Mistletoe Mistress. HELEN BROOKSЧитать онлайн книгу.
cool and flat; suddenly he was one hundred per cent remote tycoon and businessman, the wickedly mocking, charming dinner companion having evaporated like the morning mist.
Was she? She stared at him hard, and then nodded again. ‘Yes, please,’ she said quietly.
The blue eyes flickered, just once, and she would have given the world to know what was going on in that rapier-sharp, ruthless mind.
‘Six months ago the Mallen Corporation acquired a publishing house in France, part of Mallen Books; were you aware of this?’ She shook her head quickly. ‘The undertaking was unusual in that my grandfather had decided to bale the owner out, and if you knew my grandfather you would understand why I say that. He is first and foremost a businessman and age has not mellowed him one iota.’
She caught the thread of affection in his voice which he was trying to hide and looked at him intently.
‘The owner was the son of my grandfather’s best friend who died some years ago; he actually helped my grandfather financially when they were young, something my grandfather’s never forgotten. However, the son has lost thousands, if not tens of thousands, over the last decade through mismanagement and so on, and the firm is a shambles.’ The cool voice was scathing. ‘My grandfather wanted the family name to continue in honour to his friend; he also decided to keep the son at the helm... Bad mistake.’
He glanced at her now and the blue eyes were as hard as glass. ‘The kindest thing you could say about this guy is that he’s a Jonah, and that’s the information I’ve relayed to my grandfather. The truth of the matter is that he’s been on the take for years; he’s the very antithesis of his father. My grandfather is very ill—’ Her eyes widened and he nodded slowly. ‘Terminal, but I’d appreciate you keeping that to yourself. He doesn’t need this bag of worms dumping in his lap, and for some reason his normally acute judgement is faulty where this guy is concerned. He wants to believe the best of him; he’s all that’s left of his old friend.’
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked quietly. He loved his grandfather very much; try as he might, the cold, clipped voice and expressionless face couldn’t hide the look in his eyes, and it touched her. She didn’t want it to, but it did.
‘I’ve done it,’ he said flatly. ‘Pierre is boss in name only now; he’s been paid off, and handsomely, and he’s quite happy with that. He’s got a string of mistresses to support apart from his family and expensive habits; the firm was just an inconvenience to him. But now I want to pull it round, for my grandfather and also his old friend, who was an honourable man. That’s where you would come in.’
‘Me?’ She couldn’t think where.
‘You’ve been in publishing since you left university, you have no personal commitments or distractions, and you don’t mind working until the job is done. Added to that, Charles tells me your contribution, certainly over the last three or four years, was the one that brought the money in. He’d lost it—the insight, the business intuition—’
‘No!’ she protested hotly.
‘That’s what he told me, Joanne,’ Hawk said steadily. ‘Now, your personnel file tells me you speak French, right?’
‘I do, but...well, I’m rusty and—’
‘That’s no problem.’ He dismissed her stumbling voice with an irritable wave of his hand. ‘You can easily brush up on that.’
‘What exactly are you offering me?’ she asked dazedly. In all her wildest dreams—or nightmares—she hadn’t expected this. ‘Who would I be publishing assistant to?’ She knew it was him but she had to ask anyway, and that would be the end of what sounded like the offer of a lifetime in an industry that was known for its dog-eat-dog ruthlessness.
‘Publishing assistant?’ He stared at her, and then shook his black head slowly, his eyes piercing her through with clear light. ‘I’m not offering you a publishing assistant’s job, Joanne. I want you to manage the firm for me, turn it around, make it work.’
‘Me?’ She knew she was repeating herself but this was just not possible; he had to be teasing her in the most cruel way imaginable.
‘It would mean giving up your flat and moving to France,’ he said quietly, ‘and of necessity the position would be on a six-month trial basis. All your expenses would be paid, of course, and you’d have the same salary Pierre did.’ He mentioned a figure that made her mouth fall open. ‘The firm is already part of Mallen Books and so you wouldn’t be completely out on a limb; you’d have a ready-made avenue of contacts and back-up—a security blanket so to speak. But...’ He leant forward in his seat, his dark face cold. ‘You would have your work cut out to turn the thing round, especially in the present climate. Still interested enough to think about it?’
Joanne looked at him in a daze. She couldn’t say a word; she just couldn’t.
‘If you are interested, we can throw a few facts and figures your way and start the ball rolling. I’d like the new manager installed within weeks and as you are as free as a bird there won’t be any messy working-ofnotice delay. If you’re not...’ the piercing eyes were holding hers as though in a vice ‘...then you will be paid twelve months’ salary as a gesture of appreciation for all you’ve done for Charles’s firm in the past, and that’s the end of it. Well?’
He relaxed back in his seat and grinned, the same devastating, knee-trembling grin as before, his blue gaze washing over her stunned countenance. ‘What’s it to be, Joanne?’
CHAPTER THREE
‘AND he wants your answer tomorrow morning, is that right?’ Charles’s voice had been sleepy when he’d answered the phone—it was past midnight after all—but once Joanne had begun to talk the telephone had fairly crackled with excitement.
‘He wants to know if I’m interested enough to go on to the next phase,’ Joanne answered quietly, ‘and if I am he’ll put me more fully in the picture.’
‘And are you?’ Charles asked evenly.
‘I suppose so, but if I don’t make a go of it and I’m left with egg on my face...’
‘And if you do make a go of it the world’s your oyster,’ Charles said steadily. ‘Think of it, Joanne; it’s a dream of a career move, and frankly it sounds like he’s only asking you to do what you’ve been doing for me for five years. We’ve worked so closely together there isn’t a thing you don’t know about managing a publishing house.’
‘But this one is so much bigger.’ That sounded rude and she added quickly, ‘Well, a bit bigger, and it’s in France and—’
‘You could do it and Hawk Mallen knows it or else he wouldn’t have offered you the job.’
‘Charles, I’m sorry I phoned you at this time of night, but I don’t feel I know enough about the Mallen Corporation and ... and Hawk Mallen to make a decision. Would you mind filling me in on what you know?’
‘On Hawk or the Mallen empire?’ Charles’s voice was very dry.
‘Both.’
By the time they finished the call, fifteen minutes later, Joanne knew the Mallen Corporation had been founded by Hawk’s American/French grandfather over fifty years ago, beginning with a textile warehouse shop that quickly grew into a string of the same and then diversified into more avenues than even Charles was sure of. The old man had had one son, Hawk’s father, who, as Hawk had already mentioned, had been killed in an automobile accident, thereupon making Hawk a millionaire several times over at the tender age of twenty.
Charles had said more, much more, but Joanne had found her attention wandering more than once as a pair of very blue, piercingly intent eyes kept swimming into her consciousness. Hawk Mallen was a mesmerising man to be with and the compelling weight of his personality stayed long after the man himself had gone. He exuded energy and power and vigour, and those moments in his arms