Merger Of Fortunes. Peggy Moreland

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Merger Of Fortunes - Peggy Moreland Mills & Boon Desire

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stopping her.

      “I’d like to see you again.”

      His eyes were an incredible blue and fixed on hers with an intensity that she found difficult to look away from. “I-I don’t go out much. My work takes most of my time.”

      “You have to eat, don’t you?”

      “I usually have my meals at my desk.”

      “May I at least call?”

      She panicked for a moment, unable to think of a polite way to refuse, then rose, dragging her hand from his. “Sure,” she said, and forced a smile. “Thanks again for the champagne.”

      Before he could say anything more to delay her, she turned and strode away.

      Case Fortune wouldn’t be calling her, she thought smugly. He couldn’t.

      Her phone number was unlisted.

      “Have you made any progress with the Reynolds merger?”

      Case reared back in his desk chair, stifling a sigh, as his brother Creed took a seat opposite his desk. Although he would’ve preferred his brother hadn’t brought up what was turning out to be a sore subject with him, he couldn’t really blame him for asking. It was Dakota Fortunes’ money that was tied up in the purchase, and as co-President, a position he shared with Case, Creed had as large a stake as Case in the merger’s outcome.

      “No,” he admitted reluctantly. “But I’m working on it.”

      Creed swore under his breath. “Dammit, Case. Do I need to remind you how much we’ve got riding on this merger?”

      “I’m fully aware of what our investment. Can I help it if Reynolds has gone soft on the deal?”

      Creed rose to pace, dragging a hand over his hair. “Surely there’s a way to force his hand.”

      “I’m working on the daughter. She’s the cog in the wheel. Reynolds has decided to leave the company to her, instead of selling it to us, as he’d agreed.”

      Creed stopped to peer at Case. “Daughter? I didn’t know Curtis had any kids.”

      “Neither did I, until he told me he’d changed his mind about selling to us.”

      “Does she have any business experience?”

      Case snorted a laugh. “Hardly. She’s an author. Children’s books, no less. As far as I can tell, she has no interest in the company at all.”

      “Then why does Reynolds want to leave it her? You know as well as I do how volatile the oil and gas industry can be. If she gets hold of the refinery, she’ll bankrupt it in a month.”

      Case scowled, having already considered the probability. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already now.” He opened his hands. “But what can I do? Reynolds has decided he wants to leave it to her as a legacy of sorts.”

      “You’re going to have to force his hand. Make him go through with the merger.”

      “I’m working on that,” Case assured him. “The daughter’s the key. It’s just a matter of persuading her to convince her old man that she doesn’t want the company.”

      “And how do you plan to do that?”

      Case folded his hands behind his head, his expression cocky. “Don’t worry, little brother. I know how to handle women.”

      Creed rolled his eyes. “Forgive me,” he said, and turned for the door. “For a moment, I forgot who I was talking to.”

      When the door closed behind Creed, Case dropped his hands and frowned, the confident act no longer necessary. The truth was, he’d been blowing smoke when he’d told his brother he could handle women—at least, this particular woman.

      How the hell was he going to persuade Reynolds’ daughter to help him, when he couldn’t even talk to her? he asked himself. The woman had outfoxed him. A nerdy writer of children’s books had duped Case Fortune, a world-class negotiator.

      He huffed a breath, as he recalled the innocent smile Gina had offered him when she’d given him permission to call. Hell, the woman had known damn good and well he wouldn’t be able to call. Not when her phone number was unlisted.

      Getting her number wouldn’t be all that hard, he reminded himself. A few calls to the right people and he’d have the number quickly enough. But he couldn’t chance obtaining it that way. The minute she heard his voice, she’d know he’d acquired her number by dubious means, which would give her even more reason to dislike him.

      And she disliked him enough as it was. Or, rather, men like him, he remembered her saying. And what the hell did that mean, anyway? he asked himself in frustration. What kind of man did she think he was? Some kind of pervert?

      He gave himself a shake. Didn’t matter what kind of man she thought he was, it was obviously the wrong kind, and it was up to him to convince her differently.

      But how?

      A smile slowly spread across his face, the answer so obvious he was amazed he hadn’t thought of it before. Stretching out a hand, he punched the intercom for his secretary.

      “Yes, Mr. Fortune?”

      “Marcia, call the florist and order three dozen yellow roses to be delivered to Gina Reynolds.”

      “Is her name in your personal or business database?”

      “Neither. She’s Curtis’ daughter. You may have to dig a little to find her address. Have someone in legal check the county tax records. I’m sure she’s listed there.”

      “Will do. How do you want the card signed?”

      He considered a moment, then bit back a smile. “Toad lover.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “Toad Lover,” he repeated. “T-O-A-D. I assume you know how to spell lover.”

      “Uh, yes, sir, I do.”

      “And ask the florist if they can find a container shaped like a toad to put the roses in. Preferably crystal or silver.”

      “Whatever you say,” she said, sounding doubtful. “Is this some kind of joke?”

      “No. More like war.”

      The first time the doorbell rang, Gina ignored it. Perched on a stool before her drafting table, she was riding a creative wave, the images in her mind all but flowing off the end of her pencil. If she stopped now, the images might vaporize before she had the opportunity to commit them to paper.

      The doorbell rang a second time and she hunched her shoulders against the intrusive sound, trying to block it out. The third time, she muttered an oath and slapped the pencil down. Prepared to hang and quarter the person who dared interrupt her work, she marched to the front door of her loft. Mindful of “safety first,” she rose to her toes to peer through

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