headed back toward the shooting line. “Sure, she has reservations. Her father was a huge influence on her life. Even with him gone, it goes against the grain to disappoint him and battle that will. But her heart and soul are in that company, Logan. She has J.D.’s stubborn streak as well as his keen bent for business.”
“How hard will you push her?”
“This isn’t my first rodeo.” When the attorney audibly exhaled, Jack wasn’t fazed. “You’re acting under strict instruction here.”
“I’m aware of my obligations, damn it. This still leaves a god-awful taste in my mouth.”
That all came with the territory...with being obligated, no matter what.
“No one said you had to like it,” Jack said.
Logan huffed. “You’re one hard-nosed son of a bitch, you know that?”
“That from a corporate lawyer.” Funny.
As Jack reached back to draw an arrow from his quiver, Logan asked, “How did your meeting with Becca Stevens play out?”
Logan was aware of Becca’s phone call and today’s arrangements.
“She might run Lassiter Charity Foundation,” Jack said, “but Becca is no Mother Teresa. She put on her boxing gloves and told me to back the hell away.”
“Did you toss her off your property?”
Remembering the fire blazing in those beautiful green eyes, Jack held the phone between his ear and shoulder as he slotted the arrow’s notch against his bow’s string. “I would’ve asked her to stay for lunch if I thought she wouldn’t try to run a butter knife through my heart.”
“Will she be a problem?”
“Lord, I hope so.”
Logan groaned. “For God’s sakes, Jack. Tell me you plan to keep your pants on here.”
“After the way you mixed Lassiter business up with pleasure, you’re in no position to lecture.”
When J.D. had bequeathed five million big ones to a mystery woman who didn’t want to be found, Logan had not only tracked her down, damned if he hadn’t taken her to bed, and more than once. Talk about calling the kettle black.
“I won’t deny certain lines got blurred,” Logan admitted. “But I fell in love with Hannah Armstrong and married her. I’ll hand my resignation in to the bar the day anything approaching marriage enters your head.”
Jack laughed. What an idea.
After the men disconnected, Jack resumed his stand behind the shooting line. He drew back the arrow and, enjoying the tension of the bowstring as he took aim, thought of Becca Stevens—the undisguised malice in her eyes, the sweeping conviction of her words. Then he imagined how darn good she would feel folded in his arms...how sweet her smooth, scented skin would taste beneath his lips. In his mind, Jack heard her whimper his name and then cry out as he sank into her again and again.
Jack released his shot and then shaded his brow to measure the result. When was the last time he’d missed a target’s center gold ring? This arrow had sailed clean over the top.
* * *
Felicity Sinclair’s blue eyes sparkled as she shifted her chair closer to the café table and lowered her voice. “Becca, I have something I need to ask.”
“About Lassiter Media?”
As Lassiter Media’s recently promoted vice president of public relations, Fee was always brimming with ideas. Since Becca’s appointment with the Lassiter Charity Foundation two years ago, the women had worked closely. More than that—they’d become good friends, the kind who shared everything, during good times as well as bad.
Winding golden-blond hair behind a dainty ear, Fee explained, “My question has to do with Chance Lassiter.”
“That would be your fiancé Chance Lassiter,” Becca teased.
As Fee reached over to grip her friend’s hand, the magnificent diamond on her third finger threw back light slanting in through the window.
“You were there when I needed to vent about that mess last month,” she said. “I have to say, it feels a little strange calling Cheyenne home. I love L.A....”
“Well, you’re here now. You’ll simply have to visit often.” Becca squeezed her hand. “Promise?”
“And you promise to drop in on us at the Big Blue.”
“I’ll bring my Stetson.”
Chance Lassiter was J.D.’s nephew, the son of the billionaire’s deceased younger brother, Charles. Chance had managed his uncle’s world-famous cattle ranch—the Big Blue—and while he’d been rocked by J.D.’s unexpected death, he’d gladly accepted, via his uncle’s will, controlling interest in the ranch he loved more than anything...although now, of course, his vivacious wife-to-be had taken pride of place in the charming cowboy’s heart.
Fee sat back. “I can hardly wait for the wedding. Which brings me back to that question. Becca, would you be a bridesmaid?”
Emotion prickled behind Becca’s eyes. Fee would make a stunning bride and, given her talent for organizing grand occasions, the ceremony was bound to be nothing short of amazing. Becca was even a little envious.
Marriage and starting a family were nowhere near a priority, but one day Becca hoped to find Mr. Right—a kindred spirit who got off on giving back and paying forward. This minute, however, all her energies were centered on helping the foundation survive the storm J.D.’s unexpected death and will had left behind.
Of course, there was always room for the wonderful women in her life and their very special requests.
Becca hugged her friend. “Fee, I would be honored to be a bridesmaid at your wedding.”
The women discussed styles for dresses as well as flowers for bouquets before the conversation turned to a far less pleasant topic.
As coffees arrived, Fee asked, “Have you spoken with Jack Reed yet?”
Suddenly feeling queasy, Becca nodded. Fee knew that she had hoped to get in Jack’s ear.
“The backyard of his Beverly Hills mansion houses an Olympic-standard archery field.”
Fee’s lip curled. “Your regular Robin Hood.”
“The joke of the decade, right?” Becca pulled her decaf closer. “I let him know how his association with Angelica is weighing on Lassiter Media, not least of all the foundation. A lot of the funding comes from Lassiter accounts, but other benefactors are shutting doors in our face. While the notorious Jack Reed has a chance of pulling off a takeover bid and then tearing everything apart, we might as well have leprosy.”
Fee flinched. “Jack does have a reputation.”
Huge understatement. “He’s the most ruthless corporate raider this country has given breath to. I hate to
