Tempted by Her Billionaire Boss(8)

She clamped down harder on the leather. "Something else to add to my list of eccentricities."

He smiled. "I rather like Rocky. And all joking aside, the seniors, your  work in the community, I appreciate your altruism, Francesca. It's  refreshing."

"The Grant family does the same."

A cynical light filled his eyes. "There is an intent and purpose behind  everything my family does. It's all done with a camera in sight and  cleverly crafted messaging at the ready. Hardly the same thing."

His candor caught her off guard. "Hardly surprising with the White House in mind."

He arched a brow at her. "Do we? Have the White House in mind?"

Warmth seeped into her blood-deprived cheeks. "Everyone thinks you do."

He tipped his head at her. "Anyone considering a presidential run spends  the years leading up to it coyly denying they're interested. Dropping  little hints that never might not mean never, but then again, maybe it  does. Then they sit back and take the pulse of every interest group in  the nation and see if it's a viable proposition. It's a game, Francesca,  a long, bloody battle that would sap the stamina of even the strongest  man."

She frowned. So did that mean he was going to or he wasn't?

An elusive smile claimed his lips. "What that means is right now I am  focusing on Grant Industries and specifically what Leonid Aristov is  going to bring to the table tomorrow."

And with that Harrison Grant cut off whatever valuable insight Frankie  might have glimpsed into his psyche and got to work. He pulled up the  presentation he'd done for the meeting that addressed two of Aristov's  final concerns, asked her to get her notes out and the marathon work  session began. This time, however, she was grateful for any distraction  that would keep her mind off the fact they were traveling at thirty  thousand feet in a glorified tin can.

* * *

A couple of hours into their trip across the Atlantic, Harrison thought  he might finally have gained some sort of symbiosis with his PA. He  could not question Francesca's intelligence after the week they'd just  spent together. She was whip-smart, just as Coburn had said, with street  smarts to go with it that gave her an uncanny ability to see through  people and situations. And now that he'd given her permission to delve  deeper with her questions, she was starting to give back to him what he  needed-intelligently thought-out ideas on how to present the information  she'd gathered to a tricky prospect in Leonid Aristov.

The Russians, he conceded on a deeply exhaled breath, were a thorn in  his side. Aristov was playing with him as if he held all the cards when,  in fact, he held none. The Russian's fortune was disintegrating in  front of his eyes. He needed to sell Siberius and yet he was intent on  making Harrison's life difficult for a reason he had yet to divulge.  Which hopefully, he would wrangle out of him tomorrow.

And Markovic? Well, Markovic was Markovic-an arrogant oligarch with too  much money to play with, too flashy a lifestyle and too short a memory  to remember the bridges he'd burned. It antagonized Harrison to see him  prosper. But soon he would remember what he'd done to his father and he  would pay with the same agony Clifford Grant had. With everything he  had.         

     



 

Frankie curved one long leg over the other, adjusting her position as he  had been over the long flight to keep the blood flowing. It was taking  everything he had to ignore her five-star legs and keep his mind on  work. He might have put a lock on his attraction to her but it didn't  mean he wasn't a man with functioning parts. Evidently ones that needed  some serious attention.

Coburn would have been highly amused at the situation given his older  brother had been born the one with all the self-control and discipline.  The one who was not ruled by his emotions. But after a week with  Francesca, he almost got why his brother had punted her to him for six  months. She was temptation that didn't know it was temptation. And that  was the most tempting female of all.

The pilot's voice intruded on his thoughts. "Hey, folks. We're  anticipating some rough weather ahead. I'm going to turn the seat-belt  sign on in a few minutes for about an hour so if you'd like to use the  restroom, now would be the time."

A pinched look spread across Frankie's face. "What kind of bad weather?"  she asked the attendant as she came to offer them a drink before she  sat down.

"A bit of lightning in the area. It could be rough for a while but no worries. Captain Danyon is the best."

Frankie turned a greenish color and unbuckled her seat belt. "Are you okay?" he asked her.

She nodded. "Just going to do like the pilot said."

When she came back, she had a set, determined look on her chalk-white  face. They worked through the Aristov presentation. When the captain  turned on the seat-belt sign and the bumps began, Frankie kept her gaze  fixed on his computer screen and kept talking. As far as storms went, it  was a good one. The tiny plane swooped on fast-moving air, then rose  again, some of the plunges taking his breath away.

"We can stop," he suggested. "Wait until it's over..."

"Keep talking," she commanded, clutching her seat with white-knuckled hands. "It's keeping me from freaking out."

He wasn't sure how much she was taking in in her terrified state, but he  kept going, working through the back end of the presentation.  Forty-five minutes later, they'd finished it and were going through a  checklist to make sure they hadn't missed anything crucial.

"We haven't included the most recent market stats," Frankie announced, shuffling through her papers.

"They're on the third slide."

"Oh." She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on it. "Do  we have that graphic in there, too? The one you asked me to fix and  expand?"

"It's in there." He pulled his gaze away from her lush mouth to study  her. She didn't look as green as she had earlier, but now she was acting  a bit...vague.

"Francesca, are you okay?"

"Perfect." She forced a smile. "I think that's it, then, isn't it? I'll  make a note of any questions Aristov asks, although I don't expect he'll  have any with this much information put in front of him. Oh-and I'll  bring the backup."

The way she said that last part, as if it was a ‘nice to have,' alarmed  him. "Yes," he said deliberately, "the backup is key. We can't forget  the backup."

"No problem." She rubbed her palm across her forehead. "Can we talk  about the shareholder meetings now? I really need to get a handle on  them."

"If you're a hundred percent clear on the meeting, yes."

"A hunnndred percent, yes." She nodded and tucked the folder in her  briefcase and pulled out her notepad. "So for the shareholder thing..."

"Meetings," he corrected. Had she just slurred that word? Or was she being funny?

"Right. The meetings... They cover the Monday and Tuesday, right? With  the Wednesday afternoon kept for additional items that come up?"

"The Tuesday afternoons are for open items, yes. The meetings are over Tuesday night."

She blinked at him. "That's what I said. Tuesday."

"You said Wednesday. It's Tuesday for the open session. Here." He pulled the schedule from her unopened folder. "Look at this."

She studied it with the glazed-eyed look of someone who wasn't taking  anything in. "Got it." A sigh escaped her. She put her elbows on the  table and rubbed her eyes. "I'm so sorry. My head is very cloudy all of a  sudden."

A wave of guilt spread through him. "You're probably exhausted. It's been a long week."

"Yes, but this..." She put her palms to her temples. "I think I might need to lie down."         

     



 

He pulled her hands away from her face. "You're not feeling well?"

"I'm fine...it's just-" Her bleary gaze skipped away from his. "I-I took  a pill my sister gave me for the turbulence. It's making me..."

"Where is it?"

"In my purse."

He grabbed her bag off the seat, opened it up and plucked the pill  bottle off the top. Scanning the label he saw it was a sedative.

"Have you taken these before?"

"No. I didn't think they'd hit me this hard." She plopped her chin in  her palms, elbows braced on the table, and closed her eyes. "Maybe it'll  wear off in a few minutes. Maybe I should have some coffee."

"How many did you take?"

"Just one. But I feel...light-headed."

He uttered a low curse. "It's going to last for hours. You need to lie down."

"I'd rather have some coffee."

He stripped off his seat belt, rounded the table and undid hers. Her eyes half opened. "The seat-belt sign is-"

"Shut up." He slipped his arms underneath her knees and back and lifted  her up. She was surprisingly light for a female with her curves, and it  should have been an easy carry to the bedroom at the back of the jet,  but the plane was dipping and swaying beneath his feet and it was all he  could do to keep his balance. Her fingers dug into his biceps with a  strength born of fear, her body trembling in his arms.