Taming the Takeover Tycoon. Robyn Grady
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