but I no longer work here.” She opened the car door, nearly striking him in the chest.
He sidestepped, then moved forward so she couldn’t close it. The heat from their bodies radiated over each other, making him once more aware of her in a physical way.
He sensed the merging of their individual energies and felt it as a mighty force, like the joining of the two rivers. “I don’t accept your resignation.”
The eyelashes swept up and he caught the golden sparkle as anger flashed anew. She was all fire and brilliance, he mused, like a perfectly cut gem. He wanted to capture that fire, to claim that brilliance.
For the benefit of CCS, of course.
When he was involved with business, no other aspects of life entered into it. Passion was part of his personal time and not on his corporate agenda.
However, his body reacted with a sudden, sharp and unexplained need that surprised him. The hunger held passion, yes, and other things mixed in with it, things he couldn’t name, things that ignited from the sparks thrown off by this very bright, very alluring woman.
Her gaze didn’t waver. “You can’t force me to stay.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I’m asking you to.”
That caused her to blink. “No.”
He shrugged and stepped back one pace as she slid into the driver’s seat of the wagon. “So it was a lie.”
“What was?” Her manner was wary.
“All your concern about the place closing and people losing their jobs.”
“No. It wasn’t. I do care.”
“Then stay and help me make it a successful operation. James said you had plenty of ideas. I want to hear them.”
She laughed, a sudden, sexy sound that had his insides clenching up. “He called them dingbat notions. Still want to hear them?”
“Yeah.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels as he smiled at her, one cohort to another. “I believe we can turn this company around and make it one of the best in the country. How does that sound to a CFO with bulldog tenacity, or so James warned me, and lots of ideas?”
Wariness returned. “Great. If you mean it.”
“I do.” He held out his hand. “Deal?”
She held both hands up, palms out as if to hold him off. “What deal?”
“You’ll stay for a minimum of six months, and work with me to put the company back on track.”
“As CFO?”
“Maybe,” he answered.
She put the car key in the ignition. “I don’t play games,” she said coldly.
“Sorry. Truly,” he added at the dismissive glance. “I’m serious. You’re a valuable asset to the company, but I’m not sure yet just what the new job titles will be. For now, you’re still the CFO. So, will you come aboard?”
He found himself anxious for her reply. He was banking on her already considerable investment of time and energy in the company, and also her curiosity about him and the future, to convince her to stay. He knew the moment she decided in his favor by the slight smile that curved her lips, displaying two barely discernible dimples in her cheeks.
“Yes. I will.” She held out a hand. “Six months…and then we’ll see,” she added.
Electricity flowed up his arm as they shook on the agreement. Six months, he thought as he watched her drive off. A lot could happen in six months. A working team could be built. A company could be turned around. An attraction—any attraction—would have to be stamped out.
Chapter Two
Krista considered her wardrobe for several minutes on Monday morning before selecting black slacks, a blue cotton sweater and a matching bouclé jacket.
She applied her makeup carefully and left her hair down, then pulled on ankle boots with one-and-a-half-inch heels. She was as ready as she’d ever be.
Driving from her town house apartment complex to the office, she marveled that the day could look so normal. The sun was shining, no clouds marred the sky and the traffic flowed without any delays. To her mind, there should be thunder and lightning to herald the momentous event—the takeover of the company by a man who had no ties to the community, no motivation for its success except profit.
Or maybe the change was momentous only to her, she mused sardonically.
Memories of other changes in her life flooded into her mind. When she was nine, her mom and stepfather had divorced. On a snowy night that same winter he’d died in a car crash. Six months later her mom had gotten in the way of a stray bullet when one angry neighbor shot another and had also died. As a runaway from foster care, her tenth year had been a period of uncertainty, always looking over her shoulder, never knowing what was going to happen next and feeling that life was as tenuous as a cobweb.
While she couldn’t exactly define the reasons, she felt somewhat like that now—unsure and anxious about the future.
She was no longer that child, she grimly reminded herself as she pulled into the parking lot at the plant. No one could push her around. And no corporate raider was going to intimidate her.
Nodding her head decisively, she parked in her usual place under the shade of the oak tree in the far back corner of the large lot and strode to the office.
Upstairs, VIP Row was unusually quiet.
When Krista entered the CFO office suite, her secretary was hanging up her jacket. “Good morning, Tiff.”
Krista had inherited the secretary from the last CFO. After a rocky start, Tiffany Adams—late forties, divorced, one grown son—had transferred her loyalty to the new boss and now they worked together as a close-knit team.
Tiff nodded toward the end office. “Something’s going on,” she said in a low, ominous manner.
“I know.” Krista checked the wall clock. She had twenty minutes before the staff meeting. “I’m going to introduce the new owner to the managers this morning.”
“New owner!” the other woman said in a shocked whisper.
“Shh,” Krista warned, nodding toward the open door. “I’ll tell you all about it after the meeting.” She went into her office.
Frowning, she realized she’d forgotten to lock her desk after the shock of meeting Lance Carrington yesterday. She gathered the financial reports, the cash flow estimates and projected earnings before exiting through the private door that connected the conference room to her office.
The elegant meeting space with its carved walnut table and twelve executive chairs separated her suite from that of the chief executive’s. Coffee, she noted, was brewing in the silver urn on the credenza.
She
