The Billionaire Bargain 3 (6 page)

I
had one card left, and no more options. “Please! It’s
minimum wage, and my rent’s already late this month, and if I
get fired I’ll have to bring my cat back to the animal shelter
and move back in with my parents!”

I
waited, mentally willing the receptionist to soften, while Kate shook
with thankfully silent giggles.

“Oh,
very well, as long as you check in with the maitre d’,”
the receptionist caved. I heard the sound of flipping pages as she
searched through the reservation book. “Ah, here it is. Party
of five, under the name…James C. Brandt.”

“Oh,
like, thanks so much! You’re a literal lifesaver.” I hung
up and turned to Kate. “I need to borrow your phone.” I
reached into her purse and took it.

Kate
managed to stop laughing long enough to look confused. “What?
Why? There’s a phone in your other hand, Lacey, you just used
it!”

“I
need to borrow your phone because you have a smart phone, and my
phone still remembers the good old days where this entire valley was
mastodon as far as the eye could see.” I typed ‘James C.
Brandt’ into Google, and then swore at the bad news.

“That
quick?” Kate asked. “Damn, your Google-fu is strong. So
what now? Are these guys her coven or something? Do they drink the
blood of the innocent? Are they planning to sacrifice babies at the
full moon?”

“Worse,”
I said grimly, and turned the phone around so that Kate could see.
“These guys run a hedge fund, and they’ve tried to buy
out the company before.” I swallowed, hard. “Portia is
plotting a hostile takeover.”

• • •

I
sat at the Codex Café across from Rama; Codex was the kind of
place that had once been miles beyond my budget, but still seemed
like a fast-food joint next to Rama. Kate and I had long since seen
Portia and her cronies leave through the view from Codex’s
front window, and half an hour ago Kate had left too, with her
apologies.

But
still I stayed, sipping another twenty dollar cappuccino served in a
cup so tiny that it looked like it had been made for an American Girl
doll. I had a lot to think over.

I
stirred my cappuccino with a minuscule spoon, too twisted up inside
to really taste and enjoy it. What should I do?

Hell,
what
could
I do?

Grant
clearly wanted me gone. He’d made that obvious. I’d tried
to air my concerns about Portia with him, but he hadn’t been
interested in my opinion. Were he and the company really worth the
time, effort, and heartbreak it would take to communicate to him that
there was real danger? Would I even be able to communicate that to
him at all? Or at the end of all my attempts, would he still sneer
and coolly dismiss me?

Maybe
I should just seek out another job and get myself out of his sight.
If Portia was attempting a hostile takeover, was it really my
concern? After all, at the end of the day, what did I really owe
Grant Devlin?

My
eyes were drawn to a moment in the street—the jerky motion of a
homeless man as he made his way down the road carrying a cardboard
sign that said in black marker: WAR VET—OUT OF WORK—PLEASE
HELP.

Living
in the warm, temperate climate of the West Coast, you see a lot of
homeless people, to the point where after awhile, you start to harden
your heart just to keep from getting it broken every day. But
something about the opulence of our surroundings made his dirty,
ragged clothes and sad shuffle seem even more poignant than usual.

Then
I saw the group of teenagers headed straight towards him, and my
heart seized up. Were they going to beat him up? Call the cops on
him? Should I call the cops on them—

I
was frozen in indecision, my hand halfway to my cell phone in my
purse, and then I saw something amazing.

Two
of the teenagers reached into their pockets and pulled out money.

Over
the man’s evident protests that they not give him so much, they
stuffed it into his pockets. Another reached out to shake his hand,
and the fourth offered him a military salute.

I
tossed back the rest of my cappuccino in one gulp and blinked away
the tears in my eyes.

There
was still good in the world. And the bad that was in the world with
it—that could be fought. A good company could fight it, by
creating jobs, by fostering a supportive atmosphere, by using its
profits to create or support political and social initiatives.

And
as I thought about those teenagers and that homeless man, I knew what
I had to do.

I
hadn’t put in all this time and effort to watch Devlin Media
Corp go down. A takeover meant jobs shipped overseas, mass
unemployment. The company would be broken into parts and sucked dry
for the enrichment of the people at the top, like a carcass ripped
into pieces and feasted on by vultures. I couldn’t let that
happen to all our employees, to all those people who were still
counting on me.

I
stood to pay, and was momentarily distracted by the couple at the
opposite end of the restaurant. Not that they were doing anything
flashy—just the opposite. She was leaning back against his
shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and his
arm curved around her without a second thought. I felt a pang of loss
in my heart, though it was a loss of something I’d never had.
Not really.

Okay,
I admit it. It wasn’t just the employees I was worried about. I
couldn’t let this disaster of a takeover happen to Grant
either. However much he had tried to hide it, I knew how much Devlin
Media Corp meant to him. He had honored me by telling me so when we
were together, and it was time to repay that trust.

I
shoved a handful of bills into the grip of the surprised waitress—I
was over-paying her by about 100%, but I didn’t have time to
calculate exact tips—and filled with resolve, grabbed my keys
and marched to the spot I had parked my car this morning. I had
things to do, places to be.

Before
I knew it, I was hammering my fist on Grant Devlin’s door.

And
before I knew it, the door was swinging open—revealing Grant
Devlin in nothing but a pair of black boxers.

Damn.
My eyes involuntarily traveled the length of his body, ripped and
tanned and glistening with sweat as if he had just been working out,
or maybe tossing and turning in bed, alone or with company. Those
boxers clung to his hips with just a tantalizing bit of give, the
light dusting of hair thinning to just a shadow above the elastic
band. He was close enough that I could have just reached out and—

His
eyes narrowed as if he could read my thoughts, and he ran a hand
through his ruffled brown hair as if to draw my attention to its
tousled state, and further fire my jealousy.

I
felt myself go weak at the knees just looking at him. Oh, that
bastard. How could he still be so sexy to me after everything he had
put me through?

“Couldn’t
get enough after all?” Grant drawled lazily, propping himself
in the doorway at an angle that both effectively barred my entry and
showed off his biceps and pecs to drool-inducing advantage.

Focus,
Lacey!

I
squared my shoulders and barreled forward, the shock of my advance
knocking him out of the way despite his strength advantage. I walked
rapidly down the hall; it was a lot easier to keep my resolve when I
didn’t have to look him in the face. “We need to talk.”

“My,
my, you are eager,” Grant snapped from behind me, abandoning
all pretense of languor. I heard the door slam shut in anger. “Has
it been a whole hour for you?”

I
whirled on him, anger flaring. “Will you cut the bullshit for
once? We’re in real trouble!”

Something
about my tone, or maybe my eyes, must have alerted him that I really
meant what I was saying, because he took a step back and raised his
hands defensively before lowering them and asking, slowly, “What
kind of trouble?”

I
was so surprised by his capitulation that it took me a few seconds to
find the words. Only when his eyebrow began to rise did I blurt out:
“Portia is engineering a hostile takeover!”

I
led us into the living room and told him everything I had observed at
Rama, pulling up the information on James C. Brandt on Kate’s
phone—sending out a quick mental thank-you to her for letting
me borrow it—to show him the long and storied history his hedge
fund had of partnering with an ally within the company, and using
that person to divide loyalties and smooth the way for his takeover.
As I talked, Grant’s face grew more and more worried, but the
skepticism failed to fade entirely from his eyes.

“Why
on Earth would Portia do such a thing?” he said when I finally
ran out of breath. He ran a hand through his hair, looking baffled,
uncertain, and concerned at the same time. And perhaps a little hurt?
“She has everything she needs in her current position, and I’ve
responded to all her concerns as best I can. What could she stand to
gain?”

“I
can’t say, Grant, I’m not in her head,” I said
wearily, sinking down onto the couch. I looked up at him earnestly.
“But you saw how she was acting in the meeting. All that sudden
concern over costs? Making allies beforehand to try to ambush and
pressure you? Playing nicey-nice to keep the conversation rolling
after you said things that would have gotten your head bitten off any
other time? Tell me you’re not a little bit weirded out about
all that.”

Grant
chewed his lip, looking off into the distance. “It was strange,
I admit. I didn’t pay the attention to it at the time that I
could have, because…”

I
waited for him to finish the sentence, but he let it trail off and
began to pace around instead.

I
jumped back in. “Is there anything else? Has anything else
she’s done lately pinged your radar?”

Grant
paused thoughtfully. “She stopped by after you…left. She
was acting very concerned, but I didn’t think—and later
she was asking questions, lots of questions, but I thought she was
just trying to distract me from…And I saw her talking to my
secretary when I know she can’t stand the woman; she could have
been pumping her for information. I didn’t think anything of it
at the time because…”

He
trailed off again.

“There’s
a shareholder meeting at the end of the week,” I said when it
became clear that he was going to leave that sentence dangling there.
“If Portia’s going to make a play, she’ll have to
put it to a vote there.”

“Yes,”
he said absently, and echoed, “If she’s going to make a
play…”

And
that was what it came down to, I guess. If he believed me that she
was going to do it. “Do you believe me?” I asked.

“The
evidence is…mounting,” he said, but he still looked
distracted.

“Well,
then, what are we going to do?”

“I
suppose—” Grant began musingly, and for a whole second my
heart soared with the giddy hope that he was going to approach this
problem like a reasonable human being. But then his eyes narrowed in
suspicion, and his gaze swung back to me, accusing. “Why do you
even care?”

“Excuse
me?!” I spluttered.

“You’ve
made it quite clear that you don’t give a fuck about the
company,” he snapped, his red-hot anger making his accent crisp
and near-British as he bit off the words. “Or me, for that
matter. So why the show? Why the mad dash to my apartment to save the
day? Perhaps you’re hoping for a nice little bonus—or
maybe you’re allied with Portia and this is a feint on your
part, to throw me off guard?”

“Is
that what you really think?” My voice broke on the last word,
the hurt catching in my throat. My heart felt as if it were being
pierced with thousands of shards of razor-sharp glass. “Is that
what you really believe I’m capable of?”

“I
know exactly what you’re capable of,” Grant said,
stalking towards me. His eyes flashed. “I’ve learned that
you’re capable of more coldness and deceit than I thought a
mortal woman could be. I learned that, much to my regret, on what was
supposed to be our wedding day.”

“How
dare you!” I exploded, leaping to my feet. I slapped him across
his face, my vision blurring with tears. “How dare you say that
I don’t care!? The whole reason I didn’t marry you is
that I care too much!” My voice cracked further and the tears
fell faster as the words I’d sworn I’d never say spilled
from my mouth. “Every time I looked at you it stabbed me in the
heart, how much I cared and how much you didn’t—”

“Lacey—”
he started, but I couldn’t stop blabbing.

“—because
it was all just an act to you! It was all about company PR! How could
I stay when I knew you didn’t l—”

Grant
closed the space between us with a single stride and clasped my
shoulders, yanking me into his arms and devouring my lips in a
passionate kiss.

My
eyes slid closed automatically at the overload of sensation, and
before I knew it I was kissing him back, savoring the taste of his
mouth. The scent of him filled me as I melted into his arms, his
strong hands holding me tightly to him as we wound around each other.

We
kissed as though it were about to be outlawed, we kissed as though we
could breathe each other’s essence into ourselves, we kissed as
though kissing were the only thing keeping the world from ending.

Our
lips broke apart and I almost staggered, dazed. Grant’s eyes
gleamed with desire and he leaned in to claim me once more. Somewhere
through the fog of lust in my brain a small siren of responsibility
blared, and I managed to get out: “But, the company—”

Then
Grant kissed me again with an urgency like fire, and I forgot
anything but him.

“The
company can wait for now,” he murmured as we broke apart, a
devilish smile playing upon his lips. “But I can’t wait
one moment longer for you.”