London, next week,” the other woman repeated, as if unconvinced of her command of the language.
Frankie kept her tone perfectly modulated. “Could you tell me what this meeting is to be about? That way I can discuss it with Mr. Grant.”
“I couldn’t say,” came the distant response. “Mr. Aristov simply asked me to schedule the meeting. Call me back when you have a date.” Tatiana rattled off a London phone number.
Frankie jotted the number down. “I can’t schedule a meeting without knowing what it’s a—” A dial tone sounded in her ear. She held the phone away from her and stared at it. She had not just done that. She was still staring at the phone when Harrison walked past her desk, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. “Ready?”
She followed him into his office. “That was Leonid Aristov’s assistant on the phone.”
He wheeled around, coffee sloshing in his mug. Frankie’s gaze flew to the boiling liquid as it skimmed the rim of the cup, wavered there like the high seas, then elected to stay in.
“What did she want?”
Frankie returned her gaze to his face. “Aristov wants a meeting next week.”
“A meeting?” A frown furrowed his brow. “He’s already agreed to everything in principle. Did you ask what the meeting was for?”
“I did. She wouldn’t give me anything. She just said Aristov wanted the meeting and it had to be next week.”
“Have you had a look at my schedule?” He trained his gaze on her as if she had an IQ of fifty. “This deal is scheduled to pass regulatory authorities next month, Ms. Masseria. I don’t fly around the world on a whim because Leonid Aristov wants me to.”
Great, they were back to Ms. Masseria... She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “I’m not suggesting you should. But she was very rude. She hung up on me.”
He blinked at her. “Why would she hang up on you?”
“She seemed busy. I was trying to probe for more information when she cut me off and hung up.”
He impaled her on that razor-sharp gaze of his that had turned him from beauty to the beast in the space of a round second. Then he thrust out an elegant hand. “Give me the number.”
She held on to it. “I can call her back. Just give me some direc—”
“Give me the number.”
Frankie went back to her desk, grabbed the pink message pad, marched into his office and gave it to him. And called him a bad name in her head. A big, bad one. She had liked him so much five minutes ago. She really had.
He was dialing the ice queen back when she left. She put her head down and started working through his email. God forbid she’d missed something they’d need for their briefing.
He came out minutes later. She suppressed a victorious thrill at the dark scowl on his face. “Cancel everything for Thursday and Friday of next week. We’ll fly to London Wednesday night, meet with Aristov Thursday morning then leave ourselves a buffer day in case we have more to talk about with him.”
“Did you find out what the meeting is for?”
“No,” he said icily. “It’s all going to be a pleasant surprise.”
Frankie kept her eyes on the notepad she was scribbling on. “You said Wednesday night we fly out?”
“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”
‘Yes— No—” She lifted her gaze to his in a pained look. “It’s just that I have a special—commitment Wednesday night.”
His expression darkened. “Taking into account you actually want this job, Ms. Masseria, you will learn to eat, breathe and sleep it for the next six months. So I suggest you...uncommit yourself.”
She bit her lip and nodded. If there was one event this year she didn’t want to miss, it was Tomasino Giardelli’s eightieth birthday party. But this was her job and she needed it. And it had gotten off to a rocky enough start as it was.
“May I ask a question?”
He waved a hand at her.
“I’ve been working through that last bit of research you wanted Tessa to compile for the Aristov deal. I get what you’re asking for, but, well, Coburn always counseled me to understand the big picture so I can visualize what you need in the end product. Give you my best work... What I don’t get,” she ventured frowning, “is why Grant Industries is buying a company that mirrors the exact capabilities of one of our subsidiaries...”
His jaw went lax. She had the distinct impression he didn’t know how to answer her question from the silence that followed. But of course he did, didn’t he?
“Coburn,” he rasped finally, “and I have different management styles, Ms. Masseria. Coburn likes to collaborate, to involve people in decisions. I don’t. I prefer people to do what I tell them. That’s what works for me.”
Not a tyrant? Blood rushed to her face as if he’d physically slapped her. “Fine,” she agreed quietly. “If I have a specific question I’ll ask it.”
“Excellent.” He scraped a hand through his hair, looking weary for a man who hadn’t yet hit lunch. “Book us a suite at the Chatsfield so we can work.”
She nodded. Then, unable to help herself because she needed to get the rules straight, she asked, “Would you prefer me to use Mr. Grant instead of Harrison now that you seem to have reverted to Ms. Masseria?”
He gave her a long, hard look. Frankie’s stomach dipped but she held her ground with a lifted chin.
“My slip,” he stated in a lethally quiet voice. “First names are fine.”
She nodded and turned back to her PC. Harrison started toward his office, then paused outside it. She looked up expectantly.
“We are pursuing Siberius because it commands alternate markets to the ones we already have control of with Taladan. It makes business sense.”
“Got it.”
He turned to go. She shifted her gaze back to her computer.
“Oh, and, Francesca?”
She looked up.
“Please don’t write on the bottom half of these.” He waved the pink message pad at her. “It distracts me.”
He disappeared into his office. Frankie raised her gaze heavenward. Not only did she have to survive life with Harrison Grant for six months, which must prove she was doing penance for something she wasn’t yet aware of, she now had to fly across the Atlantic with him for a crucial meeting that seemed shaky in nature.
Nothing could go wrong with that scenario, could it?
At least there weren’t air marshals on privately chartered flights...
