Mergers & Matrimony

by Leigh, Allison

  She angled her head. She had high heels on her narrow feet and was only slightly shorter than he as a result. “I’m confident that they are well past, as you must be, Mr. Taka, or I doubt you and I would be having this conversation at all.”

  “We are having this conversation because you wanted to assure yourself of not causing me offense,” he reminded.

  “An assurance I still don’t have,” she observed. But there was no heat in the words. And her gaze still didn’t swerve from his.

  He found himself smiling a little. He was Japanese to his soul, but he’d had a European education. Something about the woman reminded him of those days when he had been…freer. “You are considered bold in America?”

  Now, she looked wry. “I’m quite average, I’m afraid.”

  “That I do find difficult to believe,” he admitted. If she really were an average American businesswoman, her narrow feet would not have made it past TAKA’s lobby. “I accept your apology. And now you must accept mine for excusing myself.” He actually felt reluctant to do so.

  “Of course.” She stepped back, reminding him of a tall white candle the way she stood among the navy uniforms of the cluster of schoolchildren marching by. “Until tomorrow afternoon, then.” One of the children nearly bumped into her, and a quick smile lit her features as they avoided collision.

  The vestiges of the smile crinkled her nose and revealed a faint dimple in her cheek as she looked from the child back to him.

  The smile was quite unlike the smoothly practiced ones she usually exhibited.

  Instead of moving to his car, he stood there. He had seen the untouched plate of food on her table when he and Misaki had stopped. The single plate of food.

  When they were sitting in a conference room, Helen Hanson was a woman surrounded by family and business associates. But to share her morning coffee and fruit, she’d had no one.

  Again.

  “You did not finish your meal.”

  Now, her bold gaze dropped. He knew, in her case, it was not a sign of respect, but an indicator of avoidance.

  “I’d had enough,” she said. “Thank you, Mr. Taka, for your time. I look forward to meeting with you again.” She placed her hands on her legs and bowed.

  He had things to do. Responsibilities. There was no reason to prolong their impromptu meeting.

  “As do I,” he replied automatically. “Do you have plans for today?” Whatever they would be, they would not involve any member of TAKA. They did not have another meeting scheduled until the following day. Mori expected to spend at least a portion of his afternoon allaying his father’s latest battery of concerns where the takeover was concerned.

  Helen had straightened and once again, her expression showed some slight bewilderment. Not surprising. He was not given to pointless conversations. It was not his way to be rude, of course, but neither was it his way to waste time. He had no time to waste, generally.

  “I thought I might do some sightseeing,” she said. “I read about a festival being held this week. I—I’m afraid I can’t recall the name of the location. I have it written down back at my hotel.”

  “Rarely a week passes when there is not some kind of festival.”

  “It has something to do with the leaves beginning to change.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “Your sons will accompany you?”

  The bewilderment cooled, and he found himself regretting his voiced assumption when her smile went from spontaneous to practiced.

  “My stepsons have their own plans,” she said, backing away yet another step. “As well they should. I’ve delayed you long enough, Mr. Taka. Again, my apologies.”

  His life had been an endless series of social courtesies where apologies were rote. For an American woman like Helen Hanson, he doubted that was the case. “I have some free time this morning. Perhaps you would allow me to be your guide?”

  Her lips parted in surprise, but he gave her credit for recovering quickly enough. “I would be honored, Mr. Taka.”

  He was fairly confident that honor had little to do with her acquiescence. She wanted his cooperation in the TAKA boardroom.

  “Very good,” he said. “My driver and I will take you to your hotel to retrieve your necessities.”

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” She held up a tiny clutch, not much bigger than a wallet. “I have everything I need in here. My room key and passport and such. Not that it’s a key, of course. Just one of those credit-card type things. I’m forever having to get a new one at my hotel. I seem to demagnetize them or something.” The rush of words halted abruptly. Pink color rode her cheekbones again and she stepped toward the car.

  His driver immediately opened the rear door and Mori watched Helen slide into the limousine. She sat down first and then drew in her legs.

  Her pant legs rode up a few inches as she did so, treating him to a brief glimpse of very slender, very delicate ankles.

  He stared over the hood of the vehicle, not seeing any of the traffic quietly congesting the street or the pedestrians streaming along the sidewalks.

  Evidently, he had gone insane, just as his father kept accusing.

  He restrained the urge to loosen his tie and haul in a deep breath as he moved to the car and climbed in beside Helen.

  She sent him a smile that looked as uneasy as he felt.

  Then Akira closed the door softly, and there was only Mori and Helen, seemingly shut off from the rest of the world.

  He flicked open the buttons holding his jacket closed and stared straight ahead.

  The smell of her—something sophisticated but oddly light—filled his head.

  He had been accomplished in the art of small talk since he had worn short pants. But summoning inane banter just then seemed to require tremendous effort. “Have you done much sightseeing?” He managed to glance her way, politely enquiring.

  Her hands were folded neatly together in her lap. She wore an enormous diamond ring on her wedding ring finger.

  “Not as much as I’d like,” she admitted. “I feel as though I’ve spent more time on airplanes traveling back and forth from Chicago to Tokyo than actually staying put long enough here to see as much as I’ve wanted to.”

  “You…enjoy Tokyo?”

  “It’s a fascinating city. I’m always so surprised that it’s as quiet as it is.” She looked away, out the side window. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail that revealed the nape of her neck.

  “Quiet?” He faced ahead again and when she turned forward once more, his gaze seemed to meet hers in the subtle reflection provided by the smoked partition separating them from the driver.

  “For such a large city, I find it remarkably quiet. There is traffic noise, certainly, but rarely have I heard a horn honk. It’s nothing like Chicago.”

  “No, it is not.”

  “You’ve been to Chicago?”

  “Occasionally. It, too, is an interesting city.”

  She smiled faintly. Even in the dim partition, the reflection of it was bright. “Are you being polite?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you really think about Chicago?”

  “Noisy. Intrusive.” He switched his gaze from the reflection to the real thing. “Impolite.”

  Her eyes glinted with humor, which surprised him.

  Ordinarily, she was very circumspect, highly intelligent and mostly aloof.

  Until he had found her hiding tears, that was.

  Then, she had seemed wholly human.

  “I find it vibrant and endlessly entertaining,” she argued pleasantly.

  “Also true.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Really?”

  “I enjoy Chicago when I visit.”

  “How often do you get to the U.S.?”

  “A few times a year. I am in London more often.”

  “On business or pleasure?”

  “Ah. To me, Mrs. Hanson, business is pleasure.”

  Her sudden frown was quickly smoothed away. “That’s somethi
ng my husband used to say.”

  “You miss him a great deal?”

  Her lashes swept down for a moment, hiding those jade eyes. “Of course.” Then she turned and looked out the window again. “I love Chicago, too. But I must say I’m becoming quite fond of Tokyo.”

  “Have you always lived in Chicago?”

  “Oh, no.” The moment of awkwardness seemed to ease. “I come from New York state, originally. I moved to Chicago when I was a young woman.”

  “You are still a young woman.”

  “Kindly put and appreciated. Particularly by a woman who’s just watched her—” she faltered only slightly “—grown daughter get married.”

  “You will be a beautiful woman when you are eighty,” he said diplomatically. Truthfully.

  Her lips twitched a little as if she were trying not to laugh. “I’d accuse you of flattery, but that seems out of character.”

  For the first time in longer than he could remember, he chuckled. The sound startled her as much as it did him. “True.”

  After a moment that lasted longer than it should, they both looked away from each other.

  The limousine pulled into the park, where a throng of people had already gathered. When Mori stepped out of the car, a breeze had sprung up, helping in a small way to alleviate the humidity. He turned back and took Helen’s hand to help her from the vehicle.

  She stepped out beside him, and he released her, pretending not to notice the way she rubbed her palms together, as if she, too, felt the lingering heat. Above their heads, leaves from the trees flitted in the air like gently burnished confetti.

  She craned her head, avidly taking in the small, orderly garden that was lined with Japanese maples. “It is so beautiful here.” The words were little more than a sigh.

  “Yes.”

  Only Mori was not looking at the trees.

  He was looking at her.

  Chapter Three

  They walked together.

  Mostly in silence at first, which suited Helen just fine. She wasn’t accustomed to feeling tongue-tied, yet being in Morito Taka’s presence definitely had that effect.

  “In a few weeks, the turning of the leaves will be at its peak,” he told her. His hand lightly touched the small of her back as they stepped around a cluster of young women and children.

  In a few weeks, she hoped the merger would be complete. “We have the fall colors at home, too. My home is surrounded by trees, in fact.” An architectural magazine had once described the grounds around George Hanson’s estate as the forest protecting the media king.

  Only recently had Helen admitted to herself that staying alone in the house had become more than she could bear. It had been one thing when she’d only been grieving the loss of her husband.

  As if such a thing could ever be an “only.”

  But when she’d believed she’d only been the woman called late one night and told that her husband had suffered a massive heart attack in his office, it had been simpler.

  Not that George had betrayed her with another woman.

  In a way, that might have been simpler, too.

  No, George had betrayed her with the very company that he’d charged her with saving. The company that had been his real love.

  And when she’d learned that fact, staying alone in his mausoleum of a house had become increasingly difficult.

  Being near his personal effects—she still hadn’t had the heart to clear them away—had become a mockery instead of a comfort. The house with the soaring, gleaming windows that afforded one a spectacular view of their own personal “forest” had become more of a prison than a haven.

  “Mrs. Hanson?”

  She dragged her thoughts together with more effort than it usually took. Morito was clearly waiting for her to accompany him along the walkway which forked in front of them.

  “Call me Helen,” she said, not particularly caring if she were committing yet another breach of etiquette or not with the request. She stepped forward, catching her heel on the edge of the pavers.

  His hand steadied her. “Are you all right?”

  No. She was insane. She was stressed. She was…alone in a world crammed full of people. “Perfectly,” she lied, her voice bright. “Is that row of lanterns hanging from the trees decorative, or do they ever light up?”

  “They are lit every evening.” His dark gaze didn’t transfer from her face to the lantern display, however. And she felt herself flushing.

  Like some foolish schoolgirl.

  It was embarrassing.

  “I imagine it’s beautifully picturesque.”

  But he clearly wasn’t interested in the visual appeal of the lanterns. “Why is it that you choose to involve yourself in your late husband’s business when you could be doing anything else that interests you?”

  “Is that why you offered to play tour guide? To try and scare me off the merger?”

  “I was under the impression that nothing scared you—” his hesitation was barely noticeable “—Helen.”

  Her throat constricted on a swallow. Be careful of what you ask for, because you might get it.

  She unbuttoned her jacket and slid out of it, folding it over her arm. When she looked up at him, he was looking at her silky white camisole. It was a perfectly decent garment, with double spaghetti-straps and a neckline high enough to afford zero cleavage.

  She still felt naked under that look of his.

  But donning her jacket once more was out of the question. First, it was too warm and humid. Second, he would then know he unsettled her.

  The man had the upper hand all too often and she was tired of it.

  Would it equalize them if he knew she’d been at the root of bringing the American company known as Hanson Media Group to TAKA’s attention in the first place?

  Would he respect the bold action, or would he detest it for that very boldness?

  “I have plenty of fears,” she assured. “And I’m in charge at Hanson Media Group because my late husband believed that’s where I should be.” Only after he was gone, though. Never while he’d been alive.

  “Is it where you want to be?”

  “Is heading TAKA where you want to be?” she returned.

  “It is my duty.”

  “As Hanson Media Group is mine.” The conversation wasn’t going anywhere she wanted it to go. “But enough of duty.” She smiled brightly. “What do you do for enjoyment?”

  “Walk in a garden with an interesting woman.”

  Her breathing hitched a little. But she was too mature to be swayed by pretty words. In the beginning, George had had plenty of lovely sentiments. Ultimately, though, they’d meant nothing. “You’re too polite to describe me as what you really think.”

  He was definitely amused. The lines fanning out from his eyes crinkled slightly into evidence. “And that would be?”

  She gave it a moment of thought. “A jarring woman.”

  “Jarring?”

  “Like the sound of metal scraping over concrete.”

  “Ah.” He caught a blowing leaf right out of midair. “No. I do not think so.” Holding the leaf by the stem, he twirled it slowly between his fingers. “You are not the norm.”

  “Not in Japan.”

  “Not in Japan,” he confirmed.

  She supposed it was progress that he didn’t lecture her about what was the norm in his world.

  “I enjoy my own garden,” he said after they’d walked a while. “My daughter. Though her insatiable curiosity and sense of mischief is a trial at times. Mountain climbing. And, surprisingly—” he gave her a sidelong look “—sparring with an interesting woman.”

  Then, while she was feeling rather speechless over his uncharacteristically personal comments, he handed her the leaf.

  “It is time we return.”

  She nodded silently, and they turned back in the direction of the waiting limousine.

  It seemed only minutes before she was dropped off at her own hotel. As he’d done at the pa
rk, Mori waved off the chauffeur and alighted from the vehicle first, then turned and gave his hand to her.

  She steeled herself, then placed her palm against his. His long tanned fingers closed around hers, and she joined him on the sidewalk. The moment she was upright, he let go of her, which was a good thing if she wanted to be able to continue breathing in any sort of normal fashion.

  She moved her jacket from one arm to the other, keeping hold of the leaf, as well, then repeated the bow that she’d spent quite some time privately perfecting. “Thank you again, Mr. Taka, for your time. I look forward to our next meeting tomorrow.”

  He bowed, as well, and stepped to the car, looking like some sort of lithe tiger as he sank down on the sleek leather seat. He looked at her from the darkened, air-conditioned interior. “Please call me Mori.”

  Then he pulled the door shut and the limousine pulled from the curb to be swallowed among the stream of nonstop traffic.

  “Do you require assistance, Hanson-san?” The uniformed doorman approached her.

  Helen dragged her attention from the departing vehicle and shook her head, giving the doorman a distracted smile as she headed into the hotel. “Thank you, no.”

  The attorneys always seemed to be the first ones to arrive. When Helen stepped into the TAKA conference room the next afternoon, there were half a dozen of them already there. Including Jack. He noticed her arrival and headed toward her, lowering his head a little when he stopped beside her. “You weren’t in your room last night.”

  Curiosity had her lifting her eyebrows. “I went to the gym.”

  “Samantha tried reaching you for a few hours.”

  Helen hadn’t received any phone messages. “Is something wrong?”

  His handsome face looked slightly uncomfortable. “We thought you might join us for dinner.”

  Bless Samantha. Helen knew the invitation would have to have been instigated by her old friend, now married to Jack. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I would have been happy to join you.” Instead, she’d sweated for an hour with free weights and stretched herself into contortions with Pilates. She’d wanted to wear herself out enough to sleep well, and for the most part, she’d succeeded.