Dynasties: The Lassiters

Six

“My God. What the hell is that?”

Frowning at Jack’s remark, Becca crossed over to the small, seemingly unsupervised dog. “You’re lucky he’s not sensitive,” she said.

They had driven from Brightside House a short distance to a small, quiet parking lot located this side of a beach. When they’d gotten out of the car, this little guy had been waiting alone as planned. Chichi would play a role in Becca’s weeklong challenge. Her overriding strategy was to reach Jack’s more human, less sophisticated side. He couldn’t help but lower his defenses with this cute dog around.

For the next two days of her remaining six, she would hide Jack away from all the temptations and reminders that drove his conquer and take all mentality. He needed to get back to basics, and appreciate that everyone deserved a chance to achieve at least that, too.

Now, studying the dog, Jack visibly shuddered. “Sorry, but that’s got to be the ugliest mutt I’ve ever seen.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Crouching, Becca stroked the wispy tuft of hair on the dog’s head. “Beauty is skin deep.”

“Except when ninety-five percent of the skin is bald and dappled—” he shuddered again “—and please, not scaly, too.”

“He’s a Chinese-crested Chihuahua mix.”

“If you say so.” He flipped a finger at its head. “Do you think its tongue always lolls out the side of its mouth like that?”

She dropped a kiss between the puppy’s ears. “Cute, huh?”

“God as my witness, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Chichi will be joining us on our road trip.”

Jack’s head went back. “You know this dog?” As if to answer for her, Chichi sneezed and Jack shrank back. “Whatever it’s got, let’s hope it’s not contagious. Does he smell?”

“Not as well as a bloodhound.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

As she ran a palm down Chichi’s hairless back, his pink tongue lolled out more. “Did you have a dog growing up?”

“Would it be too unkind to suggest those bobble eyes look possessed?”

“Jack?” Focus. “Growing up?”

“Yeah. We had a King Charles.”

“To go with the thoroughbreds, right?”

Chichi’s skinny tail with its pompom tip whipped the sandy ground; he got the joke.

Becca pushed to her feet. “He wants you to pick him up.”

Jack crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. “You pick him up.”

“That’s pathetic.”

Jack hashed it out some more and finally exhaled. He edged forward, gingerly hunkered down and scooped the dog up. Chichi’s eyes grew heavy, contented, looking up into his. “Are you running some kind of weird dog makeover campaign?”

“We all need to be loved.”

Jack shot her a look. “You’re not trying to get me to adopt this thing, are you? Because my lifestyle isn’t conducive, to say the least.”

“He’s on loan from a friend.” The longtime owner of the café right next to this parking lot.

As Chichi’s head and tongue craned up, Jack recoiled. “And the friend wants it back?”

“Oh, c’mon. You’re not that harsh.”

He arched a brow. “I have it on good authority that I am.”

From many, including Becca. And yet Jack must have owned a soul at some point. He’d wanted to marry that woman, hadn’t he? Ipso facto, he’d been in love, a self-sacrificing condition from all accounts. Of course, he could’ve simply been trying to screw with her brain. She wouldn’t put it past him. And yet somehow, deep down, Becca knew he’d told the truth, at least about that.

Still gazing up at Jack, Chichi put his miniature paw on his chest. What a picture.

“He’s really taken to you,” she said.

The dog yipped and one side of Jack’s mouth twitched—almost a grin. “He sounds like a mouse.”

Moving closer, Becca ran a palm over Chichi’s head. When the dog laid his ear against Jack’s chest, her fingers skimmed that solid warmth, too, and for one drugging moment she imagined herself curled up in those capable arms, snuggling in against that sensational rock of a chest.

“He loves the sand and water,” she said.

“That’s my cue to take him for a walk while music plays over a slow-motion montage.”

“I’m not aiming that high.” Yet. She did, however, want to bring out Jack’s softer, more compassionate side.

When Jack set him on the ground, Chichi trotted off down the wooden-slat path to the beach. Then he stopped and looked back, as if making sure he was being followed.

Shielding his gaze from the sun, Jack surveyed the quiet area. “We’ll need a leash.”

“It’s a leash-free beach.”

“So a bigger dog can just romp up and have him for lunch?”

“Hasn’t happened yet.”

“A hawk might swoop and carry him off. I’m serious.”

Becca was laughing. Was Jack embarrassed or just being difficult? Either way, she was going to win. She skirted around the rear to give him a good push. But when she set her palms on his back, ready to shove, heat swirled up her arms, zapping her blood all the way to her core. At the same time, Jack spun around and, playing, caught her hands.

She should have stepped back then and put some physical distance between them. But his expression changed so quickly from games to that intense, dark gaze searching hers…when a thick vein in his throat began to throb, she couldn’t help it. Becca felt mesmerized by the beat.

Chichi’s yip broke the trance. The sound of waves washing onto shore faded back up. Again, she felt wind pulling through her hair. Light-headed, she edged back at the same time Jack reached to bring her closer. He missed catching her by a whisker.

Gathering herself, Becca nodded toward Chichi. “Go on,” she said in an unintentionally husky voice. “He’s waiting.”

“What about you?”

“I have someone to see.” Her friend, Chichi’s owner.

He took two purposeful steps, closing the gap between them again. Had he suddenly grown six inches? Becca felt dwarfed…very nearly consumed.

“Becca, you said this was fun time.”

Her heart was pounding so hard, she had to swallow against the knot lodged in her throat before tacking up a smile.

“So…” She shrugged. “Have fun.”

But Jack didn’t move. If he reached for her hand now, Becca wasn’t sure which way it might go. How easy would it be to pretend they were a regular couple out for the day with their dog on the beach. But this wasn’t about her. Definitely wasn’t about them as a couple.

The intensity in Jack’s expression finally eased. When he bent to slip off his shoes, Becca released that breath. As he trotted off down onto the beach, Chichi scampered back up, trying to scoot between his legs on each step. When Jack almost stumbled, Becca laughed. Glancing back, he laughed, too—a hearty, deeply stirring sound that in some ways touched Becca’s heart.

She had to believe…

There must be hope for us all.

Amidst a clump of dried seaweed, Jack found a stick to toss while Becca disappeared in through the front door of a café located next to the parking lot. When what’s-his-face let out a bark, Jack refocused and hurled the stick toward the water. He watched the dog scamper off, kicking up sand as he went. It was a perfect Californian day, Jack was a fan of the beach and, okay, this dog was half-cute in a sincerely off kind of way. But Jack’s mind was stuck on Becca. First, he understood the visit to Brightside House. Becca had wanted to bring him up close and personal with the good work her foundation was doing, the real life people the funds helped. The way she had highlighted Torielle’s dramatic change in circumstances had been a nice touch. It was obviously a worthwhile and solid program.

But what was she thinking lumping him with a dog? Was this introduction somehow linked to opening his eyes in connection to a pet adoption agency, perhaps? Whatever Becca was hatching here had to do with advancing her cause of coaxing him away from a takeover bid.

She would be pleased to hear that this morning had made him think.

More importantly, Becca made him feel. Whenever they touched, even a brush, Jack felt it to the marrow of his bones—they had sexual compatibility through the roof. And a minute ago, he’d put a finger on at least one reason for that. Becca wasn’t playing hard to get. She was hard to get. It wasn’t happening, not in this lifetime, even while they both felt temptation gnawing and growing between them. With Becca, ethics came first, last and everywhere in between.

If they should happen to come to some understanding regarding the rescue of her beloved foundation, she would worry that a rogue like him could always go back on his word. She might suggest a contract with special clauses, Jack supposed…in which case, perhaps he could slip in a couple of special private conditions of his own.

Nah. That was low, even for him.

Jack was between throws and watching Becca from a distance as she spoke with a woman on the veranda of the café when his cell phone rang. After checking the caller ID, he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Angelica just called,” Logan said. “She wanted my opinion again.”

“And you said?”

Logan recited his standard response. “She needs to accept the terms of the will.”

“But she resisted.”

“She still can’t believe J.D. would do this to her. She’s convinced there’s some kind of conspiracy going on.”

Jack transferred the cell to his other hand and tossed the stick again. “Poor kid.”

“Angelica’s hardly a child.”

“There’s a part of me that still sees her that way.”

Jack had felt for Angelica having grown up without her mother, although from all reports her aunt had done a great job as a substitute. J.D.’s longtime widowed sister-in-law, Marlene, still resided in a private wing of the homestead belonging to the Big Blue.

Of course, her son, Chance, had inherited a whopping sixty percent of the ranch. Real generous of J.D. It must have made Angelica wonder if what appeared to be favoritism was gender-related. It made Jack wonder, too. If J.D. had sired a son rather than a daughter, would he have structured his will differently, leaving out the complications that Angelica was experiencing now?

Jack hadn’t thought about being a father himself, not since he’d been in love with Krystal back in college. He’d been a different person then. His own most recent will left everything to Sylvia and some friends as well as to charity.

Ha. Wouldn’t that make Becca’s day.

Chichi was dancing on his hind legs, tongue flapping, wanting to play fetch some more.

“I’m away from the office the rest of the week,” Jack told Logan, throwing the slimy stick yet again. Logan didn’t need to know why he was away. The attorney was tetchy enough about this final stretch as it was.

“But you’ll keep your cell on,” Logan said.

“Angelica knows I’m available to talk day or night.”

“And if she wants to speak face-to-face?”

“I’m there. No question.”

A pause. “Maybe it would be better if you weren’t available for a while.”

“Can’t do that, Logan. We agreed to play by the rules.”

“Yeah.” He exhaled. “I know.”

When Jack caught sight of Becca leaving the café and heading down toward the entrance to the beach, he signed off.

Becca joined him on the sand a couple of minutes later.

“You were on the phone,” she said. “Business?”

“Always.”

“Nothing too urgent?”

“It’s in hand.” He glanced at the café. “I was hoping you might bring back supplies.”

“What about you, Chichi?” Becca asked, bending and patting her thighs. “Hungry, little fella?”

The dog sneezed and barked and then picked up the stick and dropped it at Jack’s feet again.

“His batteries don’t wind down,” he told Becca. “I’ve tossed that stick a hundred times.”

“A hundred?”

“Definitely fifty.”

“So, you’ve got those endorphins pumping?”

As a sea breeze picked up, pulling her summer dress back against the curves and valleys of her body, Jack nodded. “You could say I’m pumped, yeah.”

She waved for them both to follow. As Jack jogged after her, he glanced over a shoulder. Chichi was sitting, stuck beside that stupid stick. Jack whistled through his fingers.

“Yo. Get a move on, slowpoke.”

Chichi scampered up and damned if he didn’t leap into Jack’s arms like a circus act. Jack pulled his head away from that feral tongue and then caught up with Becca.

“So, tell me about the foundation’s link to animal shelters.” If that’s what this was about.

“No links to shelters. I simply thought that while we were here you two could meet,” she said innocently as she collected Jack’s loafers because his hands were full. “Pets are good for humans.”

“So are other humans.”

“Yep. Having friends is important.”

“What would you say to you and me becoming friends?”

She gave a small smile. “Oh, Jack, you know that’s not possible.”

“But it would be possible if I backed away from Lassiter Media?”

A glimmer of hope lit her eyes. “That sure would be a start.”

As they walked up to the café, Jack ran over that last bit of conversation in his mind. If he were to spend time with Becca outside of this current context, he would have preferred to tick the “sex between consulting adults” box. And yet he had asked about them becoming friends? And he’d meant it. Clearly he had left off the “with benefits” part.

Jack was reading the name on the café’s facade, Hailey’s Favorite Haunt, when a van rolled up alongside the Bambino; the insignia of a top-rating tabloid entertainment news show was stenciled on the side. Jack’s antennae twitched. Over the years, he’d tackled his fair share of reporters—truckloads since word of his possible takeover bid for Lassiter Media had leaked. But that crew wasn’t here to hassle him. Normally he planned every minute of his day, from first call in the morning to final perusal of documents at night. However, Becca had drawn up this itinerary. No one knew he was here, not even Sylvia. The crew had probably pulled up to grab a coffee for the road.

Then a man jumped out the side door of the vehicle with a camera perched on his shoulder, and Jack paused. Next, a well-dressed woman with a mic climbed out the front passenger side, immediately focused on him and smiled like he was expecting her. Jack set his jaw.

Was this ambush somehow a part of Becca’s weeklong deal? If so, he was not amused.

Seven

On their way up to the café, Becca heard someone call out Jack’s name. She stopped to track down the source. A tall, slender woman in a bright tangerine skirt-suit and a man with a news camera balanced on one shoulder were ambling across the parking lot, headed their way.

An ice-cold feeling cut through her middle. No one other than her friend had known to expect her at this time. So what was a tabloid TV crew doing here? And what kind of spin would they put on her presence here with Jack?

Holding Chichi close, Jack asked, “Know anything about this?”

She shook her head.

“Lord knows how they’ll twist this.”

Jack growled. “God, I hate the media.”

Becca’s hackles went up. “You did happen to notice the name of the company you want to take over, didn’t you? Lassiter Media. Not that you intend to keep it long.” Keep it whole.

He repositioned Chichi against his chest. “We can be chewing each other out when that reporter reaches us or we can feed her crumbs and hopefully they’ll slouch off.”

The reporter and her cameraman were seconds away. Becca exhaled. “Any idea what crumbs?”

A wicked grin eased across his face. “I have a couple in mind.”

“Mr. Reed, isn’t it?” the reporter asked when she reached them. “Jack Reed. And you’re Becca Stevens, head of the Lassiter Charity Foundation. Do you have a moment to answer a few questions?”

Jack replied for them both. “No trouble at all.”

“Mr. Reed, you’re aware of the publicity and unrest surrounding speculation that you and Angelica Lassiter may succeed in a takeover bid of Lassiter Media after she was shut out of running the company. Would you care to comment on this secluded get-together between yourself and a respected member of Evan McCain’s umbrella management team?”

“Ms. Stevens and I have business to discuss regarding the foundation,” Jack replied.

The reporter cocked her head and then made a point of eying Jack’s loafers, which Becca still held.

“A leisurely day at the beach seems an odd way to discuss business,” she said. “Could this be viewed more as a date? And if so, Ms. Stevens, how will you explain this kind of rendezvous to your Lassiter colleagues who are pretty down on Mr. Reed at the moment?”

Becca’s blood pressure spiked. This might not look kosher at first glance, but her colleagues would never believe that she’d turned Benedict Arnold. They knew where her heart lay and it was not with Jack Reed.

“As Mr. Reed explained,” she replied with barely a tremor in her voice, “today is strictly business.”

The reporter’s sky-blue eyes narrowed to slits. “So the rumors regarding a romantic liaison between the two of you are unfounded?”

That hit her in the chest. “What the—?”

“My sole purpose today,” Jack replied, “is to build on my already solid support of the Lassiter Charity Foundation. Now, we’re late for an appointment. I’ll thank you both to leave us to our privacy.”

Becca rubbed a throbbing temple. She’d never suffered from migraines but she was sure she was getting one now.

How would Evan McCain react if or when this hit the airwaves? She had wanted to keep quiet about her long shot plan to crack Jack’s enigmatic side and in some way at least sway his thinking. Now she would need to contact Sarah, her assistant, as well as Evan, to reassure them that she hadn’t shifted camps, and never would.

Or maybe it would be wiser to simply call this all off now.

After Jack set Chichi down, Becca led him around the café’s wide veranda to an ocean-facing table set with a reserved sign.

“You realize the dog has followed us,” Jack said quietly, casting glances at the other guests sprinkled inside the café as well as out here in the fresh air.

“No problem,” Becca said. “Trust me.”

They were taking their seats when Becca’s friend appeared in her trademark denim skirt and vest. They’d had a conversation earlier at this very table when she’d left Jack on the beach.

“Jack Reed,” Becca said, “meet Hailey Lang.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Hailey said with the hint of a Texas twang. Her family had moved over from Houston twenty years ago when Hailey was eight. “I saw you tripped up by some pesky reporter.”

“They appeared out of nowhere,” Becca said, and then noticed how Hailey averted her gaze before she spoke again, upbeat this time.

“How you doing there, Chichi?”

Now Jack looked between the dog and Hailey. “You know each other, too?”

“He’s my baby,” Hailey said while Chichi sat patiently by her feet, his tail fanning the wood planking. “He’s a bit of a celeb around these parts.”

Jack leaned back in his chair. “He does kind of grow on you.”

“So, Chichi’s going on a trip with you guys. One of his favorite things is riding shotgun.”

“He’s partial to sticks, too. Which reminds me…” Jack got to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to wash up before lunch.”

As Jack moved off, Hailey crouched down beside Becca’s chair. “Becca, honey, I think I might need to apologize.”

“For reserving us the best table in the house?”

“The reporter who gave you grief just now…” She leaned closer. “Thing is I have a regular who comes in most days around brunch time for our Delite Mushroom Omelet. Anita’s daughter works for the same cable show. Anita talks about her all the time, how she’s a hound, always after a big scoop. I think Anita overheard part of our conversation earlier about what you’re doing here with Jack Reed. I think she tipped her daughter off.”

Becca thought back. “You mean the redhead with a French twist, who was sitting a couple of tables over?” Becca had felt that woman’s eyes on them a few times earlier.

“Anita McGraw has a keen ear for gossip. And if there’s none around, she’ll make dirt up.” Hailey sighed. “Is it going to cause much trouble, hon?”

Nothing could be done about it now. And Becca didn’t want Hailey to feel responsible or to worry. “It’ll be fine,” she assured her friend as Jack returned to the table.

She would make those phone calls to Sarah and Evan’s office. She’d decide then on whether or not to cancel this challenge.

Looking halfway relieved, Hailey pushed to her feet.

“Do I need a menu?” Jack asked, pulling his chair in. “I’m open to suggestions.”

Hailey piped up. “Chef’s salad and specialty pizza. That’s with prosciutto, caramelized pear and goat cheese.”

“I’m in,” Becca said.

“Times two. So, how did you two become friends?” Jack asked, shaking out a napkin to place on his lap.

“Coming up two years ago, Becca broke down just over there, this side of the median strip.” Hailey nodded toward a section of road. “Chichi let me know someone needed help. He zipped right up to me, turning circles like his tail was on fire.”

“Water pump,” Becca explained. “It’d been coughing all the way up the coast. The hood was spewing steam.”

“I have a cousin just round the corner—the best mechanic in town,” Hailey went on. “His specialty is old cars.”

“Classic cars,” Becca corrected. “He wanted to buy it, remember?”

“I sure do,” Hailey said. “You wouldn’t take the money even when he doubled the going rate. I don’t ever see you giving up those wheels.”

“There’s no accounting for taste,” Becca agreed. “Hailey ended up giving me a bed for the night while the repairs were done. Chichi slept at my feet.”

Hailey sighed at Chichi, who was still gazing adoringly up at her. “That dog there is a fine judge of character.”

Jack grinned. “And yet he likes me?”

“We were watching you two on the beach.” Hailey winked at Jack. “He likes you a whole lot.”

Becca had a moment of what psychologists term cognitive dissonance. She knew Chichi was a good gauge of character. She also knew he liked Jack. And yet Jack was not of good character. It made her brain hurt.

Hailey headed off. “I’ll get this order under way and finish packing that ice chest for you all.”

“Ice chest?” Jack asked, pouring water for them both from a carafe. “Are we going on a picnic?”

“Not a picnic, as such,” Becca said and he grinned.

“Another one of your secret destinations?”

“With no chance of reporters this time.” She lifted her glass. “One hundred percent guaranteed.”

But first, she’d check with the boss.

Three hours later, watching out for media tails the whole way, Becca pulled the Bambino up in the middle of freaking nowhere—or, rather, somewhere east of Fresno.

Chichi was asleep on Jack’s chest. The drool went from his neck to—he didn’t want to think about it. With the dog’s head and that tongue hanging out the window more than half the time, the car’s side panel must be Slime City by now.