Pressing the phone’s speaker, Jack quickly keyed in the number. Selfish, fool’s gold, untrustworthy was he?
“Welcome to Sound radio, how can I—”
“Put me through to CJ Stratt. Now!” he barked, unprepared for the squeal of delight from the other end.
“One sec. I’ll put you through.”
What was wrong with these people? He was angry, he sounded angry. So why did the person on the other end sound so happy to hear from him?
“We have a live one here, guys. Welcome to the ‘Midnight Hour Show,’ caller. What can I do for you?”
“Do? You can stop throwing out slanderous comments before I sue you.”
The command clearly had the effect he was after, judging from the silence on the other end. The unladylike snort of laughter that followed it, he was not expecting. When he used that voice in the boardroom, the whole room shook, not snorted.
“Ah. Let me guess. You must be Ms. Shoes’s infamous ex. Am I right?”
“No shit! And you may want to check your facts before giving so-called advice.”
“Right.” Was it his imagination or did she sound a little more tense than before? “Okay, so let’s hear your side.” Clearly he had been wrong and she was taking her sweet time to manufacture more slander.
“I have none.”
“Then why are you calling a radio show that gives relationship advice?”
“I’m calling because you are defaming my character on air.”
“Defaming? Please! I am simply giving relationship advice to someone who asked for it. And if you’re so worried about your reputation, maybe you should rethink how you let someone down in the first place. If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.” The laughter in her voice vibrated through the car.
Jack ran a hand through his hair, growling as the ornate cufflink scratched at his face.
“Helloooo. Are you still there?”
“Of course I am,” he barked “What do you take me for?”
“Good. To hurry this conversation, as you are holding up the line for other genuine callers, I am going to go against my better judgement and ask which comment, in your opinion, ‘defamed’ you?”
“Which comment, as in one? All of them,” he ground out.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific. Was it selfish, untrustworthy or something else entirely?”
She was mocking him. No one laughed at Jack Harper. “What part of all don’t you get? What evidence, other than the word of a woman who parted ways with me four months ago, do you have to give me these . . . these labels?”
“Aha! So at least I have a time frame to work from. Four months is a long time. But as for evidence, all I can say is men like you who are wealthy and/or born into wealth seem to think they own the world and the women in it.”
He could feel his jaw slacken in shock.
“And have you met many men like me, Ms. Stratt, that you can label all of us the same? Been a victim of our silver tongues and gold-lined pockets, I think you said.”
Silence.
Good. He seemed to have struck a nerve. The seconds beat silently along and he drew in a breath, preparing for his final takedown speech, infamous across stateside and European boardrooms.
“No, thankfully, but then I don’t have to eat mud to know I won’t like it. But let’s examine your situation. Your ex said that she would have to be a very high-end piece of property for you to care, and she did kind of mention you by name, Mr. Jack@HarperInc. In which case, if you are the Jack Harper from the financial pages that she was talking about, your reputation definitely proceeds you.” Her sugary tone belied the sharp comment.
He bit back a curse. Careful, you’re live on air. “Your powers of deduction are indeed great, Ms. Stratt, but that still doesn’t excuse you of your defaming comments.”
“I say it as I see it, Mr. Harper.”
“As you see it? But we haven’t met, Ms. Stratt. In fact . . . ” Wait. He had already been mentioned on air by name. If by misfortune his competitors had heard, he could kiss the last three years of working his ass off goodbye. He needed a new strategy and fast. “In fact, why don’t we meet, and then you can accurately inform your listeners what sort of character I am. What is the studio’s address?”
He heard her breath catch, her stammered excuse making a feral smile pull at his lips, the scent of victory in the air. “The studio is locked. Besides, I think the lack of red carpet on your arrival will put you off.”
“The address is 34 High Court Road, Central London, WC2L 8HY,” said the squealing voice from earlier, shortly followed by the agony aunt’s “What the hell, Bill?”
Typing it into the satnav, Jack eyed the clock on the screen blinking the journey time. “See you in twenty-five minutes, Ms. Stratt.” He grinned, tapping off the speaker phone to the sound of sputtering on the other end.
• • •
CJ poked one finger at the glass wall and the man behind it, the other pressing hard on the microphone button.
“Ratings, CJ, ratings. You remember those high numbers we used to have and need back?”
“With a caller’s ex?”
“Ex, schmex. Past history. Not even dating. And I’m not about to look a 1:30 a.m. ratings bump gift horse in the mouth. He’ll be here in twenty minutes; rig up the other head mic so he can jump on.”
“No. I’m sorry, Bill. Normally I go along with your crazy schemes but enough is enough. Besides, in exactly twenty minutes, I am off the clock.” There, that should do it.
“That’s true, but at this point, it’s ratings or the road, honey.”
Sitting down heavily, she pulled at the second pair of headphones, wiring them up for her esteemed guest. She was annoyed, angry even. Why else would her heart be hammering so crazily? Yes, his voice sounded dangerously smooth; yes, it made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end—but so what. He was who he was. She needed some tunes. Pushing on her headphones, she flipped the music on, making them play in a continuous row. Music always calmed her.
“Shake a tail feather, sweetheart, you have a visitor,” her producer said over the headset.
Sitting up straighter, she pushed down the headphone hair she was sure she must have. Not that she cared about what he thought, but she was a professional and Bill was right about one thing. She needed the ratings back, badly.
“So, listeners, hope you enjoyed the extended songs, but we have a special treat for you. Mr. Harper has deigned to join us from on high to give us his . . . ” Her voice faltered as she caught sight of her new “co-host.” This was not what she expected. Not the tall, muscular man striding toward her booth, Mr. Harper’s hair was long enough to flop in front of his eyes. Eyes she had no idea yet what colour they were, though at the speed he was walking, it wouldn’t take her long to find out. He looked like he had just come from a meeting, despite the lack of tie, and she could tell even from this distance that the suit and shirt must be expensive.
“Sorry, lost my train of thought there. So yes, he has come to share his opinion on, I guess, my opinion.”
The smell of leather and new car wrapped itself around her as he entered, and she refused to give into the inner voice telling her to move closer. She could feel his eyes rake over her. From the top of her hair to the black rectangle-shaped glasses hiding her light blue eyes to her chipped, glittery nail varnish and black hoodie, ripped jeans and patent boots.
“Are you even old enough to be hosting this show?” Scorn poured from his every pore.
Removing her finger from the microphone button, she arched one eyebrow. “Aren’t you old enough to know better than to lead someone on?”
At the sound of rapping on the glass, she narrowed her eyes at her producer, then turned back to her new guest and gestured for him to sit down. She wasn’t used to sharing her booth. He was too big, too full of himself, and she rolled her chair back as he sat down, removing his jacket. An unexpected tingle coursed its way down her spine as his arm mu
scles bunched and flexed at the movement.
This close, she could sympathize with why Ms. Shoes thought about him for months after they broke up. In addition to the arms, when he spoke, damn dimples came out of nowhere.
No, back up, CJ. They did not break up. He dumped someone after leading her on. At least CJ’s ex had had the decency to be honest with her. Yes, it hadn’t been the fairy-tale ending she had envisioned. But it had been a whole, solid five months together. And besides, he had been a guy who hadn’t come from her society world, unlike Jack Harper.
“Thanks for having me, Ms. Stratt. So let’s talk about the reason I am here, shall we?”
So much for being an amateur with the head mic. “I’m sure you know that voice, listeners. Welcome, Mr. Harper, and as for the reason you’re here, that’s simple. You are the reason you’re here. To talk about you.”
“If I remember correctly, I wasn’t the one who started this charade. You did.”
“Okay, if we want to be technical about it, your ex did. I was simply responding to her question and comments.”
“By defaming my character in the process.”
“And here we go again. You know, without sounding like a broken record, if you don’t want to do the time then . . . ”
“Don’t do the crime. Yeah. We got that,” he said, his smooth drawl filling the small space around them.
She twisted her skull ring around her finger and studied the flashing screen in front of her. Why did his voice sound so familiar? It was a strange mix of an American and London accent melded together, creating one intriguing combination.
She blinked as the lights on the switchboard flicked on. Just a few at first, then more, and she glanced up to find her producer grinning widely.
Clearing her throat, she pushed her glasses further up her nose, swiveling around to face her guest. “So, Mr. Harper . . . ”
“Jack, and you, I take it from your show’s introduction, are CJ. Short for . . . ?”
Short for none of your business, but she pasted a saccharine smile on her face. “Well it’s nice to meet you, Jack, and it’s just CJ. So are you telling us, London that is, that Ms. Shoes was wrong and you are a loving, devoted guy after all?”
Ha! That got him. She smiled victoriously, pleased to see his mouth open then shut firmly again. “And just so I’m not accused of missing some facts, how long did you and Ms. Shoes date?”
“One month.” This time the smooth drawl belied his tightening jaw.
“So let’s say four weeks in a month, average that to about one date a week . . . that is a reasonable enough time to get to know someone.”
Her heart skipped in her chest as his eyes, a deep navy she could see now, narrowed.
“In this busy, modern world of dating, I believe that is the only time people have available. In addition to which, Ms. Stratt, in that one sentence, you have solved the dilemma for anyone wondering if they should get married or not.”
“And by that you mean?”
“If they don’t know them after four dates, they never will.”
“I never meant that,” she replied. If she could, she’d give her whole monthly paycheck to wipe that smirk off his face!
“So what did you mean? Just for the clarification of your listeners,” he prodded, moving forward. The rough softness of his trousers grazed the bare skin of her knee through the ripped denim, sending sparks of electricity shooting through her, and she pushed the creaking chair back, its soft clunk against the desk mobilizing her thoughts out of the physical and into action.
She knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to discredit her on air. She could feel the blood thunder through her body at the victorious look on his patrician features.
“People can fall in love after four dates as well as they can after forty,” she began, hurrying on quickly at his raised sandy blond eyebrow. “Depending on the individuals involved. Don’t you agree?”
“No.” She pressed her lips together tightly at his laconic answer. “However, let’s run with your idea of knowing true love after four dates. What then is your professional opinion of passing judgement on an individual based on a 140-character tweet from a third party and, in your own words, based on roughly an average of one date per week for a total of one month, each date lasting only a few hours?”
Grrr! Darn him and his quick comeback. She was going to have to be quicker than she thought with this one.
• • •
Her full lips opened then closed almost immediately, her eyes widening to expose fathomless black pools in their centers. What he had pictured driving here and what sat before him were definitely not the same thing. He drummed his fingers lightly against the wooden desk, reminding her he was still waiting for her answer.
This agony aunt was threatening the business reputation he had fought for. A reputation his ex-stepmother’s accusations had shredded once already—the same woman who made sure to strip Jack’s legitimate place as CEO, as well as his father’s trust. Despite knowing Jack’s genius behind the corporate table from a young age, his father gave the CEO position to Jack’s older brother, whose only wish was to remain in the architectural designing process. Some mentor and friend the elder Mr. Harper turned out to be.
Now was not the time to remember the funeral cortege carrying his brother. A brother who, despite their father’s hatred, still secretly sought Jack’s counsel in business matters. The bond between them had prevented Jack from allying himself with his father’s enemies; his loyalty to his brother lured him back after Brice’s death. That and the insistence of the board. His father was still unwilling to acknowledge him but unable to deny his business acumen.
This deal with Nasser to incorporate the Nasser Hotel chain in the Middle East into the Harper Hotel line was what he needed if he wanted to break the company free from its archaic chains. A deal that would show his father—no, not just him, but the corporate world—why Jack Harper was fit to be CEO of a global business.
A deal that, if it failed in any way, was the fall he was sure many were waiting for.
He couldn’t allow that fall to happen, even by a petite blond in ripped jeans.
Stormy blue eyes lightened under the heavy framed glasses. “I would say the person making the judgement was very wise to make it so quickly and accurately,” she said, a pithy look accompanying her statement.
“Rash judgements are not accurate judgements in my experience, CJ.” Her name rolled off his tongue, surprising them both guessing from a light flush of pink creeping from her cheeks lower to her neck. What made him say her name? Stratt. Ms. Stratt. It was professional, businesslike. And this was very much all about business. Though why was he surprised he used her name? Judging from her appearance and comments to him so far, he wasn’t sure she knew the meaning of professional.
The pastel strands of her hair stuck out like a sore thumb against her dark top, making her seem younger than what he guessed were her true years. Sugar and spice and all things nice. Yeah, right. He inhaled, unprepared for the scent of sweet vanilla to sting his nose. Her. It was her scent. So she really was sugar.
• • •
Lights began to flicker on the equipment in front of her. That probably meant they had an audience. An audience it was her job to advise; an audience that apparently included the head of his PR, a woman he once “dated” and potentially everyone known in his ex-stepmother’s circle or this coveted Harper Inc. deal. An audience he had to reach through her.
Her chin was tilted up toward him, her eyes looking down the petite length of her nose. A memory stirred to life, but he couldn’t do more than grab the fleeting will-o’-the-wisp image before it disappeared again as his eyes raked over her face to rest on the pink lips. Lips that made him think of things he shouldn’t, considering he was here under duress.
Jack gave himself a mental shake. He needed her—for work. That was it. Nothing more.
What he needed was a foolproof strategy to push back the negative personal PR
tide he predicted would come with his ex-stepmother’s nuptials in just under a month’s time. A tide that was also looming over the deal he had sweated blood for and needed. Two birds, one stone.
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
So, did he have the courage to carry out an idea so crazy, it may work? Yes, he could leave it to his PR team, but no. What he had in mind needed the personal touch. His touch.
“In fact, being the fair businessman I am, and you seem a reasonable person, how about a wager? A dating wager to be exact. On the opinion of a third-party140-character tweet and after less than a handful of dates, you labeled me untrustworthy and selfish. How about we go on more than four dates and then I get to clear my name? Unless of course you’re afraid to stand behind your advice for a reason?” he said, lowering his voice, his gaze fixed to hers as her eyes widened at the challenge.
• • •
“You and I date?” Why was her voice suddenly so high? Probably because this was not what she had expected. Being sued, maybe, but definitely not this.
“That is what I said.”
“To clear your name? With whom? I doubt the people you are concerned about listen to my show at two in the morning.” Honestly. The man was plain ludicrous!
“Maybe, maybe not. I didn’t get where I am by taking unnecessary risks, and you tweeted my company handle, which affects my business and the people involved. Unless of course you are concerned your significant other might get upset.”
“Presently, I am taking a sabbatical from dating.” A long sabbatical.
“A relationship advice agony aunt not in a relationship? What a way to connect with your audience.”
“I don’t see how that is relevant. Besides, what is in it for me?” She was careful to keep her voice neutral. She’d watched nature programs. She knew that once they smelled fear, all predators, no matter two-legged or four-, would take advantage.
“The same reasons I suggested it. Work. And you get to see those lights you keep looking at in front of you fill the switchboard, which I’m guessing from your producer’s happy expression actually means something.”
The Runaway Queen Page 16