Читать книгу Tycoon Takes Revenge - Anna DePalo - Страница 9

Upstairs in Noah’s office, Kayla still couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

They didn’t do well talking to each other. Or even being in the same room together.

Noah gestured her to a seat.

“No thanks,” she said.

“Suit yourself,” he responded, then sat at the edge of his desk, folding his arms across his chest and crossing one foot over the other at the ankle.

She glanced around his office. It was all chrome and black and glass with two walls displaying great views of nearby hills. Her cubicle at work would have fit into the space behind his desk.

Grudgingly, she admitted that, whatever else Noah was, he did appear to be spectacularly successful.

“What the heck are you doing here?” he asked abruptly, drawing her attention back to him.

“I was filling in for another reporter,” she said, self-conscious under his scrutiny. All at once, her skirt felt too short, her top too tight and her heels too high. Damn him.

He raised a brow. “Since when are gossip columnists asked to fill in for business reporters?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that it was none of his business, when it occurred to her that she’d just been handed a great chance to ask as many questions as she wanted about the acquisition of Avanti—if, that was, she acted at least passably civil toward him.

“I’ve been trying for a lateral move to the business desk at the Sentinel,” she responded stiffly.

She could see she’d surprised him. “You want to write something other than salacious rumors?”

She checked her temper. “Let’s not cross that ground again, shall we? As I think I made clear before, I work hard at my job. It’s just that I want to be doing the type of reporting that I got into journalism for.”

“And that would be—?”

“Business reporting,” she said, her tone clipped. “Are you going to tell me what you wanted to talk to me about, or not?”

He looked at her for several seconds, his green gaze inscrutable. Finally, he said, “I’m calling for a cease-fire.”

“What?” It was her turn to be taken by surprise.

“You heard me.”

“Oh, right. I suppose now that the empire has struck back, it’s okay for you to want to call a truce. After all, Sybil LaBreck has just announced to the whole world that we’re back together!”

“Yeah, well,” he said, too placidly to suit her, “you did play straight into my hands on that one.”

She stared at him, annoyed. How dare he stand there looking so sexy and so gorgeous—causing an unwanted but very feminine reaction in her—when he was such a calculating sneak. She folded her arms across her chest. “I know I will regret asking, but how did I play into your plans?”

“Yesterday I tipped off that photographer from the Boston World so he could snap me leaving the Sentinel’s offices looking, uh, contrite after trying to mend fences with you.”

“I should have guessed that photographer wasn’t just hanging around hoping for a good photo op.”

“Little did I know you’d insist on walking out with me—”

“Giving you and him an even better photo opportunity than you were expecting,” she finished for him.

The lout.

“So, again, are you willing to declare a truce?”

“What kind of truce?” she asked, suspicious.

He shrugged nonchalantly, rising from his desk.

She forced herself not to take an involuntary step back just to keep some space between them. Over six feet, he had a comfortable height advantage over her—even when she was wearing heels. But, more than that, he radiated a charisma that was nearly palpable.

“We can help each other.”

“Really?” she asked in disbelief, forcing herself to keep up with their war of words because it was easier than thinking about being alone in his office with him.

“I can’t imagine what help I need from you other than for you to stop sabotaging me.”

He arched a brow. “Sabotage is a strong word, don’t you think?”

“Not if it’s accurate.” When he was smooth and charming, he was even more dangerous than when he was angry and annoyed. She brushed aside the disgruntling realization.

“You just said you’re looking to move to the business desk at the Sentinel.”

“Yes…?” She wondered where he was going with this.

“I can give you a news story that will help you get there.”

“What news story?”

“An exclusive inside look at Whittaker Enterprises. I’ll grant you broad access.”

“In return for…?”

He gazed at her speculatively. “In return for your help in rehabilitating my public image.”

“Impossible,” she responded.

He laughed. “I’m flattered, in a backhanded-compliment sort of way.”

“Anyway, you’re overestimating my influence on public opinion.”

“I don’t think so. You damaged my reputation, you can repair it.”

“How?”

“By being seen getting along with me.”

“I’m not that good of an actress,” she retorted.

“Do your best. I’m not looking for an Oscar-winning performance.”

His plan was ridiculous, outrageous. So why was she tempted?

Because, she answered herself, he was dangling an irresistible lure, damn him. She’d walk on hot coals to get that business reporter’s beat.

“Well?” he prompted.

“Can’t. Journalistic ethics. You may have heard of them.”

“A little late in the day to be worrying about those, don’t you think?” he scoffed.

“Tell that to my boss when he fires me,” she snapped.

He shrugged and folded his arms again. “What would it take not to offend your journalistic sensibilities?”

“I won’t agree to anything that smacks of you trying to buy me off or of an exchange of favors.”

He sighed. “I told you that you’ll have broad access to Whittaker Enterprises. You can talk to our employees. Heck, I’ll talk to you. You can follow me around and see what my routine is. I won’t stop you from writing something unflattering. All I’m asking for is that you write a balanced piece.”

She continued to eye him, unconvinced.

He sighed again. “Fine, you don’t have to pretend to get along with me anymore than comes naturally, if that’s going to trouble your reporter’s conscience.”

“Thanks.”

“And as far as Ms. Rumor-Has-It’s column goes, I think you can use the story about Whittaker Enterprises to your advantage. Just tell Ed that you can’t write about me in your regular column while you’re pursuing an in-depth piece about Whittaker Enterprises because you want to avoid any conflicts. If he’s worried, he can assign you an intern. That way, when you do get moved over to the business desk, you’ll already have someone in place to take over as Ms. Rumor-Has-It.”

He made his plan sound so reasonable—and appealing. Oh-so-appealing. Nevertheless, she had to ask, “What about Sybil?”

He looked untroubled. “What about her? I’ll call her up and explain our affair was a hoax. Besides, as long as we spread the word that you’re shadowing me in order to write a piece about Whittaker Enterprises, we’ll be dispelling the rumor that we’re involved.”

The thought of Sybil having the rug pulled out from under her did make his plan more tempting. Kayla bit her lip, then said, “What’s in this for you?”

“For my part, I’m banking your intern won’t be as interested in my social life as you are.” He gave her a sardonic look. “Besides, since—thanks to you—I’m currently free of models and actresses, there won’t be anything exciting to write about.”

“Maybe.” She refused to concede he likely was right.

“On top of that,” he said, warming to his subject, “once you get your assignment to the business desk at the Sentinel, I’m rid of you—at least as a wrecking ball in my social life. And, as an added bonus, I get a balanced news piece about Whittaker Enterprises.” He finished triumphantly, “The plan is perfect.”

She considered him a moment. “What would be the terms?” she asked, hoping she wouldn’t regret this, yet unable to pass up the opportunity he presented.

She saw the flare of gratification in his eyes, but he quickly banked it. “Terms?”

“Yes. I need to know you’ll give me access to information soon and won’t renege on me.” Now that she’d let herself entertain his offer, she wasn’t going to be shy about the particulars.

He arched a brow. “Suspicious, aren’t you?”

“There has to be a time limit,” she said firmly.

“Make your best offer,” he countered.

She assessed him, then took a moment to ponder. No doubt he was a shrewd bargainer—after all, he’d just engineered the takeover of one of Boston’s leading tech firms by Whittaker Enterprises. “Two weeks.”

He shook his head. “Six.”

“Three.” Nearly a month was fair.

“Five,” he said. “These things take time.”

“Let’s split the difference,” she countered. “Four. It shouldn’t take long to repair the damage.”

“A pleasure doing business with you.” He closed the space between them and held out his hand.

Relief, followed by panic, washed through her. What have I just done? She took his hand, felt her own engulfed in his, and experienced a surge of sensation.

Judging by the look in his eye, he felt it, too.

She started to draw away, but he pulled her closer.

He lifted her chin with his free hand and she had just a moment to lower her eyelids before he brushed her lips with his.

The kiss was over in the space of a few heartbeats, but its impression—powerful and disturbing—lingered for her.

He drew back and gazed down at her, his expression inscrutable. “Just checking,” he murmured.

“What?” She looked at him, eyes wide, as she strove to clear her brain.

He smiled wryly. “You didn’t need to worry about whether your acting abilities were up to the challenge.” At her displeased expression, he laughed. “I know, I know. I’m diabolical.”

Kayla was grateful he couldn’t read her mind—for while diabolical should have been the first word that popped into her head, disturbingly, instead, it had been delicious.