Читать книгу Tempting The Mogul - Marcia King-Gamble - Страница 10

Salim would rather be anywhere but here. TSW Studios was a place he’d avoided like the plague. It was much too artificial an environment for him. But the old man’s assistant had called acting as if it was a life-and-death situation and because it was Diane, and he liked Diane, he’d dropped everything to come.

He was not here for the man who called himself his father, that was for sure. He wasn’t interested in anything that philanderer had to say.

His father, Tanner Washington’s autocratic approach to everyone in his life had turned Salim off. They were worlds apart in the way they conducted business and dealt with people.

Salim’s mother, Lucinda, had also called Salim telling him to go see his father. She was the peacemaker in the family and she’d finally persuaded him to hear the old man out. His self-suffering mother was the most wonderful woman in the world and he would do almost anything she asked, even meet with a man he disliked intensely.

He’d made one hour for Tanner Washington. So far that whole hour had been taken up by the young African-American woman with the Asian cast to her features. She was the woman who’d been seated in the lobby, the one he’d thought was very attractive.

More than attractive actually. More like beautiful, in a wholesome but classy sort of way. In an era where tats, weaves, piercings, bling and barely there clothing were in vogue, this woman, who wore minimal makeup and a conservative hairstyle, stood out. Salim had been especially intrigued by the outfit: a classic navy suit worn with sensible pumps and pearls. She certainly didn’t seem the type to work in a television studio, more likely a bank.

As the minutes ticked by, he was getting more and more irritated. She’d been behind closed doors with his father for far too long. He had places to go and people to see. What exactly are they doing in there anyway?

“Di, how much longer will he be?” Salim quizzed the old man’s assistant. It took a lot to address the old goat by “father.” An adulterer did not deserve that kind of respect.

“I scheduled his interview for an hour,” Diane answered in her usual, unperturbed manner. “If I’d known you were planning to pop in, I would have booked you time.” She lowered her glasses, looking at him.

Salim winked at Diane. “If you can fit me in I’ll take you to lunch, you gorgeous thing.”

“I can buy my own lunch, thanks. Save your flirting for that string of wide-eyed young things your own age that you impress with stories of your travels.”

He wished there was a string of young things. Lately he’d had no time for romantic entanglements, not even flings.

“You’re a hard woman, Di,” Salim said, clutching his heart. “One day you just might succumb to my charm. You know you’re a cougar in a fab suit.”

Diane settled her glasses back on her nose and gave him the full effect of her cold, unsettling stare. “I don’t think so. I like my men buttoned down and settled. I’m too old to babysit.”

Salim chuckled. He absolutely loved the woman and her droll sense of humor.

She was one of those ageless matrons who must have been a knockout in her heyday. Diane was the complete package: efficient, good looking, intellectual and fearless. She took no guff from her tyrannical boss, which was another reason Tanner kept her around. As studio head he was used to intimidating people. Diane simply could not be intimidated.

Salim hovered at Diane’s circular desk, listening shamelessly while she buzzed her boss.

“Your son’s been waiting to see you for almost an hour,” she said in an even voice that never changed, even when Tanner was having a hissy fit, which was often.

When Diane’s eyebrows rose a fraction, Salim guessed the old man’s response wasn’t exactly positive. Not that that came as a big surprise.

“You’ve got about fifteen minutes free after you’re through with Ms. Fitzgerald,” Diane reminded the mogul. “And you did have me call Salim earlier this week. You said you wanted to see him.”

Salim tapped the face of his Timex and whispered to Diane, “Tell your boss I have to be somewhere in forty minutes. Never mind, I’ll tell him myself.”

“Salim!”

He ignored her and strode toward the closed office door.

“You can’t just go bursting in on an interview,” Diane called after him.

“Watch me. My time is just as valuable as his.”

He paused briefly in front of the smoked-glass double doors that had Tanner Washington, President of TSW engraved on them. The T stood for Tanner and the S for Salim. It had never occurred to the pompous old ass to make it TSCW and include his daughter Christiane’s initials.

Tanner’s dream had been that one day his son would take over from him. Except Salim couldn’t care less about the superficial world of media entertainment and placating high-maintenance stars and volatile executives. That had always been a bone of contention between them.

Christiane was the one better suited to running a studio. She loved the glamorous life and had married Leonard Green, one of TSW’s executives. She enjoyed being the trophy wife and although she was at home raising two children, much of her time was spent hosting parties her husband threw.

Salim had always thought it a total waste that a studio like TSW would focus on lighthearted sitcoms and trashy talk shows. They should be making documentaries educating the public on the HIV situation in African countries, or life in war-torn Iraq.

He rapped on the door while Diane hissed behind him, “Salim, come on now. Your dad’s in the middle of an interview.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Salim waltzed in. He found the mogul on his knees in front of the seated woman he was supposedly interviewing. Tanner looked up, his pinched expression reflecting his surprise.

Salim cleared his throat. It was obvious what the dirty old goat had been up to or was about to do. And to think he’d admired the woman and thought she was classy.

Tanner slowly got to his feet, dusting the lint off his slacks.

“I gave Diane instructions I was not be disturbed,” he said all bluster.

“Yes, I know.”

The woman was watching them intently. She didn’t seem overly concerned.

“Your pearl earring has to be here somewhere, Kennedy,” Tanner said, brusquely. “I’ll have the cleaners look for it before they vacuum. If it can’t be found I’ll replace it.”

As though Salim was supposed to believe that. So much for initial impressions; wholesome she was not. She was just another ho, except this one was more cleaned up.

The studio head now stood with his arms crossed. He was a tall, distinguished-looking man with silvering hair, wide shoulders, a bit of a gut and an intimidating stance. Yet women were drawn to him like a magnet. Salim never could understand why. It certainly couldn’t be his overbearing personality, so he had to attribute it to his power and wealth. And Tanner was a powerful man with influential contacts.

“When a door’s closed it usually means a person is busy,” his father barked.

“I knocked. You wanted to see me and here I am.” Salim glanced at his watch. “I have to be some place in exactly thirty-five minutes.”

His father’s woman stood, smoothing the skirt that had slid up to her thighs. She was as cool and brassy as they came.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Washington,” she said. “You’ve certainly given me a lot to think about. May I get back to you tomorrow with an answer?”

She sounded formal, almost prim; a departure from the usual classless type Tanner went for. It was an act, had to be.

“Of course you may, and if I can do anything more to help make up your mind, don’t hesitate to call.” Tanner handed her a business card. “I’ll see you out.”

With a smile and a nod she made her way by Salim. Tanner stopped for a moment to make introductions.

“Kennedy Fitzgerald is a leadership consultant. I’m hopeful that she will soon join our team of executives. Kennedy, this is my son, Salim.”

Kennedy’s handshake was brief but firm. Salim swallowed the bile at the back of his throat. The audacity of the old man, hiring a woman he was involved with, as if he hadn’t embarrassed his wife, Lucinda, enough.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Were you in the lobby earlier?” Kennedy Fitzgerald asked.

“I was.”

Salim took his time looking her over, letting his eyes slowly slide up and down her long legs. She wore sensible pumps and her navy suit reminded him of a banker. The plain white blouse under it covered her full breasts. Kennedy’s hair was held back from her face with a tortoiseshell headband and was evenly trimmed.

Now he knew that conservative outfit was a cover. The sparkle in those slightly slanted eyes indicated she was not as prim as she looked. He’d seen with his own eyes his father on his knees between those long legs of hers.

“Is something wrong?” the Fitzgerald woman asked as he continued to stare.

“Actually, I was thinking that you might not be a very good fit for a television studio. Creative artsy types tend to get wild and you are as conservative as they come.”

“Am I, now?”

She was as cool as an icicle. He doubted anything rattled her.

Tanner’s brows furrowed and his eyes flashed disapprovingly. Salim continued to smile. Tanner nodded curtly in his direction. He held his latest by the elbow and eased her toward the door.

“We’ll talk tomorrow. If I can do anything to sweeten the pot just let me know,” he said, closing the door behind her.

Arms folded across his chest and gut, camouflaged in an expensive suit, Tanner faced Salim. “How dare you!”

“How dare I what?”

“You come barging in here when you obviously knew I was in a meeting.”

“You said you wanted to see me. You had Diane call.”

Salim looked directly into the eyes of the man he’d been told he was the spitting image of. At thirty-three he refused to be intimidated. They looked nothing alike. He favored his mother, not this arrogant man with the overinflated ego.

“And you informed Diane you were too busy and couldn’t make the time to meet with me. You said you were jet-lagged.”

“I was. I still am.”

“But you made the time to see your mother.”

“I always have time for my mother.”

Unlike you. The unspoken words hung between them.

“Have a seat,” Tanner said, waving Salim toward a huge black leather couch.

The casting couch.

He’d be damned if he sat down on that thing. Who knew what disgusting things lived in that sofa?

“I prefer to stand,” Salim answered, arms also folded, mimicking the man who had given him life. “What’s so urgent that it required me being here? We haven’t spoken in months.”

“That was your decision,” Tanner reminded him quietly.

Yes, indeed it had been his decision. He was sick and tired of watching this man hurt his mother. Their lifestyles were so very different anyway. Tanner loved living large and enjoyed the glitz and glamour that came with the television business. Salim despised it. He much preferred to do something useful like help change lives. His money was used to make a difference in other people’s circumstances. That’s why his last jaunt to Africa had been so satisfying. He’d enjoyed seeing what a little money could do to enhance lives. This upcoming trip would be even more rewarding. The clinic in Haiti badly needed staffing and money for medical supplies. He’d managed to get some substantial contributions.

A few years ago Salim and a partner had started a foundation that helped promote safe sex globally. Their ultimate goal was to educate and stem the transmittal of the HIV virus, particularly in some African and Caribbean countries.

The good thing about having a trust fund was that it gave him the freedom to travel and donate funds as he saw fit. A nine-to-five job would not allow him to pick up and leave whenever he wanted to. Of course he preferred not to remember that TSW Studios made his way of life possible.

“Perhaps you had better take a seat,” Tanner repeated, his expression serious. “What I am going to say will take some time, and then we’ll need to meet with the lawyers. There’s some paperwork to go over.”

Since it sounded serious Salim sat. He would strangle the old bastard with his bare hands if he told him he was going to divorce his mother and replace her with a younger model.

Kennedy Fitzgerald to be exact.

Kennedy had a lot to think about. Tanner Washington’s job offer had come out of the blue, and at the perfect time. But it sounded as though she would be a glorified babysitter. Tanner wanted to hire her to groom his son, who appeared to be a handful. Kennedy was to get him ready to take over Tanner’s position as studio head.

The television mogul had admitted to already having three heart attacks. He was now being scheduled for bypass surgery. His doctor had advised him to get his affairs in order, and this was where Kennedy came in. Tanner Washington was being forced to think of his mortality.

Kennedy still hadn’t heard word one from Marna. Now Kennedy needed every penny she could get. First there was the matter of transportation to get her around. Her car could very easily be on its way to an auction block, which meant buying another. She’d already used a sizeable chunk of the money earned in Japan to get her bills current, and she dreaded thinking of how that delinquency would affect her credit.

She could kill the woman. Maybe Lincoln, her brother—named after Abraham Lincoln—knew of Marna’s whereabouts. He still lived in eastern Washington where they’d grown up. Kennedy put in her earpiece and punched in the programmed number on her cell phone.

Lincoln’s deep voice brought a smile to her face.

“Hey, baby girl. I bet you’re glad to be home?”

“It was nice of you to call and check on me,” Kennedy said sarcastically.

Linc’s deep laughter rang out. “Don’t get attitude with me. I’m a family man and plenty busy with the new baby. What’s up?”

“Have you heard from Marna?”

“Was I supposed to? The last I knew she’d taken off to Alaska after some guy.”

“What! She was supposed to be house-sitting for me.”

“Yeah, I’d heard something about that. She’s got this friend Betsy you might want to call.”

After an extended hold Linc returned with Betsy’s number. Hanging up, Kennedy called the number and became even more frustrated when she was kicked into voice mail. Having no choice, she left a message. Next on the agenda was the towing company.

“A silver Honda?” the stressed employee repeated while several phones rang in the background.

“Yes, yes,” Kennedy said impatiently, giving her license plate number and mentally ticking off a dozen things she needed to do.

“Sorry, ma’am, but that vehicle is no longer here. When cars are repossessed they get wholesaled out to dealers. Yours could be on any number of trucks heading anywhere.”

Seconds from losing it, Kennedy hung up the phone. She couldn’t believe the mess her life had become.