Phillip Hart cleared his throat. He’d bumped heads with hundreds of hungry journalists over the years. He had yet to meet one who could compare with Reese Delaware. There was something that drove her, almost possessed her, to squeeze out every imaginable detail in a story. He’d already made up his mind to give her this assignment, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to see her use her “skills” to convince him.
“How soon can you be ready to leave for New York?” he asked in monotone, struggling to quell his rising libido.
“As soon as I can pack,” she replied with a calm shrug that belied the rush of adrenaline that pumped through her veins.
Phillip leaned back in his overstuffed leather chair and peered at her from beneath puffy eyelids. He pursed his thin pink lips. “You may just be the person to get this job done right, Ms. Delaware.” He threaded his fingers together. “You have sixty days to get this interview completed and on my desk, with pictures and quotes from the man himself and any and everybody who knows him,” he added, pointing a stubby, cigarette-stained finger at her.
Reese felt like leaping out of her seat and throwing her arms around Phillip Hart’s fat neck. However, she remained outwardly nonplussed, as if the whole discussion couldn’t have gone any differently.
“You’ll have your story, Mr. Hart,” she said, that slow smile easing across her mouth. “And it’ll be the best piece of work you’ve ever read.”
Chapter 1
Maxwell sat behind his desk, his fingers steepled in front of him, his heavily lashed eyes almost closed as he spoke to his secretary, Carmen Valez.
“Have the office managers in the Los Angeles office and in Tokyo be prepared for our arrival,” he instructed in his characteristically soft-spoken modulation.
His heavy baritone tended to sound threatening even in the most innocent of circumstances, Carmen recalled, thinking back to the early years of working with Maxwell. Over the years, he’d trained himself to speak in calm, measured tones, in a pitch so sensual and alluring that his voice seemed to compel the listener to draw closer and do his bidding. It bordered on hypnotic. But just as it could be a soothing balm, it could be as crushing as the blows he’d mastered as a ninth-degree black belt. Carmen was always grateful that his wrath had never been directed at her.
She’d been with Maxwell since he opened the doors of M.K. Enterprises, five years earlier. They’d worked side by side every day for those five years, and sometimes she felt she knew him no better today than she did when she walked in the door. Whatever Maxwell thought or felt about anything that wasn’t job related, he kept to himself. It was rare that he allowed the man inside to show through. She felt privileged to have been the recipient of his inner thoughts on those rare occasions. That didn’t make him unpleasant to work with. On the contrary, he was probably one of the most charming and certainly the most gorgeous man she’d ever worked for. But he never let anyone get beyond the invisible wall he’d erected around himself. She felt sorry for the poor soul assigned to write the article about the enigmatic Maxwell Knight.
“When should I expect the reporter, Maxwell?”
For a fraction of a second, a shadow seemed to pass across his exotic bronzed features. “The Board received a fax this morning stating that a Reese Delaware would be arriving this afternoon,” he replied in a turned-off tone.
“Should I make flight arrangements for Mr. Delaware as well, since you’ll be traveling together?”
“I’m sure Mr. Delaware can make his own arrangements. But should he need some assistance, see what you can do.”
“No problem.” She gazed at him and his eyes met hers. “It’s going to be fine,” she said softly. “Don’t worry so much.”
He waved off her well-meant sentiment. “You know how I feel about this whole business, Carmen. This reporter is going to be a royal pain in the ass, and I’m the one stuck with having to squire him around.” He clenched his jaw in frustration. “Reporters have been the bane of my existence for as long as I can remember. I prefer to stay as far away from those vultures as possible.”
Carmen pressed her lips together to suppress a smile. “At least try to be pleasant.”
Maxwell grumbled something unintelligible deep in his throat.
“Anything else?”
“If you would just check and make sure that the house in San Diego is taken care of and fully stocked, I’d appreciate that. And make whatever accommodations are necessary for the trip to Tokyo.”
“I’ll take care of it right away, and then I’m off to lunch.” Carmen rose to leave.
Slowly Maxwell lowered his hands and placed them on the table, the first time he’d moved since Carmen entered the room. He smiled. “Thank you, Carmen. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Neither do I,” she teased, closing the door gently behind her.
Pushing away from the desk, Maxwell stood. What was he so concerned about? he chastised himself. The reporter was interested in how a seemingly ordinary kid from Maryland had become the leading computer expert in the world, beating out the Microsoft giant by mere months in the development of the ultra-fast processing chip. He was the first black to reach the heights that he’d achieved in the industry. As a result, he continued to be a prime target for newshounds who wanted the “inside story.” What made Maxwell Knight tick?
He sighed, resigning himself to the fact that there wasn’t much he could do about the situation. However, he would not allow access to his private life. He would control the direction of the interview.
He recrossed the highly polished wood floors and around the partition to where his drafting table rested. Slipping out of his taupe jacket, he hung it on the back of the chair and sat down, rolling up one sleeve and then the other. He slid the magnifying lens over the grids on the paper and began to work. Within moments he was immersed in what he loved best, developing computer chip circuits.
The persistent buzzing on his intercom finally jarred him away from his work. Frowning, he checked his watch. “Damn.” He’d been sitting at his desk for three hours straight. In one smooth motion, he hopped down from the stool and reached for the phone that hung on the wall behind him.
“Yes, Carmen.”
“Ah, the reporter from Visions Magazine is here.” Carmen looked across to where Reese Delaware sat.
Maxwell clenched his jaw and drew a deep breath. “Send him in,” he bit out, snatching his finger away from the intercom button.
“But it’s not a…” Carmen’s response was lost on him. She turned toward Reese, her smile wavering as she shrugged in apology. “He’s really quite nice,” she offered.
Reese picked up her heavy briefcase and crossed the space that separated her from Carmen. She stood in front of Carmen’s desk. Reese’s right eyebrow rose speculatively. “He thinks I’m a man,” she stated more than asked, just the barest hint of amusement lacing her husky voice.
Carmen looked up at the striking woman, a tone of conspiracy in her response, “It appears so.”
Reese’s mouth curved into a grin. “May I go inside now?”
“Of course.” Carmen stood up. “Follow me, Ms. Delaware. Mr. Knight’s office is right down this corridor. I’m Carmen Valez, executive assistant in charge of East Coast operations and Mr. Knight’s personal assistant. My desk is back there also, I’m just covering for lunch.” They proceeded down the hall until they reached twin glass doors. Carmen placed her palm on the scanner and the doors slid open. Reese’s eyes widened in awe. She’d only seen that done on television and in the movies.