by Jayne Castle
“Are you really doing business with the man?” Eric asked conversationally, digging into his sort-of-hard eggs. He paused after the first bite to go to the refrigerator and get a bottle of catsup, which he poured liberally over his plate.
“Yes. He’s backing me financially in a deal I have going in Phoenix.”
“Sam, why did he happen to bring up Buchanan’s name last night? And don’t tell me it was sheer coincidence. Does your business deal with Gabe have something to do with Buchanan?”
“In a way,” she responded shortly, not wanting to discuss it. Eric knew of her short-lived engagement to Drew Buchanan, but he didn’t know of the taste for revenge she had been nurturing for three years. No one did.
“Does Gabe know about you and Buchanan?”
“No. And I’d appreciate it if you would kindly keep your mouth shut about it!”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want him thinking there’s anything personal in this deal. He might decide not to back me if he thought that I had some personal reason for tackling Buchanan!” she said in exasperation. “I mean it, Eric. I don’t want you dragging that three-year-old mess into the conversation. Understand?”
“I understand.” He looked up at her. “Is there?”
“Is there what?”
“Anything personal in this deal you’re setting up?”
“No! Damn it, it’s strictly business. I worked for Buchanan, remember? I know how he thinks and how he operates. I have a plan that will enable me to take advantage of a certain situation in which he’s involved. That’s all. Furthermore, if anyone’s got anything personal at stake in going up against Buchanan, it’s Gabriel. Drew’s company aced him out of a major deal a few years ago. Gabriel’s quite happy to have a little business revenge.”
“You know what I think, Sam?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“I think you’re playing with fire. Better be nice to Gabriel. He’s the only one I know who might be able to keep you from getting burned. Any more of those sort-of-hard eggs?”
“They have all gone quite hard,” she retorted nastily.
It was Gabriel’s voice which came next. “Sounds like s-s-she’s in a great mood this morning,” he remarked calmly as he walked into the kitchen.
Samantha looked up in consternation, but a quick glance at his face assured her he had overheard nothing about Buchanan. She relaxed at once. “Good morning, Gabriel. Want some scrambled eggs?”
“Why not? Since I’ve met you, I’ve started living dangerously. Dish ‘em up.” He sat down across from Eric and looked prepared for the worst.
“Start with the coffee,” Eric advised. “It helps pave the way.”
“Thank you for the advice. Samantha, your face looks like hell.”
“You and Eric both have such a way with words at this hour of the morning,” she muttered. “You don’t look so terrific yourself.”
“I’m the one who came out of this with the fewest bruises,” Eric said very seriously. “I owe you, Gabe.”
“Your sister’s already agreed to pay the tab,” Gabriel told him laconically.
Neither he nor Samantha was prepared for the angry flush which welled up in Eric’s face. “You mean by sleeping with you?” he asked harshly.
Samantha nearly choked on the bite of bacon she had been chewing. “Eric!”
“No,” Gabriel told the younger man very softly. “S-she was already sleeping with me before last night’s little punch-up, remember?”
“Gabriel! Eric! Stop it right this minute! I will not have my private life discussed over the breakfast table like this!” Samantha stood angrily on the other side of the kitchen, her hands on her hips, her cheeks burning.
The men ignored her, watching each other like circling wolves. Samantha vaguely understood that something was being settled this morning between the two of them. Something which would determine how Gabriel and Eric dealt with each other in the future.
She recognized Eric’s instinctive rejection of the idea that his sister might be sleeping with Gabriel in order to pay off some sort of debt. She also saw Gabriel’s implacable decision to have his relationship with Samantha be fully accepted for what it was. He was claiming a lover’s rights and making his position clear to the one member of Samantha’s family who might feel an obligation to protect her.
“What you and Samantha have between you,” Eric began slowly, “is your business as long as you’re not planning on forcing her to sleep with you because of what you did for me.”
“Samantha and I are quite capable of working out our own relationship. You’re not involved, Eric. What I did last night was for her.”
“You don’t give an inch, do you?” Eric said almost admiringly. “It’s take me as I am or get the hell out of Dodge, right?”
“Right.”
Eric let out his breath on a long sigh. Then he smiled crookedly. “I don’t know why I got worried there for a minute. You made it pretty clear last night that you’ll take care of her. Just chalk it up to a brother’s natural protective instincts.”
Gabriel nodded once, shortly. “All right. I’ll accept that.”
“I guess,” Eric mused consideringly, “that lovers tend to be a little protective in their own right. Which is probably why you aren’t sure you like me. You blame me for the mess Sam got into last night.”
“I’ll admit that was my initial reaction,” Gabriel allowed sardonically.
“Well, I can’t say I blame you,” Eric grunted. “It was my fault.”
Gabriel relented. “I have it on the best authority that young men tend to be a little wild at times and land themselves in trouble.”
Eric grinned as the tension between the two men broke. “Don’t you remember what you were like ten years ago, Gabe?”
“I seem to have been somewhat retarded in my development. I’m making up now for lost time.” Gabriel sighed. He glanced across the room at a stonyfaced Samantha. “Are my scrambled eggs hard enough, honey?”
“Like rocks!” she hissed.
“I can’t wait.”
Chapter Eight
“What the hell do you mean, the restaurant’s been sold? You told me everything was under control, Ingram. I’m not paying you for screw-ups like this! If we’ve got trouble on this Phoenix deal because you didn’t keep on top of the situation, your ass is going to be on the firing line.”
The thing about Drew Buchanan, Jeff Ingram decided with a strange sense of detached admiration, was that he could make chopped liver out of you without ever raising his voice. Ingram drew a long, steadying breath. He had been dreading this scene since early this morning when the agent in Phoenix had relayed the news that the parcel of land with the restaurant on it had suddenly gone off the market. It had been sold, and no one yet knew who the new buyer was. Ingram had been so sure that the restaurant wasn’t going to be a problem. So sure that the old man who owned it wanted to sell and would do so at a more than reasonable price when the Buchanan Group made its offer through its agents.
But Jeff Ingram hadn’t made the offer in time. Someone else had scooped the old, dilapidated Mexican restaurant and along with it a chunk of land that was crucial to the group’s forthcoming development project.
So here he was getting the full Buchanan coal-raking treatment. And the bastard never even raised his voice. Every word had been delivered in a cold, emotionless tone that conveyed the man’s displeasure far more effectively than any amount of chest beating and yelling would have done. Ingram had no doubt at all that his job was on the line because of that goddamned restaurant.
“It’s probably just a coincidence, sir,” he tried carefully.
Buchanan arched one brow. “Coincidence, Ingram? There are no coincidences when you’re talking seventy-million-dollar deals.”
Ingram tried again, striving to keep his own voice as cool and logical as Buchanan’s, just as if the thought of losing a forty-thousand-dollar-a-year job didn’t both
er him in the least. “Sir, the owner of that restaurant has been wanting to sell for some time. We figured there was no rush to make him an offer because there isn’t much of a market for run-down taco stands in Phoenix at the moment. We didn’t think anyone else would be interested, and if we’d rushed in too enthusiastically with an offer, people would have gotten suspicious.”
“So you let the least attractive properties wait until last.”
“Of course. Otherwise too many questions would have been raised about why unattractive parcels in downtown Phoenix were suddenly going like hotcakes. “
“You should have taken an option on that restaurant, Jeff,” Buchanan remarked, swiveling his chair around so that he could view the ocean.
“Taking an option would have had the same effect, sir. It might have alerted someone. We already had so many options going… “
“Do you know who bought the restaurant?”
Ingram ground his teeth in silent frustration and then said softly, “Not yet. We’re working on it. Should have the information by noon.”
“Jeff, when people are on the verge of lousing up seventy-million-dollar deals, I do not like to hear them using the word ‘we.’ “
Ingram clenched his fist and then consciously unclenched it. “I’ll have the information by noon.”
“A little sooner, perhaps, Jeff?”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
“Your best has been sadly lacking lately, hasn’t it?” Buchanan swung the chair back around, his eyes clear ice. Ingram wondered fleetingly if the man ever got excited or showed any real passion of any kind. He probably faked something up for that chesty Galloway woman when they were in bed together, but Ingram was willing to bet that it was pure theatrics—the right words, the right sounds, but, above all, controlled. Of course, Carol Galloway didn’t exactly come across as the wanton, melt-in-your-arms type, either. Jeff had seen her a couple of times on Buchanan’s arm, and while he had to admit there was a lot to be said for a nice pair of breasts, he, personally, liked a little warmth in a woman’s eyes to go along with them.
Perhaps he’d outgrow that idiosyncrasy when he got to Buchanan’s level, he decided sardonically. Then again, if he didn’t salvage that damned restaurant deal, his trip to the executive suite was going to be badly sidetracked.
“Sir, I regret this foul-up with the restaurant. But I still think it’s probably just an unfortunate coincidence. The old man found someone who would take the place off his hands, and he sold out. We’ll get it back.”
“I know we’ll get it back, Jeff,” Buchanan said silkily. “The question is how much will I have to pay to get it back. If whoever bought that restaurant knows the true value of the land to me, it’s going to cost. We’re in too deep to back out of the project, and if the son of a bitch knows what’s going on, he’ll know that, too. That restaurant should have cost no more than thirty or forty grand. If the new owner knows the real value, they could hold out for half a million or more. I don’t like being made a fool of, Ingram. I don’t like having some joker think he can take me to the cleaners.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Find out who bought that goddamn taco stand.” Buchanan dismissed his assistant with a disdainful nod. “I want to know by eleven o’clock this morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jeff Ingram walked out of Buchanan’s office with his usual brisk, efficient-looking stride, but inside he knew he was already running. He had to get that information, and he had to get it fast. And then he had to pray to whatever gods watched out for up-and-coming-fast-track executives that whoever had chosen to go into the taco business in Phoenix didn’t know what a gold mine he was sitting on. Shit. He doubted he’d ever eat a taco again.
***
The information was relayed from Phoenix by a phone call from one of the real estate agents the Buchanan Group had been using. It came in at ten forty-five, just as Ingram found himself understanding why so many of his colleagues had prescriptions for Valium. Fifteen minutes before the deadline. Talk about taking things down to the wire.
But the name he jotted down on his notepad wasn’t reassuringly anonymous. Maitland. Where the hell had he heard that name? Surely not the same Maitland who’d once had his job? Christ! Wasn’t anything going to go right today?
With deep foreboding Ingram made his way back up to Buchanan’s office. There, feeling as if he might very well be signing his own death warrant, he handed the piece of paper with the scribbled name on it to his boss.
And for the first time since he had met Drew Buchanan, Jeff had the satisfaction of seeing the man’s unwavering control momentarily shattered.
“The bitch!” Buchanan ground out as he read the name. “That damned bitch. What the hell does she think she’s playing at?”
Ingram waited, uncertain how to deal with the unexpected flash of frustrated rage. It was so unlike Buchanan. When Buchanan simply continued to sit there, staring at the name on the paper, Jeff’ finally decided to say something. “Shall I check into the matter further? Want me to locate her?”
Slowly, suppressing his fury with a supreme effort of will, Buchanan lifted his head. “Of course I want you to locate her. Don’t worry, it won’t be hard. She wants to be found now.”
Ingram swallowed, hiding the nervous reaction manfully. “You think this is all deliberate, sir?”
“Oh, yes,” Buchanan said very evenly, totally back under control. “It’s quite deliberate. I taught Samantha Maitland everything she knows about business, real business. And now she has the gall to think she can use it against me.”
“Sir, I don’t understand. Why would she want to tackle the Buchanan Group? How could she have known about the Phoenix deal?”
“The woman had her weak points, but lack of intelligence wasn’t one of them,” Buchanan grated. “Get out of here, Jeff. I want to know where she’s staying, what she’s doing for a living these days, who she’s sleeping with, and what kind of car she’s driving. I want to know everything you can find out by five thirty this afternoon.”
He swung the swivel chair back around to face the window, listening as Ingram quietly left the room. Then he looked down again at the piece of paper in his hand.
Samantha Maitland, you little conniving bitch. I always knew you’d throw me a curve someday. But I’ve been playing hardball a lot longer than you have, lady. You don’t lack nerve and you don’t lack brains but I know your weaknesses. I’ll find the right one to use to crush you.
He crumpled the paper in his palm and slammed it into the garbage can. Who the hell did she think she was to pull this kind of play on him? There was only one reason for it, of course. She wanted revenge.
Revenge. He repeated the word in his head. A woman who wanted revenge must still be carrying a torch. Samantha was a woman scorned, and that meant she was at the mercy of her own emotions. She wouldn’t be thinking with total clarity. Not that he’d ever really been able to comprehend exactly how she did think, he reminded himself grimly.
But a woman’s desire for revenge on a man should be a fairly simple, clear-cut situation. She must still want him on some level, or she wouldn’t be investing the emotional energy it took to get even.
Whatever her feelings toward him, they had to be strong. Good God! She must have been watching his movements for the past three years! To have gotten a handle on the Phoenix deal so early, she must have been lying in wait for him. He’d been stalked all this time and hadn’t even been aware of it.
The knowledge wasn’t pleasant. Drew Buchanan liked to be totally in charge of every aspect of his life. How had the bitch snuck up on him like this?
Was he prepared to watch a multimillion-dollar deal become completely snafued because of Samantha Maitland? At the very least she would hold him up for a fortune. At the worst she might simply refuse to sell at all.
Either way his ego and his bankbook were going to take one hell of a beating. He had to break her and do it quickly before she had a chance t
o become too high on her own power.
The way to break a woman was through her emotions. He’d held her in the palm of his hand once; he could do it again.
And if seducing her didn’t work, he’d find the weapon which would. Samantha had her vulnerable points. Everyone did. He’d find the soft spots and use them against her.
At five thirty Jeff Ingram’s report was almost complete.
“Here’s her Seattle address, sir. Some island in the sound. She’s got a going little concern peddling business news and information to a bunch of client firms who pay her well for the research she provides. The car’s a Fiat. There’s just one thing I couldn’t pin down,” he concluded hesitantly.
“What’s that?” Buchanan pulled the report toward him and scanned it rapidly.
“Well,” Jeff cleared his throat. “There doesn’t seem to be any indication of a particular man in her life. She dates but… “
“But she’s not sleeping with someone on a regular basis? Good. That should make things easier,” Buchanan growled, turning over the second page of the short report.
“Easier, sir?”
“Never mind. Have my secretary book me on a flight to Seattle tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir. Uh, do you want anything else this evening?” “Get lost, Ingram. You’ve done enough damage for one day.”
***
Gabriel would be arriving the day after tomorrow.
Samantha pressed the button which turned off the printer and collected the neatly piled stack of reports she had just generated from the computer. This week most of her clients were going to be pleased. The indications were that the big grain deal with the U.S.S.R. was going to go through, the stock market had settled down to a more normal pace, and the heavy storms in the Midwest were finally abating. Beneath all those unrelated facts lay a wealth of financial news. The business world was hungry for information. It needed it to survive in a way that no other field of endeavor did.
Almost everything and anything was of interest to someone, somewhere in business. Fundamental medical research news was of prime interest to drug companies. Information on weather patterns led huge agribusiness firms to make crucial crop decisions. Political situations in the Middle East determined the price of American oil. The death of a world leader could totally disrupt the stock market. It was all incredibly interrelated, impossibly complex, and wonderfully stimulating intellectually for Samantha on most days.