Taming the Takeover Tycoon. Robyn Grady
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