High-Powered, Hot-Blooded
Susan Mallery
Prologue
CEO knocks out the competition.
CEO Duncan Patrick has once again knocked out the competition. The shipping billionaire ends the year with two more acquisitions, including a small European trucking company and a very profitable railroad line in South America. With Patrick Industries dominating the world transportation market, one would think the wealthy billionaire could afford to be gracious, but apparently that's not the case. For the second year in a row, Duncan has been named meanest CEO in the country. Not surprisingly, the reclusive billionaire declined to be interviewed for this article.
"This is unconscionable," Lawrence Patrick said, slamming the business newspaper onto the boardroom table.
Duncan leaned back in his chair and stifled a yawn. "Did you want me to do the interview?"
"That's not the point and you know it."
"What is the point?" Duncan asked, turning his attention from his uncle to the other men on the board. "Is there too much money coming in? Are the investors unhappy with all the proceeds?"
"The point is the press loves to hate you," Lawrence snapped. "You bought a mobile home park, then evicted the residents, most of whom were elderly and poor."
"The mobile home park was right next to one of the largest shipping facilities we own. I needed the land for expansion. The board approved the purchase."
"We didn't approve seeing old ladies on television, crying because they had nowhere to go."
Duncan rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Part of the deal was providing the residents with a new mobile home park. Their lots are bigger and the area is residential, rather than industrial. They have bus service right outside the main gate. We paid all the costs. No one lost anything. It was the media trying to create a story."
One of the other board members glared at him. "Are you denying you bankrupt your competition?"
"Not at all. If I want to buy a company but the person who owns it won't sell to me, I find another way." He straightened. "A legal way, gentlemen. You've all invested in my company and you've seen extraordinary profits. I don't give a damn what the press thinks about me or my company."
"Therein lies the problem," his uncle told him. "We do. Patrick Industries has a terrible reputation, as do you."
"Both are undeserved."
"Regardless. This isn't your company, Duncan. You brought us in when you needed money to buy out your partner. Part of the deal is you answer to us."
Duncan didn't like the sound of that. He was the one who had taken Patrick Industries from a struggling small business to a world-class empire. Not them-him.
"If you're threatening me," he began.
"Not threatening," another board member said. "Duncan, we understand that there's a difference between ruthless and mean. But the public doesn't. We're asking you to play nice for the next few months."
"Get off this list," his uncle said, waving the paper at him. "It's practically Christmas. Give money to orphans, find a cause. Rescue a puppy. Date a nice girl, for once. Hell, we don't even care if you really change. Perception is everything. You know that."
Duncan shook his head. "So you don't care if I'm the biggest bastard in the world, as long as no one knows about it?"
"Exactly."
"Easy enough," he said, rising to his feet. He could play nice for a few months, while raising enough money to buy out his board. Then he wouldn't have to care what anyone thought of him. Which was how he preferred things.
One
Annie McCoy could accept the flat tire. The car was old and the tires should have been replaced last spring. She could also understand that little Cody had eaten dirt on the playground, then thrown up on her favorite skirt. She wouldn't complain about the notice she'd gotten from the electric company pointing out, ever so politely, that she was overdue-again-and that they would be raising her rates. It was that all of it had happened on the same day. Couldn't the universe give her a sixteenth of a break?
She stood in front of her sagging front porch and flipped through the rest of the mail. No other bills, unless that official-looking letter from UCLA was actually a tuition bill. The good news was that her cousin Julie was in her first year at the prestigious college. The bad news was paying for it. Even living at home, the costs were enormous and Annie was doing her best to help.
"A problem for another time," she told herself as she walked to the front door and opened it.
Once inside, she put her purse on the small table by the door and dropped the mail into the macaroni-and-gold-spray-paint-covered in-box her kindergarten class had made for her last year. Then she went into the kitchen to check out the dry-erase bulletin board hanging from the wall.
It was Wednesday. Julie had a night class. Jenny, Julie's twin, was working her usual evening job at a restaurant in Westwood. Kami, the exchange student from Guam, had gone to the mall with friends. Annie had the house to herself … at least for the next couple of hours. Talk about heaven.
She walked to the refrigerator and got out the box of white wine. After pouring a glass, she kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot to the backyard.
The grass was cool under her feet. All around the fence, lush plants grew and flowered. It was L.A. Growing anything was pretty easy, as long as you didn't mind paying the water bill. Annie did mind, but she loved the plants more. They reminded her of her mom, who had always been an avid gardener.
She'd barely settled on the old, creaky wooden swing by the bougainvillea when she heard the doorbell ring. She thought about ignoring whoever was there, but couldn't bring herself to do it. She went back inside, opened the door and stared at the man standing on her porch.
He was tall and powerfully built. The well-tailored suit didn't disguise the muscles in his arms and chest. He looked like he could have picked up money on the side working as a bouncer. He had dark hair and the coldest gray eyes she'd ever seen. And he looked seriously annoyed.
"Who are you?" he demanded by way of greeting. "The girlfriend? Is Tim here?"
Annie started to hold up her hands in a shape of a T. Talk about needing a time-out. Fortunately she remembered she was holding a wineglass and managed to keep from spilling.
"Hi," she said, wishing she'd thought to actually take a sip before answering the door. "I'm sure that's how you meant to start."
"What?"
"By saying ‘hello.'"
The man's expression darkened. "I don't have time for small talk. Is Tim McCoy here?"
The tone wasn't friendly and the words didn't make her feel any better. She set her glass on the tiny table by the door and braced herself for the worst.
"Tim is my brother. Who are you?"
"His boss."
"Oh."
That couldn't be good, she thought, stepping back to invite the man in. Tim hadn't said much about his relatively new job and Annie had been afraid to ask. Tim was … flaky. No, that wasn't right. He could be really sweet and caring but he had a streak of the devil in him.
The man entered and looked around the living room. It was small and a little shabby, but homey, she thought. At least that's what she told herself. There were a few paper turkeys on the wall, and a pair of pilgrim candlesticks on the coffee table. They would come down this weekend when she got serious about her Christmas decorating.
"I'm Annie McCoy," she said, holding out her hand. "Tim's sister."
"Duncan Patrick."
They shook hands. Annie tried not to wince as his large fingers engulfed hers. Fortunately the man didn't squeeze. From the looks of things, he could have crushed her bones to dust.
"Or ground them for bread," she murmured.
"What?"
"Oh, sorry. Nothing. Fairy-tale flashback. The witch in Hansel and Gretel. Doesn't she want to grind their bones to make her bread? No, that's the giants. I can't remember. Now I'll have to look that up."
Duncan frowned at her and stepped back.
She couldn't help chuckling. "Don't worry. It's not contagious. I think weird things from time to time. You won't catch it by being in the room." She stopped babbling and cleared her throat. "As to my brother, he doesn't live here."
Duncan frowned. "But this is his house."
Was it just her or was Duncan not the brightest bulb? "He doesn't live here," she repeated, speaking more slowly. Maybe it was all the muscles. Too much blood in the biceps and not enough in the brain.
"I got that, Ms. McCoy. Does he own the house? He told me he did."
Annie didn't like the sound of that. She crossed to the club chair by the door and grabbed hold of the back. "No. This is my house." She felt more than a little panicked and slightly sick to her stomach. "Why are you asking?"