Brides, Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters
long as possible. Obviously he’d hoped to do the announcement with me today, present a united front and all that, but since he can’t, we’ll do the next best thing. Are you okay with that?”
Okay with it? No, she wasn’t okay with it—any of it. But her dad had thought of everything, hadn’t he? And none of it, except for a rushed dinner together last night, had included her.
“Sally?”
“Let me read the statement.”
Sally scanned the double-spaced pages, hearing her father’s voice in the back of her mind with every word she read. It wasn’t right. He should be here to do this. This company was his pride and joy, built on his hard work, and he respected each and every one of his employees so very highly. Somehow she had to remember that in what she was about to do. Somehow she had to put aside her phobia and be the kind of person her father should have been able to rely on.
With every thought, she could feel her anxiety levels wind up several notches. Be bold, she told herself. You can do this. She drew in another deep breath then stood up and met Kirk’s gaze.
“Right, let’s go.”
“Are you sure? You’ll be okay?”
Blue-green eyes bored into hers, and she felt as though he could see through her bravado and her best intentions and all the way to the quivering jelly inside. He knew. Somehow, probably through her father, he knew about her glossophobia—the debilitating terror she experienced when faced with public speaking. Shame trickled down her spine, but she refused to back down.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, forcing a calm into her voice that she was far from feeling. “It’s a video link, isn’t it? Just us and a camera, right?”
“Look, Sally, you don’t have to—”
She shook her head. “No, trust me, I really do.”
He might not understand it, but this had become vital to her now. A method of proof that she was worthy. A way to show her father, when he was well enough to hear about it, that she had what it took and could be relied upon to step up.
Kirk gave her a small nod of acceptance. “Fine. Remember I’ll be right beside you.”
She’d been afraid he’d say that. But as they walked out of her dad’s office and down the carpeted corridor toward the main conference room, she felt an unexpected sense of comfort in his nearness. She tried to push the sensation away. She didn’t want to rely on this man. A man she knew intimately and yet not at all. Don’t think about last night! Don’t think about the taste of him, the feel of him, the pleasure he gave you.
She needn’t have worried. Last night was the last thing on her mind as they entered the conference room and she was immediately confronted by the single lens of a camera pointing straight toward her. And beyond it was a bank of television screens on the large wall of the conference room—each screen filled with faces of the staff assembled at each of their offices. All of them staring straight at her.
Kirk felt the shift in Sally’s bearing the second they entered the conference room. He cast her a glance. She looked like she was on the verge of turning tail and running back down the corridor. She’d already come to a complete halt beside him, her eyes riveted on the live screens on the other side of the room, and he could see tiny beads of perspiration forming at her hairline and on her upper lip. And, dammit, she was trembling from head to foot.
“Sally?” he asked gently.
She swallowed and flicked her eyes in his direction. “I can do this,” she said with all the grimness of a French aristocrat on her way to the guillotine.
Sally walked woodenly toward the podium set up in front of the camera. The sheaf of papers he’d given her earlier was clutched in one fist, and she made an effort to smooth them out as she placed them on the platform in front of her.
He had to give it to her. She wasn’t backing down, even though she was obviously terrified. He wished she’d just give in and hand the papers back over to him. Making her go through this was akin to punching a puppy, and the idea made him sick to the stomach. Probably about as sick as she was feeling right now.
The camera operator gestured to Kirk to take the other seat and Kirk hastened to Sally’s side. As he settled beside her, he could feel tension coming off her in waves. She’d grown even paler than when they’d arrived.
“Sally?” he asked again.
“Five minutes until we go live!” someone said from across the room. “Someone get mikes on them, please.”
Kirk reached across and curved his hand around one of hers. “Let me do this. I’ve had time to prepare. You haven’t.”
He held his breath, waiting for her reply, but they were distracted by two sound technicians fitting them each with a lapel mike and doing a quick sound check.
“One minute, people.”
Kirk squeezed her hand. “Sally, it’s your call. No one expects this of you. Least of all your father—and especially given the circumstances.”
“Don’t you see,” she whispered without looking at him. “That’s exactly why I need to do it.”
“Ten, nine, eight...”
“You only have to be here, Sally. That’s more than enough given what you’ve been through.”
“Live in three...” The technician silently counted down the last two numbers with his fingers.
Kirk waited for Sally to speak, but silence filled the air. Sally was looking past the winking red eye of the camera to the screens across the room, to the people of Harrison IT. Then, infinitesimally, she moved and slid the papers over to him. Taking it as his cue, Kirk pasted a smile on his face and introduced himself before he launched into the welcome Orson had prepared for his staff, together with a brief explanation that a medical event had precluded Orson from participating in the announcement.
Sally stood rigidly beside him throughout the explanation of the merger and the question-and-answer session that followed. The moment he signed off and the red light on the camera extinguished, Sally ripped off her microphone and headed for the door. He eventually caught up with her down the hallway.
“Leave me alone!” she cried as he reached for her hand and tugged her around to face him.
Kirk was horrified to see tears streaking her face.
“Sally, it’s all right. You did great.”
“Great? You call sitting there like a barrel of dead fish great? I couldn’t even introduce you, which, in all honesty, was the very least I should have done given you are a total stranger to most of those people.”
Distraction was what she needed right now.
“Dead fish? For the record, you look nothing like a barrel of anything, let alone dead fish.”
She shook her head in frustration, but he was glad to see the tears had mostly stopped.
“Don’t be so literal.”
“I can’t help it.” He shrugged. “When I look at you, the last thing I picture is cold fish of any kind.”
He lowered his voice deliberately and delighted in the flush of color that filled her cheeks, chasing away the lines of strain that had been so evident only seconds before.
“You’re impossible,” she muttered.
“Tell me how impossible over dinner after the press conference.”
“No.”
“Sally, we need to talk. About last night. About now.”
He could see she wanted to argue the