Robyn Grady - Taming the Takeover Tycoon

“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.