Taming the Takeover Tycoon

At the bottom on the bleachers, Jack held up a hand. “Excuse me a moment? I need to make a call.”

Okay. She’d drowned him with information, trying to make every second count. Now she needed to ease her foot off the pedal. Mix it up a bit.

“No problem,” she said. “Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

Jack drew out his cell and thumbed in a number as he strolled across the floor. By the time he’d disconnected, he’d wound back and was approaching a group who included Tom Layton. When the two men shook hands and spoke, Becca debated whether or not to join them. But they only talked for a moment before Tom sent a friendly wave her way and let Jack go. As Jack drew closer, she couldn’t hide her smile.

“That was nice,” she said.

“Sure. Nice guy.” Jack rested his hand on her arm and eyed the exit. “Let’s go.”

Logic told Becca to remove herself from his touch. This wasn’t a date.

Then again, giving her a guiding hand wasn’t exactly an inappropriate gesture, either. If she wanted the chance to push her case going forward, she had to choose her battles. Jack had accepted her challenge, but he could walk away at any time.

And, secretly...

A part of her liked the contact. Crazy, dangerous, stupid. Still, there it was.

As he led her toward the gym doors, Becca made a suggestion.

“We could go back to the office for that coffee. My barista skills are renowned in that building.”

“You’re not afraid of being hit by a grenade,” he said, “or ambushed by gunfire? That’s why you waited outside this morning, isn’t it? You wanted to keep this arrangement and the questions as quiet as possible.”

Her step almost faltered. “I told you why I met you downstairs.”

“You’re not worried some people might think you’re getting too friendly with the foe?”

“If I was worried about my reputation, I wouldn’t invite you back, now, would I?” Sliding her arm away from his, she turned his assumption on its head. “Maybe it’s you who’s afraid to front up at Lassiter Media.”

His slanted grin oozed sex appeal. “Yeah,” he said. “That must be it.”

As they entered the parking lot, Becca took stock. She’d decided to ease back on the info dump, and she’d got rattled at the idea of her loyalties ever being questioned, but she still needed to keep the dialogue open and evolving. She had to keep Jack close. So, big breath and moving on.

“Now that’s settled,” she said, walking alongside of him, “are we on for coffee?”

“If Danishes are involved.”

“You’re a fan?”

“Can you spell cheese, blueberry, apple toffee?”

Suddenly Becca could taste all her favorites. “How about cinnamon or custard?”

“Now you’re talking.”

“With my family owning a bakery, there was lots of cake growing up. Too much.”

He gave her an odd look and then smiled. “You can never have too much cake.”

Becca could have argued. She also wanted to know what that strange look was about. Instead she smiled as he opened the car door for her. If she let him in a little more, maybe he would open up to her, too. And then surely light and a sprinkling of goodness would fall among the shadows. Even where blackhearted Jack Reed was concerned.

* * *

Jack parked in a space outside of the Lassiter Media Building. After switching off the ignition, he lifted his chin to loosen his tie. He was serious about needing a coffee—extra strong. At each turn this morning, he’d been taken off guard.

Firstly, he was sure Sylvia had said that Becca had been a foster kid. Was she lying about the bakery? Something hinky was going on there.

Second, he, too, was a benefactor of Ride for U.S. When Tom Layton had spotted him and Becca in the bleachers together, Jack had seen speculation flare in the younger man’s eyes. It wasn’t a reach to think Tom had wondered whether he and Becca had partnered up in some charity-minded capacity. So, before Tom had the chance to wander over and all kinds of questions were asked, Jack had made an excuse and had “bumped” into him. Then, on the quiet, he’d let Tom know nothing had changed. No one needed to know who Reed Incorporated gave to, when, how or particularly why—unless it was the taxman.

If Becca wanted to stand behind general consensus and believe his character was a step away from sludge, Jack was used to being pegged as a villain. Hell, wearing that label where Becca was concerned was probably best. When the Lassiter deal went his way and the ax began to fall all around her, she might be hurt but at least she wouldn’t be surprised.

On the upside, he had heard everything she’d said about problems facing young adults. Depression, self-harm, suicide...he wished he could wave a wand and all the damage—past, present and future—would be fixed.

Becca got out of the car before Jack had a chance to swing around and open her door.

“Will we personally choose our Danishes?” she asked over the roof of the car. “Or should we have them delivered?”

On the way back from the school, she’d mentioned a good bakery near the office.

“We’ll go have a look,” he said.

“Cheese, blueberry and apple toffee, right?”

Slipping on sunglasses, he met her at the trunk. “And cinnamon and custard.”

She laughed, an effervescent, sexy sound that suited her far better than a scowl. “Just how much can you eat? Or am I buying for the whole office?”

“I’m buying,” he said. “Might as well throw in a couple of chocolate chip muffins while we’re at it.”

“Now that’s getting dangerous.” They headed off toward the mall via the building’s entrance. “And it’s my treat. No argument. You’re my guest.” She playfully eyed him up and down. “A guest with a very big appetite.”

“And growing by the minute.”

Her smile changed in a knowing, measured way at the same time her gaze flicked to his mouth. Every one of Jack’s extremities began to tingle.

Maybe she’s the one doing the seducing.

Earlier, he had scoffed at Sylvia’s suggestion, but the idea of Becca Stevens as calculating seductress out to save the world wasn’t so far-fetched. Would she think that flirting, or even sleeping with him, might gain her information...curry favor...change his mind? After the kiss they had shared, he knew her hormones wouldn’t object even if her conscience did.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw a woman emerge from the building’s main entrance. The slender build, dark brown hair and matching eyes were unmistakable. Angelica Lassiter was so absorbed in her thoughts, she almost ran into them without noticing. Recognizing Jack first, she sagged and let out a ragged sigh.

“Thank God. How did you know I’d be here?” she asked. Then she saw Becca.

Angelica was strong-willed, like her dad. But right now, with those dark-brown eyes wide and questioning, she looked as if she was teetering on an edge.

Jack spoke to Becca first. “Can we do this later?”

She said, “Of course,” before offering Angelica an awkward goodbye. As Becca moved inside the building, Jack looped his arm through Angelica’s.

“C’mon. Let’s walk.”

Four

“What are you doing with Becca Stevens?” Angelica asked as Jack ushered her away from the Lassiter Media Building and down the busy boulevard sidewalk.

“Becca’s worried about the foundation’s future,” he said.

Angelica nodded deeply. “She does a brilliant job there. Her heart is totally in the right place. But, Jack, don’t think for a minute she’s on our side. She doesn’t like you. Given our association, I’m sure she doesn’t like me much at the moment, either.”

Angelica could easily have grown up a spoiled pain. She’d come along later in Ellie Lassiter’s life, after J.D. and his wife had been warned against ever trying to conceive. Ellie had died just days after giving birth to a healthy baby girl. Elevated blood pressure had brought on a stroke.

Years earlier, Ellie and J.D. had adopted her orphaned nephews, Sage and Dylan. After Ellie’s death, J.D. and the boys had showered all their love and attention on Angelica, who had developed into a remarkably caring, career-minded woman.

It was no secret that J.D. had been grooming his daughter to take over Lassiter Media. When J.D. had died suddenly from a massive coronary, everyone was shocked to hear his final wishes at the will’s reading. But, one by one, all had accepted the inexplicable terms. All except Angelica and, of course, Jack.

“Yep, Becca supports Evan.”

“And if you want her to switch camps,” Angelica went on, “you’re wasting your time. When that woman makes up her mind about something, there’s no changing it. And frankly, Jack, I don’t see any point in trying.”

“You’ve got it mixed up. Becca came to me. She wants me to see where the foundation’s money goes. All the good it does.”

He thought better of admitting he was hoping to pick up some Lassiter intel along the way. He wouldn’t add to the tally of his baser tactics where Angelica’s opinion of him was concerned.

She was mulling over his words. “Becca wants to inspire you enough that you’ll back off from any takeover bid, and all the bad publicity and doubt plaguing the foundation will disappear along with you.”

She stopped and sat heavily down on a vacant bench at a bus stop.

“I hate that the company is suffering,” she said. “I hate that my family can barely look at me anymore.” She exhaled a shaky breath as he sat alongside of her. “It’s getting to me, Jack. Grinding me down until my head feels like it might explode.”

“Trust me,” he said. “We’re in a good place with this.”

“I rang Dylan this morning, a sisterly call to see how he and Jenna are doing.”

Dylan had got involved with Jenna Montgomery, a florist in Cheyenne. Jack had heard that the couple had weathered some severe relationship storms before recently tying the knot.

“Of course, the conversation swung onto the will,” Angelica went on. “I got so stirred up, I could have hit something. Out of everyone, I never thought Dylan would turn against me. We were so close when we were young. I thought we still were.”

After high school, Dylan had set sail to see the world. Odd jobs in restaurants had grown into head chef opportunities in premiere establishments. Five years ago, J.D. asked him to head the Lassiter Grill Group with restaurants in L.A., Vegas, Chicago and now their hometown, Cheyenne. He’d inherited complete control of the restaurant business when J.D. died.

“Dylan told me again,” Angelica said, “that I needed to accept Dad’s wishes. That I should bury the hatchet and get on with my life.” Staring into the noisy downtown traffic, she bit her lip and shook her head. “I needed to talk to Evan. Thrash it out. Know what he said? Evan said I should settle down. Sitting in my chair, in my office. Can you believe it?”

As a tear rolled down her cheek, Jack fished out a pressed handkerchief from his inside breast pocket.

Gritting her teeth, Angelica dabbed her face. “I can’t get my mind around the fact that Evan somehow conspired with my father to do this. Or maybe Evan somehow conspired against us both.”

Jack wanted to put his arm around her. Squeeze her hand. But Angelica didn’t need sympathy. She needed firm direction. He sat forward, elbows on thighs, fingers thatched between knees.

“Evan’s right,” he said.

As the 302 bus growled by, she shot Jack a glance. “Excuse me?”

“You do need to settle down. Then you need to refocus and never let that target out of your sights. You can’t afford to let emotion get in the way.”

“Just sometimes, Jack...sometimes I wonder whether we’re doing the right thing. Whether it’s worth it.”

“You wonder whether you ought to give up your inheritance because Sage and Dylan don’t approve?” Pulling out all the stops, Jack turned toward her. “Sage was never close to J.D. He’s a billionaire in his own right, for God’s sakes, and yet he got twenty-five percent of Lassiter Media in the will. And Dylan? Why, he’s happy as a pig in mud since he’s snagged controlling interest of the Lassiter Grill Group. Then there’s you. J.D.’s only child through blood. His little princess. Tell me how the hell it works when you get a lousy ten percent and the man you trusted enough to want to marry walks away with controlling voting interest of your father’s company.” Jack sneered. “I don’t give a rat’s furry behind whether or not Sage or Dylan or anyone else approves of your attempt to get what’s rightfully yours.”

Angelica’s shoulders squared slightly and she blinked several times as if her eyes might be stinging.

“I miss Dad so much,” she said. “I wish I could talk to him now. Let him make sense of it all. I’m torn between wanting to fold and being outraged that he could embarrass and hurt me like this. I worked my rear end off for that company. It was all I thought, ate. Slept.” She swallowed back emotion and brushed away another tear. “I’m just so tired of it all.”

Jack almost groaned aloud. He’d valued J.D.’s friendship, but if he’d been alive and standing in front of him now, Jack would have plowed him in the jaw, what Jack stood to make out of this deal be damned.

Angelica dabbed her cheek again. “I’m a wimp.”

“Hey, would I team up with a wimp?”

When he bumped her shoulder, she almost grinned.

“Sylvia and I are working nonstop,” he said, “finding ways to boost our position in the company’s shares. It won’t be long now. We’re almost there. Okay?”

A genuine smile flickered at the corners of her mouth before her gaze narrowed, searching his.

“In the past, you’ve only ever wanted to tear down and sell off companies you’d acquired. Why is Lassiter Media any different?”

“You really need to ask?”

“Everyone’s asking.”

“J.D. was a close friend. I’ve known you since you were a skinny kid with braids. I’m doing precisely, to a T, what your father would want me to do.”

“Except it goes against his final wishes.”

“That can’t have been his intent. Search your heart and tell me you don’t agree.”

Her gaze narrowed again.

“You would never betray me, would you, Jack?”

As a shiver ran up his spine, Jack looked her dead in the eye. “No, Angelica,” he said. “I would never betray you.”

* * *

Jack followed Angelica back to the Lassiter family mansion, which sat on two acres of Beverly Hills north of Sunset. J.D. had bought the Spanish Colonial revival twenty years ago when he’d created the L.A. office. Built in the 1930s, the mansion retained its original wrought-iron detail, leaded glass and homemade Spanish tiles. In recent years, however, Angelica had contributed much in the way of decorating its 11,000 feet of luxury living space. It had been more her home than J.D.’s.

When Jack and Angelica began to go over some figures and she asked him to stay for lunch, of course, he accepted. He even helped her prepare enough egg salad sandwiches to feed ten. Then they sat and ate in the lanai, taking in the sparkling pool and the flawless blue sky of late summer. By the time they had talked through everything and Angelica felt positive again about going forward, the sun was arcing toward the west.

As she accompanied Jack through the living room with its soaring ceiling to the front entrance, for the hundredth time he considered the part he was playing in this unfolding drama. Complex and uncomfortable, even for him. Still, as he had said to Angelica earlier, they need only keep their eyes on the target.

“I shouldn’t have kept you this long.” Angelica looked weary, resting her cheek against the opened door edge as Jack stepped onto the extravagant porch.

“I’m here anytime you need me.”

“Becca Stevens must be wondering where you got to.”

“She probably welcomed the break.”

“I doubt that.”

When Angelica sent him a fond smile, Jack held her shoulder. “You’ll be okay.”

“You were always a good friend to my father...to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to worry about that.”

There was a spring in Jack’s step as he crossed to his car. He had helped Angelica—or not helped, depending on which team a person rooted for. On top of that, even after having his fill of egg salad, Jack was still fanging for those Danishes.

Steering out onto the main road, he put through a call to the Lassiter Foundation and gave his name. He was transferred to Becca’s assistant.

“Sorry, Mr. Reed. Ms. Stevens left for the day.”

Jack checked the dash clock. A little after four. “She’s gone home?” he asked.

“I couldn’t say.”

He reverse head-butted the seat. Damn.

“Do you have her private number?”

“Sorry, sir. I can’t give that out.”

Jack knew he could get it easily enough. Not the point. Nothing was more important to Becca than saving her foundation, which translated into putting all her efforts into trying to talk him around. Surely her nose wasn’t put out because Angelica had needed him earlier.

So, what had come up that was so urgent? Was Becca playing hard to get? He wasn’t that desperate for Danish.

When his cell rang a minute later, he connected without checking the ID.

It wasn’t Becca.

“Hey, Jack. David Baldwin here.”

Jack flinched but put a smile in his voice. “Hey. How’s it going, David?”

“Call me Dave. Have you got a few minutes? I’d like to show you something.”

“Sylvia already mentioned another factory tour.”

“She let me know. You’ve seen enough there.”

“And you’ll have an offer by end of the month.” Silence echoed down the line. “Dave, you there?”

“I wanted to speak with you about a personal matter.”

Damn it. He should’ve checked that caller ID. “I’m not sure I can help with any personal issues.”

“Actually it’s about me helping you.”

“I’m tied up at the moment, but sit tight and we’ll get that offer—”

“This is about family, Jack. It’s about...a journey.”

Jack had heard it all before in a hundred different ways from just as many different people. The times they had spoken, David Baldwin had come across as a good guy who’d worked hard and considered his employees to be just that...family. Now, he wanted Jack to get involved, drag his financial butt out of the fire and save his business. Save the day.

And, hey, there was something about David Baldwin that gave Jack pause. Something in the deep brown of his eyes that made him care. But this association could end only one way and that was not with the two of them sharing Christmas dinners.

“I’ll be in touch soon,” Jack said. “Another call’s coming through. Take care.”

He disconnected. A single beat later, pain ripped through his chest—a stab followed by one almighty twist. Stopping at lights, he winced, massaging the spot.

Not heartburn or, God forbid, a heart attack. Just this Lassiter issue getting to him. The Baldwin business, too. If David wanted to save his family, best of luck. Jack couldn’t help.

And, while she might never accept it—while she would want to see his head on a spike when this was done—Jack couldn’t help Becca Stevens, either.

* * *

The next morning, Jack’s cell phone woke him.

Rubbing his eyes, Jack grabbed it, checked the caller ID—lesson learned—and connected.

“Jack?” Becca sounded puzzled. “Did I wake you?”

He sat up, ran a hand through his hair. The bedside clock read eight-oh-five. Holy crap. He always had trouble getting to sleep, but what the hell time had he finally nodded off last night?

“I thought I’d call early,” she went on. “I have a plan.”

Jack smothered a yawn. “I like plans.”

“Can I come over and tell you about it?”

“I thought you might have been, well...”

“Pissed at you after ditching me yesterday? I understand your situation with Angelica. She feels backed into a corner.”

“The only way out is to fight.”

“Or to accept. Even forgive.”

He swung his feet over and onto the floor. “Ultimately, that’s up to her.”

“It’d help if you stopped pushing her.”

Jack grinned. “I thought you said you understood.”

He heard her sigh. At least she didn’t argue.

“What time can I come over?” she asked.

She certainly was eager. “Why not the office?”

“It’d save time.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “I’ll just jump in the shower.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest that he’d wait for her. Bad Jack.

“See you in thirty then,” she said.

Naked, he crossed to the bathroom. “I’ll be here.” With bells on.

* * *

Jack answered his booming doorbell wearing tatty jeans that hung low on his hips. He hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt. When he lifted an arm to lean against the jamb and his epic six-pack firmed up even more, Becca could have drooled.

Look into his eyes. Not the big, bronzed chest or that strip of skin south of his navel, damn it. Look at his eyes.

“Morning,” he said. “You’re late.”

A lousy ten minutes. And she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking where the rest of his clothes were, either. Even his feet were bare; who knew toes could be sexy?

The other time she had visited, an older man with an impeccable air had seen her through to the back lawn. “I thought the butler would answer the door,” she said.

“Merv’s not a butler.” His arm slid down as he stepped back to allow her inside. “He looks after things for me on the home front. It’s his day off.”

“Did you grow up having a person like Merv around to mix your chocolate milk?” she asked, stepping into the double-story, marble-decked foyer that smelled of money.

“I did.”

“Must be nice.”

He laughed. “Still trying to guilt me out?”

“Just saying...”

“Merv does a great job. In return he is paid extremely well.”

She pinned up a smile. “Then everyone’s happy.”

Jack must have been six-two or -three. In peep-toe flats that matched her simple white summer dress, Becca felt way less than her average height. When his scent filled her lungs, she fought the absurd urge to wither against him...even drag her lips all over those pecs. His chest was that good.

Before he shut the door, he did a double-take at her ride parked in the forecourt. “Tell me that’s not a company car.”

“My ’63 Fiat Bambino is what’s known as a true classic.”

He squinted, looking harder—admiring the distinctive light mint-green shade, perhaps. “Are those dinky wheels even roadworthy?”

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