Blackmailed into the Billionaire's Bed(5)

“I’m waiting.”

Springer shuffled uncomfortably in his chair, and when Mac glanced at Kendall he saw a satisfaction on her face that suggested she enjoyed Mark’s discomfort as much as he did.

“Still waiting.”

“Well, Mr. Buchanan, it’s…it’s…”

“Spit it out, man.”

“It’s the recession. People just haven’t got the money.”

Prick.

“What’s my motto, Mark? You know it. With the exception of Kendall, everyone sitting around this table knows it.”

He watched his editor lower his head submissively and squirm some more. “Reasons, not excuses, Mr. Buchanan.”

“And what have you just given me?”

“Well…”

“Pardon me?”

“Excuses, sir.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Don’t let the circulation be down for a seventh month in succession, Mark. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

“Yes, Mr. Buchanan. I understand completely.”

Not only did Mark Springer sit with his head bowed, but so did Dave Watson and Steve Johnson. In fact, the only two people sitting around the boardroom table that didn’t were Marcy and his new financial controller, Kendall Van Heusen.

Marcy’s pretty yet overmade up face wore an expression that showed intense satisfaction. She didn’t like these guys any more than he did, and although he’d employed her as his personal assistant for more than six years, he still didn’t trust her enough to confide that the boardroom was bugged. However, despite her often ditzy behavior, Marcy was sufficiently intelligent to know that Mark Springer in particular spoke about her in derisory terms whenever her back was turned. He guessed she saw it as payback for his disrespect, and as her boss, he was happy to oblige.

Kendall’s demeanor was subtly different from that of Marcy’s. Although he saw that same satisfaction in her stunning blue eyes, there was something else, too. Her penetrating gaze was fixed solely on him, and he felt they connected on a level that simply hadn’t existed when he’d walked into the boardroom some twenty minutes before. Her flawless complexion had taken on a translucent quality, which he found sexy in the extreme, making his cock harden again. As he returned her gaze, he noticed her sexy full lips lay slightly parted as though she couldn’t quite take in enough air, causing her ample breasts to heave within the tight confines of her dull gray business suit.

Clearly, the lady was sexually aroused. He guessed it was the total domination of his editor that had caused her to display such overtly sexual body language. After all, women from all walks of life were hardwired to be attracted to the Alpha male in any group. Men were the same, hardwired from birth to be attracted to women with curves—those best equipped to produce fine strong children—and Kendall had these attributes in abundance. It had been this way since the dawn of time, and no amount of politically correct bullshit that was so prevalent these days would change that simple fact.

Keeping employees in line was an essential skill he’d learned early on. He’d used domination as a business tool when he’d taken control of his first failing newspaper, almost fifteen years ago. His upbringing, no, strike that, he’d cared for himself since he was just a kid, and that meant that everything he’d achieved in life had been through his own sweat, toil, and endeavor, and yes, if he’d had to break a few heads along the way, then so be it. That was life as it existed. It should be fair, but it wasn’t. Well, live with it, pal, because that was what he’d had to do from an early age. The strong survived, and the weak fell by the wayside. End of story.

Satisfied that he controlled all before him, Mac leisurely scanned the boardroom and its occupants once again. Mark Springer still sat with his head bowed. He would occasionally look up, but would immediately stare at the floor again as soon as eye contact had been reestablished. Perhaps the guy would learn to keep his big mouth shut in future. There was an old saying, “Those who speak the most, often have the least to say.” This applied to his editor, soon to be former editor if he didn’t improve circulation figures by the next meeting.

Steve Johnson’s posture was as submissive as Mark’s, and rightly so. He was married with two kids and a big mortgage. If he had the sense he was born with, he wouldn’t rock the boat. Dave Watson was cast from the same die. Twin teenage daughters at the exclusive Roedean School, and a gold digger of wife who liked expensive things. Designer dresses and shoes in particular. Cindy Watson wasn’t adverse to three or four European vacations each year, either. Rome, Madrid, London, she, along with her selfish prick of a husband, would regularly frequent the finest restaurants in all of these far-off places. Yeah, the editor of the Philadelphia Bugle was no threat either, and he kept his head respectfully lowered. These guys had benefited from an education he could only dream of. Not one of them had had to deal with life as he had. Raw, hard, and uncaring. However, jealousy didn’t consume his every thought. In some ways the life he lived before becoming a newspaperman was an advantage. His formative years meant he wasn’t afraid of anything in this fucked-up world. By comparison, he was in no doubt that his soft-bellied editors would crumble should they lose their jobs, and therefore their extravagant lifestyles.