He could’ve fired her right then and no one would have said shit. But just as he disliked weakness, he was drawn to strength. And something told him Robyn Crandall had a lot of that on reserve.
9
Robyn looked down into the carton of cappuccino chip ice cream, surprised when the spoon collided with the bottom.
Damn. She’d emptied it.
That only happened when she was stressed. And she definitely had a reason to be. Frank was less than pleased when she came back without having gotten Chris to agree to the Paris trip.
Ball’s still in your court, Robyn, he said. We need an answer from him soon. And I sure hope it’s an answer in the affirmative.
Soon. She took that to mean Monday. And here it was Saturday and she had no clue how she was going to get that answer. She knew where Chris lived, and she had his cell phone number, but it would be an extraordinary breach of protocol for her to use her quasi-personal relationship with him to accomplish a professional objective.
“Robyn!”
Her mother’s voice calling her from downstairs caused her to sit up and lower her feet to the floor. She should probably get out of her room anyway. She’d been here since Friday evening when she got home, leaving only for coffee and meals. Pathetic. But the surprise visit from Curtis and then the disastrous meeting with Chris had knocked her back on her heels a little bit.
“What is it?” she stuck her head out of her bedroom door.
“You have a visitor!”
“What?” Robyn yelled back. “Who?”
She heard steps as her mother ascended the stairs and rolled her eyes. “Good Lord, Mom. Who is . . ?”
It wasn’t her mother.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey,” Chris said back to her. “You ready to go fast?”
Robyn smiled.
They rode the silver Ducati Streetfighter, the one Chris said was his favorite. Robyn wrapped her arms tightly about his trim waist, her cheek pressed against his back. The wind through her short, tousled hair felt marvelous, and she inhaled the scent of the leather jacket Chris was wearing, and of the warm summer breeze. She could have stayed that way for hours, feeling the hum of the machine between her legs, the dips and sways as they turned, the view of the world whizzing by.
It was impossible to carry on a conversation, but that was okay, because Robyn didn’t know what she would have said. Thank you didn’t seem like enough. Their last meeting notwithstanding, it seemed like she had more and more to thank Chris for each time she saw him. Putting aside his taciturn manners, he’d given and done more for her in the past few months than anyone had done for her in a year other than her mother. Relying on rumors and reputation alone, she would have suspected him of some ulterior motive, but Robyn hadn’t had a single clear signal that he was even attracted to her.
And as for whether she was attracted to him?
Well, there had been a moment when they were looking at his bikes, now weeks back, when she was sure he might make a move. If he had she would have willingly responded. And now, of course, being with him on the bike felt amazing. It had been awhile since she had a man between her legs, a hard, firm body against hers.
Robyn smiled.
The ride to Chris’ house took only about thirty minutes and before long, they were pulling in through the imposing wrought iron gates, and bumping along on the flagstone driveway. When they stopped, Robyn released him and got off, waiting while Chris put the bike on its kickstand and then turned to help her remove the helmet.
When he did, she was grinning. She couldn’t help it. She’d been smiling like an idiot since he appeared on her mother’s staircase asking about going fast.
Of course I’m ready, she said then, without a moment’s hesitation.
Her mother had watched from the curb, trepidation in her eyes, as Chris fitted the helmet on her head and instructed her on how to hold him. Robyn hadn’t felt the same trepidation, just excitement and a deep thrill.
Take care of my baby! Her mother called after them as they pulled away and Robyn had raised one hand in a wave.
Don’t let go, Chris warned her. You’re new to this. Both arms.
Okay, she said, holding him tight and leaning into him.
And when I move, you move.
Okay, she said again.
The leans and dips were part of the fun, but once they got off the local roads and onto the parkway, it was really fun, and Chris made good on his promise to go fast. It was the most alive Robyn had felt in over a year. They dipped in and out, between cars and trucks, leaning and swaying. Around them everything else on the road seemed to be standing still.
Now, she was sorry they had reached their destination, but only because it meant that it might be awhile before she could get back on the bike. Just as Chris removed his helmet, Robyn noticed a man exiting the house, coming toward them, hand extended.
“Hey,” he said. “You must be Robyn. I’m Jon.”
Robyn looked at Chris for an explanation, but he was busy with the bike, so she shook Jon’s hand. He was a tall, rangy looking guy with unruly red hair, and freckles. He looked like a handsome version of that famous snowboarder, Shaun-somebody-or-other and was wearing the full regalia of a motocross rider. Curious, Robyn briefly glanced a Chris once again, even as she took Jon’s hand.
“Hi. Nice to meet you.”
“Ready to learn how to ride one of these babies?” he asked.
Robyn’s head whipped around and she looked at Chris who this time was looking back at her, and smiling in that inscrutable way he had.
He shrugged. “You want to go fast without me, you’ll have to learn how.”
Before she could stop herself, Robyn had run right into Chris and hugged him, jumping up and down squealing like a little kid, unable to contain her excitement.
“Okay, I’m ready,” she said, turning to Jon again and forcing herself to calm down.
“The pink one, Jon,” Chris said when Robyn let him go. Then he turned and headed up the steps, going into the house.
“Hey!” Robyn called after him. “Aren’t you going to watch me?”
“I have some work to take care of,” he said over his shoulder. “Come find me when you’re done. I’ll be in my office.”
Though she was curious about the reason for his generosity, and puzzled by his apparent lack of interest now that he’d given her this incredible gift, Robyn was too excited to examine either question. She just wanted to ride.
The first twenty minutes of the lesson was the boring part, while Jon walked her through the essential parts of a motorcycle and how to perform basic safety checks. Then after that was done, he finally let her sit on it, and showed her how the right and left handlebar controls worked, and what the different displays on the center console meant.
“Now this part is very important,” Jon said. “You must never, never ever ride without your helmet. Not only is it against the law, it could mean the difference between you walking away with a couple of scratches and being a vegetable for the rest of your life. You got that?”
“Got it,” Robyn said, bouncing up and down on the seat. “Are we going to turn it on now?”
Jon laughed. “Yes. Now we’re going to turn it on.”
That moment, when she turned the ignition and felt the bike between her legs—and under her control alone—come to life had to have been one of the seminal moments of Robyn’s life. As soon as she felt that sensation, she knew she was hooked.
“Robyn . . . Robyn . . .”
Jon was talking to her and she was in some kind of ridiculous trance. Robyn grinned and looked at him.
“Throttle, brake . . . remember?”
“Yeah, I remember,” she said, wishing he would step aside so she could just go already.
“It has a kick to it when you move, so don’t accelerate right away. Just . . .”
“I got it,” she said impatiently.
“Robyn, look at me.”
She turned and looke
d at him. Jon’s brown eyes stared back into hers. “If I get the sense that you’re about to go all ‘yahoo’ on me, I have instructions to shut the lessons down. So I need you to listen.”
Robyn sighed. “Okay.”
“Now here we go . . . throttle, brake. Got it?”
“Yes,” she said, this time being careful to control the eagerness in her voice.
“Okay, now give it a shot.”
When Jon stepped aside, Robyn gripped the handlebar with purpose and let it rip.
“Yahoo!” she yelled as she pulled away.
___________________
Chris was taking off a headset when Robyn entered his office. She felt flushed, so she knew the color of her cheeks were high, and grass stains on her jeans and t-shirt had to be a dead giveaway about what had transpired during her lesson. He scanned her from head to toe.
“Did you lay it down?” he asked her.
Robyn looked at him, puzzled.
“Did you fall off the bike?” he asked, enunciating each word slowly.
Robyn shrugged and threw herself back into the leather high-back chair across from his desk.
“A couple times.” And then seeing the look on his face. “But don’t worry, the bike isn’t scratched or damaged or anything.”
She was still slightly breathless, and couldn’t seem to slow her breathing. And she couldn’t seem to stop smiling. This had to be the adrenaline
“I wasn’t concerned about the bike,” he said.
Robyn tilted her head to one side and her hair fell over her eyes. She brushed it aside and stared at him. Chris averted his eyes first, turning his attention to the computer monitor in front of him.
“So you had fun?”
He was trying to play it cool like he wasn’t that interested but Robyn could see past the studious lack of interest. Why did he even bother pretending to be all hard like that? It was obvious to her at least that he wasn’t the hard and difficult man he tried to pretend he was. But if her overt gratitude embarrassed him for some reason, the least she could do was play along for the moment.
“I did,” she confirmed. “So I was thinking . . .”
He looked up, listening.
“. . . one, that was the best surprise ever. And two, I’m going to cook you dinner.”
“I have someone here to cook dinner.”
“Which is ridiculous by the way,” Robyn said, shaking her head.
She got up and walked about his office, which was much smaller and cozier than the one he had at work, though it looked to be outfitted with just about everything he might need if it became impractical for him to drive into Manhattan.
“So you want to cook,” he said as she picked up a statuette he used to weigh down papers at the edge of his desk.
“Is this a Grammy?” she asked, incredulous.
Chris nodded, but said nothing.
Robyn turned and looked at him, stared at him really. “I can’t figure you out,” she said, her willpower slipping away.
It was just too hard to reconcile the arrogant man who had put her soundly in her place earlier that week and the generous one who had given her a chance to fulfill one of those crazy little fantasies most women never actually went through with.
“What can’t you figure out?”
“You were so mean to me at the office on Friday, and now . . .”
“How was I mean to you?”
“With the Save the Music thing. You sent me on that fool’s errand knowing you had no intention of doing anything other than telling the guy to apply through the foundation, and then you . . .”
“Hold up a second,” Chris said leaning back in his chair. “I was perfectly happy to listen to what you had to say. Until you told me you’d promised him . . .”
“I didn’t say promise. I said I gave him a positive forecast.”
“A forecast is pretty damn close to a promise, Robyn.”
She opened her mouth and then shut it, finally sitting on the edge of his desk. “Okay, so maybe I was a little out of line.”
“A lot out of line.”
“A lot out of line. But you were so . . .”
“Mean to you?” he said, mimicking her earlier tone of voice. “C’mon now. You’re a big girl. Don’t trivialize yourself and pretend you couldn’t go toe-to-toe if you needed to. I made the right call with Bill Stafford, and you made the wrong one. We both know that.”
“Well.”
“No,” Chris said. “I want to hear you admit it. You made the wrong call. You promised him something you had no authority to promise.”
Finally, she nodded. “I did. And I’m sorry. I just . . . I listened to him talk about this program and I really wanted you to do it. And more than that, I think it makes perfect business sense to do it. This cause is related to the core of Scaife Enterprises. Music.”
Chris smiled and nodded. “See? Now that’s an argument that might have swayed me. If you’d made it.”
“Something threw me off my game before I came to see you,” Robyn admitted, thinking of Curtis and his ill-timed visit.
“Then don’t ever let anything do that.”
Robyn laughed. “Yeah. Easier said than done, Mr. Scaife. Now are we making dinner or not?”
“Are we making dinner? A moment ago, you were making dinner for me.”
Robyn smiled. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll still do the making. God, you really are a great negotiator, aren’t you?”
___________________
He took his iPad into the kitchen with him, and sat at the enormous center island, working on it as she chopped vegetables. The kitchen was ridiculously well-stocked for a household of one, with every kind of protein, vegetable or spice a person might need. With no preconceived notions about what she might cook, Robyn was able to find every ingredient she needed for shrimp scampi and scallion rice, with a spinach apple and walnut salad on the side.
When she and Chris walked in, his housekeeper had looked positively floored, as though he’d never been in there before, but happily made way for them by disappearing to parts unknown in the enormous house.
“Why did you buy such a big house?” Robyn asked, even though she knew she would be interrupting.
“What?”
Chris looked up and his face bore the same confused expression he’d had that time when she barged into his office to thank him for getting her the job he apparently hadn’t gotten her.
“Your house,” she said, pressing on. “It’s really big. Why’d you buy it? Something so big.”
Chris slid the tablet aside, looking at her. “Because at one time I thought I needed to bring everyone along for the ride. If I was successful, I needed to bring all my boys with me. Everyone from back in the day who was loyal, who might not make it on their own.”
Robyn nodded. “Survivor’s guilt.”
“Is that what that is?” he said. “Well, whatever it was, I’m over it. And another reason is that at one time I thought bigger was better.”
“And now you know it’s not, right?”
“Right.”
“So you’ll understand perfectly what I’m about to say.” She looked down at the carrots she’d julienned, sliding them to the corner of the cutting board. “Pouvoir Noir Records. It won’t be better just because you make it part of Scaife Enterprises. In fact you just might destroy it.”
Chris almost smiled. Now apparently she had his full attention. “Was that what you were trying to meet with me about?”
“Yes. We’d like you to go to Paris, Frank and I. To meet with the president of the company. To see their operation in person.”
“Frank is a crafty sonofabitch. I told him I’d made up my mind. I’d like to acquire Pouvoir Noir. And that’s it.”
“And you won’t budge.”
“No.”
Robyn sighed and reached for a bell pepper. “Yesterday you told me you like to have information before making decisions. Going to Paris will give you the kind of information you can’t get from the R&D
reports. You’d see for yourself what you’re about to spend so much money for.”
“I see their numbers. I see that they’ve churned out a crazy-high proportion of top ten artists in the last five years alone. I see that despite that, they’re only operating at about thirty percent of their full potential. And I see that they can get bigger if . . .”
“Ah, but bigger isn’t always better,” Robyn reminded him.
Chris folded his arms, an unreadable look on his face.
“Just go to Paris. You could be there and back in three days.”
“With what endgame in mind?”
“You would see that the best move is to keep Pouvoir Noir small, and invest in them. Become majority owner, but don’t swallow them up into your mega-machine.”
“Is that what I do? Swallow things up?”
Robyn stopped cutting and looked directly at him. “I didn’t mean that to sound . . .”
He waved away her apology. “That didn’t offend me. I just wanted to know whether you think that’s what Scaife Enterprises does. Swallows things up.”
“That’s your rep.”
“Huh.”
Crap. Had she blown it again? Robyn resumed her chopping, keeping her eyes down and focusing on the slivers of carrot, the strips of pepper, the baby spinach leaves.
“I’ll think about the Paris trip,” Chris said finally.
“Can you think fast? Frank wants an answer soon.”
Looking at her levelly, Chris shook his head. “It’ll take as long as it takes, Robyn. Is there a reason, other than Frank’s and your convenience that I should rush this?”
“I guess not,” she acknowledged, blushing.
“Okay then. I’ll let you know when I decide.”
Robyn was done cooking by late afternoon and rather than wait, they ate early, right there in the kitchen. Then with wineglasses in hand, Chris walked Robyn around the house, giving her the full tour of all the rooms, telling her funny stories about each one, who’d slept there and what their quirks were. After walking through the east wing, they turned, heading back in the direction from whence they’d come and Robyn followed.
On a whim, Robyn looped an arm through his and he let her. Walking like that, she was by necessity inordinately close to him, and could feel the hardness of his forearm against her. As they began making their way back downstairs, it brushed the side of her breast, and Robyn’s nipples hardened at the accidental contact.
Afterwards Page 8
