The Tycoon's Takeover. Liz FieldingЧитать онлайн книгу.
it comes to taking a chance with money, I’d put my last silk shirt on you. This is different.’
‘Are you suggesting that I don’t know what I’m doing?’
‘Heaven forbid,’ she declared. ‘I’m simply suggesting that if you value your freedom you should invent a crisis that requires your presence on the other side of the world for the next month. Leave the Claibourne & Farraday business to the lawyers.’
‘Bolt for cover? And have the City Diary editor amuse his readers with the suggestion that I’m running scared of India Claibourne? They would enjoy that.’
‘There are worse things than being laughed at. Marriage isn’t just a word, JD. It’s a sentence. I know. I served nearly ten years before I managed to tunnel out.’
‘Christine, we’ve worked together for a long time. You know me probably as well as anyone on this earth. Are you really suggesting that I won’t be able to spend a few hours in the company of India Claibourne without falling so hopelessly in love with her that I’ll be on my knees within the month?’
‘Accounts are already organising a sweepstake on how long you’ll last,’ she replied.
It did not escape his notice that she hadn’t answered his question. But then she didn’t know the full history. For his cousins control of Claibourne & Farraday was just good business. For him it was personal. Deeply personal.
This wasn’t just about a department store. That was the public dispute, one that had been thoroughly rehearsed thirty years earlier, and the outcome was a foregone conclusion—as India Claibourne must know. Her father must have warned her that she couldn’t win, but she was stubbornly refusing to accept the inevitable, refusing to play by the rules.
He wasn’t taken in for a minute by her invitation for him and his cousins to spend time at the store, to ‘shadow’ her and her sisters, see how the store was run in this high-tech media age. She was just playing for time while she and her lawyers tried to find some loophole in the partnership agreement that would allow her to remain in control.
Not that he was complaining. If he’d planned it himself, it couldn’t have worked out better.
That he would take over from Peter Claibourne now that he’d retired was inevitable. India Claibourne’s decision to put up a fight, giving Jordan the opportunity to reverse history, humiliate her as her father had humiliated his mother, was icing spread thickly on the cake.
Christine was still waiting for some response, he realised. ‘A sweepstake?’ he repeated. ‘On what, exactly?’
‘On how many days it will be before you, um, get down on your knees.’
‘My knees? And why would I do that?’
‘To propose to the lady. Beg her to marry you.’
‘Oh, please!’
‘I realise that’s an alien concept for a man of your wealth, name and all-round fanciability. But it cannot have escaped your notice that she’s got a matching set.’
No, it hadn’t escaped his notice. India Claibourne was as lovely as she was rich. But she had one fatal weakness: she’d do anything to keep control of Claibourne & Farraday. ‘And a proposal would be enough, would it? For some lucky soul to win this sweepstake?’
‘A diamond on the lady’s finger is one option,’ she admitted. ‘But the hot ticket is for a wedding.’
‘Within a month? How likely is that?’
She held up one finger. ‘Niall Farraday Macaulay married Romana Claibourne in Las Vegas on Day 29.’ A second finger. ‘Bram Farraday Gifford married Flora Claibourne in Saraminda on Day 30. I’m sure that anything they can do, you can do better.’ Then, with a grin, ‘Three’s a charm, JD.’
‘Is that so?’ He shrugged. ‘Well, here’s the word from the horse’s mouth. If you’ve got money to waste on such nonsense, make sure you draw the number with “No Wedding” written next to it. Believe me, whatever gossip you may read in your magazine, it’ll take more than a seductive smile to get me in front of a registrar.’
‘The lady has more. A whole department store more. Why don’t you save time—and lawyers’ fees—and propose a dynastic marriage? That way you both win. You have to admit that she’d make any man a stunning consort.’
‘I’m admitting nothing. And I thought you were opposed to marriage on principle?’
‘Arranged marriages are different. The participants have more realistic expectations. And this would be more like an advantageous merger of two companies—something you know all about.’ Taken with the idea, she went on, ‘I can’t understand why it hasn’t happened before—in the days when marriages were arranged for gain, rather than left to chance. The families must have been close at one time.’
‘There has been quite enough dynastic marriage-making in the last few weeks without me joining in. And I don’t need a consort, no matter how stunning she is. All I need is for the Claibournes to hand over what is rightfully mine with the minimum of fuss.’
‘If it was minimum fuss you wanted you’d have sent in the lawyers two months ago. You want something else, and I have no doubt you’ll get it. I just hope it makes you happy.’ Then, ‘But don’t eat or drink anything while you’re at the store. Oh, and don’t, whatever else you do, get a haircut in the salon.’ And she grinned. ‘Just in case India Claibourne uses hair clippings to cast her spells.’
‘I’m sure you’ve got something important to be getting on with while I’m making my presence felt at London’s favourite department store tomorrow, Christine. Swapping knitting patterns, perhaps? Or phoning your daughter to discuss her latest pregnancy?’ he suggested, signalling that as far as he was concerned that particular subject was now closed.
‘Don’t do it, JD,’ she said, not in the least bit intimidated. But then he hadn’t expected her to be.
‘Or maybe you should give careful thought to the possibility of taking early retirement and becoming a full-time grandmother,’ he continued, his expression still in neutral. ‘I could get one of those sexy girls with long legs and a degree in Business Studies to replace you.’
‘You wouldn’t do that.’
‘Oh? And why not?’
‘Precisely because I’m not sexy. I’m safely middle-aged, plump and motherly,’ she said, heading back to her own office. ‘You know I’m not going to fall in love with you and make life difficult in the office. I’m also the best secretary in the world. Probably.’ When she reached the door, however, she paused and looked back at him. ‘Twenty-one days,’ she said. ‘If she gets you on Day 21, I win the sweep.’
‘Try and get your money back,’ he suggested. ‘Sell your ticket to someone really gullible.’
‘Goodnight, JD. Don’t work too late. All work and no play…’ She left the proverb hanging, closing the door gently behind her as she left for the night, and he finally smiled. She might be talking rubbish about India Claibourne, but she was right about one thing. She was the best secretary he’d ever known and he wouldn’t be trading her in for a younger model any time soon. Then, as he turned back to his PC and the e-mail from India Claibourne, his smile faded. It wasn’t long. Just one line. It said:
Two down, one to go. Are you ready to quit, Mr Farraday?
Clearly she’d been afraid that with his advance guard neutralised by her lovely sisters he might change his mind about shadowing her during June. This was a ‘dare-you’ challenge to his masculine pride.
Christine was wrong, he decided as he switched off the screen. He wasn’t the one playing with fire. It was India Claibourne who was about to get her fingers…and anything else she cared to risk…burned.
India Claibourne