about for good rather than evil?”
Most people thought of Jack Reed that way. Evil incarnate. Difference was that Becca wasn’t afraid to tell him point-blank.
Hell, she was right. Everyone was. If he could get his paws on Lassiter Media, if he could truly sink his teeth into a vein, he wouldn’t let go until he’d drained it all. That was his profession. What he did best.
But with Becca Stevens looking at him as if malevolence might be contagious, for just a second Jack almost hoped he wouldn’t get the chance. A part of him actually wanted to let this colossal Lassiter Media opportunity slide off into the water.
Of course, that wasn’t possible. Wasn’t—sane. Neither was continuing to annoy poor Ms. Stevens. It wasn’t her fault she was caught up in this fight, any more than Jack could help the part he had to play.
“It’s time my black cape and I flapped away before the first hint of dawn turns us into dust.” He affected a bow. “Good night, Becca.”
She caught up with him at the entrance back into the ballroom, slotting herself between his chest and the door. Jack didn’t know whether to smile and relax or frisk her for a wooden stake.
“What if I show you how serious I am?” she said. “I’ll prove to you how much good this foundation does. Have you ever visited homeless shelters, soup kitchens? If you see firsthand, you’d have to understand. You can’t be that big of a monster...can you?”
“You mean it’s possible I might have human emotions after all?”
When she allowed a small smile, Jack grinned, too. “Give me a month,” she said, “and I’ll change your mind.”
“Change my mind about what?”
“About dismantling Lassiter Media’s assets.”
Interesting. “You think Angelica and I can win?”
Becca lifted her chin. “Four weeks.”
“One day.”
“One week.”
“On one condition.”
“Name it.”
What the hell. “I’d rather show you.”
He slid a hand around her waist and drew her in as his mouth dropped over hers.
She went stiff against him. Hands balled into fists against his chest. He waited for her to tear away and call him every name under the sun. Short of her scratching his eyes out, Jack figured it was worth it.
Instead, her fists melted and palms slowly spread before her fingers knotted, winding into his jacket lapels. Then, making a strangled sound in her throat, she pressed in plumb against him. Jack relaxed into it, too.
As his palm on her back tugged her closer, his other hand slipped beneath the curls at the warm base of her neck. Gradually her lips parted under his. Kneading her nape, he tilted his head at more of an angle at the same time the tip of his tongue slid by her teeth.
She stiffened again and this time broke away. Short of breath, eyes wild, she wiped her mouth on her arm. Then she called him a name Jack had been called more than once but never by a lady.
“What was that supposed to be?”
Jack ran a hand back through his hair. “You tell me.”
She siphoned down air, half composed herself. “Fine,” she said. “I will. That was a mistake. A big fat never again.”
“Unless you decide you want to.”
She stabbed a finger at his nose. “You repulse me.”
“Do you want to hear my condition or not?”
Puzzled, she blinked twice. “Condition?”
“To give you one week to change my mind.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed and pushed curls back from her brow. “Oh. Right.”
“My condition is that we are civil toward each other.”
She muttered, “Figures that would be your idea of civil.”
It wasn’t the time to mention that she had kissed him right back.
“Do we have an agreement?” Jack hesitated and then ribbed her anyway. “Or are you afraid you might find my dark charm irresistible?”
Her slim nostrils flared. “I’d sooner sell my soul to the devil.”
“Be careful what you wish for.” Jack pulled open the door and noise from the ballroom seeped out. “I’ll collect you from your office Monday, ten a.m. sharp.”
“I’ll arrange my own transport. I’ll meet you—”
“Uh-uh. I make the rules. The challenge for you now is to change the game.”
“Using any means available?”
Jack smiled into her spirited green gaze. “What an appealing thought.”
Early Monday, as Jack finished up his first call of the working week, the vice president of Reed Incorporated crossed over to his desk. A financial dynamo with a killer background in trading, Sylvia Morse set her hands on her hips.
“What exactly are you doing?”
Sylvia had been standing inside his office door for the past few minutes, so, trick question?
“What do you mean what am I doing?” Jack asked.
“I want the lowdown. No B.S. Not to me. You just got off the phone from Angelica Lassiter—again. You’ve moved mountains to acquire every Lassiter Media share you can lay your hands on. You’d do anything to get a hold of hers.”
Sylvia’s brunette razor-cut looked somehow spikier today, and her normally light gray gaze was definitely darker. He almost asked whether her caffeine addiction had escalated to substances that caused memory loss or confusion, but then Jack remembered her brother was in rehab again and went with the direct approach instead.
He set down his pen. “What the hell is up with you this morning?”
“You’re in bed with Angelica Lassiter,” Sylvia went on, “to help her regain control of J.D.’s company.”
“Metaphorically speaking, absolutely.”
“And?”
“Sylvia, you’ve been my right hand here for five years. Nothing’s changed.”
“So, you intend to buy up, buy in and then put into play the most efficient, financially rewarding way to sell off the various pieces of Lassiter Media. Except that isn’t Angelica Lassiter’s plan.”
Jack slumped. Et tu, Sylvia? “I thought our moral compasses were in sync.”
“This is different.”
“It’s never different.” He picked up the pen, put his head down. “Trust me.”
“God knows I want to, but something’s missing. Unless you’re more ruthless than even I thought, and I know you pretty well.”
“Better than anyone.”
“I’m on your side, Jackie-boy. Always. But, while you’d never admit it publicly, even you must have limits. J. D. Lassiter was a friend. You’d call in on each other’s homes in Cheyenne. I thought that kind of relationship would put a spin on things.”
“You thought wrong.”
“So, feelings never get in the way of business.”
Jack got to his feet. “Feelings don’t get in the way of anything. Period.”
He