was not an issue.
No response. It agitated him.
“I’ll do everything you say,” he offered. “Within reason, of course.”
Still he could see her mulling it over in that big brain of hers.
“Not for nothing, but I would think you get sick of writing papers all day. Don’t you want to get back to doing what you love? You’re a kingmaker, for crying out loud. Not a research-policy wonk.”
That played. Her eyes lit up. “Can you give me until tomorrow to consider your offer?”
This time she was asking his permission. This he preferred. “Of course. Can I ask what your reservations are?”
“Truthfully?”
“I think I was very truthful with you just now.”
“You’re a man who spends his life in the spotlight. You have been since you won your first Formula One race. The spotlight is not something I’m…comfortable with. If I accept your offer—and that is a decidedly big ‘if’—you have to understand that all my guidance and direction will be behind the scenes.”
“I don’t care about what happened with you and him,” he offered.
“I don’t discuss what happened. Ever. I’m simply giving you my working parameters.”
“But you’ll stay here. In Detroit. With me.”
She seemed to consider that deeply, as if she just realized what her commitment would mean. “Yes. But the only people who would know about my involvement are myself, Ben and anyone you consider essential. I draw these lines not only for my protection but for yours. Your image might not be helped if people knew I was working with you.”
“For me,” he corrected. “You would be working for me. I want to make sure you understand that. I’ll do whatever you say that makes sense. But I’m not some puppet blindly taking orders.”
She tilted her head slightly to the right as if scrutinizing him. As though she was Dr. Frankenstein and was coldly, clinically wondering if he had any potential as a monster.
“I’ll call you first thing in the morning.”
“I look forward to it.” He stood and stretched out his hand. She accepted it as she stood. Her grasp was firm and strong and brief.
Too brief. He didn’t know if it was him, or whether letting go so fast was something she’d trained herself to do. He only knew he missed her touch when it was gone.
“Goodbye, Mr. Langdon.”
“See you soon, Ms. Kane.”
His choice of words was deliberate and they weren’t lost on her. She gave him a brief smile, straightened her suit jacket and walked out his office door.
He was right. He didn’t like the feeling of seeing her leave. But he had confidence she would be back. He wasn’t wrong in his description of her. She was a kingmaker and he was a man who would be king—at least in this arena.
Sitting, he turned to the flat screen on his office wall and pulled up the specs of his electric car. It moved and rotated, showing him each side. It was a thing of beauty. It was revolutionary. It was going to change the driving experience for the millions of people who would buy it.
But right now it wasn’t capturing his attention half so much as the woman who’d just left his office.
* * *
MADELEINEOPENEDTHEdoor to her hotel room and felt a sense of relief when the door closed behind her. She was staying in one of the best hotels in downtown Detroit, not too far from Michael Langdon’s offices. The room was like any other she’d spent her life in so many years ago. Two beds, a desk, an uncomfortable chair, with meaningless, boring art covering the walls.
The sentimental side of her said it was good to be in familiar surroundings again.
It felt good to kick off her shoes and take off her suit jacket. It had been a long time since she’d actually had to meet with a client and needed the barrier of formal business attire. In her opinion, nothing said “back off” like a woman in a buttoned up, dark colored business suit.
Checking her watch she could see it was just after six. Ben would hopefully still be up. She extracted her tablet from her briefcase. Calling his number, she hit the button to interface. If Ben was up, which was likely given the time, he would either be sitting at his desk or would have his tablet with him in bed.
“Why do you insist on calling me like this?”
His voice was gruff, but still as strong as it was when she’d left. She’d caught him in his office.
“I like to see your shiny bald head. It makes me smile.”
“I think you’re afraid when I die Anna is going to simply record my voice and run the business on her own and you’ll never know she’s got me buried in the backyard.”
“Hardee, har.” Anna’s voice came from off the view of the computer’s camera. “Death humor. I love it.”
It was comforting to know Anna would never leave Ben’s side. She was either the most dedicated assistant in all the world, or his very best friend. Sometimes it was hard to tell.
The redhead popped her face over Ben’s shoulder. “Hi, Mad. So what do you think? Ready to come out of obscurity and take the world by storm again?”
“Don’t pressure her,” Ben said, shooing Anna away with his hand.
“I’m going to make your dinner. What do you want?”
“Nothing,” he growled, not looking at the computer but at his assistant, who was once again off camera.
“Steak and mashed potatoes? With asparagus in hollandaise sauce? That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“Please, God, tell me you’re not going to attempt to cook that.”
“Uh, duh. It’s called delivery.”
Madeleine smiled. She shouldn’t have been worried about leaving him. Not with Anna there. “I see you are in good hands.”
“I’m in impossible hands. I fire her daily, yet she keeps coming back. She knows I don’t have the strength to physically remove her and I find that absolutely galling.”
Madeleine took note of the flannel robe and the lines around Ben’s mouth and eyes. He’d been a superhero once. First a servant to his country, then a man who charged in and rescued people from their failing lives. Now his life was failing and Madeleine wondered what the group would do without him.
Not that everyone in the Tyler Group wouldn’t ultimately recover. Everyone Ben hired had a unique skill set that would always be valuable to people who needed that particular service. What Ben provided that no one else could, however, were the connections. Putting people together who needed each other the most. That was his special skill.
She shivered a little and hoped he hadn’t seen it. She needed to think positive thoughts. “How is the treatment going?”
“Treatment sucks.”
“So I’ve been told. What are the doctors saying?”
“I don’t want to talk about the doctors, I want to talk about you and the job. What did you think of Michael?”
Where to begin? Her impressions raced through Madeleine’s mind at lightning speed. Handsome, intelligent, forceful, tightly wound. Not too dissimilar to the politicians she used to work with back in the day. The differences were subtle but they were there. Michael was not as polished. The Armani suit, which was tailored perfectly for him, still didn’t quite fit. His language wasn’t always refined, though there was no hint of the streets where, according to his famous bio, he apparently grew up.
The boy from 8 Mile who went from