“Well,” Allison continued, “I, for one, would love to congratulate Kayla Jones.” She looked at Quentin and Matt for affirmation. “Unlike those vapid, vampish vixens you sometimes date, she’s smart enough not to be bowled over by your charm, Noah.”
Noah mouthed vapid, vampish vixens incredulously while his brothers stifled their mirth. Then he frowned. “Great. I’ll let Connor know that, if you ever get tired of the D.A.’s office, you can have a second career as a gossip columnist.” He added, “Does family loyalty mean nothing to you?”
“Not since you tried to get me married off to Connor,” Allison returned sweetly. “How did you put it to him?” She pretended to try to remember for a second, then snapped her fingers. “Oh, right. I believe your words were ‘Why don’t you help take her off our hands?’”
Noah grumbled. “Maybe I shouldn’t have put it like that, but you and Connor belonged together. This situation’s different.”
Matt’s lips twitched. “Ms. Rumor-Has-It does seem to have your number, unlike—uh, how did she put it?— Huffy, Fluffy and Buffy. And, on top of it all, your little columnist is undeniably hot.”
Noah quelled the sudden, inexplicable urge to slug the amused look off of his brother’s face. So, Kayla was hot; she was also a menace, and she was not “his” little columnist. “Yeah, and she’s also a consummate teller of tall tales in that fiction column of hers.”
At the head of the table, his father cleared his throat and gave him a level look. “The bottom line is there’s a problem here that you need to fix. Even if there’s not a modicum of truth in the recent headlines, they’re bad for public relations—both yours and Whittaker Enterprises’.”
Quentin nodded. “Dad’s right, as much as I’d like to think otherwise. Some people will believe the press, and even those who don’t will wonder if you’re playing and partying harder than you’re working.”
Noah watched his mother cast him a sympathetic look that nonetheless managed to carry a hint of reproach. “I know I raised you to be respectful toward women, Noah, so I have no doubt that the recent press about you is just an aberration. Nevertheless, darling, I have to agree with your father and brother. You must fix this. No more headlines, and you should try to do something to repair your public image.”
Noah knew his family was right. His philosophy of working hard and playing harder had long worked for him, but then Ms. Rumor-Has-It had come along.
He had to deal with her and the trouble she’d stirred up in his life.
What was she doing here?
Noah stared in disbelief at the figure slinking into a seat at the back of the roomful of assembled reporters, cameramen and photographers awaiting the beginning of the press conference.
As if she could go unnoticed.
Even if she hadn’t been a head-turner with her blond hair falling like a curtain past her shoulders and a figure that was a siren call to every straight guy in the room, she had on a ridiculous outfit consisting of a pale pink sweater made of some clingy material that hugged her breasts, a pencil-thin pinstriped skirt showing off legs that went on and on, and some come-hither heels.
Watching as she got a once-over from the guy next to her while, oblivious to any attention, she pulled out a notepad, Noah smiled grimly: I rest my case.
Much to his annoyance, the memory of their kiss lingered with him. Her lips had been soft, silky and full beneath his, and their effect had gone through him like a shot of brandy. But so what if the woman had proved she could kiss with real feeling?
He frowned. The last thing he needed to be thinking about right now was their kiss. The press conference would start any minute. He’d resolved this morning to deal with her, but he hadn’t expected to be confronted with an opportunity here, now, surrounded by half the press of Greater Boston. Hell.
Anyway, the real question was, what was she doing here? Last time he’d checked, gossip columnists didn’t cover breaking business news.
As the clock on the back wall hit eleven, he strode to the podium at the front of the room. He was going to announce the acquisition by Whittaker Enterprises of Avanti Technologies, a small company located along Route 128, Boston’s high-tech corridor, and because the acquisition of Avanti impacted Whittaker’s computer business—his area of expertise—he’d be doing the initial presentation. Afterward, he and Quentin, as well as the president of Avanti, would field questions.
When Noah got to the microphone, he made a couple of jokes to break the ice, then consulted his notes: “Pleased to announce…welcome the opportunity to work with…corporate synergies involved…”
Throughout his speech, he noticed Kayla kept her gaze fixed somewhere over his left shoulder. Uncomfortable, eh? He wondered again what had brought her here and knew that, as soon as the press conference was over, he was going find out.
Focusing again on the assembled reporters, he concluded by saying that additional copies of Whittaker’s press release were on a table at the back of the room.
Then, when Quentin and the president of Avanti stepped forward to flank him at the mike, he fielded questions from reporters, eventually calling on a guy in jeans.
The reporter stood up, a smirk hovering at the corners of his lips. “The stock for Whittaker Computing has been down recently. Can you comment on the markets’ reaction to the recent bad press about you?”
Noah tensed. Whittaker Computing—one of a handful of companies that made up Whittaker Enterprises—was partly publicly owned. There were any number of reasons why Whittaker Computing’s stock had taken a hit recently, as any half-wit could tell you, but the weasel in front of him was obviously trying to bait him.
Noah gave him a semblance of a smile and then, keeping his tone even, said, “The markets have better things to do than follow any spurious rumors written about me.”
Noah watched as Kayla slunk farther down in her chair at the back of the room. Feeling a tad self-conscious, was she? Well, welcome to the club, babe.
He started to call on another questioner, but the smirking jerk in jeans—probably some overeager new recruit looking to make his mark—persisted. “What about the impression you’ve given that you can’t get along with women? There’s been speculation that this could affect Whittaker’s ability to recruit female executives.”
Noah gripped the sides of the lectern. He’d like to deck the questioning little dweeb. “Maybe it’s a question of the ability of a few particular women to get along with me.”
This earned him a chuckle or two from the audience.
He held the reporter’s gaze until the guy shifted. “Whittaker Enterprises is an equal opportunity employer. We value and welcome female employees. In fact, we’re proud we’ve been rated one of the best places for women to work by a leading Boston magazine. Our on-site day care and flextime schedules are models for the industry. The women at Whittaker who work with me wouldn’t tell you differently.”
Then, determined this time to cut off the smart-ass, Noah turned to look at another part of the room. “Next question.”
Fifteen minutes later, the press conference was over. Immediately, he spotted Kayla scurrying into the hall.
“Excuse me,” he said curtly, shoving his way past the milling press and striding out of the room.
He caught up with her halfway down the hall and captured her elbow. “We need to talk.”
She started and looked up at him guiltily.
“What?” he asked blandly. “Attempting to make your escape?”
“I’m sure we’ve said all there is to say to one another,” she said, her tone cool enough to freeze penguins in their tracks.
“On