have to admit though...” Fee lifted her cup to her lips. “He is charismatic.”
“If you can call a snake charismatic.”
“And incredibly good-looking.”
Becca huffed—and then gave it up. “Sure. The guy is hot, in a Jay Gatsby kind of way.”
“Gatsby was gorgeous.”
“Gatsby was a crook.”
“Sweetie, let’s face it. Jack Reed is smoking.”
Becca’s stomach pitched again. “I was taught that power should be used for good. If you have brains and position, for God’s sake, help those less fortunate—even a little bit.”
“Good luck convincing Jack Reed of that.”
“Greed.” Becca shuddered. “It’s a disease.” When the waitress delivered their coffees, she pointed to an item on the menu. “Can I have a caramel fudge brownie, please?”
As the waitress made a note and walked away, Fee studied her friend curiously. “Since when do you have a sweet tooth?”
“In school I was always the chubby kid who tried to get out of gym. If ever I felt anxious—upset—I’d reach for cake or candy.”
Then she’d joined the Peace Corps and all that had changed. Her life had taken its sharpest turn yet.
Fee set her cup down. “Well, you’re the poster girl for svelte now.”
“That craving for sweet stuff doesn’t win too often anymore. Don’t worry,” Becca said as the waitress delivered the brownie. “I’ll fit into my bridesmaid’s dress.”
“I wouldn’t care if you were a size two or a twenty.” Fee had an awesome athletic build but she didn’t judge any book by its cover. “I just hate to see you this rattled.”
Becca bit into the brownie. As chocolate crumbs fell apart on her tongue, she almost sighed. She tried not to indulge; so many in this world did without. But, dear God, this was good.
“I believe in the foundation,” she said, sucking caramel off a thumb. “I believe in the work it does. Do you know how much we’ve helped with homeless services, with youth camps, with disaster relief?”
When she slid over the plate to share, Fee broke off a corner of the brownie.
“Your team does an incredible job,” Fee said and popped it in her mouth.
“And everyone on my staff wants to keep doing our job—raising funds, making a difference—one person and family at a time.”
Fee’s mouth twisted. “Unfortunately, it’s not your company.”
At the moment Lassiter Media was at the center of a tug-of-war primarily between Evan and Angelica, two people who ought to be working, and living, together, not pulling each other apart.
“J.D. couldn’t have wanted this dissention within the family when he drew up his will.”
“Given their connection,” Fee added, “how hard she worked in the company the months before her father’s death, I don’t get how he left Angelica so little. It doesn’t make sense.”
Becca broke off more brownie and mulled as she chewed. “John Douglas Lassiter was a smart man,” she reflected. “A good man with a big heart. The foundation was way more than a tax dodge to J.D. I have to believe he had a good reason for the way his will was arranged.”
“He must have known Angelica would fight.”
“Even her brothers are against her now.” At first, Angelica’s siblings had supported her attempts to find ways to challenge the will. No longer. “No one is left on her side.”
“No one except Jack the Slasher Reed.”
“For everyone’s sakes, I hope she gives it up soon, before any more damage is done.” To the family as well as the company, including the foundation.
“With Jack Reed egging her on, don’t hold your breath.”
An image formed in Becca’s mind...Jack Reed with a quiver slung over his back. He looked so arrogant. So flat-out sexy and self-serving. Becca growled. “It all comes back to Jack.”
“You’re not finished with him, are you?”
“I can’t give up.” Becca pushed the plate aside. “I’m not made that way.”
Fee sighed. “Problem is Jack Reed’s not made that way, either.”
Jack waited until the end of the week and then buckled.
Dusting off a tux, he organized a ticket for the Lassiter Charity Foundation gala ball. By the time he’d finished at the office and then showered and drove over, he was unfashionably late. The keynote speaker had long since finished entertaining and educating the glittering crowd. Desserts had been served and suitable music wafted around the ballroom, coaxing couples onto a dance floor that sprawled beneath prisms of light cast by a spectacular Swarovski chandelier.
As he headed toward the VIP tables, Becca Stevens noticed him. Mild surprise registered on her face before she turned in her chair to gauge his approach. Loose, salon-tousled curls mantled her shoulders. Her ears and throat were free of jewels. Sitting proud and erect in a white strapless gown that accentuated her curves and teased the imagination, she gave an impression that lay somewhere between temptress and saint. When Jack stopped before her, she looked up at all six-plus feet of him and arched a brow.
“Did you notice?” she asked.
“That you look exquisite tonight?”
Her narrowing gaze sent a warning. Don’t flirt.
“When you walked into the room,” she explained, “people stopped talking. I think a lot stopped breathing. They don’t expect to see you at a charity night. Although in this case they might—given it’s a Lassiter Media event.”
“Because I’m the big bad wolf here to gobble up everything I can sink my fangs into and then spit out the bones.”
She shrugged a bare shoulder. “Not to put too fine of a point on it.”
“Would it surprise you to know that I give to charity?”
“The Jack Reed Foundation for Chronic Self-Indulgence?”
He rubbed a corner of his grin. “You’re cute, you know that?”
“Wait till I get started.”
The only other couple left at the table was engrossed in a private conversation. If the room had indeed been distracted by his appearance, the socialites and Fortune 500 reps were back to mingling as far as Jack could tell.
He took the vacant seat
