by Julie Cannon
“Ms. Monroe, I don’t take anything lightly when it concerns Braxton. I know exactly what you want, and I will give your offer the consideration that it’s due.”
Braxton’s voice was eerily calm for a man on the verge of losing everything he had worked for. Tate was about to say more, but the look in his eyes told her not to. “My offer expires in one week.”
*
Victoria caught a dollop of filling on her finger before it landed on her blouse. The donut shop made her favorite, and as the chocolate-cream filling tantalized her taste buds, she kept wondering about the woman in the elevator. Why did she look so familiar? Surely Victoria would have remembered meeting her. Her shock of dark hair and blistering eyes were definitely her most alluring features. When she corrected herself to include the young woman’s body in that description, a flash of heat shot through her.
The woman, probably in her early thirties, was dressed in what Victoria recognized as J.Crew, which made her feel old and dowdy in her Armani, however classic and fashionable. To be young, carefree, and confident again. Was I that confident at her age? A commentary ran through her head as she walked down the street to her car. So sure of myself and cocky. Am I still that way or have I become old and stodgy? Forty-four isn’t old, for God’s sake. I just feel old. She, however, acts like she owns the world. I used to feel like that, she thought. When did it change so that now the world owns me? Sometimes she wanted to simply chuck it all and work for a non-profit, get her hands and her brain involved.
Victoria arrived at her office without a trace of the white fluffy powder that covered the outside of her donuts as evidence of her weakness for sweets. She enjoyed a naturally high metabolism, and if she simply watched what she ate and indulged in her passion for sweets only once in a while, she could maintain her weight with not much trouble. I’ll bet the woman at Braxton’s office doesn’t need to worry about what she eats. Victoria was surprised at the thought that crept into her head as she skimmed her e-mails.
The woman’s face and hard body jumped into her mind like a bright idea. “That’s where I know her from,” she said excitedly.
“Who?” Albert walked in with the morning mail.
“I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out where I knew this woman from that I saw this morning. Then I remembered. She practically ran me down when I got off the elevator at Braxton’s office. She was coming out and I was going in and bam.” Victoria clapped her hands for emphasis. “She ran right into me. Felt like a brick wall.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, just had the wind knocked out of me. When I saw her again after my meeting, I couldn’t place her, but now I remember.” Victoria recalled the woman as if she were standing in front of her.
She was much shorter than Victoria, but just about every female was shorter than her six feet three. Their contact told Victoria that the woman’s body was trim and firm, topped off with spiky jet black hair. But Victoria was most aware of her eyes, which were the most vivid shade of green she’d ever seen. They were the color of fresh-cut rye grass, and when the woman had focused on her she recognized the intensity she had rarely seen in another woman’s eyes other than on the volleyball court—an expression of single-minded determination.
Victoria put her briefcase on the desk and grabbed the stack of mail from her in-box. As she skimmed the pile Albert read off her appointments for the day, and she grimaced when she heard that the chairman of her board was on her calendar for ten minutes from now.
“When did he call?” The he she was referring to was Edward Hamacher III, the richest, crabbiest snob she had ever met. Victoria once wondered if Hamacher was born with blue blood in his veins or if he had a transfusion once he finally realized just how rich his family was. No one had probably ever called him Ed in his life, certainly never Eddie. In addition to being haughty, he was pompous, arrogant, and didn’t like queers. He had said as much one evening after a dinner consisting of prime rib and several bottles of very expensive wine when he made her pick up the check.
“This morning. You didn’t have any free time today but I squeezed him in.” Albert sounded apologetic.
“It’s all right, Albert.” Victoria knew how persuasive Hamacher could be when he wanted something. She had been dealing with him for the past several years, and at times his holier-than-thou attitude was enough to send her over the cliff. He was the last thing she needed today and, by the sound of his voice already booming in the hall, the first thing on her agenda after returning from Braxton.
“Victoria,” Hamacher said, walking into her office uninvited.
When he addressed her, his tone was always just this side of condescending. Of course she didn’t have anyone to ask to confirm her belief, but in her gut she knew Hamacher didn’t believe a woman should be running Drake. A trusted source said he was outvoted in Drake’s selection of her as CEO, and she suspected he was salivating now that his chance to get her out was within reach. That is, if she didn’t bring in Braxton.
“Edward,” she said, “would you like some coffee?”
He settled onto the small couch in the sitting area of her office. “Yes, I’d love for you to bring me a cup. Milk, two sugars.” He unbuttoned his suit jacket and draped his arm across the back of the couch.
The hair on the back of Victoria’s neck rose as much as her temper at his insinuation that she would get his coffee like his secretary or, worse, a common servant. Albert saved her from calling him on his request by stating that he would get it. Hamacher almost sneered as Albert hurried out of the office.
“Good man you’ve got there, Victoria.”
The tone in which he complimented Albert told Victoria that Edward considered him anything but either good or a man. To Hamacher, the roles were definitely reversed. She chose to ignore that comment as well.
“What can I do for you, Edward?” Small talk was not in Hamacher’s vocabulary so she didn’t waste her time.
“Where are we with Braxton?”
Victoria knew he was here to check on her progress, but this was her office and she controlled Drake. She would make him ask for every piece of information he wanted. She sat across from him in a straight-backed chair, the one she normally occupied during meetings in this area of her office. She preferred to sit erect instead of slouch or appear to be sloppy, which was Hamacher’s current position.
“I met with him this morning—”
“Is he going to accept?”
Albert set two steaming cups on the table between them, and Victoria waited until he left the room before she continued. “I gave him a general overview of our proposal.” Victoria watched Hamacher’s neck slowly redden.
“What do you mean, an overview? You led us to believe that you planned to present the full offer to him.”
“With all due respect, Edward, you don’t walk into the office of the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company and just tell him you want to buy it and expect him to say okay.” At times Victoria swore she was talking to a child.
“We don’t have much time, Victoria.”
Victoria translated his statement into “You don’t have much time.” Keeping her aggravation in check she replied calmly, “He would have thrown me to the curb. I’m sorry if you misunderstood what my meeting with him was about today. I intended simply to lay our cards on the table.”
Hamacher frowned when she crossed her Armani-clad legs. Another one of his archaic beliefs was that women should wear skirts or, better yet, dresses. His wife probably had an entire closet of pumps and panty hose. She continued before he had a chance to patronize her again.
“Peter Braxton didn’t ask me to leave his office, which I took as a positive sign. He asked the appropriate questions that led me to believe that he had not immediately disregarded my proposal. I told him to think about it and we’d talk in a few days.”
Her hand was steady as she lifted the Wedgwood china to her mouth. The redness that had started on Hamacher’s neck spread to the
remainder of his head, not stopping until it covered every inch of his bald pate. He jumped off the couch and Victoria quickly stood, not wanting to have him tower over her. The fact that she was at least eight inches taller than him appeared to infuriate him even more.
“Let me make this perfectly clear, Victoria.” He stepped closer. “You have sixty days to get Braxton’s signature on the bottom line or you are out.” He was so angry he practically spat. “Sixty days” were his parting words before he left her office as abruptly as he had entered.
Chapter Six
Tate’s cell phone rang as she walked into the locker room. Snapping it out of its case she glanced at the number, but instead of being pissed at the delay of her daily trip to the weight room, she smiled and flipped it open. “What’ve you got?”
The voice on the other end was succinct. “Braxton is sitting on major debt. I mean major. He has two outstanding loans totaling over one hundred million, and rumor on the street is that they are ready to call them in. He’s a month or so, six at the longest, from having to declare bankruptcy. His suppliers are threatening to cut him off and one already has. The union is playing hardball with their contract negotiations, and the IRS is snooping at his back door. He has his ass in a sling and no sign of how he’ll get it out.”
“Who knows about this?” Tate glanced around to ensure no one was listening.
“The debt, everybody. The bank calling in their loan, no one, as far as I’ve been able to find out. The thing about the IRS is on the QT as well.”
Braxton was on its last breath and she held the oxygen bottle to breathe life back into the company. She couldn’t have anticipated it would be this easy. It would be like catching fish in a shallow pond. Tate smiled at her good fortune, then frowned when she realized she wouldn’t have to hunt for Braxton, or maneuver, or jockey for position. She wouldn’t experience the thrust and parry of offer and counteroffer. The thrill of the chase drove Tate every day. The ability to outthink the competition and ultimately take what she wanted was better than sex. Well, almost better. The ease of the Braxton takeover didn’t lessen the thrill of acquiring it or the huge reward that would follow.
*
“Shit, I’m late,” Victoria said to her empty office. “Albert,” she yelled. He stuck his head in her office. “Please call Claire and ask her to pull the SG&A expenses for the European offices and have her call me on my cell when she gets them.” She tossed her portfolio into her briefcase. “Oh, and cancel my lunch date with whoever I’m having lunch with. I’ll be at Braxton’s.”
The week since she had met with Peter Braxton had been more hectic than usual, and she seemed to be running a consistent ten minutes late for everything. The call from Braxton came at four fifteen yesterday, asking her to meet at his office today at ten thirty. By the time she got her car and battled crosstown traffic, she might just make it.
Victoria managed to reduce overhead expenses in Europe and talk to an investment banker during her forty-minute drive. She was used to multitasking and couldn’t remember the last time she had simply driven her car with only the radio on. Other executives at her level had a car and driver, which enabled them to be more productive. She considered it a waste of money. She could drive her own car, for God’s sake. After Victoria had one harrowing almost-accident while on a conference call, Claire had been trying to convince her to reconsider. Instead, she just paid more attention when she was behind the wheel.
Passing the Braxton building on the way to the parking garage, she could have sworn she saw the woman who knocked her down in the lobby last week. She must work here, Victoria thought as the woman entered the revolving door. She shifted her attention back to her driving and pulled into the garage.
The aroma of Dunkin’ Donuts enticed her to stop, but however much she was tempted, this was not the time to savor a chocolate cream-filled donut. Ignoring the scent she crossed the lobby and waited patiently for the elevator. Her stomach growled, reminding her she had skipped breakfast and would probably miss lunch as well.
The elevator doors opened and Braxton’s administrative assistant, Susan, stood waiting by the reception desk. “Good morning, Ms. Sosa. It’s good to see you again. This way, please.” The woman led her to a conference room halfway down the long hall. “Mr. Braxton will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you—” Victoria saw that she wasn’t alone in the room. The woman she noticed entering the building a few minutes ago was pouring a cup of coffee. She looked up and Victoria decided she must be on Braxton’s staff and was here for the meeting. There was a flash of recognition when their eyes met.
“No ill effects from our collision last week?”
She was younger than Victoria remembered, but the same vivid green eyes were moving up and down her body as if checking for any residual injuries.
“None other than a little embarrassment.” Victoria watched the woman’s eyes make another path over her body, this time slower and more sensuous. She tingled where the green eyes traveled, but pushed the thought out of her mind. She was slightly insulted that one of Braxton’s employees would so blatantly check her out. It was rude and extremely unprofessional. Victoria concluded that the cocky, brash woman probably used her charm and rogue looks to get away with this type of behavior all the time. No wonder Braxton’s in trouble, she thought. This woman probably thinks that charm and sex appeal will run the business. Victoria usually let such things go, but something about the woman’s insolent manner made her want to speak up. Before she had the chance Peter Braxton walked in, Susan trailing him.
“Good morning, ladies. Thanks for coming on short notice. Victoria, my wife says to tell you hello and she still hates you.” Braxton added a smile to his last words. He returned his attention to both of them. “I’m sure you two have introduced yourselves so I’ll get right down to it. I’ve given both of your offers a lot of thought.”
Tate stared at the tall blonde, stunned. Our offers? Who is this woman anyway? Tate had thought she was one of Braxton’s minions sent to keep her occupied while she waited. She had briefly toyed with the idea of making a play for her, but she was older than the women Tate usually went out with. Maybe after she clinched this deal. She had given the old man credit for sending someone as attractive as this woman, but now she wasn’t quite sure who she was. She also appeared mystified.
“This is what I plan to do,” Braxton continued, apparently oblivious to the confusion in the room. “Since both of you want my company, I’m going through this exercise once. Susan here,” he gestured toward his assistant, “will work with your assistants to coordinate everybody’s schedules. We’ll tour my operations in Chicago, Phoenix, Brussels, and Hong Kong. We’ll meet together in every location, and at each one I’ll answer any questions you have. During our trip, don’t e-mail or phone me. At the end of your inspection you’ll have time to develop your full proposal for the board and I’ll make my decision then. Any questions?”
The blonde spoke. “Mr. Braxton, I’m afraid I missed something here.” She faced Tate. “Who are you?”
“I’m the one who’s going to take Peter’s company right out from under you.” Tate watched the surprised expression on the tall woman’s face. One point for me.
“Monroe, don’t be a smart-ass,” Braxton bellowed. “Get used to this, ladies. We’ll be spending a lot of time together the next few weeks.”
Victoria sat in stunned silence as Braxton rose and left the room without saying anything else. Why didn’t she know someone else was interested in Braxton? Of course there would be. Braxton was a well-run company that, through no fault of its own, had encountered difficult financial times. An earthquake in China eight months ago had severely damaged their major supplier’s operation, and their banker had unexpectedly been placed in receivership. Their cash flow had dried up and the creditors were circling like buzzards.
Years of facing unexpected circumstances had prepared Victoria to recover from this shock quickly. At least on the outside. Her
guts were churning and her stomach was lodged somewhere high in her throat. Shit, shit, shit, how did this happen? she said to herself, rising from her chair as the woman approached and held out her hand.
“Tate Monroe.”
The woman’s voice wasn’t hard or edgy, as Victoria expected. In an instant they had gone from being strangers to adversaries, and Victoria had anticipated she would be cold toward her. But the voice she heard was soft and melodious, if not almost sensual. Victoria hesitated a moment before she grasped the outstretched hand in acknowledgement. “Victoria Sosa.”
“Well, Ms. Sosa.” Tate looked deeply into her eyes as if she were searching for something, the vivid green eyes becoming deep, dark, and intense. “May the best woman win.” Tate held her hand longer than necessary, winked, and left the room.
Victoria inspected her palm. It was hot and moist, and she felt as if Tate had been holding it forever, not just a moment. Her heart was beating so hard that the blood pounding in her ears effectively drowned out any other sound. The words “Tate Monroe” echoed in her head.
Chapter Seven
Tate furiously pounded on the Down button for the elevator. Victoria Sosa? Who the fuck is Victoria Sosa? When the doors closed behind her she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the familiar number. She hung up when the elevator stopped at another floor and several people got in. Her call would have to wait until she had more privacy.
When the last person exited she repeated the actions with her phone and strode through the lobby. Someone answered her call as she exited, and she didn’t waste any time with pleasant formalities.
“Who the fuck is Victoria Sosa?” she bellowed into the phone. She kept walking, not wanting to have the Sosa woman come up behind her and overhear her conversation. That was what she would have done if the roles were reversed. All’s fair in love, war, and business, and all that crap. The people she passed could hear only her side of the conversation, and she didn’t care if they thought she was being rude.
