The Magnate's Manifesto

by Jennifer Hayward

  A growl escaped his throat as he headed toward the ocean-side terrace. You didn’t mess with a man’s lifeblood. That was way, way over the line.

  He found Bailey on the terrace in a sun chair, laptop on her thighs, eyes closed, face turned up to the sun. Davide had gone on about how much he liked her on the drive to Nice. Not surprising after last night, but what had caught him off guard was that the collector of women, who’d lost his wife to illness at forty-five, had been focused not on Bailey’s looks, but on her intelligence. Her creativity. He loved her—that much was obvious.

  His mouth twisted as he surveyed her deceptively relaxed pose on the lounger, long legs kicked out in front of her. He had no doubt her mind was going a mile a minute under those closed lids. That she wasn’t sleeping but strategizing. And a sour feeling tugged at his gut. He’d sidelined her. Put her aside as a problem he didn’t have time to deal with when it was his attraction to her that had been the issue all along. It wasn’t like him to put the personal before business, and he hated that he had.

  She opened her eyes, the wariness he’d witnessed this morning making a reappearance. “Did you have a good trip?”

  “I did.” He sank into the chair opposite her and poured himself a glass of her mineral water. “I owe you an apology.”

  Her eyes rounded. “For what?”

  “For underestimating you. For letting you languish in a role that was beneath you.”

  She pushed herself up in the chair, her gaze meeting his. “We haven’t done the presentation yet.”

  “I’ve seen your ideas.” He took a long swallow of the water and sat back, resting the glass on his thigh. “I was wrong about you. I should have given you a voice.” He lifted his shoulders. “Maybe you were right last night. Maybe my judgment has been off. It’s been a David-and-Goliath battle with the board.”

  She pushed her finger into her cheek, a slow smile curving her lips. “I think I’m just going to say thank you and leave it at that. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

  A wry smile edged his mouth. “As a matter of fact, I am. You got me thinking last night. In a good way.”

  A frown marred her brow. “I might have been a bit harsh.”

  He shrugged. “I needed to hear it. I haven’t had any time to think lately, and that’s when I get myself into trouble.”

  She pointed toward her computer screen. “Want to see my slides?”

  He nodded. “I’ve heard Alexander is a stickler for detail. He likes to wade into the minutiae—a bit of a control freak. So I want to ensure all our ducks are in order.”

  They went through the slides. He loved the way she’d laid them out, made a few suggestions of his own, and in a feat that could be classified as the eighth wonder of the world, they did a perfect run-through.

  Satisfied the presentation was as smooth and as flawless as it was going to get, he challenged Bailey to a tennis game. She wasn’t half bad. What she lacked in skill, she made up for in determination. Which seemed to be her modus operandi. She’d used the incredibly sharp brain she’d been born with, worked brutally hard and taken herself places.

  He studied her as he waited for her to serve, concentration written across her face. Pictured her slugging it out at the local café, serving coffee all evening to put herself through school. Selling fifty pairs of shoes a day at the local mall to secure her future. And he couldn’t help but admire her.

  There was a lot of substance to Bailey St. John.

  * * *

  Bailey was still on a high when she pulled on white capri jeans, a body-hugging tank and a gauzy sheer blouse over it for their dinner at sea. Alexander Gagnon, Maison Electronique’s director of international development and soon-to-be CEO, had flown in by helicopter while she’d been showering, the whir of the blades deafening as he’d touched down with two of Maison’s other senior marketing staff. Tonight they would get to know the three executives over dinner on Davide’s yacht, in a trip up the coast to Cannes. And tomorrow they would present their ideas to the group.

  Much more comfortable with the intimate choice of setting this evening, Bailey slipped on strappy, glittery sandals, spritzed on a headier perfume for nighttime and met Jared outside his door. A slow smile curved his mouth when he opened it, denting his cheeks with those to-die-for almost-dimples. “You aren’t going to let me pick your shoes?”

  She resolutely ignored the sexy indentations. “I had it under control tonight.”

  His gaze swept over her, smooth and all-encompassing. “You look like you’re channeling Grace Kelly.”

  She shifted her weight to the other foot. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  The hand he placed at her back to ostensibly guide her down the hallway burned into her skin. “Do that,” he murmured, bending so his softly spoken words rasped across the sensitive skin behind her ear. He looked pretty gorgeous himself in casual black pants and a short-sleeved dark blue shirt that made the most of his eyes. But she’d keep that to herself.

  A small powerboat was waiting at the dock to take them out to the yacht. All the others were already on board, the crew member told them, firing the motor. Bailey took it all in, eyes wide. Growing up on a swamp in Florida, she’d been around boats her whole life. She’d seen the cruise ships lined up in Tampa when they’d visited the city. But that was a world away from this. Davide’s yacht was at least seventy feet in length, they were about to cruise to Cannes during film festival time, and it frankly seemed unreal.

  As they neared the sleek yacht painted in the blue, white and red colors of the French flag, the powerboat slowed to a crawl. They pulled alongside the yacht and were helped aboard by crew members. The rosy sky descended low over them, the lights of Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat twinkling from the shore as she stood looking back from the deck. It was glorious.

  Davide greeted them, then turned to introduce them to the three men beside him. She greeted the two marketing executives who had flown in from Paris, then Alexander Gagnon, a tall, distinguished male with dark hair and cold-as-flint gray eyes.

  Her pulse flatlined as Alexander stepped forward. She teetered on her sandals and would have stumbled backward if Jared hadn’t placed a hand to her back and steadied her. It couldn’t be. It could not be.

  Her gaze moved over him, hungry to prove herself wrong. But the cold, hard eyes that had studied her, eaten her up with an unflinching need to have her those nights in Vegas almost ten years ago, were unmistakable. And he didn’t miss a beat.

  “How lovely to meet you…Bailey,” he murmured, taking her hand to brush a kiss across her knuckles. “Alexander Gagnon.”

  Her breath constricted in her chest, a solid lump that threatened to choke her. She had never told him her real name. Had never told any of the men she danced for her real name. And now he knew it. She registered the fact with the almost hysterical need to turn around, jump off the boat and swim for shore.

  Whether her body actually turned in that direction or whether Jared felt the shudder that went through her at the touch of Alexander Gagnon’s lips on her skin, she wasn’t sure. He released her for a moment to shake the other man’s hand, then returned his palm to her back and kept it there. Alexander’s gaze tracked the movement, then moved back to her face.

  “I’m looking forward to your presentation tomorrow,” he drawled. “Davide has been telling me about your great ideas.”

  Bailey’s knees were shaking so hard she had to lean into Jared to keep herself upright. She felt his gaze hard on her, but kept hers focused straight ahead. Alexander was staring at her, waiting for a response. “Yes, well, we—” she stumbled “—we’re hoping you’ll like them.”

  “We know you’ll love them,” Jared corrected firmly, his palm pressing into her spine.

  Alexander’s lips twisted in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve spent some time in the States. Davide mentioned you did your MBA at Stanford,” he said to Bailey. “Where did you do your undergrad?”

  He knew exa
ctly where she’d done her undergrad. A fine sheen of perspiration broke out on her brow. Her voice dry, more gravelly than she’d ever heard it, she forced out, “At UNLV.”

  He snapped his fingers. “That must be it. I feel we’ve met before, but I can’t place it. I’ve entertained a lot of clients in Vegas.”

  Every muscle in her body froze. The dark glitter in his eyes chilled her to the bone. “You must be mistaken,” she rasped, finding her voice. “I’m quite sure we’ve never met.”

  Gauntlet laid, she lifted her chin. Alexander inclined his head. “My mistake, then.”

  She let out the breath she’d been holding. Requested a martini for the pure, unadorned hit of alcohol it would provide. Jared leaned down to her. “What is wrong with you?”

  “I’m just not feeling…quite right.”

  His penetrating blue gaze ate through her. “A martini might not be the best thing, then. Let me get you some water.”

  “I’m fine,” she said sharply. “It’s probably just the boat. I’ll get over it.”

  The martini helped. She sipped it, feeling the alcohol inject itself into her bloodstream, bite into the unreality gripping her. She had to find a way through this that didn’t involve jumping off the boat and getting as far away from that man as she could. She had to pull herself together. But how? He had definitely recognized her. Her mind riffled through the options, desperately, not entirely clearly. She had to continue to pretend she’d never met him. Treat him as if he was just a business acquaintance. But it was just her luck that Alexander was seated across from her at dinner. And the red shirt he had on made it impossible to forget the last time she’d seen him.

  She’d danced in her signature red lace dress and underwear as Kate Delaney that night at the Red Room—the highest-end strip club in Vegas, legendary for its beautiful women and sumptuous interiors. To wear red and dance last meant she was the owner’s favorite, the most requested dancer of the week. Which wasn’t unusual for her. She pulled in a ton of regulars who came to see her cool, untouchable beauty uncovered; to watch the sensual, erotic transformation unfold.

  None of them could have known it was all an act for their benefit. That it was as far from the real Bailey as you could get.

  Alexander Gagnon had sat in the front row that night. As he had every night for the past three. She’d felt his eyes on her, dark and unmoving. Despite the fact that there had been at least a hundred and fifty other men in the club, she had only been conscious of him. Of the tall, dark figure who had approached her each night to have a drink with him and whom she’d turned down flat despite the money he’d thrown at her, because there was something about the exquisitely dressed stranger with his thousand-dollar ties that said red light to her.

  That night she had retreated to the dressing room, strangely affected by the intensity of the experience. The magnitude of the tip Alexander had left her. Her fellow dancers had showered and dressed in a mad rush to hit the town. Since she’d just been heading home to study for an exam the next day, Bailey had taken her time, sat at her dressing table and removed her thick, dramatic makeup. At some point she’d looked up to find the tall dark stranger standing inside the doorway. That all the other girls had gone. If you were to look past the dangerous edge to him that smoldered just below the surface, she would have called him inordinately handsome. Distinguished. But all she could smell was the scent of her own fear as she got to her feet, heart pounding.

  “You can’t be in here.”

  He’d lifted a brow. “Bruno owes me one. He gave us five minutes.”

  Her manager had let him in? “Get out.”

  He’d leaned back against the doorway, his gaze moving over her so slowly, so assessingly, she’d had to fight the urge to pull the edges of her blouse together. “After I give you my proposition, Kate.”

  She should have walked to the door then and had him thrown out, but she’d been afraid of him.

  “You’ve rejected my requests to join me for a drink three nights in a row,” he’d murmured, eyes glittering as he pushed away from the door and walked toward her. “I figured I’d try another strategy.” She’d backed up until her behind was against the dressing table, trying hard not to show her fear. “I know you’re a student, Kate. I’m offering you fifty thousand dollars for a night. Any hard limits, I’ll respect them.”

  She had stared at him, shocked. Shocked that anyone would pay that much for a night with someone. Shocked that that person would be her. She was the woman men shoved money at in a dirty, covetous thrill. Not a high-priced escort.

  For a second, for one split second, it had crossed her mind that fifty thousand dollars would cover her tuition and living expenses for the year. She could spend the days going to school and studying like a normal student. She wouldn’t have to be exhausted all the time turning her nights and days upside down…snatching a couple hours’ study before she passed out at night. She could leave the backbreaking pain of her four-inch heels behind. Just like that.

  Then hot shame had flooded through her. How could she even be considering it?

  She’d pointed to the door. “Get the hell out of my dressing room.”

  He’d just stood there. “Everyone has a price, Kate. Name it.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” She’d walked past him to the door and flung it open. “I don’t.”

  He must have seen the hatred burning in her eyes, because he’d left. Afterward, Bruno had denied involvement, then had been fired a few weeks later for stealing money from the club.

  Alexander Gagnon had shown up for the next two nights to see if she’d changed her mind. It had been the hardest two nights of her working career, her ability to concentrate nonexistent.

  “Bailey?”

  Davide was frowning, eyeing her plate. “You didn’t enjoy your meal?”

  She looked up to see the waitstaff hovering by her side, ready to remove the seafood salad sitting practically untouched in front of her. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I’m just a little off.”

  “Perhaps you got too much sun today,” he suggested in French. “You are so fair.”

  “Perhaps,” she agreed. “I’m sure I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”

  Jared hadn’t taken his eyes off her the entire meal. It could have been because she didn’t seem able to add any intelligent insights to the conversation, or alternatively, ask any valuable questions. Either way, it felt hard to breathe and she needed to escape.

  She excused herself and made a beeline for the ladies’ room. It was downstairs, off the opulent drawing room, done in royal-blue marble with gold accents. She pulled in some deep breaths, splashed water on her ashen face, then pressed one of the thick, luxurious hand towels to her face.

  Could a nightmare actually come to life? Because this was hers…

  She applied some lipstick and pinched her cheeks to give them color, but she still looked deathly pale as she left her sanctuary and headed back upstairs. She had just stepped on deck when Alexander cut her off at the pass.

  “You’ve done well for yourself, Bailey.” He leaned his arm on the railing and blocked the way back to the others. “Or should I say Kate? What is your real name?”

  Bailey gave him a blank look, fighting to keep her composure. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You think I don’t remember you?” He rested his gaze on her face, as chilling and unnerving as it had been that night he’d sat in the audience watching her. “I remember every curve, every dip of your mind-blowing body. How you seduced every man in that room and left them begging for more.”

  A fresh wave of perspiration broke out on her brow. “You have the wrong woman,” she rasped. “And this is not at all appropriate.”

  “I don’t think I do.” He pushed away from the railing and took the last couple of steps toward her. Bailey’s heart knocked against her ribs. A cool Mediterranean breeze flitted over her but she felt vaguely feverish. “I saw it on your fac
e that night. You wanted to say yes.”

  “I don’t know you,” she bit out and started to brush by him. He curled his fingers around her arm and brought her to a halt.

  “They don’t know, do they?” His smoky gaze heated with challenge. “You’ve moved on. Gone to a great deal of trouble to put your past behind you…”

  Yes. And she wasn’t going back there now.

  “Get your hands off her, Gagnon.”

  Jared’s low, menacing command came from behind them. She twisted around and found him watching them, hands clenched by his sides, tall, lean body coiled like a cat ready to pounce. Her heart zigzagged across her chest, threatening to explode right out of it. God, no. He couldn’t know about this.

  Alexander lifted his hand from her arm and stepped back. “Cool your jets, Stone. We were just having a conversation.”

  Jared took a step closer until he was toe-to-toe with Alexander. “I don’t particularly like the nature of it. And neither does Bailey from the looks of it. So perhaps we should all return to the table for dessert?”

  Alexander stared him down, just for the fun of it, Bailey guessed semi-hysterically. Her airways seemed closed to oxygen. Alexander lifted his hands in the air. “Beautiful, isn’t she? Can’t blame you. Ask her about the sexy mole on her hip, Stone. It’s quite something…or maybe you already know that?”

  Bailey’s heart sank into the deck. A trickle of perspiration rolled down her neck as Alexander turned and sauntered off. He had not just said that.

  Jared’s gaze moved over her face. It was the stillness, the absolute stillness about him that got to her. “What is he talking about, Bailey? And how do you know him?”