Taming the Takeover Tycoon

by Robyn Grady

  “I see what I need to see.”

  “What you want to see.”

  His gaze skimmed her lips. “That, too.”

  He swung open the front glass door and they crossed to a counter. A vase of marigolds sat at one end, a framed headshot announcing “Employee of the Month—Brightside House” on the other. Becca addressed the receptionist.

  “Hi, Torielle. Mind if I take a guest through?”

  The woman had a magic smile, the type that made a person want to beam back. “You know you’re welcome here anytime, Becca. Anytime at all.”

  “Torielle Williams, this is Jack Reed.”

  Torielle’s dark-chocolate gaze flickered—perhaps she recognized the name and its recent connection to the Lassiter scandal in the media. But her smile didn’t waver.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Reed. Let me know if there’s anything you need.”

  As they headed down a corridor, Jack felt Becca’s energy swell and glow. She was a natural leader, a person who got the job done. Knowing she was out for his scalp would have upset a lesser opponent. Instead Jack found himself absorbing her spirit. What might they accomplish if Becca and he sat on the same team?

  “This facility helps long-term unemployed women not only find work but also regain their self-esteem,” she said. “No matter the color, creed, age or background, we do whatever needs to be done to get them back into contributing, earning and growing as individuals.”

  They stopped at a window that opened onto another room. Inside, a group was immersed in doing nails and makeup. Numerous rails of women’s clothing were lined neatly off to one side.

  “Every obstacle is tackled,” Becca said, “from grooming and carriage to interview skills and continuing education.”

  Jack stole a look at Becca’s hands resting on the window ledge. Her nails were cut short, no polish. Her makeup was minimal, too, if she wore any at all. Her kind of bone structure and flawless skin didn’t need any help. Good diet, plenty of uninterrupted sleep. Jack imaged her opening her eyes each morning and bouncing out of bed. He usually hit the snooze button at least twice. Insomnia was a bitch.

  Farther on, they stopped at another window and saw a well-dressed woman addressing a room full of women who were taking notes. Then the next room was a gym. Exercise classes were in full swing—spin bikes, Pilates, ball games.

  “Everyone’s enjoying themselves,” he said.

  “Exercise releases endorphins. Feeling good is addictive, Jack.” Her shoulder nudged his arm. “You got to keep it pumping.”

  Jack grinned. “You like to push yourself.”

  “That’s the way to success.”

  “As long as you don’t burn out.”

  “No chance of that when you’re doing what you love.”

  “And you love what you’re doing.”

  “Every minute.”

  “Even troubleshooting problems like me?”

  They faced each other and she tilted her head, as if she were trying to see him more clearly—see the good.

  “You, Jack, are a challenge.”

  “But redeemable?”

  “Everyone’s redeemable.” Her fingers tapped his shirtfront. “Even you.”

  Next was a stop at a newer facility separate from the main building. Groups of young children were painting, playing dress-up, making mud pies. Minders were engrossed in helping, sharing, laughing.

  “A child-care facility?” he asked.

  “And after-school facilities with a bus service to deliver and collect the kids. There’s a nursery for the newborns, too.”

  As they walked along a fence lined with fragrant yellow flowers, Becca explained.

  “In the States, more women than men are poor, and the poverty gap is wider here than anywhere in the Western world. When parents separate or divorce it’s more likely that mothers will take on the financial responsibilities of raising the kids. Childcare costs can be crippling, never mind medical expenses. While we get a woman prepared to interview for jobs, we make certain any children are properly supervised and cared for.”

  A little girl with pink track shoes and big brown eyes saw Becca and waved her paintbrush hello over her head. Becca waved back and blew her a kiss before leading Jack back into the main building.

  “Who was that?” he asked.

  “Wait a minute and I’ll let you guess.”

  They entered a room. Women sitting at half a dozen computer workstations glanced up and greeted them both. Becca sat at a vacant desk and logged in while Jack stood behind her, attention on the computer screen. She opened up a file labeled “Before.” There were countless entries, each catalogued by a headshot.

  “These are just some of the women who the facility has helped,” she said, enlarging a “Before” image. Not only did the woman look disheveled, her resigned expression said she’d accepted that disappointment was her lot in life.

  “She never finished high school,” Becca said, studying the screen. “For years she suffered in a domestic violence situation. Her husband put her in hospital more than once but she never pressed charges because she feared the next beating would be worse. Her teeth were broken. Can you imagine the agony of feeling discriminated against because of your smile? She was living in a shelter with her children when she came to us.”

  “Did she get a job?”

  From her seat, Becca grinned up at him. “You don’t recognize her?”

  “No.” Then he blinked, focused harder. “Wait...” Something in those eyes... “Torielle?”

  “Just two years ago.”

  Of course. “The receptionist with the dynamite smile.”

  “We have several professionals, including dentists, who donate their time. Now Torielle helps out here part-time and is working toward completing a college degree.”

  “And the girl waving her paintbrush, saying hello...?”

  “Chelsea, Torielle’s four-year-old daughter. She has two older brothers in grade school, twins. The boys both want to become jet pilots. They’re smart enough, too. Chelsea wants to be a ballerina—every little girl’s dream, and why not?”

  “A happy ending,” Jack said as Becca clicked to Torielle’s “After” picture. The difference, the pride—real pride—shone from the inside out.

  “We want to set these facilities up all over the country,” Becca said.

  “But they need ongoing support.”

  “The way we see it, we give a little now and society gets a whole lot back later.”

  Becca pushed to her feet and smiled into his eyes, a beautiful smile Jack had seen before but not as clearly as he did this minute. Becca was one of those uniquely special individuals who bobbed up every now and then. Unselfish, exuberant. She was physically attractive but it was her attitude that made everything about her shine...even when she was chewing someone out.

  “Are you ready for a change of pace?” she asked.

  His gaze swept over her silken waves of hair. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Something different.” She winked. “Something fun.”

  Six

  “My God. What the hell is that?”

  Frowning at Jack’s remark, Becca crossed over to the small, seemingly unsupervised dog. “You’re lucky he’s not sensitive,” she said.

  They had driven from Brightside House a short distance to a small, quiet parking lot located this side of a beach. When they’d gotten out of the car, this little guy had been waiting alone as planned. Chichi would play a role in Becca’s weeklong challenge. Her overriding strategy was to reach Jack’s more human, less sophisticated side. He couldn’t help but lower his defenses with this cute dog around.

  For the next two days of her remaining six, she would hide Jack away from all the temptations and reminders that drove his co
nquer and take all mentality. He needed to get back to basics, and appreciate that everyone deserved a chance to achieve at least that, too.

  Now, studying the dog, Jack visibly shuddered. “Sorry, but that’s got to be the ugliest mutt I’ve ever seen.”

  “Haven’t you heard?” Crouching, Becca stroked the wispy tuft of hair on the dog’s head. “Beauty is skin deep.”

  “Except when ninety-five percent of the skin is bald and dappled—” he shuddered again “—and please, not scaly, too.”

  “He’s a Chinese-crested Chihuahua mix.”

  “If you say so.” He flipped a finger at its head. “Do you think its tongue always lolls out the side of its mouth like that?”

  She dropped a kiss between the puppy’s ears. “Cute, huh?”

  “God as my witness, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Chichi will be joining us on our road trip.”

  Jack’s head went back. “You know this dog?” As if to answer for her, Chichi sneezed and Jack shrank back. “Whatever it’s got, let’s hope it’s not contagious. Does he smell?”

  “Not as well as a bloodhound.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  As she ran a palm down Chichi’s hairless back, his pink tongue lolled out more. “Did you have a dog growing up?”

  “Would it be too unkind to suggest those bobble eyes look possessed?”

  “Jack?” Focus. “Growing up?”

  “Yeah. We had a King Charles.”

  “To go with the thoroughbreds, right?”

  Chichi’s skinny tail with its pompom tip whipped the sandy ground; he got the joke.

  Becca pushed to her feet. “He wants you to pick him up.”

  Jack crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. “You pick him up.”

  “That’s pathetic.”

  Jack hashed it out some more and finally exhaled. He edged forward, gingerly hunkered down and scooped the dog up. Chichi’s eyes grew heavy, contented, looking up into his. “Are you running some kind of weird dog makeover campaign?”

  “We all need to be loved.”

  Jack shot her a look. “You’re not trying to get me to adopt this thing, are you? Because my lifestyle isn’t conducive, to say the least.”

  “He’s on loan from a friend.” The longtime owner of the café right next to this parking lot.

  As Chichi’s head and tongue craned up, Jack recoiled. “And the friend wants it back?”

  “Oh, c’mon. You’re not that harsh.”

  He arched a brow. “I have it on good authority that I am.”

  From many, including Becca. And yet Jack must have owned a soul at some point. He’d wanted to marry that woman, hadn’t he? Ipso facto, he’d been in love, a self-sacrificing condition from all accounts. Of course, he could’ve simply been trying to screw with her brain. She wouldn’t put it past him. And yet somehow, deep down, Becca knew he’d told the truth, at least about that.

  Still gazing up at Jack, Chichi put his miniature paw on his chest. What a picture.

  “He’s really taken to you,” she said.

  The dog yipped and one side of Jack’s mouth twitched—almost a grin. “He sounds like a mouse.”

  Moving closer, Becca ran a palm over Chichi’s head. When the dog laid his ear against Jack’s chest, her fingers skimmed that solid warmth, too, and for one drugging moment she imagined herself curled up in those capable arms, snuggling in against that sensational rock of a chest.

  “He loves the sand and water,” she said.

  “That’s my cue to take him for a walk while music plays over a slow-motion montage.”

  “I’m not aiming that high.” Yet. She did, however, want to bring out Jack’s softer, more compassionate side.

  When Jack set him on the ground, Chichi trotted off down the wooden-slat path to the beach. Then he stopped and looked back, as if making sure he was being followed.

  Shielding his gaze from the sun, Jack surveyed the quiet area. “We’ll need a leash.”

  “It’s a leash-free beach.”

  “So a bigger dog can just romp up and have him for lunch?”

  “Hasn’t happened yet.”

  “A hawk might swoop and carry him off. I’m serious.”

  Becca was laughing. Was Jack embarrassed or just being difficult? Either way, she was going to win. She skirted around the rear to give him a good push. But when she set her palms on his back, ready to shove, heat swirled up her arms, zapping her blood all the way to her core. At the same time, Jack spun around and, playing, caught her hands.

  She should have stepped back then and put some physical distance between them. But his expression changed so quickly from games to that intense, dark gaze searching hers...when a thick vein in his throat began to throb, she couldn’t help it. Becca felt mesmerized by the beat.

  Chichi’s yip broke the trance. The sound of waves washing onto shore faded back up. Again, she felt wind pulling through her hair. Light-headed, she edged back at the same time Jack reached to bring her closer. He missed catching her by a whisker.

  Gathering herself, Becca nodded toward Chichi. “Go on,” she said in an unintentionally husky voice. “He’s waiting.”

  “What about you?”

  “I have someone to see.” Her friend, Chichi’s owner.

  He took two purposeful steps, closing the gap between them again. Had he suddenly grown six inches? Becca felt dwarfed...very nearly consumed.

  “Becca, you said this was fun time.”

  Her heart was pounding so hard, she had to swallow against the knot lodged in her throat before tacking up a smile.

  “So...” She shrugged. “Have fun.”

  But Jack didn’t move. If he reached for her hand now, Becca wasn’t sure which way it might go. How easy would it be to pretend they were a regular couple out for the day with their dog on the beach. But this wasn’t about her. Definitely wasn’t about them as a couple.

  The intensity in Jack’s expression finally eased. When he bent to slip off his shoes, Becca released that breath. As he trotted off down onto the beach, Chichi scampered back up, trying to scoot between his legs on each step. When Jack almost stumbled, Becca laughed. Glancing back, he laughed, too—a hearty, deeply stirring sound that in some ways touched Becca’s heart.

  She had to believe...

  There must be hope for us all.

  * * *

  Amidst a clump of dried seaweed, Jack found a stick to toss while Becca disappeared in through the front door of a café located next to the parking lot. When what’s-his-face let out a bark, Jack refocused and hurled the stick toward the water. He watched the dog scamper off, kicking up sand as he went. It was a perfect Californian day, Jack was a fan of the beach and, okay, this dog was half-cute in a sincerely off kind of way. But Jack’s mind was stuck on Becca. First, he understood the visit to Brightside House. Becca had wanted to bring him up close and personal with the good work her foundation was doing, the real life people the funds helped. The way she had highlighted Torielle’s dramatic change in circumstances had been a nice touch. It was obviously a worthwhile and solid program.

  But what was she thinking lumping him with a dog? Was this introduction somehow linked to opening his eyes in connection to a pet adoption agency, perhaps? Whatever Becca was hatching here had to do with advancing her cause of coaxing him away from a takeover bid.

  She would be pleased to hear that this morning had made him think.

  More importantly, Becca made him feel. Whenever they touched, even a brush, Jack felt it to the marrow of his bones—they had sexual compatibility through the roof. And a minute ago, he’d put a finger on at least one reason for that. Becca wasn’t playing hard to get. She was hard to get. It wasn’t happening, not in this lifetime, even while they
both felt temptation gnawing and growing between them. With Becca, ethics came first, last and everywhere in between.

  If they should happen to come to some understanding regarding the rescue of her beloved foundation, she would worry that a rogue like him could always go back on his word. She might suggest a contract with special clauses, Jack supposed...in which case, perhaps he could slip in a couple of special private conditions of his own.

  Nah. That was low, even for him.

  Jack was between throws and watching Becca from a distance as she spoke with a woman on the veranda of the café when his cell phone rang. After checking the caller ID, he pressed the phone to his ear.

  “Angelica just called,” Logan said. “She wanted my opinion again.”

  “And you said?”

  Logan recited his standard response. “She needs to accept the terms of the will.”

  “But she resisted.”

  “She still can’t believe J.D. would do this to her. She’s convinced there’s some kind of conspiracy going on.”

  Jack transferred the cell to his other hand and tossed the stick again. “Poor kid.”

  “Angelica’s hardly a child.”

  “There’s a part of me that still sees her that way.”

  Jack had felt for Angelica having grown up without her mother, although from all reports her aunt had done a great job as a substitute. J.D.’s longtime widowed sister-in-law, Marlene, still resided in a private wing of the homestead belonging to the Big Blue.

  Of course, her son, Chance, had inherited a whopping sixty percent of the ranch. Real generous of J.D. It must have made Angelica wonder if what appeared to be favoritism was gender-related. It made Jack wonder, too. If J.D. had sired a son rather than a daughter, would he have structured his will differently, leaving out the complications that Angelica was experiencing now?

  Jack hadn’t thought about being a father himself, not since he’d been in love with Krystal back in college. He’d been a different person then. His own most recent will left everything to Sylvia and some friends as well as to charity.

  Ha. Wouldn’t that make Becca’s day.

  Chichi was dancing on his hind legs, tongue flapping, wanting to play fetch some more.