Читать книгу Temptation In The Boardroom - Дженнифер Хейворд, Paula Roe - Страница 11
ОглавлениеFRANKIE ARRIVED AT Teterboro Airport in New Jersey on Wednesday night of the following week as bruised and battered as Rocky Balboa himself after going fifteen rounds with Harrison Grant over the past week. He’d been tense and edgy ever since that call from Leonid Aristov’s assistant, pushing them both to the limits of their endurance in ensuring every i was dotted and every t crossed in advance of their meeting.
She was dead on her feet and they hadn’t even left yet. Plus, she didn’t sleep on planes...
The limousine pulled to a stop on the runway in front of the black-and-red-logoed Grant Industries jet. She slid out and waited while the driver deposited her luggage on the asphalt. If she was curious as to why her boss was obsessed with a deal that, in the great scheme of things, would be a minor acquisition for a behemoth like Grant Industries, she didn’t voice her thoughts. She was paid to do, apparently. That was all. And if that made her frustratingly aware she wasn’t turning in her best work, if she knew she’d do better had he been just a bit more collaborative and explained things fully, there was nothing to be done about it. She had tamed her natural instinct to question.
Survival was the game of the day.
Hand arced over her eyes, she searched for her boss in the still blinding final rays of the sun. He was standing by the jet speaking to a gray-haired man in his fifties Frankie thought she recognized as the chairman of the senate committee on foreign affairs. She knew this only because her father loved politics and followed it closely, which meant the entire Masseria clan also did so by virtue of association.
The conversation between Harrison and Oliver Burchell looked like more than a friendly hello. Was he planning a run for the presidency? The Grant family was as connected as any family in the upper echelons of political power so it absolutely made sense they could put Harrison on every ballot in the country as an independent candidate. But he was only thirty-three. He had his hands full running a company that had just gotten back on its feet. Was now the right timing?
Her boss registered her arrival with that ever-watchful gaze of his. He held up two fingers. Frankie nodded and took the time to study him in a brief, unobserved perusal. She hadn’t yet gotten used to how extraordinarily good-looking he was up close. Today, in dark-wash jeans and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal muscular forearms, he looked like her college accounting professor, except where Frankie had considered him nerdily cute, Harrison was a whole other ball game. He was Clark Kent good-looking with his impressive physique and dark designer glasses, as if he was about to dash into a phone booth to go save the world.
Her mouth twisted. Air Force One was about to acquire a whole new sex appeal.
The senator clapped Harrison on the back and moved off toward the plane sitting behind the Grant Industries jet. Frankie pulled in a Harrison-fortifying breath as he strode toward her. “Ready to go?’
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said brightly.
He lifted a brow at her as he stopped in front of her. “I’ve been that bad?”
She knew when to keep her thoughts to herself. “I meant I’m not a good flyer. I just need to get this over with.”
“So I should tell the pilot to lock the doors to the cockpit?”
She made a face at the amusement twisting his lips. “We haven’t had one disaster since the coffee incident. Perhaps we can let that joke lie?”
“I’m still keeping my guard up.” He pointed their luggage out to the crew who loaded it on to the plane. “You know, statistically speaking,” he counseled, gesturing for her to proceed him up the stairs, “flying is safer than any other form of travel. You should be more frightened of getting on the freeway.”
“I am frightened of getting on the freeway. And fear of flying is not a rational thing,” she countered, climbing the steps.
“Ah, but I thought that’s what you are...rational Francesca Masseria, who needs to figure out how things work before she fully commits.”
She looked down at him from her higher position on the stairs. Who was he really? The big bad wolf or this intuitive, sardonic version of him who made the occasional visit? And did she dare say what she thought?
She exhaled a breath. “I perform better when I have a clear sense of the objectives. I’m more left-brained than Tessa. I need guidance. I can promise if you offer that to me I will give you what you need.”
His gaze narrowed. The undercurrent between them that always seemed to simmer below the surface sprang to life. A tutelage of a far different type was filtering through that brilliant mind... She would have bet money on it. Heat rose to her cheeks. He studied the twin spots of fire. Then he turned it off with one of those dismissive looks.
“All right, Francesca Masseria,” he drawled. “We’ll give it a shot. You’ve been a good sport this week. I like that about you. You have a question—a good one—ask. I’ll do my best to answer it.”
He strode past her up the stairs and into the jet before she could close her mouth. No way had the beast just thrown her a crumb. She thought maybe they should break out the champagne, particularly when once seated and buckled in opposite Harrison in a bank of four seats, she realized how small the plane was. She’d never flown on a private jet before. Coburn preferred to travel on his own and have her work from the office, and this, this little plane didn’t look hearty enough to carry them across the Atlantic if a storm hit as it had on her last trip to Mexico.
Her shoulders climbed to her ears in protest as the pilot revved the engines.
“Relax,” Harrison ordered, pulling his laptop out of his briefcase. “This is going to be the smoothest ride of your life, trust me.”
“Now you’ve jinxed us,” Frankie said grimly. She picked up her cell phone to turn it off. He waved a hand at her.
“Not necessary on this flight. You can use the Wi-Fi anytime.”
Of course they could. Why waste one usable moment when you could be poring through the stock market? Checking the price of precious metals? She sighed and settled into her seat. Her hope that at some point Harrison’s battery might run out had been wishful thinking.
Her phone pinged with a text message. It was from Danny, who was managing Tomasino’s party in her absence.
The cake’s not here. When is it supposed to arrive?
Frankie frowned and glanced at her watch. An hour ago. Surely her brother hadn’t forgotten?
Call the restaurant, she texted back. I’m sure it’s on the way.
Harrison looked over at her. “Problems?”
She shook her head. “Just this thing I’m supposed to be at. He’ll figure it out.”
The attendant came by to check their seat belts and ask what they’d like to drink once they were airborne. Harrison requested a scotch. Frankie gladly followed suit and asked for a glass of wine. Anything that calmed the anxiety clawing its way up her throat was a good thing.
Another text came in. He hasn’t left yet. Dammit. Frankie sent a text to her brother Salvatore. Get that cake there, now. You owe me.
“Men,” she muttered. Why couldn’t they be as buttoned-down as women?
Her boss glanced up from his laptop. “Trust me, he’ll be fine. If he has any sense he’ll be waiting with an armful of flowers when you get back.”
Frankie gave him an uncomprehending look. “Oh—no, it’s not that. It’s my brother. He’s supposed to be delivering a birthday cake to the party I was hosting and he’s late.”
His dark brows came together. “You were hosting a party?”
“At the church, yes.” The engines roared. She kept talking as her pulse skyrocketed. “I host Wednesday night bingo games for the seniors. I’ve been doing it since I was eighteen. Tomasino Giardelli, whose birthday it is, is like a grandfather to me. It’s his eightieth, so we decided to throw him a party and Mama made Tomasino her special tiramisu cake. Which,” she added darkly, “he is going to love if Salvatore gets his behind over there with it before it’s over. The seniors are wilting as we speak.”
“Salvatore?”
“My brother.”
A sober look crossed his face. “I’m sorry you’re missing the birthday party.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I didn’t ask.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that so she looked down at her hands clasped together in a death lock. His gaze sat on her as the jet taxied off to sit in line behind two others. “You really spend every Wednesday night hosting bingo?”
She tightened her seat belt, her heart going pitter-patter as the captain announced they were two minutes to takeoff. “It’s always been part of what we do as a family— giving back to the community is important for my parents. It’s been good to them.”
“Coburn said they have a restaurant in Brooklyn?”
She nodded. ‘I’m the youngest of six procreated bus people.”
He smiled at that. “Shouldn’t you be out on dates instead of hosting bingo? Living the Manhattan single life?”
She made a face. “The last date I was on, the very well-mannered stockbroker I thought I was out with accosted me in the elevator on the way down from the restaurant. That was enough for me.”
His brows rose. “Accosted?”
Frankie gave an embarrassed wave of her hand. “He kissed me. He wouldn’t stop kissing me. And frankly, he was bad at it. I mean, can you imagine?”
The amusement in his eyes deepened. “I can. I mean I can’t in that he should never have put his hands on you without your permission but the poor guy was probably just desperate.”
Frankie crossed her arms over her chest, an image of her flashing him with her lace pull-ups filling her head. Did he think she usually gave men come-ons like that? She wished she could wipe that entire night from their heads.
“You still don’t do that,” she said stiffly.
“No,” he agreed. “You don’t.” He gave her a thoughtful look as the jet revved its engines and started down the runway, the speed at which the gray pavement flew by making Frankie light-headed. “Poor-mannered guy aside, there must be a man in your life. You’re too attractive for there not to be.”
Her chin dipped. “I’m married to my work for the next few years.”
“Or you’re hung up on someone.”
The inflection in his voice made her lift her chin and narrow her gaze on him. “No—just not dating.”
He shrugged. “Good. Because I’d hate for you to waste your time on my brother, Francesca. He is undoubtedly a magnetic personality and an inspiring leader, but he is not boyfriend material by any stretch of the imagination.”
Boyfriend material? She blinked at the twin assaults being mounted on her, one from the air as they climbed at a petrifyingly steep angle and one from the man opposite her. “Is that what he thinks? That I have a crush on him?” Good God. So she’d responded to a few of her boss’s flirtatious smiles lately. She was human.
“I can assure you,” she said crisply, “I do not have a crush on Coburn.”
He held up a hand. “Just a friendly piece of advice. I’ve seen it happen too many times.”
The jet climbed swiftly into the clouds. Frankie gave the receding ground an anxious look, her stomach swooping as the plane rode a current of air. Was that why Coburn had handed her over so easily to Harrison? Because he thought she had a crush on him? That was wrong. So wrong.
A scowl twisted her lips. Good to know the two Grant brothers both had egos the size of their fortunes... Her resentment faded to terror as they went through a bumpy patch of cloud, her fingers digging into the armrests.
Harrison sighed and set his computer aside. “You really are terrified of flying.”
She clamped down harder on the leather. “Something else to add to my list of eccentricities.”
He smiled. “I rather like Rocky. And all joking aside, the seniors, your work in the community, I appreciate your altruism, Francesca. It’s refreshing.”
“The Grant family does the same.”
A cynical light filled his eyes. “There is an intent and purpose behind everything my family does. It’s all done with a camera in sight and cleverly crafted messaging at the ready. Hardly the same thing.”
His candor caught her off guard. “Hardly surprising with the White House in mind.”
He arched a brow at her. “Do we? Have the White House in mind?”
Warmth seeped into her blood-deprived cheeks. “Everyone thinks you do.”
He tipped his head at her. “Anyone considering a presidential run spends the years leading up to it coyly denying they’re interested. Dropping little hints that never might not mean never, but then again, maybe it does. Then they sit back and take the pulse of every interest group in the nation and see if it’s a viable proposition. It’s a game, Francesca, a long, bloody battle that would sap the stamina of even the strongest man.”
She frowned. So did that mean he was going to or he wasn’t?
An elusive smile claimed his lips. “What that means is right now I am focusing on Grant Industries and specifically what Leonid Aristov is going to bring to the table tomorrow.”
And with that Harrison Grant cut off whatever valuable insight Frankie might have glimpsed into his psyche and got to work. He pulled up the presentation he’d done for the meeting that addressed two of Aristov’s final concerns, asked her to get her notes out and the marathon work session began. This time, however, she was grateful for any distraction that would keep her mind off the fact they were traveling at thirty thousand feet in a glorified tin can.
* * *
A couple of hours into their trip across the Atlantic, Harrison thought he might finally have gained some sort of symbiosis with his PA. He could not question Francesca’s intelligence after the week they’d just spent together. She was whip-smart, just as Coburn had said, with street smarts to go with it that gave her an uncanny ability to see through people and situations. And now that he’d given her permission to delve deeper with her questions, she was starting to give back to him what he needed—intelligently thought-out ideas on how to present the information she’d gathered to a tricky prospect in Leonid Aristov.
The Russians, he conceded on a deeply exhaled breath, were a thorn in his side. Aristov was playing with him as if he held all the cards when, in fact, he held none. The Russian’s fortune was disintegrating in front of his eyes. He needed to sell Siberius and yet he was intent on making Harrison’s life difficult for a reason he had yet to divulge. Which hopefully, he would wrangle out of him tomorrow.
And Markovic? Well, Markovic was Markovic—an arrogant oligarch with too much money to play with, too flashy a lifestyle and too short a memory to remember the bridges he’d burned. It antagonized Harrison to see him prosper. But soon he would remember what he’d done to his father and he would pay with the same agony Clifford Grant had. With everything he had.
Frankie curved one long leg over the other, adjusting her position as he had been over the long flight to keep the blood flowing. It was taking everything he had to ignore her five-star legs and keep his mind on work. He might have put a lock on his attraction to her but it didn’t mean he wasn’t a man with functioning parts. Evidently ones that needed some serious attention.
Coburn would have been highly amused at the situation given his older brother had been born the one with all the self-control and discipline. The one who was not ruled by his emotions. But after a week with Francesca, he almost got why his brother had punted her to him for six months. She was temptation that didn’t know it was temptation. And that was the most tempting female of all.
The pilot’s voice intruded on his thoughts. “Hey, folks. We’re anticipating some rough weather ahead. I’m going to turn the seat-belt sign on in a few minutes for about an hour so if you’d like to use the restroom, now would be the time.”
A pinched look spread across Frankie’s face. “What kind of bad weather?” she asked the attendant as she came to offer them a drink before she sat down.
“A bit of lightning in the area. It could be rough for a while but no worries. Captain Danyon is the best.”
Frankie turned a greenish color and unbuckled her seat belt. “Are you okay?” he asked her.
She nodded. “Just going to do like the pilot said.”
When she came back, she had a set, determined look on her chalk-white face. They worked through the Aristov presentation. When the captain turned on the seat-belt sign and the bumps began, Frankie kept her gaze fixed on his computer screen and kept talking. As far as storms went, it was a good one. The tiny plane swooped on fast-moving air, then rose again, some of the plunges taking his breath away.
“We can stop,” he suggested. “Wait until it’s over...”
“Keep talking,” she commanded, clutching her seat with white-knuckled hands. “It’s keeping me from freaking out.”
He wasn’t sure how much she was taking in in her terrified state, but he kept going, working through the back end of the presentation. Forty-five minutes later, they’d finished it and were going through a checklist to make sure they hadn’t missed anything crucial.
“We haven’t included the most recent market stats,” Frankie announced, shuffling through her papers.
“They’re on the third slide.”
“Oh.” She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on it. “Do we have that graphic in there, too? The one you asked me to fix and expand?”
“It’s in there.” He pulled his gaze away from her lush mouth to study her. She didn’t look as green as she had earlier, but now she was acting a bit...vague.
“Francesca, are you okay?”
“Perfect.” She forced a smile. “I think that’s it, then, isn’t it? I’ll make a note of any questions Aristov asks, although I don’t expect he’ll have any with this much information put in front of him. Oh—and I’ll bring the backup.”
The way she said that last part, as if it was a ‘nice to have,’ alarmed him. “Yes,” he said deliberately, “the backup is key. We can’t forget the backup.”
“No problem.” She rubbed her palm across her forehead. “Can we talk about the shareholder meetings now? I really need to get a handle on them.”
“If you’re a hundred percent clear on the meeting, yes.”
“A hunnndred percent, yes.” She nodded and tucked the folder in her briefcase and pulled out her notepad. “So for the shareholder thing...”
“Meetings,” he corrected. Had she just slurred that word? Or was she being funny?
“Right. The meetings... They cover the Monday and Tuesday, right? With the Wednesday afternoon kept for additional items that come up?”
“The Tuesday afternoons are for open items, yes. The meetings are over Tuesday night.”
She blinked at him. “That’s what I said. Tuesday.”
“You said Wednesday. It’s Tuesday for the open session. Here.” He pulled the schedule from her unopened folder. “Look at this.”
She studied it with the glazed-eyed look of someone who wasn’t taking anything in. “Got it.” A sigh escaped her. She put her elbows on the table and rubbed her eyes. “I’m so sorry. My head is very cloudy all of a sudden.”
A wave of guilt spread through him. “You’re probably exhausted. It’s been a long week.”
“Yes, but this...” She put her palms to her temples. “I think I might need to lie down.”
He pulled her hands away from her face. “You’re not feeling well?”
“I’m fine...it’s just—” Her bleary gaze skipped away from his. “I—I took a pill my sister gave me for the turbulence. It’s making me...”
“Where is it?”
“In my purse.”
He grabbed her bag off the seat, opened it up and plucked the pill bottle off the top. Scanning the label he saw it was a sedative.
“Have you taken these before?”
“No. I didn’t think they’d hit me this hard.” She plopped her chin in her palms, elbows braced on the table, and closed her eyes. “Maybe it’ll wear off in a few minutes. Maybe I should have some coffee.”
“How many did you take?”
“Just one. But I feel...light-headed.”
He uttered a low curse. “It’s going to last for hours. You need to lie down.”
“I’d rather have some coffee.”
He stripped off his seat belt, rounded the table and undid hers. Her eyes half opened. “The seat-belt sign is—”
“Shut up.” He slipped his arms underneath her knees and back and lifted her up. She was surprisingly light for a female with her curves, and it should have been an easy carry to the bedroom at the back of the jet, but the plane was dipping and swaying beneath his feet and it was all he could do to keep his balance. Her fingers dug into his biceps with a strength born of fear, her body trembling in his arms.
He kept her braced against his chest as he negotiated the door handle to the bedroom, shouldered himself in and deposited her on the bed with a lucky move that brought him down hard beside her. The jet dropped, this time a good fifty feet, pulling a low, agonized cry from Francesca. He kept a hand on her, his body half draped over her. The jet leveled out. “Swallow,” he commanded.
Her throat convulsed as she did. “This is soooo not good.”
“It’s just turbulence.” He recovered his own breath.
“Still.” Her eyes popped open, valiantly hanging on to her terror. “Donnn’t leave me.”
“I can’t at this moment.” He gave the sky a grim look through the tiny, oval windows. It was an inky, endless black canvas crisscrossed by vibrant streaks of jagged gold lightning.
Francesca pulled him toward her as if he was a pillow. He put a palm to her shoulder to push her back into the bed. A whimper escaped her throat. “Please.”
He crumbled. Gathered her soft curves to him and held her while the storm raged on outside. She smelled like orange blossoms—like intoxication and innocence all in one. The plane leveled out and stayed that way for minutes. In the warmth of his arms, Francesca stopped trembling. He tried to remember the last time he’d held a woman like this, for comfort, and didn’t have to think long. It would have been seven years ago when Susanna had left.
The thought did something strange to his head. He glanced out the window as the lightning receded and the space between rumbles of thunder lengthened. Having Francesca wrapped around him like this was inspiring the need to find out whether his dream would come anything close to reality... The thought made him hard so fast, comfort was obliterated on a long, potent surge of lust.
He stood and dumped her on the bed. Her eyes flickered open. “It’s calming down now.” She curled up in the fetal position and used the pillow as a cushion instead of him. He turned and made for the door as a whole lot more creamy thigh was exposed. Mother of God.
Back in the main cabin, he buckled himself in and stared out the window at the storm. He’d called this one—he had. It had been a bad idea. A bad idea that was getting worse every minute.
