by Robyn Grady
“I’m away from the office the rest of the week,” Jack told Logan, throwing the slimy stick yet again. Logan didn’t need to know why he was away. The attorney was tetchy enough about this final stretch as it was.
“But you’ll keep your cell on,” Logan said.
“Angelica knows I’m available to talk day or night.”
“And if she wants to speak face-to-face?”
“I’m there. No question.”
A pause. “Maybe it would be better if you weren’t available for a while.”
“Can’t do that, Logan. We agreed to play by the rules.”
“Yeah.” He exhaled. “I know.”
When Jack caught sight of Becca leaving the café and heading down toward the entrance to the beach, he signed off.
Becca joined him on the sand a couple of minutes later.
“You were on the phone,” she said. “Business?”
“Always.”
“Nothing too urgent?”
“It’s in hand.” He glanced at the café. “I was hoping you might bring back supplies.”
“What about you, Chichi?” Becca asked, bending and patting her thighs. “Hungry, little fella?”
The dog sneezed and barked and then picked up the stick and dropped it at Jack’s feet again.
“His batteries don’t wind down,” he told Becca. “I’ve tossed that stick a hundred times.”
“A hundred?”
“Definitely fifty.”
“So, you’ve got those endorphins pumping?”
As a sea breeze picked up, pulling her summer dress back against the curves and valleys of her body, Jack nodded. “You could say I’m pumped, yeah.”
She waved for them both to follow. As Jack jogged after her, he glanced over a shoulder. Chichi was sitting, stuck beside that stupid stick. Jack whistled through his fingers.
“Yo. Get a move on, slowpoke.”
Chichi scampered up and damned if he didn’t leap into Jack’s arms like a circus act. Jack pulled his head away from that feral tongue and then caught up with Becca.
“So, tell me about the foundation’s link to animal shelters.” If that’s what this was about.
“No links to shelters. I simply thought that while we were here you two could meet,” she said innocently as she collected Jack’s loafers because his hands were full. “Pets are good for humans.”
“So are other humans.”
“Yep. Having friends is important.”
“What would you say to you and me becoming friends?”
She gave a small smile. “Oh, Jack, you know that’s not possible.”
“But it would be possible if I backed away from Lassiter Media?”
A glimmer of hope lit her eyes. “That sure would be a start.”
As they walked up to the café, Jack ran over that last bit of conversation in his mind. If he were to spend time with Becca outside of this current context, he would have preferred to tick the “sex between consulting adults” box. And yet he had asked about them becoming friends? And he’d meant it. Clearly he had left off the “with benefits” part.
Jack was reading the name on the café’s facade, Hailey’s Favorite Haunt, when a van rolled up alongside the Bambino; the insignia of a top-rating tabloid entertainment news show was stenciled on the side. Jack’s antennae twitched. Over the years, he’d tackled his fair share of reporters—truckloads since word of his possible takeover bid for Lassiter Media had leaked. But that crew wasn’t here to hassle him. Normally he planned every minute of his day, from first call in the morning to final perusal of documents at night. However, Becca had drawn up this itinerary. No one knew he was here, not even Sylvia. The crew had probably pulled up to grab a coffee for the road.
Then a man jumped out the side door of the vehicle with a camera perched on his shoulder, and Jack paused. Next, a well-dressed woman with a mic climbed out the front passenger side, immediately focused on him and smiled like he was expecting her. Jack set his jaw.
Was this ambush somehow a part of Becca’s weeklong deal? If so, he was not amused.
Seven
On their way up to the café, Becca heard someone call out Jack’s name. She stopped to track down the source. A tall, slender woman in a bright tangerine skirt-suit and a man with a news camera balanced on one shoulder were ambling across the parking lot, headed their way.
An ice-cold feeling cut through her middle. No one other than her friend had known to expect her at this time. So what was a tabloid TV crew doing here? And what kind of spin would they put on her presence here with Jack?
Holding Chichi close, Jack asked, “Know anything about this?”
She shook her head.
“Lord knows how they’ll twist this.”
Jack growled. “God, I hate the media.”
Becca’s hackles went up. “You did happen to notice the name of the company you want to take over, didn’t you? Lassiter Media. Not that you intend to keep it long.” Keep it whole.
He repositioned Chichi against his chest. “We can be chewing each other out when that reporter reaches us or we can feed her crumbs and hopefully they’ll slouch off.”
The reporter and her cameraman were seconds away. Becca exhaled. “Any idea what crumbs?”
A wicked grin eased across his face. “I have a couple in mind.”
“Mr. Reed, isn’t it?” the reporter asked when she reached them. “Jack Reed. And you’re Becca Stevens, head of the Lassiter Charity Foundation. Do you have a moment to answer a few questions?”
Jack replied for them both. “No trouble at all.”
“Mr. Reed, you’re aware of the publicity and unrest surrounding speculation that you and Angelica Lassiter may succeed in a takeover bid of Lassiter Media after she was shut out of running the company. Would you care to comment on this secluded get-together between yourself and a respected member of Evan McCain’s umbrella management team?”
“Ms. Stevens and I have business to discuss regarding the foundation,” Jack replied.
The reporter cocked her head and then made a point of eying Jack’s loafers, which Becca still held.
“A leisurely day at the beach seems an odd way to discuss business,” she said. “Could this be viewed more as a date? And if so, Ms. Stevens, how will you explain this kind of rendezvous to your Lassiter colleagues who are pretty down on Mr. Reed at the moment?”
Becca’s blood pressure spiked. This might not look kosher at first glance, but her colleagues would never believe that she’d turned Benedict Arnold. They knew where her heart lay and it was not with Jack Reed.
“As Mr. Reed explained,” she replied with barely a tremor in her voice, “today is strictly business.”
The reporter’s sky-blue eyes narrowed to slits. “So the rumors regarding a romantic liaison between the two of you are unfounded?”
That hit her in the chest. “What the—?”
“My sole purpose today,” Jack replied, “is to build on my already solid support of the Lassiter Charity Foundation. Now, we’re late for an appointment. I’ll thank you both to leave us to our privacy.”
Becca rubbed a throbbing temple. She’d never suffered from migraines but she was sure she was getting one now.
How would Evan McCain react if or when this hit the airwaves? She had wanted to keep quiet about her long shot plan to crack Jack’s enigmatic side and in some way at least sway his thinking. Now she would need to contact Sarah, her assistant, as well as Evan, to reassure them that she hadn’t shifted camps, and never would.
Or maybe it would be wiser to simply call this all off now.
After Jack set Chichi down, Becca led him around the café’s wide veranda to an ocean-facing table set with a reserved sign.
“You realize the
dog has followed us,” Jack said quietly, casting glances at the other guests sprinkled inside the café as well as out here in the fresh air.
“No problem,” Becca said. “Trust me.”
They were taking their seats when Becca’s friend appeared in her trademark denim skirt and vest. They’d had a conversation earlier at this very table when she’d left Jack on the beach.
“Jack Reed,” Becca said, “meet Hailey Lang.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Hailey said with the hint of a Texas twang. Her family had moved over from Houston twenty years ago when Hailey was eight. “I saw you tripped up by some pesky reporter.”
“They appeared out of nowhere,” Becca said, and then noticed how Hailey averted her gaze before she spoke again, upbeat this time.
“How you doing there, Chichi?”
Now Jack looked between the dog and Hailey. “You know each other, too?”
“He’s my baby,” Hailey said while Chichi sat patiently by her feet, his tail fanning the wood planking. “He’s a bit of a celeb around these parts.”
Jack leaned back in his chair. “He does kind of grow on you.”
“So, Chichi’s going on a trip with you guys. One of his favorite things is riding shotgun.”
“He’s partial to sticks, too. Which reminds me...” Jack got to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to wash up before lunch.”
As Jack moved off, Hailey crouched down beside Becca’s chair. “Becca, honey, I think I might need to apologize.”
“For reserving us the best table in the house?”
“The reporter who gave you grief just now...” She leaned closer. “Thing is I have a regular who comes in most days around brunch time for our Delite Mushroom Omelet. Anita’s daughter works for the same cable show. Anita talks about her all the time, how she’s a hound, always after a big scoop. I think Anita overheard part of our conversation earlier about what you’re doing here with Jack Reed. I think she tipped her daughter off.”
Becca thought back. “You mean the redhead with a French twist, who was sitting a couple of tables over?” Becca had felt that woman’s eyes on them a few times earlier.
“Anita McGraw has a keen ear for gossip. And if there’s none around, she’ll make dirt up.” Hailey sighed. “Is it going to cause much trouble, hon?”
Nothing could be done about it now. And Becca didn’t want Hailey to feel responsible or to worry. “It’ll be fine,” she assured her friend as Jack returned to the table.
She would make those phone calls to Sarah and Evan’s office. She’d decide then on whether or not to cancel this challenge.
Looking halfway relieved, Hailey pushed to her feet.
“Do I need a menu?” Jack asked, pulling his chair in. “I’m open to suggestions.”
Hailey piped up. “Chef’s salad and specialty pizza. That’s with prosciutto, caramelized pear and goat cheese.”
“I’m in,” Becca said.
“Times two. So, how did you two become friends?” Jack asked, shaking out a napkin to place on his lap.
“Coming up two years ago, Becca broke down just over there, this side of the median strip.” Hailey nodded toward a section of road. “Chichi let me know someone needed help. He zipped right up to me, turning circles like his tail was on fire.”
“Water pump,” Becca explained. “It’d been coughing all the way up the coast. The hood was spewing steam.”
“I have a cousin just round the corner—the best mechanic in town,” Hailey went on. “His specialty is old cars.”
“Classic cars,” Becca corrected. “He wanted to buy it, remember?”
“I sure do,” Hailey said. “You wouldn’t take the money even when he doubled the going rate. I don’t ever see you giving up those wheels.”
“There’s no accounting for taste,” Becca agreed. “Hailey ended up giving me a bed for the night while the repairs were done. Chichi slept at my feet.”
Hailey sighed at Chichi, who was still gazing adoringly up at her. “That dog there is a fine judge of character.”
Jack grinned. “And yet he likes me?”
“We were watching you two on the beach.” Hailey winked at Jack. “He likes you a whole lot.”
Becca had a moment of what psychologists term cognitive dissonance. She knew Chichi was a good gauge of character. She also knew he liked Jack. And yet Jack was not of good character. It made her brain hurt.
Hailey headed off. “I’ll get this order under way and finish packing that ice chest for you all.”
“Ice chest?” Jack asked, pouring water for them both from a carafe. “Are we going on a picnic?”
“Not a picnic, as such,” Becca said and he grinned.
“Another one of your secret destinations?”
“With no chance of reporters this time.” She lifted her glass. “One hundred percent guaranteed.”
But first, she’d check with the boss.
* * *
Three hours later, watching out for media tails the whole way, Becca pulled the Bambino up in the middle of freaking nowhere—or, rather, somewhere east of Fresno.
Chichi was asleep on Jack’s chest. The drool went from his neck to—he didn’t want to think about it. With the dog’s head and that tongue hanging out the window more than half the time, the car’s side panel must be Slime City by now.
Jack surveyed the area. Dense woods. Lonely cabin. Cooler shadows creeping in.
“What is this?” he asked. “Boot camp?”
Becca jerked on the parking brake. “Actually...yeah.”
While Becca got out of the car, Jack wondered how he could extricate himself without disturbing the dog. Which was crazy...except, with one leg kicking and eyelids twitching, the mutt looked like he was having a nice dream. When Becca opened the passenger side door, Chichi stirred, stretched and expelled a big smelly yawn. Then he jumped onto a carpet of pine needles and trotted off into the woods.
Becca was at the trunk. Jack eased out from the car and stretched out his own kinks, frowning as he watched the dog’s cotton-top tail disappear among the trees.
“Aren’t you worried about him?”
“Chichi’s been here before,” she said, handing over Jack’s bag. “He knows his way around.”
“Does he know his way around a mountain lion?”
“Don’t forget the black bears and rattlesnakes.”
She was screwing with him, but a chill rippled up Jack’s spine just the same.
Heading for the door, she added, “He’ll come the minute you call.”
“If you’re not worried, I’m not worried.”
Jack grabbed the ice chest from the backseat and shut the door with a hip. “What did Hailey pack in here? Cement blocks?”
“Bread, fruit, cheese, refreshments—”
“Beer?”
“And wine.”
They were most definitely set then. For what exactly, he had no idea.
“I got the high school visit and Brightside House. Forgive me if I sound slow, but what am I doing way the heck out here with a dog?”
“For two days and nights, I’ve kidnapped you,” she said, heading for the front door. “Transported you away from your obsession with killer deals and accruing power so that you can get in touch with reality and learn some lessons on how to unleash your truer, less egocentric self.”
“After which I will accept a higher calling and disavow my evil ways.”
“Ahh...doesn’t that sound heavenly?”
“It sounds like you’re dreaming.”
“Some of the world’s biggest dreams have come true because someone believed and made others believe, too.”
When a couple of huge examples came to mind, he couldn’t argue the point. “And the mutt?”
<
br /> “I knew he’d make you smile in a different way than you’re used to.”
“So, I’ll change my mind about Lassiter Media because I played with a dog? Because I smiled differently?” Come on.
“Actions trigger emotions that link with the process of decision-making. I’m hoping that sometime this week, you’ll not only smile differently, but start to think and choose differently, too.”
Okay, fine. “Does Evan know about this cozy getaway?”
“He does now. I phoned him before we left the café. I didn’t want him finding out from...other sources.”
Like that tabloid show. “And he was okay with it?”
“He said he trusts my judgment and admires my determination.”
“In that case, you get an A for creativity. Except you’re forgetting one thing. Even when I want to, I never let emotions dictate my decisions.”
Her expression didn’t waver. “Then we’ll simply call this a break from civilization.”
Sure. Although he could do without the overgrown rat, he wouldn’t object to hanging out here alone with this beautiful woman. Maybe he could put a spin on things and have Becca thinking differently by the time they left. And he wasn’t talking business.
Inside, the place was quiet and dark enough at four in the afternoon to need to turn on the light. But Becca continued on from the front door without flicking a switch. Jack gave his eyes time to adjust. The room was sparsely furnished, no window dressings. Some walls were plastered. Others displayed exposed logs. It smelled like raccoons might have lodged in the cupboards over winter.
“Who owns this place? The foundation?”
He found Becca in a room that housed a double-bed covered with a patchwork quilt and matching pillows. A painting, featuring wilted poppies, hung above the headboard. Becca was setting her bag near a lopsided free-standing wardrobe.
“The cabin belongs to my parents,” she said.
“When was it last used?” Jack sniffed the musty air. “1965?”
“Are you uncomfortable?” She faced him, hands on hips. “Out of your silver-spoon element?”
“Wasn’t that the idea?”
