Three and a Half Weeks(129)

At ten to four, the receptionist in the lobby calls to inform him that Ms. Yenin is on her way up. Ian rises to his feet, stretches, rolls his neck, and strides to the other side of the office to get a bottle of water, which he downs in one long pull. He’s trying to distract himself from the feelings threatening to swallow him whole: agitation, anger, even confusion. He never did find out why Natasha turned on him so viciously. Perhaps today would deliver the moment of truth?

The buzzer rings as Claudia’s echoing voice fills the room a few moments later. “Dragon lady just got off the elevator. How would you like me to proceed?”

“Seat her in reception and make her wait, like everyone else. I’ll buzz you when I’m ready. Thanks, Claudia.”

“You’re welcome, Ian. I’ll await your call.”

Pacing the room, he tries to work off some of the manic energy coursing through his veins, knowing it’s stress-induced. Calm is what he needs more than anything else. Calm will allow him to control the situation and that’s exactly what he needs to do. He cannot allow his anger—or any other emotion to get in his way.

Toward that end, he makes her wait over ten minutes, figuring with each passing minute he’s ratcheting up her stress level exponentially. He’ll be calm; she’ll be tense and angry, giving him the advantage over her in their “discussion.” Finally, at six minutes after four he buzzes Claudia. “Okay. Send her in.”

The door is pushed open with purpose and the tall, blond woman strides through it, walking right to his desk, as if she owns the place. The moment she comes into view, Ian feels his body instantly respond to her physical presence: his heart begins to race erratically and he gets an instant hard-on—and it annoys the hell out of him. He can’t help it though: he was sexually attracted to the woman from the second he set his teenaged eyes on her.

Natasha appears not to have aged a day since the last time he saw her. Perhaps her hair is now a lighter blond but her face still holds all the youthful animation it always had and her eyes sparkle with her misspent plans. Her long lean figure sheathed in a body-hugging navy suit, she’s wearing a low-cut white camisole under the jacket. Around her throat are multiple strands of pearls, from the last of which dangles a large white-gold Russian Orthodox cross. On her feet are navy stilettos, with five-inch heels, worn with flair despite her tall height. With the shoes, she easily breaches six feet.

Ian stands and slowly comes around his desk to meet her head on. Since she refused to sit, he wasn’t about to look up to her from his own seated position. By standing opposite her, he still manages to tower over her by a couple of inches.

Ice-blue eyes unabashedly examine him up and down, appraising him as an adversary. “What? No hug and kiss?” she asks, her voice deep and throaty as she smiles, revealing her toothpaste-ad row of teeth.

Ignoring her comment, he instead asks a question of his own. “To what do I owe this unparalleled pleasure, Ms. Yenin?”

“I’m not here to verbally spar with you, Blackmon. I’ve come to talk business: first about TES. Then… other, shall we say more personal, business.”

“Personal?”

Waving her hand in dismissal, she retorts, “Table it for now. Shall we discuss our competition for TES and Alt-En?”

Ian shrugs, his attention on his fingernails; he decides a manicure is in order. “Nothing to discuss,” he says airily. “As far as Alt-En is concerned, have at it. Excalibur is no longer interested and has withdrawn its offer. As for TES, you may or may not know, the sale of the company to a corporation based in Tokyo is already well underway. Is that all?”

The blond woman retains her cool, eyeing him with no apparent emotion. Though Ian finds her inscrutable expression unnerving, he doesn’t allow it show. It’s a stare down at this point. Finally, she ruptures the silent impasse.

“You’ve proven to be a most unworthy opponent, Blackmon. You’ve had so much time and yet you haven’t even begun to figure it out. I suppose I should have left a trail of breadcrumbs… or in your case perhaps just a chorus line of whores. Here, let me take your hand and guide you to it, like leading the blind, deaf, and dumb.” She cocks her head, pausing for a short moment. “On second thought: I’ll give you a hint and it will be up to you to figure out the story. How’s that?” She didn’t wait for his comment. “Look to your grandfather.”

“My grandfather?” He crosses his arms. “What can my grandfather possibly have to do with this matter? Further, I happen to have two of them. To whom do you refer? My paternal grandfather, who was a judge, or my mother’s father, the oncologist?” He leans his hip against the desk, barely breathing and never taking his eyes off the shapely opponent in front of him. He treats her like the snake in the grass she is.