him, are you?”
“I can’t give up.” Becca pushed the plate aside. “I’m not made that way.”
Fee sighed. “Problem is Jack Reed’s not made that way, either.”
Two (#u09918f22-9829-5bfe-a3fd-4bc7a7cb8640)
Jack waited until the end of the week and then buckled.
Dusting off a tux, he organized a ticket for the Lassiter Charity Foundation gala ball. By the time he’d finished at the office and then showered and drove over, he was unfashionably late. The keynote speaker had long since finished entertaining and educating the glittering crowd. Desserts had been served and suitable music wafted around the ballroom, coaxing couples onto a dance floor that sprawled beneath prisms of light cast by a spectacular Swarovski chandelier.
As he headed toward the VIP tables, Becca Stevens noticed him. Mild surprise registered on her face before she turned in her chair to gauge his approach. Loose, salon-tousled curls mantled her shoulders. Her ears and throat were free of jewels. Sitting proud and erect in a white strapless gown that accentuated her curves and teased the imagination, she gave an impression that lay somewhere between temptress and saint. When Jack stopped before her, she looked up at all six-plus feet of him and arched a brow.
“Did you notice?” she asked.
“That you look exquisite tonight?”
Her narrowing gaze sent a warning. Don’t flirt.
“When you walked into the room,” she explained, “people stopped talking. I think a lot stopped breathing. They don’t expect to see you at a charity night. Although in this case they might—given it’s a Lassiter Media event.”
“Because I’m the big bad wolf here to gobble up everything I can sink my fangs into and then spit out the bones.”
She shrugged a bare shoulder. “Not to put too fine of a point on it.”
“Would it surprise you to know that I give to charity?”
“The Jack Reed Foundation for Chronic Self-Indulgence?”
He rubbed a corner of his grin. “You’re cute, you know that?”
“Wait till I get started.”
The only other couple left at the table was engrossed in a private conversation. If the room had indeed been distracted by his appearance, the socialites and Fortune 500 reps were back to mingling as far as Jack could tell.
He took the vacant seat next to Becca’s. “When I donate, I do it anonymously.”
Becca brought a glass of water to her lips. “How convenient.”
“It’s your job to blow this foundation’s bugle. How much you give away, how much you help the disadvantaged. Publicity equals exposure, equals a greater chance of raising even more funds and getting the money to those who need it.”
As the music swelled and lights dimmed more, he leaned closer and caught the scent of her perfume—a hint of red apple, feminine. Way too sexy for her own good—at least where he was concerned.
“But tell me,” he went on, “if you had as much personal wealth as I do, would you need to go around bleating to everyone how generous you were?”
“I will never have that much personal wealth. Don’t want it. Don’t need it. I’m nothing like you. Not in any way, shape or form.” When his gaze dropped to skim her lips, she frowned slightly before pushing to her feet. “Don’t even think about going there.”
No denying he was attracted to Becca Stevens. He had wanted to tip closer, sample those lips, invite her to help fuel the spark. If he wasn’t mistaken—and Jack was rarely wrong—there was a part of Becca that wanted that, too.
“Am I that obvious?” he asked, getting to his feet.
“You’re ridiculously easy to read.”
“In certain things.”
“I’ll give you a list. Tell me what I’m missing.”
As waiters served coffee, Jack crossed his arms. “Go ahead.”
“You have an insatiable thirst for money. Correction. For power. You like expensive toys. Jets and yachts and prestige cars. You enjoy beautiful women hanging off your arm, the more the merrier. Above all else, you love calling the shots. Being the king of your cancerous castle.”
Jack frowned.
Ouch.
“I like being the boss,” he said. “So do all CEOs. So did J.D.”
“You’re missing my point. And, sorry, but you’re not in J.D.’s league.”
“He might argue with you on that.”
Her look was almost pitying. “Modesty is so not your strong suit.”
“Perhaps you’d care to find out what is.”
“You know, for a smart guy, you just don’t get it.”
When she breezed out of the room, Jack followed her onto the terrace. He found her standing by a railing, facing a twinkling downtown view. A breeze caught a layer of her gown’s skirt; gossamer-thin fabric billowed out, ruffling behind her like filmy wings.
As he headed over, she tossed him an annoyed glance before gripping the railing like she wanted to wring someone’s neck. “You can’t take a hint, can you?”
“Let’s not play that kind of game,” he drawled. “You wanted me to follow. You’re just not sure how to handle things now that I have.”
She faced him. “I’m passionate about my work at the foundation. More passionate than I’ve felt about anything before in my life, and that’s saying something.”
“It’s how a person uses her passion that counts.”
“How about for good rather than evil?”
Most people thought of Jack Reed that way. Evil incarnate. Difference was that Becca wasn’t afraid to tell him point-blank.
Hell, she was right. Everyone was. If he could get his paws on Lassiter Media, if he could truly sink his teeth into a vein, he wouldn’t let go until he’d drained it all. That was his profession. What he did best.
But with Becca Stevens looking at him as if malevolence might be contagious, for just a second Jack almost hoped he wouldn’t get the chance. A part of him actually wanted to let this colossal Lassiter Media opportunity slide off into the water.
Of course, that wasn’t possible. Wasn’t—sane. Neither was continuing to annoy poor Ms. Stevens. It wasn’t her fault she was caught up in this fight, any more than Jack could help the part he had to play.
“It’s time my black cape and I flapped away before the first hint of dawn turns us into dust.” He affected a bow. “Good night, Becca.”
She caught up with him at the entrance back into the ballroom, slotting herself between his chest and the door. Jack didn’t know whether to smile and relax or frisk her for a wooden stake.
“What if I show you how serious I am?” she said. “I’ll prove to you how much good this foundation does. Have you ever visited homeless shelters, soup kitchens? If you see firsthand, you’d have to understand. You can’t be that big of a monster...can you?”
“You mean it’s possible I might have human emotions after all?”
When she allowed a small smile, Jack grinned, too. “Give me a month,” she said, “and I’ll change your mind.”
“Change my mind about what?”
“About dismantling Lassiter Media’s assets.”
Interesting. “You think Angelica and I can win?”
Becca lifted her chin. “Four weeks.”
“One day.”
“One week.”
“On one condition.”
“Name it.”
What the hell. “I’d rather show you.”
He slid a hand around her waist and drew her in as his mouth dropped over hers.
She went stiff against him. Hands balled into fists against his chest. He waited for her to tear away and call him every name under the sun. Short of her scratching his eyes out, Jack figured it was worth it.
Instead, her fists melted and palms slowly spread before her fingers knotted, winding into his jacket lapels. Then, making a strangled sound in her throat, she pressed in plumb against him. Jack relaxed into it, too.
As his palm on her back tugged her closer, his other hand slipped beneath the curls at the warm base of her neck. Gradually her lips parted under his. Kneading her nape, he tilted his head at more of an angle at the same time the tip of his tongue slid by her teeth.
She stiffened again and this time broke away. Short of breath, eyes wild, she wiped her mouth on her arm. Then she called him a name Jack had been called more than once but never by a lady.
“What was that supposed to be?”
Jack ran a hand back through his hair. “You tell me.”
She siphoned down air, half composed herself. “Fine,” she said. “I will. That was a mistake. A big fat never again.”
“Unless you decide you want to.”
She stabbed a finger at his nose. “You repulse me.”
“Do you want to hear my condition or not?”
Puzzled, she blinked twice. “Condition?”
“To give you one week to change my mind.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed and pushed curls back from her brow. “Oh. Right.”
“My condition is that we are civil toward each other.”
She muttered, “Figures that would be your idea of civil.”
It wasn’t the time to mention that she had kissed him right back.
“Do we have an agreement?” Jack hesitated and then ribbed her anyway. “Or are you afraid you might find my dark charm irresistible?”
Her slim nostrils flared. “I’d sooner sell my soul to the devil.”
“Be careful what you wish for.” Jack pulled open the door and noise from the ballroom seeped out. “I’ll collect you from your office Monday, ten a.m. sharp.”
“I’ll arrange my own transport. I’ll meet you—”
“Uh-uh. I make the rules. The challenge for you now is to change the game.”
“Using any means available?”
Jack smiled into her spirited green gaze. “What an appealing thought.”
Three (#u09918f22-9829-5bfe-a3fd-4bc7a7cb8640)
Early Monday, as Jack finished up his first call of the working week, the vice president of Reed Incorporated crossed over to his desk. A financial dynamo with a killer background in trading, Sylvia Morse set her hands on her hips.
“What exactly are you doing?”
Sylvia had been standing inside his office door for the past few minutes, so, trick question?
“What do you mean what am I doing?” Jack asked.
“I want the lowdown. No B.S. Not to me. You just got off the phone from Angelica Lassiter—again. You’ve moved mountains to acquire every Lassiter Media share you can lay your hands on. You’d do anything to get a hold of hers.”
Sylvia’s brunette razor-cut looked somehow spikier today, and her normally light gray gaze was definitely darker. He almost asked whether her caffeine addiction had escalated to substances that caused memory loss or confusion, but then Jack remembered her brother was in rehab again and went with the direct approach instead.
He set down his pen. “What the hell is up with you this morning?”
“You’re in bed with Angelica Lassiter,” Sylvia went on, “to help her regain control of J.D.’s company.”
“Metaphorically speaking, absolutely.”
“And?”
“Sylvia, you’ve been my right hand here for five years. Nothing’s changed.”
“So, you intend to buy up, buy in and then put into play the most efficient, financially rewarding way to sell off the various pieces of Lassiter Media. Except that isn’t Angelica Lassiter’s plan.”
Jack slumped. Et tu, Sylvia? “I thought our moral compasses were in sync.”
“This is different.”
“It’s never different.” He picked up the pen, put his head down. “Trust me.”
“God knows I want to, but something’s missing. Unless you’re more ruthless than even I thought, and I know you pretty well.”
“Better than anyone.”
“I’m on your side, Jackie-boy. Always. But, while you’d never admit it publicly, even you must have limits. J. D. Lassiter was a friend. You’d call in on each other’s homes in Cheyenne. I thought that kind of relationship would put a spin on things.”
“You thought wrong.”
“So, feelings never get in the way of business.”
Jack got to his feet. “Feelings don’t get in the way of anything. Period.”
He moved to a nearby credenza. Last week, he’d been sorting through a spread of figures on a boat company he was keen to acquire. Easy money—or it would be in a few months after he’d taken over and maximized the various resources.
“I value your work,” Jack told Sylvia, thumbing through the top pages of Baldwin Boats’ annual financials. “I value you. But if ever you decide you want to, you know—move on—I’d only ever wish you well.”
“Where in blazes would you ever find another me?”
Jack returned her mocking grin. “Wouldn’t be easy.” Then it clicked. “Oh, okay. Sure. I get what this is about.”
Her face opened up. “You do?”
“You’ve been working day and night on the Lassiter deal. Crazy hours. Follows you want a bigger cut when the demolition ball starts swinging.”
The intensity in her gaze deepened again before her expression eased and a crooked smile appeared. “Guess you are as big a hard-ass as they say.” She crossed over, scanned a spreadsheet. “Baldwin Boats.”
Pushing the prickly issue of Lassiter Media aside, Jack nodded. “I’m ready to move on it.”
“I spoke with David Baldwin late Friday. He wants you to meet with him. He asked if you’d like a tour of the factory.”
Jack had already seen the factory. Damn it, he knew all he needed to know.
He hung his head and winced. “I hate this part.”
“You mean the part where a struggling businessman who’s put his entire life into a company thinks there might be a chance of talking you into injecting some much-needed capital and becoming partners?”
“Yeah, Sylvia. That part. I’ve told him we’ll put together a good offer. The best he’ll get before his company is forced into bankruptcy. I’m not interested in having a beer with the boys out back.”
David Baldwin had recently made an appointment to discuss his situation. His company, while not huge, had ongoing contracts and sizeable assets. Baldwin Boats was also in financial strife with no easy way out. Same story. Bad economy, rising costs and taxes. Jack had said he thought they could do business. His kind of business, not Baldwin’s. On that, he’d been clear.
Baldwin made beautiful boats but Jack wasn’t in the manufacturing trade. To his way of thinking, Baldwin could either come out of this with something via Reed Incorporated’s offer, or he could walk away with nothing due to bankruptcy. Despite popular opinion, Jack wasn’t completely heartless, even where Lassiter Media was concerned. He hoped David Baldwin grabbed the buoy he had tossed rather than clinging to blind hope and going under.
“Just let him know,” Jack said, “that we’ll have a firm offer to him by end of the month.”
When Sylvia turned to leave, he called after her.
“Just a heads-up. Becca Stevens paid me a visit.”
“The director of Lassiter Media’s Charity Foundation, right?”
“She threw out a challenge. If I gave her some time, she would change my mind about going after the company.”
“You’re joking.”
“She wants to show me where the money goes.”
“And you said go jump.”
“I gave her a week.”
Sylvia’s jaw dropped. It took her time to recover. “You schedule your days down to the minute.”
“If I play my cards right, I might be able to glean some valuable inside information.”
Sylvia was shaking her head. “I’ve run checks on everyone of any note at the company. Becca Stevens is former foster care and post-grad Peace Corps. She might look delectable on the outside but that woman is no cream puff. If you’re planning to ensnare Becca with your charms, tread carefully. She’s smart and she’s tough and she’ll do anything to win.”
Jack ran a finger and thumb down his tie. “We should get on like two peas in a pod.” Catching the time on his watch, he moved to grab his jacket. “I’m meeting with Joe Rivers to discuss the logistics on that opportunity in China, and then I’m off to meet Ms. Stevens.”
“Off to seduce Ms. Stevens, you mean.” Sylvia angled her head. “Unless she’s a step ahead of you.”
“How so?” He shrugged into his jacket.
“Maybe she plans to do the seducing.”
“To work her way into my heart and save her foundation?”
“I’m not kidding. My information says she’s extremely resourceful.”
He winked and swung open the door for them both. “Lord, I hope so.”
* * *
As Jack Reed’s luxury black sedan swerved off Sunset and into the Lassiter Media Building’s forecourt, Becca strode over and swung open the passenger-side door. She settled into the soft leather seat while, hands locked on the wheel, Jack assessed her quizzically.
At the gala ball, he’d caught her off guard. In a designer tuxedo he’d been born to wear, every aspect of his star quality had been amplified tenfold. The white slash of his smile had almost knocked Becca off her chair. By the time he’d stopped at the table, her heart was thudding in her throat, in her ears. She thought she’d hid his effect on her pretty well.
Until that kiss.
Their head-spinning, utterly unforgivable kiss.
Today Becca was prepared. Alert and armed and ready for anything.
“Nice ride,” she said, buckling up. “Smells new.” And while she would never admit it out loud, Jack smelled good, too. Fresh and woodsy and one hundred percent male.
“I know when we agreed to do this I said my rules, but I didn’t expect you to wait outside for me. I’d have come up to collect you.”
“Time is money.”
“Well, that’s...considerate of you.”
“I was talking about the foundation’s time and money.”
The uncertain look on his face cleared and his dark eyes gleamed as he grinned. “Of course you were.”
When he flicked a questioning glance at her legs, Becca secretly quivered. The look wasn’t meant to be intimate, but her body didn’t seem to know the difference. Warmth washed through her veins, the same shot of heat that had made rubber bands of her ligaments when Jack had kissed her that night.
Becca’s hands bunched in her lap.
Don’t think about that now.
“Do you wear jeans to the office often?” he asked, steering onto the road.
“Depends what I have planned for the day.”
She sounded cool and collected despite her nails digging into her palms. His nearest arm and thigh were too close. Even in the air-conditioning, his body heat was tangible, enough to make her upper lip and hairline sweat.
“Where are we headed?” he asked, changing up gears.
“A high school.” Nodding at the stoplights, Becca set her mind to the task. “Next right here.”
“A school, huh? Someone need a new gym?”
She studied his profile, the hawkish nose, that confident air. “You really have no idea, do you?”
“I thought that’s what this week was about. Giving me a clue.”
She planned to do a truckload more than that.
“How well do you remember your teenage years?” she asked. “You’d have done well in sport. Football’s my guess.” He only smiled. “You got good grades, too, right? I bet you didn’t have to try.”
“Chemistry was tricky.”
“But you knew what you liked. What resonated. And your parents could afford an Ivy League school.”
“I worked hard when I got there.”
“What kind of car did you drive?”
He named a luxury German make.
“Fresh off the assembly line?” she asked.
His laugh was warm and deep. “You think you can guilt me out, Becca?”
“I hope I can open your eyes.”
He looked across at her again and this time when he took in her jeans, Becca sensed he was labeling her, slotting her into another compartment in his head. The very idea set her teeth on edge.
“You didn’t come from money,” he said.
He didn’t need to know the whole story—or not at this early stage in the game.
“My parents own a bakery.”
He threw her a surprised look and held it before concentrating again on the traffic.
“I’m one of four,” she went on. “We kids were taught that we needed to take responsibility for others in society who were less fortunate. Giving back and being community-minded are the secret not only to a happy life but also a happier world. During my senior year, I volunteered at hospitals and nursing homes....”
Attention on the road, his gaze had gone glassy. Becca cleared her throat.
“Am I boring you, Jack?”
“You could never bore me.” He rubbed his freshly shaven jaw, which still had the shadow of persistent stubble. “It’s just that I’ve traveled a few miles since school.”
She appealed to Jack Reed’s ego. “I can’t imagine how much you’ve learned since then. How much you could pass on.”
“Is that what we’re doing? You want me to give a talk to schoolkids about aiming for the stars?”
“A fair percentage of the kids we’ll see today have battled depression and suicidal thoughts and some have even attempted to end their own lives.”
From the way a pulse had suddenly begun to pop in his cheek, finally she had his attention.
She indicated a driveway. “In there.”
The public secondary high school had around three thousand students, grades nine through twelve. Its multi-story red-brick buildings, landscaped with soaring palm trees, had been used as filming locations for several movies and TV shows. After parking the car, they headed for an area by the front chain-link fence where a mass of students had gathered. The kids were cheering as a stream of riders on bicycles flew past in a blur of Lycra color and spinning wheels. A couple of students waved a big sign: Ride for U.S.
“Do you ride a bike, Jack?” Becca asked over the hoots and applause from the excited mob jostling around them.
“Not one with pedals. Not for a while.”
“These people are riding from coast to coast to bring awareness and help to teenagers who can’t see a light at the end of their tunnel. Whose parents might be alcoholics, prostitutes, drug addicts or dealers. A lot of those kids bring themselves up. They might be taught to fetch drugs or another bottle of booze from the cabinet.”
As the last of the bikes shot past, Jack gazed on, looking strangely indifferent. Detached.
She tried again. “The Lassiter Foundation donates to this cause every year, and we help decide where and how funds raised ought to be spent.”
He took out a pair of shades from his inside breast pocket and perched them on his nose. “A big job.”
“Not compared to the effort this bunch puts in.”
Some students were fooling around with a football. When a toss went off track, Jack reached and effortlessly caught the ball before hurling it back to the boys. Then, impassive again, he straightened his shades.
“You don’t have any children?” she asked.
“I’m not married.”
“The two don’t necessarily go hand in hand.”
“No children.”
“That you know of.”
He exhaled. “Right.”
The crowd started to head back into the building. “How freaky would it be to find out that you’d fathered a child say twenty years ago when you were cruising around in that gleaming new Beamer, acing your assignments, planning out your future with waves of twenty-four-carat-gold glitter.”
“I might have a reputation, but I’ve always been responsible where sex is concerned.”
“Right there we have a difference in understanding. How can a big-time player be responsible where sex in concerned?”
His smile was thin. “Takes practice.”
“We’re getting off topic. Point is that from day one you led a privileged life. Most kids aren’t that lucky. Most children could use a hand on their way to reaching adulthood.”
Inside the gymnasium, she and Jack sat to one side at the back in the bleachers while the leader of Ride for U.S. addressed the students. Tom Layton was a professional counselor Becca knew through various channels. He had incredible insight into the minds of young adults, a gift he used to full advantage. As he spoke to the audience, Tom and Becca made eye contact. Tom winked to say hi but didn’t miss a beat.
“Good, isn’t he?” she whispered across to Jack. “Everything seems so life or death to teens. Tom gets that. A child needs all his strength going forward because the real test is later in life when he has to follow his own star, when he needs to develop a thick skin toward those who might want to trash his dream, for whatever reason.”
Minus the sunglasses now, Jack trained his hooded gaze on her. “Would it surprise you to learn that you and I aren’t so different, Becca?”
“It would surprise the living hell out of me.”
His eyebrows drew together and damned if she didn’t sense something real shift in Jack Reed. Not compassion or empathy exactly. That would have been too much to ask. It was more of a fleeting connection that fell through her fingertips, like loose grains of sand, before she could truly grasp it.
While Tom listed signs that everyone should watch for when identifying a peer who needed help, Becca scanned the audience. The geeks up front were all ears, some even taking notes. The lot in the middle alternated between sneaking looks at smartphones and zoning out, daydreaming about extracurricular activities. The mob in the back—the ones who really needed to listen—were restless. It was difficult to see a bright future when home life sucked everything into a vortex of gray. She and Tom wanted to help change that.
Thirty minutes later, as the principal thanked his guests and a round of applause went up, Jack immediately stood to stretch his spine. Becca looked up the entire length of him. God, he was tall.
“Still awake?” she asked, standing, too.
“Sure.” He stretched again. “Coffee would be good though.”
As they headed down the bleacher aisle, she helped bring the bigger picture into focus.
“The foundation works with school counselors across the country to get help to students who are under imminent threat. Who need our help now. This minute. We put on camps where they can talk about their problems in a safe and encouraging environment. Where they can share everything with others they identify with. It’s important these kids know they’re not alone.”
At the bottom on the bleachers, Jack held up a hand. “Excuse me a moment? I need to make a call.”
Okay. She’d drowned him with information, trying to make every second count. Now she needed to ease her foot off the pedal. Mix it up a bit.
“No problem,” she said. “Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”
Jack drew out his cell and thumbed in a number as he strolled across the floor. By the time he’d disconnected, he’d wound back and was approaching a group who included Tom Layton. When the two men shook hands and spoke, Becca debated whether or not to join them. But they only talked for a moment before Tom sent a friendly wave her way and let Jack go. As Jack drew closer, she couldn’t hide her smile.
“That was nice,” she said.
“Sure. Nice guy.” Jack rested his hand on her arm and eyed the exit. “Let’s go.”
Logic told Becca to remove herself from his touch. This wasn’t a date.
Then again, giving her a guiding hand wasn’t exactly an inappropriate gesture, either. If she wanted the chance to push her case going forward, she had to choose her battles. Jack had accepted her challenge, but he could walk away at any time.
And, secretly...
A part of her liked the contact. Crazy, dangerous, stupid. Still, there it was.
As he led her toward the gym doors, Becca made a suggestion.
“We could go back to the office for that coffee. My barista skills are renowned in that building.”
“You’re not afraid of being hit by a grenade,” he said, “or ambushed by gunfire? That’s why you waited outside this morning, isn’t it? You wanted to keep this arrangement and the questions as quiet as possible.”
Her step almost faltered. “I told you why I met you downstairs.”
“You’re not worried some people might think you’re getting too friendly with the foe?”
“If I was worried about my reputation, I wouldn’t invite you back, now, would I?” Sliding her arm away from his, she turned his assumption on its head. “Maybe it’s you who’s afraid to front up at Lassiter Media.”
His slanted grin oozed sex appeal. “Yeah,” he said. “That must be it.”
As they entered the parking lot, Becca took stock. She’d decided to ease back on the info dump, and she’d got rattled at the idea of her loyalties ever being questioned, but she still needed to keep the dialogue open and evolving. She had to keep Jack close. So, big breath and moving on.
“Now that’s settled,” she said, walking alongside of him, “are we on for coffee?”
“If Danishes are involved.”
“You’re a fan?”
“Can you spell cheese, blueberry, apple toffee?”
Suddenly Becca could taste all her favorites. “How about cinnamon or custard?”
“Now you’re talking.”
“With my family owning a bakery, there was lots of cake growing up. Too much.”
He gave her an odd look and then smiled. “You can never have too much cake.”
Becca could have argued. She also wanted to know what that strange look was about. Instead she smiled as he opened the car door for her. If she let him in a little more, maybe he would open up to her, too. And then surely light and a sprinkling of goodness would fall among the shadows. Even where blackhearted Jack Reed was concerned.
* * *
Jack parked in a space outside of the Lassiter Media Building. After switching off the ignition, he lifted his chin to loosen his tie. He was serious about needing a coffee—extra strong. At each turn this morning, he’d been taken off guard.
Firstly, he was sure Sylvia had said that Becca had been a foster kid. Was she lying about the bakery? Something hinky was going on there.
Second, he, too, was a benefactor of Ride for U.S. When Tom Layton had spotted him and Becca in the bleachers together, Jack had seen speculation flare in the younger man’s eyes. It wasn’t a reach to think Tom had wondered whether he and Becca had partnered up in some charity-minded capacity. So, before Tom had the chance to wander over and all kinds of questions were asked, Jack had made an excuse and had “bumped” into him. Then, on the quiet, he’d let Tom know nothing had changed. No one needed to know who Reed Incorporated gave to, when, how or particularly why—unless it was the taxman.
If Becca wanted to stand behind general consensus and believe his character was a step away from sludge, Jack was used to being pegged as a villain. Hell, wearing that label where Becca was concerned was probably best. When the Lassiter deal went his way and the ax began to fall all around her, she might be hurt but at least she wouldn’t be surprised.
On the upside, he had heard everything she’d said about problems facing young adults. Depression, self-harm, suicide...he wished he could wave a wand and all the damage—past, present and future—would be fixed.
Becca got out of the car before Jack had a chance to swing around and open her door.
“Will we personally choose our Danishes?” she asked over the roof of the car. “Or should we have them delivered?”
On the way back from the school, she’d mentioned a good bakery near the office.
“We’ll go have a look,” he said.
“Cheese, blueberry and apple toffee, right?”
Slipping on sunglasses, he met her at the trunk. “And cinnamon and custard.”
She laughed, an effervescent, sexy sound that suited her far better than a scowl. “Just how much can you eat? Or am I buying for the whole office?”
“I’m buying,” he said. “Might as well throw in a couple of chocolate chip muffins while we’re at it.”
“Now that’s getting dangerous.” They headed off toward the mall via the building’s entrance. “And it’s my treat. No argument. You’re my guest.” She playfully eyed him up and down. “A guest with a very big appetite.”
“And growing by the minute.”
Her smile changed in a knowing, measured way at the same time her gaze flicked to his mouth. Every one of Jack’s extremities began to tingle.
Maybe she’s the one doing the seducing.
Earlier, he had scoffed at Sylvia’s suggestion, but the idea of Becca Stevens as calculating seductress out to save the world wasn’t so far-fetched. Would she think that flirting, or even sleeping with him, might gain her information...curry favor...change his mind? After the kiss they had shared, he knew her hormones wouldn’t object even if her conscience did.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw a woman emerge from the building’s main entrance. The slender build, dark brown hair and matching eyes were unmistakable. Angelica Lassiter was so absorbed in her thoughts, she almost ran into them without noticing. Recognizing Jack first, she sagged and let out a ragged sigh.
“Thank God. How did you know I’d be here?” she asked. Then she saw Becca.
Angelica was strong-willed, like her dad. But right now, with those dark-brown eyes wide and questioning, she looked as if she was teetering on an edge.
Jack spoke to Becca first. “Can we do this later?”
She said, “Of course,” before offering Angelica an awkward goodbye. As Becca moved inside the building, Jack looped his arm through Angelica’s.
“C’mon. Let’s walk.”
Four (#ulink_191af8a2-f6d0-5288-aafd-d3c39f05396a)
“What are you doing with Becca Stevens?” Angelica asked as Jack ushered her away from the Lassiter Media Building and down the busy boulevard sidewalk.
“Becca’s worried about the foundation’s future,” he said.
Angelica nodded deeply. “She does a brilliant job there. Her heart is totally in the right place. But, Jack, don’t think for a minute she’s on our side. She doesn’t like you. Given our association, I’m sure she doesn’t like me much at the moment, either.”
Angelica could easily have grown up a spoiled pain. She’d come along later in Ellie Lassiter’s life, after J.D. and his wife had been warned against ever trying to conceive. Ellie had died just days after giving birth to a healthy baby girl. Elevated blood pressure had brought on a stroke.
Years earlier, Ellie and J.D. had adopted her orphaned nephews, Sage and Dylan. After Ellie’s death, J.D. and the boys had showered all their love and attention on Angelica, who had developed into a remarkably caring, career-minded woman.
It was no secret that J.D. had been grooming his daughter to take over Lassiter Media. When J.D. had died suddenly from a massive coronary, everyone was shocked to hear his final wishes at the will’s reading. But, one by one, all had accepted the inexplicable terms. All except Angelica and, of course, Jack.
“Yep, Becca supports Evan.”
“And if you want her to switch camps,” Angelica went on, “you’re wasting your time. When that woman makes up her mind about something, there’s no changing it. And frankly, Jack, I don’t see any point in trying.”
“You’ve got it mixed up. Becca came to me. She wants me to see where the foundation’s money goes. All the good it does.”
He thought better of admitting he was hoping to pick up some Lassiter intel along the way. He wouldn’t add to the tally of his baser tactics where Angelica’s opinion of him was concerned.
She was mulling over his words. “Becca wants to inspire you enough that you’ll back off from any takeover bid, and all the bad publicity and doubt plaguing the foundation will disappear along with you.”
She stopped and sat heavily down on a vacant bench at a bus stop.
“I hate that the company is suffering,” she said. “I hate that my family can barely look at me anymore.” She exhaled a shaky breath as he sat alongside of her. “It’s getting to me, Jack. Grinding me down until my head feels like it might explode.”
“Trust me,” he said. “We’re in a good place with this.”
“I rang Dylan this morning, a sisterly call to see how he and Jenna are doing.”
Dylan had got involved with Jenna Montgomery, a florist in Cheyenne. Jack had heard that the couple had weathered some severe relationship storms before recently tying the knot.
“Of course, the conversation swung onto the will,” Angelica went on. “I got so stirred up, I could have hit something. Out of everyone, I never thought Dylan would turn against me. We were so close when we were young. I thought we still were.”
After high school, Dylan had set sail to see the world. Odd jobs in restaurants had grown into head chef opportunities in premiere establishments. Five years ago, J.D. asked him to head the Lassiter Grill Group with restaurants in L.A., Vegas, Chicago and now their hometown, Cheyenne. He’d inherited complete control of the restaurant business when J.D. died.
“Dylan told me again,” Angelica said, “that I needed to accept Dad’s wishes. That I should bury the hatchet and get on with my life.” Staring into the noisy downtown traffic, she bit her lip and shook her head. “I needed to talk to Evan. Thrash it out. Know what he said? Evan said I should settle down. Sitting in my chair, in my office. Can you believe it?”
As a tear rolled down her cheek, Jack fished out a pressed handkerchief from his inside breast pocket.
Gritting her teeth, Angelica dabbed her face. “I can’t get my mind around the fact that Evan somehow conspired with my father to do this. Or maybe Evan somehow conspired against us both.”
Jack wanted to put his arm around her. Squeeze her hand. But Angelica didn’t need sympathy. She needed firm direction. He sat forward, elbows on thighs, fingers thatched between knees.
“Evan’s right,” he said.
As the 302 bus growled by, she shot Jack a glance. “Excuse me?”
“You do need to settle down. Then you need to refocus and never let that target out of your sights. You can’t afford to let emotion get in the way.”
“Just sometimes, Jack...sometimes I wonder whether we’re doing the right thing. Whether it’s worth it.”
“You wonder whether you ought to give up your inheritance because Sage and Dylan don’t approve?” Pulling out all the stops, Jack turned toward her. “Sage was never close to J.D. He’s a billionaire in his own right, for God’s sakes, and yet he got twenty-five percent of Lassiter Media in the will. And Dylan? Why, he’s happy as a pig in mud since he’s snagged controlling interest of the Lassiter Grill Group. Then there’s you. J.D.’s only child through blood. His little princess. Tell me how the hell it works when you get a lousy ten percent and the man you trusted enough to want to marry walks away with controlling voting interest of your father’s company.” Jack sneered. “I don’t give a rat’s furry behind whether or not Sage or Dylan or anyone else approves of your attempt to get what’s rightfully yours.”
Angelica’s shoulders squared slightly and she blinked several times as if her eyes might be stinging.
“I miss Dad so much,” she said. “I wish I could talk to him now. Let him make sense of it all. I’m torn between wanting to fold and being outraged that he could embarrass and hurt me like this. I worked my rear end off for that company. It was all I thought, ate. Slept.” She swallowed back emotion and brushed away another tear. “I’m just so tired of it all.”
Jack almost groaned aloud. He’d valued J.D.’s friendship, but if he’d been alive and standing in front of him now, Jack would have plowed him in the jaw, what Jack stood to make out of this deal be damned.
Angelica dabbed her cheek again. “I’m a wimp.”
“Hey, would I team up with a wimp?”
When he bumped her shoulder, she almost grinned.
“Sylvia and I are working nonstop,” he said, “finding ways to boost our position in the company’s shares. It won’t be long now. We’re almost there. Okay?”
A genuine smile flickered at the corners of her mouth before her gaze narrowed, searching his.
“In the past, you’ve only ever wanted to tear down and sell off companies you’d acquired. Why is Lassiter Media any different?”
“You really need to ask?”
“Everyone’s asking.”
“J.D. was a close friend. I’ve known you since you were a skinny kid with braids. I’m doing precisely, to a T, what your father would want me to do.”
“Except it goes against his final wishes.”
“That can’t have been his intent. Search your heart and tell me you don’t agree.”
Her gaze narrowed again.
“You would never betray me, would you, Jack?”
As a shiver ran up his spine, Jack looked her dead in the eye. “No, Angelica,” he said. “I would never betray you.”
* * *
Jack followed Angelica back to the Lassiter family mansion, which sat on two acres of Beverly Hills north of Sunset. J.D. had bought the Spanish Colonial revival twenty years ago when he’d created the L.A. office. Built in the 1930s, the mansion retained its original wrought-iron detail, leaded glass and homemade Spanish tiles. In recent years, however, Angelica had contributed much in the way of decorating its 11,000 feet of luxury living space. It had been more her home than J.D.’s.
When Jack and Angelica began to go over some figures and she asked him to stay for lunch, of course, he accepted. He even helped her prepare enough egg salad sandwiches to feed ten. Then they sat and ate in the lanai, taking in the sparkling pool and the flawless blue sky of late summer. By the time they had talked through everything and Angelica felt positive again about going forward, the sun was arcing toward the west.
As she accompanied Jack through the living room with its soaring ceiling to the front entrance, for the hundredth time he considered the part he was playing in this unfolding drama. Complex and uncomfortable, even for him. Still, as he had said to Angelica earlier, they need only keep their eyes on the target.
“I shouldn’t have kept you this long.” Angelica looked weary, resting her cheek against the opened door edge as Jack stepped onto the extravagant porch.
“I’m here anytime you need me.”
“Becca Stevens must be wondering where you got to.”
“She probably welcomed the break.”
“I doubt that.”
When Angelica sent him a fond smile, Jack held her shoulder. “You’ll be okay.”
“You were always a good friend to my father...to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’ll never have to worry about that.”
There was a spring in Jack’s step as he crossed to his car. He had helped Angelica—or not helped, depending on which team a person rooted for. On top of that, even after having his fill of egg salad, Jack was still fanging for those Danishes.
Steering out onto the main road, he put through a call to the Lassiter Foundation and gave his name. He was transferred to Becca’s assistant.
“Sorry, Mr. Reed. Ms. Stevens left for the day.”
Jack checked the dash clock. A little after four. “She’s gone home?” he asked.
“I couldn’t say.”
He reverse head-butted the seat. Damn.
“Do you have her private number?”
“Sorry, sir. I can’t give that out.”
Jack knew he could get it easily enough. Not the point. Nothing was more important to Becca than saving her foundation, which translated into putting all her efforts into trying to talk him around. Surely her nose wasn’t put out because Angelica had needed him earlier.
So, what had come up that was so urgent? Was Becca playing hard to get? He wasn’t that desperate for Danish.
When his cell rang a minute later, he connected without checking the ID.
It wasn’t Becca.
“Hey, Jack. David Baldwin here.”
Jack flinched but put a smile in his voice. “Hey. How’s it going, David?”
“Call me Dave. Have you got a few minutes? I’d like to show you something.”
“Sylvia already mentioned another factory tour.”
“She let me know. You’ve seen enough there.”
“And you’ll have an offer by end of the month.” Silence echoed down the line. “Dave, you there?”
“I wanted to speak with you about a personal matter.”
Damn it. He should’ve checked that caller ID. “I’m not sure I can help with any personal issues.”
“Actually it’s about me helping you.”
“I’m tied up at the moment, but sit tight and we’ll get that offer—”
“This is about family, Jack. It’s about...a journey.”
Jack had heard it all before in a hundred different ways from just as many different people. The times they had spoken, David Baldwin had come across as a good guy who’d worked hard and considered his employees to be just that...family. Now, he wanted Jack to get involved, drag his financial butt out of the fire and save his business. Save the day.
And, hey, there was something about David Baldwin that gave Jack pause. Something in the deep brown of his eyes that made him care. But this association could end only one way and that was not with the two of them sharing Christmas dinners.
“I’ll be in touch soon,” Jack said. “Another call’s coming through. Take care.”
He disconnected. A single beat later, pain ripped through his chest—a stab followed by one almighty twist. Stopping at lights, he winced, massaging the spot.
Not heartburn or, God forbid, a heart attack. Just this Lassiter issue getting to him. The Baldwin business, too. If David wanted to save his family, best of luck. Jack couldn’t help.
And, while she might never accept it—while she would want to see his head on a spike when this was done—Jack couldn’t help Becca Stevens, either.
* * *
The next morning, Jack’s cell phone woke him.
Rubbing his eyes, Jack grabbed it, checked the caller ID—lesson learned—and connected.
“Jack?” Becca sounded puzzled. “Did I wake you?”
He sat up, ran a hand through his hair. The bedside clock read eight-oh-five. Holy crap. He always had trouble getting to sleep, but what the hell time had he finally nodded off last night?
“I thought I’d call early,” she went on. “I have a plan.”
Jack smothered a yawn. “I like plans.”
“Can I come over and tell you about it?”
“I thought you might have been, well...”
“Pissed at you after ditching me yesterday? I understand your situation with Angelica. She feels backed into a corner.”
“The only way out is to fight.”
“Or to accept. Even forgive.”
He swung his feet over and onto the floor. “Ultimately, that’s up to her.”
“It’d help if you stopped pushing her.”
Jack grinned. “I thought you said you understood.”
He heard her sigh. At least she didn’t argue.
“What time can I come over?” she asked.
She certainly was eager. “Why not the office?”
“It’d save time.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “I’ll just jump in the shower.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest that he’d wait for her. Bad Jack.
“See you in thirty then,” she said.
Naked, he crossed to the bathroom. “I’ll be here.” With bells on.
* * *
Jack answered his booming doorbell wearing tatty jeans that hung low on his hips. He hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt. When he lifted an arm to lean against the jamb and his epic six-pack firmed up even more, Becca could have drooled.
Look into his eyes. Not the big, bronzed chest or that strip of skin south of his navel, damn it. Look at his eyes.
“Morning,” he said. “You’re late.”
A lousy ten minutes. And she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking where the rest of his clothes were, either. Even his feet were bare; who knew toes could be sexy?
The other time she had visited, an older man with an impeccable air had seen her through to the back lawn. “I thought the butler would answer the door,” she said.
“Merv’s not a butler.” His arm slid down as he stepped back to allow her inside. “He looks after things for me on the home front. It’s his day off.”
“Did you grow up having a person like Merv around to mix your chocolate milk?” she asked, stepping into the double-story, marble-decked foyer that smelled of money.
“I did.”
“Must be nice.”
He laughed. “Still trying to guilt me out?”
“Just saying...”
“Merv does a great job. In return he is paid extremely well.”
She pinned up a smile. “Then everyone’s happy.”
Jack must have been six-two or -three. In peep-toe flats that matched her simple white summer dress, Becca felt way less than her average height. When his scent filled her lungs, she fought the absurd urge to wither against him...even drag her lips all over those pecs. His chest was that good.
Before he shut the door, he did a double-take at her ride parked in the forecourt. “Tell me that’s not a company car.”
“My ’63 Fiat Bambino is what’s known as a true classic.”
He squinted, looking harder—admiring the distinctive light mint-green shade, perhaps. “Are those dinky wheels even roadworthy?”
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