Joan ran her fingers through her hair, as annoyed as she would be if it were her mother giving her the third degree about a date. “There’s no way I can get hurt, Kathy. It’s not a date. I’m just meeting him to deliver some first editions. Purely business.” That was her plan, and Joan didn’t intend to veer from it.
“Uh-huh,” Kathy said, clearly not convinced.
Joan rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. We’re just having dinner. Grown-ups are allowed to have dinner without having sex and dating and all that attached to it.”
Kathy’s eyes narrowed. “Where are you having dinner?”
“Talon,” Joan announced, still reveling in what she considered a dining coup.
“Uh-huh,” Kathy said, a mysterious edge to her voice.
Joan frowned. “What?”
“He’s staying in the penthouse. He probably plans to ply you with wine and then take you up his private elevator for a quick tumble.”
Joan certainly hoped not, because if that was his plan, she could already feel her resolve slipping away. “How do you know where he’s staying?”
“Angela,” she said, referring to her sister. For a second, Joan was confused. Then she remembered that Angela worked at the hotel. “He orders from the restaurant, and they send Angie up to deliver.” She shook her head. “The penthouse is so huge she’s never even seen him. She just leaves the tray in the living room. But she says it’s worth it because he tips like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Well, then. See? He’s nice.”
Kathy snorted.
“Oh, come on, Kathy. What’s the big deal? He wants to buy some books and learn more about the field.”
“Oh, Joan-ie…” Kathy shook her head a little, then picked up a pile of books that had recently been entered into the inventory system. She headed for the stacks, but not before shooting Joan a look that practically screamed you poor naive creature.
Joan exhaled in frustration. At twenty-four, she always felt young in comparison to Ronnie, who’d already celebrated her thirtieth birthday. Around Kathy, though, Joan felt positively ancient. So she found Kathy’s maternal tone a bit grating. “What?” Joan said, unable to prevent the note of exasperation lacing her voice.
“He’s a total womanizer,” Kathy said. “Last week he went out with some supermodel, and then the week before that it was some trust-fund type with all the right clothes and the right haircut.”
“Oh.” Joan ran her hand through her hair. “So what? The point of dinner is to talk about the books.” All true. And yet she was having to convince herself even as she spoke. She didn’t know the first thing about Bryce Worthington’s background or habits, but she did know that something about the man blew her away. And the possibility that she was simply one in a long line of conquests rankled.
“Joan?”
She shoved the thought away, realizing she was being ridiculous. This wasn’t a date. It was a business dinner. Business dinner, business dinner, business dinner. She said it over and over in her head, trying to make sure it stuck.
And that was when she realized…this dinner with Bryce Worthington wasn’t just an opportunity to bring a little cash into the store, it was a boon to her overall business resolution. Not even twenty-four hours ago she’d been bemoaning her lack of business skills. If what Kathy said was true, this guy was even more on top of the business world than Joan had suspected.
And if Joan played her cards right, maybe she could get Bryce to give her a business lesson. She only hoped the price wasn’t too high. Because as much as her libido might want to, she didn’t intend to break one resolution in order to satisfy the other.
TONIGHT.
Clive held his hands out in front of him, the muscles in his chest and arms tight as he lowered himself slowly in a deep knee bend. Breathe in, breathe out. Calm. The trick was to stay calm.
He completed five sets of ten each, his balance never wavering. He was ready. He was calm. He was in control.
Slowly, he stood up straight, feeling remarkably light. “Tonight’s the night, Em. Tonight, that bastard dies.”
He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. A prayer for success on his mission as he fought the evil that was Worthington. The man was vile. A pathetic, money-grubbing snake who didn’t give a rat’s ass about anything other than himself and his projects.
He was the reason Clive got laid off. And he was the reason his beautiful Emily had died. Oh, Worthington hadn’t given her the cancer. But he’d killed her just the same. He took away her health insurance. Took away their income. And in the end, his fragile, beautiful Em just hadn’t had the stamina.
She’d left him. Left Clive all alone.
The papers had said that Worthington had made a fortune on that deal, and now there was talk of another takeover. Some shipping company. And Worthington was so smug. Business, he called it. Just business.
Bastard.
So he’d made a fortune, had he? Well, now it was time for Worthington to pay the price. And he was going to pay it to Clive. With his life.
Just like Em had paid.
BRYCE GLANCED at his watch, frowned, and lost his train of thought. Not hard considering the ridiculous array of questions the attorney had been throwing at him throughout this absurd, interminable deposition. He forced a smile. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Could you repeat the question?”
“Certainly.” The attorney on the other side of the table, a freckle-faced kid who reminded Bryce of Opie and couldn’t be more than five minutes out of law school, turned to the court reporter. “Could you read back the question, please?”
As the reporter started to comply, Bryce held up his hand. “Wait.” He turned to Leo. “Can we take a quick break?”
“Off the record?” Leo said to Opie, the words purportedly a question, but his tone allowing no room for dispute.
The young attorney nodded, waving his hand as if he was the king granting a pardon. Bryce pushed his chair back from the conference table, then headed out of the conference room, Leo at his heels.
“I need to go,” Bryce said, cutting to the chase as soon as the door clicked shut behind them. “This has been dragging on for hours now. It’s a bunch of BS, and I’ve got better things to do with my time.”
Leo ran a hand through his hair, looking decidedly uncomfortable. Bryce knew the reason, of course. The shareholders in Carpenter Shipping had hired themselves a big-shot attorney and had gotten a temporary restraining order that morning. In an effort to resolve the dispute and keep the deal moving, Leo had offered to present Bryce for a deposition.
Bryce had agreed. But his patience had worn thin. “He’s not even focusing on the sale,” Bryce said. “The kid’s fishing, and he’s wasting time doing it.”
Leo nodded. “I know. The kid’s green. But so far he hasn’t established one element of his claim. There’s nothing to support converting the restraining order into a permanent injunction, but if you walk out now, he’ll just tell the judge he wasn’t able to finish.” Leo shrugged. “I’m betting another hour. At most.”
Bryce frowned. As much as it rankled, he knew Leo was right. “Fine,” he said. “But I’m supposed to be on a date. Give me a few minutes to make a call.” As soon as Leo headed back into the deposition, Bryce turned on his cell phone and dialed the restaurant. The maître d’ promised to relay the message to Joan—he’d been detained and would call her in the morning.
He hated doing it, but he didn’t want her sitting there waiting. Opie might have only an hour’s worth of questions,