‘Merger. Not takeover,’ Matthew Jordan quickly corrected him, though his expression had softened a bit. He sat back in his seat and let his eyes travel back to Olivia. ‘I realise that your mother’s death must have been a blow for you—and I also realise that the merger must have come as something of a surprise.’ He paused for a moment and narrowed his eyes. ‘It also came as a surprise to me.’
Somehow Olivia doubted that, but she carefully bit the observation back. Instead she told him in an even tone, deliberately using the term he had rejected, ‘Your uncle evidently believed that the takeover would be useful to Jordan’s. The area in which Garland’s specialises—and holds a considerable share of the European market—is an area in which Jordan’s has been seeking a foothold for some time, I understand.’ She reeled off to perfection a string of statistics to back up her point, and was aware of Lewis nodding his approval at her side. Encouraged, she continued, ‘The reasons why your uncle wished to get his hands on my mother’s company are fairly self-evident. Since my mother received not one penny in compensation, the reasons why she chose to part with it are open to interpretation…’
As she paused, her expression censorious, he raised a dark, inquisitive eyebrow. ‘And your interpretation, I presume, is that she was somehow tricked? That my uncle used some dishonest ploy in order to steal her company from her…?’
‘Precisely.’ The blue eyes were hard. ‘Perhaps it was specifically for that reason that he married her.’
Matthew Jordan shrugged broad shoulders and straightened the cerise silk tie at his throat. ‘I somehow doubt it,’ he said, and smiled that infuriatingly superior smile. ‘Garland’s may have been a useful acquisition, but it’s not exactly ICI, after all.’
Olivia tightened her lips defensively, resenting the deliberately belittling remark. ‘Nevertheless,’ she pointed out acidly, ‘I notice you’re not in any particular hurry to give it back.’
‘I have, however, agreed to pay a considerable financial remuneration.’
‘That’s not what I want. It was my father’s wish that Garland’s should be passed on to my brother. And it is likewise my own wish and that of my brother.’
Matthew Jordan sat forward in his seat again, the shrewd eyes scrutinising her face, long fingers toying idly with the yellow pencil. ‘As an alternative, I have offered your brother a share in Jordan’s commensurate with the stake of Garland’s, a guaranteed executive position with the company when he graduates from college and a seat on the board when he reaches twenty-five. I would suggest that in terms of compensation either offer would be considered more than generous.’
Olivia regarded him stubbornly. There was no way he was going to sweet-talk her round. ‘I repeat, that’s not what we want, Mr Jordan. We want our company back.’
He leaned back in his seat again, the pencil delicately poised between the tips of the strong, tanned index fingers, and met her gaze with easy, unruffled self-assurance. ‘In that case, I’m afraid I can’t help you,’ he said.
‘Can’t or won’t?’ There was ice in her voice.
‘Can’t, Miss Garland, alas. Even if I wanted to, such a move is quite beyond my powers.’
Olivia looked back at him with open scepticism in her eyes. ‘Forgive me if I find that just a little difficult to believe.’ She happened to know that, with the death of his uncle, he had acquired an overwhelming majority on the board of Jordan’s. According to Lewis’s meticulous research, he virtually ran the huge company single-handed. His claim was simply one more example of the Jordan family’s predisposition towards chicanery and lies. ‘Don’t try to tell me that such a simple matter as signing a few papers would be beyond your capabilities?’
‘Beyond my capabilities, no.’ A cruelly sardonic smile touched his lips. ‘But, I’m afraid, quite beyond my jurisdiction.’
‘How come?’
‘How come?’ He repeated the bald enquiry with another mocking little smile, then paused for a moment before answering to deliberately clear his throat. Instantly the blonde Celine, who had sat silent but attentive so far, reached for the nearest water jug to fill her boss’s empty glass and, with a geisha-like smile, offered it to him. With the barest of acknowledgements, Matthew Jordan accepted the glass and drank.
Olivia observed the little ceremony with mixed discomfort and distaste, but without any degree of real surprise. She had already judged the blonde girl as belonging to that type of female who believe it is their place to perform services for men. Involuntarily she felt a stab of pain. She knew the type well. Her own mother had been one. With ever-strengthening disapproval, she raised her eyes to Matthew Jordan. It was equally easy to recognise in him a man who accepted—even demanded— such grovelling gestures as his right. That type was painfully close to home as well.
She waited until he had finished drinking and laid the half-empty glass aside. ‘Well? You haven’t answered my question,’ she said.
‘I’m about to, Miss Garland, if you’ll just give me the chance.’ He leaned back casually in his seat and began toying with the yellow pencil again. ‘Though I’m afraid you won’t find much comfort in what I have to say.’
Olivia regarded him flatly and said nothing. Somehow she was afraid of that, too.
He began, the hazel eyes beneath the straight black brows watching her closely as he spoke, ‘My great-uncle Julius, who founded Jordan’s, was a very family-orientated man. It was always his strongest desire that the company should remain within the family.’
He paused, as though to ensure maximum impact for what was coming next—and smiled a tantalising smile, evidently enjoying his audience’s unease. ‘To that end,’ he continued, ‘he had inserted in the company’s charter a clause which prohibits any part of the company passing into the hands of anyone who is not a family member.’ He tossed the yellow pencil casually to one side and spelled out what Olivia had already deduced for herself. ‘Since Garland’s is now an integral part of Jordan Electronics, I’m afraid that unfortunate clause applies. As I already told you, even if it were my wish, it is quite outside my jurisdiction to return Garland’s to you.’
Olivia was staring at him, open-mouthed. ‘But that’s preposterous!’ she began.
Then she glanced at Lewis for support and nodded vigorously in agreement as the wily accountant proposed, ‘Surely, Mr Jordan, a way can be found round such a clause? There must be some legal loophole that would apply in these exceptional circumstances.’ He twisted the ring on his middle finger as he smiled across the table at Matthew Jordan. ‘If you were agreeable, couldn’t our lawyers—?’
‘I’m afraid not, Mr Ottley,’ Matthew Jordan cut in rudely. ‘The clause is watertight. I can assure you now that you would be wasting your time if you were to endeavour to find a way around it.’
Momentarily, Lewis fell silent, but Olivia’s brain was working overtime. ‘Our mother was married to your uncle,’ she challenged. ‘Doesn’t that qualify my brother and me as family under the clause?’
He shook his dark head in mock regret. ‘Alas, Miss Garland, I’m afraid it doesn’t. The clause was highly specific in its definition of family. Our rather tenuous relationship wouldn’t legally qualify.’ A taunting smile crossed the dark-tanned face. ‘The old man left nothing to chance. I suppose you could say that when he set up Jordan’s he was doing more than merely founding a business. It was his intention, in a way, to establish a family—’
‘Dynasty,’ Olivia finished for him in her most cutting voice. Megalomania and self-importance were evidently in his genes. Though, privately, she was wishing that her own father had had the foresight to make similar arrangements himself. It looked as if the business he had founded for his heirs had passed forever out of Garland hands. She felt a sudden plummet of despair. She had been so certain that with a bit of hard bargaining face to face she would be able to win her case. Now she felt as though an impenetrable brick wall had suddenly sprung up in front of her.
She stared at Matthew Jordan, hating him, as without a gram of sy
mpathy or regret in his voice he told her, ‘So you see, my hands are tied.’
‘How convenient!’ she shot back contemptuously. It probably suited him very well.
Unperturbed, he put to her, ‘You may take your time in deciding which of my two options you prefer to accept. I trust you will wish to discuss the matter with your brother before coming to a decision.’
‘I have no need to discuss the matter with Richard. I know he wants his company back.’
With a weary gesture, he shook his head. ‘I’ve already explained to you why that’s not possible. Your options are those I’ve already spelled out— unless you have any other suggestions…?’
Olivia had none—for the moment. Though she wasn’t about to give up yet. There had to be some way out of this impasse. ‘I’m going to go on fighting you.’
He turned away indifferently. ‘That’s entirely up to you, Miss Garland. You’re perfectly free to waste your time if that’s what you wish to do. In the meantime—’ for the first time, he glanced down at the papers his secretary had laid in front of him, ‘I’ve arranged for one of my top men to move in as deputy director. For the next few months he’ll be working alongside you, Mr Ottley,’ he said, addressing the grey-haired man. ‘Getting to know the company, learning the ropes.’
Olivia felt herself stiffen with indignation. That sounded ominously like a threat to the position of her staunchest ally. Why would he appoint a deputy unless he intended that deputy to take over? ‘I thought you promised there’d be no staff changes when you took over the company?’ she challenged, an edge to her voice.
‘Have I made any?’ he enquired rhetorically. ‘This, for the moment, is a straightforward addition.’ With smooth insincerity, he addressed himself to Lewis. ‘I’m sure Mr Ottley has no objections to having someone to share the burdens of leadership with him for a while?’
‘Of course not.’ Though Lewis appeared outwardly calm, Olivia could sense his inner dismay. And she felt for him. Over the years since her father had died, he had done an excellent job of keeping the company going. He didn’t deserve to be treated like this.
But even as she opened her mouth to protest on his behalf, Matthew Jordan was pushing the file of papers across the table towards him. ‘His name’s McKay. This is a copy of his CV. You can acquaint yourself with his particulars before he arrives next week.’ Then he glanced quickly at the pale gold watch at his wrist. ‘My secretary has need of the use of a phone in private for a couple of minutes. Perhaps—’
‘She can use the one in my office.’ Already Lewis was rising to his feet. No doubt, thought Olivia with sympathy, he was glad of the opportunity to escape. He gathered up the odious papers. ‘Allow me to accompany you.’
As the blonde Celine rose sinuously from her seat and followed Lewis to the door, her boss instructed, ‘Once you’re finished, just wait in the car. I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.’
The girl smiled sweetly, ‘Very well, Mr Jordan,’ and Olivia scoffed inwardly to herself. ‘Mr Jordan’ indeed! I’ll bet it’s ‘Matthew’ in private! Somehow she sensed that carrying his briefcase and thoughtfully pouring him glasses of water were not the only services the delectable Celine performed for her boss.
As the door closed and they were left alone, Matthew Jordan turned to her. ‘Perhaps now, Miss Garland, you wouldn’t mind just quickly showing me round the works?’
‘Me?’ She raised a sarcastic eyebrow at him. ‘Why ask me? I have nothing to do with Garland’s any more—as you’ve been at great pains all afternoon to point out. I think it would be more fitting if Mr Ottley or one of the other senior members of staff were to do the honours.’
She stood up, intending to cross to the phone. But before she was even half-way there, he had risen too and stepped in front of her. ‘That won’t be necessary, Miss Garland. As much as I hate to incommode you, I’m sure your knowledge of the place, for the moment, will suffice.’
He was standing so close that she took a step back, overwhelmed by the raw male power of him. As he took a step forward, dosing the gap, she could feel his warmth, his clean, masculine scent. She felt suddenly threatened, deeply confused; her hand fluttered protectively to her high-necked blouse. Her mouth felt dry. She cleared her throat. ‘Very well,’ she croaked.
Her heart was still hammering furiously as she turned abruptly and led him through the door, then along another corridor to the part of the building where the design and assembly work was done. And what infuriated her even more than her own pathetic, schoolgirlish response was the fact that she knew he was perfectly aware of the total confusion he had caused in her. And that the spectacle of her embarrassed floundering had quite evidently appealed to his warped sense of humour.
An amused gleam shone in the bright hazel eyes as he stepped ahead of her into the busy assembly area and took a look around. ‘So this is it?’ He did not sound impressed.
‘Yes, Mr Jordan, this is it.’ Olivia threw him a shrewd look. ‘A modest establishment by your standards, I’m sure. Hardly worth hanging on to, really.’
He regarded her from top to toe, and there was an insinuatingly ambiguous note in his voice as he told her, ‘Tut, tut, Miss Garland. Don’t sell yourself short. All it needs is a few months in the right hands to make the most of its potential.’
As he started to make his own way round, Olivia followed silently, hating the calm way he took control. Hating, too, the easy manner in which he introduced himself and exchanged pleasantries with various members of the workforce as he paused here and there along the way. He was nothing but a calculating bastard, just like his uncle!
And he was taking his time, she observed, in spite of his earlier assurance that this would just be a very brief tour. She had a sudden flash of the passive Celine sitting outside in the car, waiting patiently for him. She was no doubt used to this sort of thing. And also, no doubt, never complained. A doormat, custom-made for an arrogant male chauvinist like Matthew Jordan.
Eventually he told her, ‘OK, I’ve seen enough,’ and with a heartfelt sense of relief Olivia started to accompany him back along the corridor towards the swing doors that led out into the entrance hall. Though he walked quickly, she forced herself to keep pace with him, and they were abreast as they came together to the set of double swing doors.
Virtually simultaneously, they reached out to push the doors wide, and for one brief but breath-taking moment their two hands collided.
As warm flesh brushed against warm flesh, Olivia snatched her hand away, feeling almost as though she had been burned. And she was excruciatingly aware of the sudden hot colour that flooded her face as Matthew Jordan deliberately held her eyes for a moment before gallantly stepping aside. ‘After you, Miss Garland. Ladies first.’
Stiffly, she manoeuvred past him out into the entrance hall, registering with mingled relief and regret that the welcoming banner had been taken down while, outside, only the Daimler waited, with no sign of the demonstrators or their placards. It irked her that he should have had his way, but she was grateful to be spared any further confrontation. The only thing she wanted now was to see him climb into the big black car and, she hoped, never set eyes on him again.
Politely she accompanied him to the plate-glass doors. ‘I hope you have a pleasant trip home.’ And a speedy one, she added to herself.
He smiled. ‘Oh, I won’t be going back south just yet. I’ll be around until tomorrow.’ His smile widened as hers wavered at this news. ‘If you should wish to get in touch with me, I’m staying at the Royal.’
Thanks for the warning, Olivia thought—and waited impatiently for him to go.
But again he was taking his time. ‘Likewise, if some fresh solution occurs to me, I might give you a call. Don’t worry,’ he enjoined perversely as she opened her mouth to protest, ‘I already have your home number on file.’
Did he, indeed? A disquieting thought.
‘You will be spending the evening at home, I take it?
‘I may be.’ She
eyed him indignantly, taking exception to the casual insult implicit in his assumption. Then she added in a studiedly offhand tone, ‘Sydney and I will probably be having a quiet evening in for a change.’
‘Sydney?’ One dark eyebrow lifted in undisguised surprise. But, to her immense relief, he did not pursue the subject. Instead he smiled and held out his hand. ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you.’
There was no way she would perjure herself by returning the fraudulent compliment. With stiff reluctance, she extended her own hand. ‘Goodbye, Mr Jordan,’ she replied.
Perhaps if Olivia had been feeling a bit less agitated, she might have anticipated his next move. As it was, what happened next took her totally by surprise.
Graciously, Matthew Jordan took her hand and, just for a moment, held her eyes. Then, before she realised what was happening, he bent towards her and raised the back of her hand to his lips—a kiss that scorched like molten fire against her unsuspecting flesh.
‘Not goodbye, Miss Garland,’ he told her, straightening. ‘Merely au revoir.’
Then, leaving her standing apopleptic with rage, he turned and walked calmly out through the doors.
CHAPTER TWO
The first thing Olivia did that evening when she got home was take the phone off the hook.
Matthew Jordan’s little threat to give her a call if some new solution came to mind had undoubtedly been made in jest. For one thing, he had all but convinced her that no possible solutions existed, other than those he had already proposed. For another, right now his mind was probably engaged in rather more frivolous pursuits. In the shape of the fair Celine. Like the good little geisha that she was, she would be helping her master to unwind.
But with a man like Matthew Jordan one could never be entirely sure. Hence the disconnected phone. Somehow Olivia sensed he was just the type who would take a devilish delight in deliberately disrupting her peace and quiet.
As she kicked off her shoes, Sydney was lying curled up on the sofa. She bent to give his ear an affectionate tug. ‘So it’s just you and me, as usual,’ she said with a slight smile to herself as the big ginger cat yawned lazily, then stretched and went back to sleep.
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