The Billionaire Jaguar's Curvy Journalist: BBW Panther Shifter Paranormal Romance (2 page)

Father. He tried not to think about him, but the memories would still come, unbidden.
He taught me everything I know about business. And…I guess he taught me what not to do to the people I loved.
When he fell in love, it would be without conditions. Without ‘ifs’ or ‘buts.’ He wouldn’t be his father. Never.

Abigail Bailey would know, without a doubt, that she was loved.

But how to get her to his door?

She was a reporter, and there had never been a shortage of reporters wanting to know more about the mysterious Paul Larson. Offering her an exclusive would do the job.

But would it be anything more than an assignment to her? He didn’t want to look like he was trying to bribe her or to buy her affection. If she was the woman he thought she was—and instinct was burning bright within him—that wouldn’t be the way to her heart.

And offering her a story wasn’t without its own risks. He’d done some digging around, and Abby Bailey appeared to be a very smart and capable reporter. He wanted her to learn more about him, but on his own terms.

The buzzer went off at his desk. “Paul?” It was Chris, his personal assistant, secretary, and the only real friend Paul had. “That meeting with the board’s in an hour. You need anything? You’ve been radio silent all morning.”

Shit.
He’d been so hung up on Abby he hadn’t been paying any attention to his work at all. “Um…what do you have ready?”

Chris sighed. “I’ll come in. Good thing you got me to save your ass.”

Good thing,
Paul agreed.

Chris came in with a fat portfolio of documents. “You remember what this meeting is about? Please tell me you remember what this meeting’s about.”

“I remember,” he said. “It’s about next quarter’s sales projections…you have those ready for me, right?”

Chris winked at him. “Of course I do. But you have to tell me what happened last night. You’ve been out of it all morning.” He spread a few charts out on Paul’s desk. “I don’t mind covering for you, but I’d like to know why.”

Paul knew he’d have to tell Chris sooner or later. He braced himself. “There was a woman at the party last night.”

Chris lit up. “Oooh,” he said, his dark eyes glistening. “Has our great cat found his mate?”

“Just don’t,” Paul said. “I’m trying to get ready for this meeting, remember?”

“She must be beautiful.”

She is.
“So we’re expecting sales to go down?”

“It’s just seasonal variation,” Chris said. “You could do this in your sleep. Tell me what she looks like.”

“She’s beautiful,” he said. “Can we do this later?”

“Probably. When are you going to see her again?”

“Is the board going to believe that this is seasonal variation?” It looked like seasonal variation. They’d…had they talked about this? Shit, he needed to pull it together.

“It’s actually slightly better than last year’s dip,” Chris said, tapping the next chart. “Which is very promising for the year. I sent you the PowerPoint, if you want to actually read it.”

“I should do that,” he said. “When did you send it?”

“Yesterday, after you’d left. I’ll send it again if you tell me her name.”

He’d find it out anyway. “Abby.”

“No last name?”

“Bailey. I don’t have a date with her. Yet.”

“I can fix that.”

Chris probably could. “I don’t want to manipulate her. She…she needs to come to me.”

“Yeah, like you’re going to have problems with
that.”

“I don’t mean—”

“Just ask her out.”

“I can’t just ask her out,” he said.

Chris leaned over the desk, his long ponytail swinging down over his shoulder. “Why not?”

Paul took a step back from his desk…which put his back against the glass windows on the 14th floor. “Because…because she’s a business reporter.”

Chris gestured for him to go on. “And….”

“And I don’t want to
bribe
her. A date with me, that would be a hell of a scoop.”

“Listen, Mr. Man of Mystery,” Chris said. “You’re rich. You’re mysterious. You’re not going to be able to escape that with anyone. Why not ask out someone you actually
like?”

“Because I’ll have to lie to her,” he said. Wasn’t that obvious? “I can’t build a relationship on lies.”

“And you don’t want to build a relationship on the truth, either?” Chris shook his head. “Look, Paul. If you want a mate—if you want your mother’s line to continue—you have to do something. Lie to a woman, tell the truth, tell her
some
of the truth. But you can’t just wait to act for the rest of your life, or your life will be
over.”

“You don’t have to be so dramatic about it,” Paul objected.

“It’s not dramatic.” Chris tapped Paul’s desk for emphasis. “It’s the truth. The truth is, you’ve made yourself a fortune, and you want someone to share it with. You
deserve
someone to share it with. The least you should do is ask her out.”

Okay…he wasn’t wrong. Being at least a little honest with her from the start wouldn’t hurt. “So what’s your suggestion, since you seem to have all the answers?”

“I call her up and offer her exclusive access. To the business, not you. Interview comes with the package, but that’s only part of it. She gets the quarterly projections, the vision for the future—the whole nine yards. You can tell her the truth—as much of it as you want to—at the interview, but however it goes, the article’s hers.”

Well, that—

That was actually a very good idea. “Fine,” he said.

Chris smirked and tapped the pages on Paul’s desk. “Now focus on this meeting and leave the magic to me.”

Paul gave him the finger.

3

Abby was supposed to be working on a story about the Salem Beach Children’s Society Gala. Her deadline was 2 pm, it was already 11, and all she had was a paragraph that used the word ‘glittering’ twice.

Maybe Jennifer was right and she was starting to outgrow Salem Beach and the endless cycle of charity events and trivial meetings.

Or maybe it was just Paul Larson that was the problem. She kept thinking about him, about his dark eyes and hair, about the graceful way he moved. He was long and lean, exactly the kind of guy who spent an hour running every day and had no patience for anyone who didn’t.

Not her type at all. Certainly not someone who would be interested in her.

Even though she could still feel
exactly
where his arm had been on her shoulder. Even though she could still smell his cologne—unfamiliar, no doubt expensive.

Not. Her. Type.

She took another hour punching her notes into something resembling an article. It wouldn’t be her best work, but no one expected her to be doing her best work on a story about the Children’s Society Gala anyway. Her photos would make or break it—and the photos had come out quite well, especially one she’d shot of handsome Paul Larson chatting with Eleanor. She’d have to get Eleanor a copy—prominent donors were as good as gold in her business. She went ahead and sent the first draft to her editor.

Then it was some more work on a feature article about high-tech companies moving to Salem Beach for ‘lifestyle benefits.’ She really needed another corporation to talk to, but Hughes Group had declined an interview, and chasing someone off-the-record had pitfalls of its own.

The phone at her desk rang. It didn’t very often these days—most of the reporters used email and most of her contacts had her cell—but that meant she usually picked it up just out of novelty. “This is Abby.”

“Miss Bailey.” The voice on the other end of the line was male, cheerful, and unfamiliar. “Chris Hernandez here, personal assistant to Paul Larson of Inti International. Do you have a second?”

“I…I’m on deadline, but I can talk for a minute.” It wasn’t exactly a lie and would make sure he got to the point.

“Wonderful. I’m sure you know our little company’s been getting quite a bit of attention, and I’ve finally managed to convince Paul he should let a reporter in to do a profile.”

“Oh.”
Wait, you can’t mean me.

“Now, he doesn’t have much patience with the big papers, and he doesn’t want
Fortune
or any of that crap in here. He mentioned meeting you last night, and I thought, ‘Finally, here’s my chance.’ Do you think
Salem Beach Now
will be interested?”

“Of course,” she said. It could get their little operation national attention. Bill would jump at it. “And…you want me?”

“Mr. Larson doesn’t have a lot of patience for most reporters,” he said. “A good first impression goes for a lot. It’s a miracle he wants to talk with you, honestly.”

“I suppose I’m flattered.”

“Now I know you’re on deadline, but maybe we could schedule a tour later in the week?” This guy was smooth, that was for sure.

“Let me open up my calendar,” she said. “And I’ll need a number I can call you at—an email—”

“Give me your email and I’ll send you a comfirmation, my email’s got contact information. How does Thursday look?”

“Um, I have a breakfast meeting to cover, but I’m pretty flexible after that.”

“Let’s do…will two o’clock work for you? I can give you the VIP tour then.”

“There’s a VIP tour?”

He chuckled. “There is now.”

“We haven’t even met.”

“Paul’s a good judge of character,” he said. “I’m looking forward to it. What’s your email?”

After she got the confirmation, she ran to LinkedIn. It all seemed to check out. Chris Hernandez was listed as Paul Larson’s assistant, and he had a host of connections only a few steps away from hers, most of them people like Eleanor Chu.

Now she had to go to Laura and explain to her that she’d just gotten exclusive access to Inti International…but just for her, for reasons she couldn’t even begin to explain.

“But why you?” Laura asked. “I mean, you’re a good reporter, but—” She shrugged. Laura could cut someone down without saying a word. She clearly thought she was headed for greener pastures than tiny Salem Beach, and Abby hoped she got there as soon as possible.

“That’s what his assistant said,” she said, trying to stay nonchalant and shrug off in the insult—experience had taught her that taking the bait only made things worse. “Maybe he’s had bad luck with reporters, I don’t know.”

“And he spoke with you at the gala,” Laura sniffed.

“Just briefly. I was surprised I’d made an impression. But…exclusive access, that’s going to be great. Bill will lose his mind.”

“Look,” Laura said. “This is a big story. I’ll come along, and we can tackle it together, all right?”

A surge of anger powered through Abby. “It’s not that big a story. I’ve certainly handled a lot more complicated things than a company profile.”

“There’s going to be a lot of attention on this,” Laura said. “Co-writing the story’s going to make it a lot stronger.”

Abby wanted to
strangle
her, and Bill too, for promoting Laura to managing editor in the first place. “You’ve got other fish to fry,” Bill had said—she’d been engaged back then, and he must have thought she’d throw away her career. And then the engagement went to hell, and she was still stuck with Laura, who was still waiting for her big break two years later. “They asked specifically for me.”

“Of course,” Laura said. “And you’ll be there with me. I’ll go tell Bill.”

She was gone before Abby could even open her mouth to object again. Not that it would have made any difference. Laura’s primary object in life was apparently to cut Abby off at the knees.

And it’s not even that big a story,
she sulked.
Sure, we’ll get some attention but it’s not like we’re breaking some great scandal open. People are just curious, that’s all.
Laura would have to do more work than that—and better work than that—if she really wanted to break into New York or Boston.

Well, there was nothing she could do about it now but act professional.

Of course, giving Chris Hernandez a heads-up that her managing editor wanted to tag along at her exclusive interview was the professional thing to do, too, wasn’t it?

She smiled a little to herself as she composed the email. After all, Laura wasn’t the only one who knew how to be ‘helpful.’

Thanks again for this opportunity. My managing editor Laura Moore would like to come along—Inti International’s turning into something like a local legend—but I wanted to make sure that was all right with II. Please let me know ASAP.

By the time deadline hit, she’d almost forgotten about it, beyond a nagging sense of annoyance at Laura.

There was a reply from Chris in her inbox.
Understandable. Paul will want the interview exclusively with you, but we’ll see if we can find some material that will interest her as well. (I’m pretty sure she’s the Laura Moore I attended Stone Rock College with back in the day—ask her if she remembers me.) Very much looking forward to seeing you Thurs.

C

Abby sighed. That just figured. Whatever Laura pulled, there always seemed to be someone who knew her, and was ready to grease the wheels for her. At least the interview with Paul would still be hers. She’d just make the most of what she had, like she’d done for years.

4

“You will never
guess
what happened,” Chris said as Paul came back into his office. He was sitting behind Paul’s desk with his feet up.

“Meeting went great,” Paul said. “Your slides were a huge help, couldn’t have done it without you—”

Chris waved his words away. “I told you you’d be fine. Sit down, I’ve got a story.”

“This is
my
office,” Paul said.

“My story,” Chris replied. “You’ve got the interview with Abby, Thursday afternoon, already on your calendar. So I email to confirm, and not half an hour later she emails back. Her managing editor’s invited herself along.”

“You said no,” Paul said. He wasn’t even sure he wanted Abby doing an interview; he certainly didn’t need an extra reporter snooping around asking questions.

“I was
going
to,” Chris said. “But then I realized her name looked familiar.” He held up a tablet with a LinkedIn page. Laura Moore. She was a pale, average-looking white woman with chestnut brown hair.