resent that remark.”
“You resemble that remark. The picnic idea will work precisely because he’s not the picnic type. It will knock him completely off balance. And personally, I think throwing him for a loop is long overdue.” Katie exhaled expectedly into the phone. “Look, we can forget the whole thing if you want.”
Annabelle worked the pen in her hand. “I want to give this plan a try. It’s time. I’m moving on with my life. I just stamped and mailed away my last loan payment yesterday. In four weeks I’ll have my degree.”
She glanced around the office she’d helped Wagner create. They’d begun with such dreams and high hopes. Now he faced a merger.
Sadness and a new anticipation mixed in her heart. With her loans to cover her father’s shady deals paid off and her finance degree in hand, she was finally free. Free to pursue her own dreams and goals.
“I can’t stay here—I don’t even want to. The only thing holding me back is him. He gave me a job when everyone else sent my résumé to the circular file, if not the shredder. He saw past my family name. He gave me a salary and responsibility, and he looks incredible in a suit.”
“You got me there.”
Annabelle’s gaze focused on Wagner’s hardwood door. “If it’s not to be, then I want to close the door firmly behind me and never look back.”
“Then work with me here. You don’t have much time before lunch. You still have that deli on the bottom floor of your building?”
“Yes.”
“Great. Then repeat after me. New mantra. You are a seductress.”
WAGNER SMILED and a twist of satisfaction curled in his stomach as he red-lined a point he wanted to clarify with Anderson’s front men, Smith and Dean.
Good try, fellas. Not going to work.
Did they think he would miss the clause virtually shackling him to Anderson’s side for the next ten years? He might have been out of the game for the last few years, but he still knew all the tricks. Hell, he’d invented some of them.
Red slashes marked the next two paragraphs for extinction, as well. The lawyer who drew up this contract obviously didn’t know Wagner’s cutthroat reputation. At the age of thirty, he’d earned millions of dollars for other people. Now some four years later, some punk associate thought he could outraid him. Not going to happen.
He’d been on the inside since his mom, in blind trust, sold the family home. He’d bought his first company with the proceeds, then paid his mother back threefold from the profits of selling that company in three separate pieces. Afterwards, he didn’t need to risk his own money, working instead for a top-notch investor’s group. For a while, he reveled in the money. Provided the kind of things his father had never been able to give to Wagner’s mother. Tasted the satisfaction of forcing out some of the very people who’d never given his father a chance.
His mother’s death showed how empty and shallow Wagner’s life had become. He’d made a boatload of money, but he had nothing of value. Now he’d only work for himself.
Although Wagner had stopped looking at companies as potential prey, that didn’t mean his hunter instinct didn’t ripple below the business suit and the trappings of small-business owner. He could spot a corporate raider sizing him up and setting a trap aimed to shaft him. Like any good huntsman, he knew how to circle around and cut the guy off before he could blink.
Forcing the smile from his face, he focused on the next page of the contract.
A knock at the door interrupted his train of thought. Ms. Scott walked in carrying a large wicker basket and a champagne bottle. He surged to his feet as she approached. “What’s this?”
“We’ve both been working so hard and I wanted to celebrate.”
His gaze shifted to the marked-up pages of the Anderson contract. Hope of an easy merger with some shreds of his former glory intact faded each time he took the cap off his pen. He didn’t need a Vegas bookie telling him the odds were low on forging out everything he wanted from this contract. What he really wanted was to do the job on his own. “What’s to celebrate?”
She gave him a tentative smile. “The near completion of the merger and… my degree.”
Real joy for her success filled him. It was nice to see good things happen to people who deserved them. They shared a common background of dead-beat dads. He’d met Annabelle when he was at the top of his game and she was at her lowest: completely alone except for the debt her father left her. The man had stolen from his relatives and she’d vowed to repay every penny. Now with a balance sheet firmly in the black, she presumably was ready to start her life. His pleasure vanished, replaced by… apprehension? He straightened his tie and cleared his throat.
“You’ll make a wonderful financial counselor,” he said, dropping his pen. A touch of sadness tinged his happiness for her. She’d be leaving soon.
“I just need to finish the semester. Soon I will be helping people make better investment choices.” She leaned to the side, resting the basket on her hip.
Sprinting around the desk, he reached for the handle. “Here, let me help you with that.”
Her smile broadened as she handed him the basket, their hands brushing. She reached for the blanket on top of the basket, and with one motion shook it and let it fall to the ground.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She settled herself on the faded patches of the blanket, tucking her legs beneath her, giving him a clear view down her sweater. Her cleavage was, in a word, stunning.
He had to get her out of there. He had a merger to concentrate on, not…
“Thigh or breast?” she asked.
He gulped. Chicken. She was offering him chicken. Not her delectable body. “Both.”
Wagner sank to the floor beside her before he gawked further. This was her way to celebrate; she’d worked hard. If Annabelle wanted to sit cross-legged on the floor, he would let her. He owed her.
“I thought an indoor picnic would be nice. We both have to eat lunch. This way we don’t have to leave the office, worry about ants, and I can still answer the telephone if needed.”
Perfect sense. As always. He appreciated having Ms. Scott in the office. He’d miss her punctuality, level head and sense of order.
After pulling out two red ceramic plates from the basket, she began to lay out chicken salad and pasta. His stomach growled as the smell of warm bread hit his nose.
“Fresh from the bakery around the corner.”
She spread a liberal pat of butter on her bread with efficient movements. A little of the butter landed on her finger. She brought her finger to her lips, sucking the tip into her mouth.
Their eyes met. She’d caught him staring. “Butter?” she asked.
Oh, yeah.
“Wagner, would you like butter on your
