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“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
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
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.”