Jennifer Hayward - The Magnate's Manifesto

Focus on her studies, fast-track her business degree and get the hell out. That had been her mantra.

“Bailey?”

Jared was looking at her, an impatient look on his face. She blinked. “Sorry?”

“I was saying Davide has a fondness for blondes.” He folded one long leg over the other and popped a handful of the cashews into his mouth. “I consider you my secret weapon.”

Hostility flared through her, swift and sharp, spurred by a past she couldn’t quite banish. “If you’re suggesting I flirt with him, that’s not going to happen. And I can’t believe you would even say that considering that your reputation is hanging by a thread and I’m the only thing keeping it afloat.”

He gave her a long look as the attendant set their drinks on the table. “I was asking you to charm him, Bailey, not sleep with him.”

She gave him a black look. “Forgive me for misinterpreting. We women apparently don’t have a use beyond securing ourselves a rich man and keeping ourselves within the style to which we’ve become accustomed . So I just wanted to make the point.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You were the one who just said I’d made my apology and bygones should be bygones. Perhaps you can walk the walk, no?”

“That was for public consumption.” She pulled the glass of deep ruby-red wine toward her. “Know that in my head, my respect for you personally is at an all-time low.”

His eyes darkened to a wintry, stormy blue. “As long as your professional respect is intact, I’m not worried about your personal opinion.”

And there it was. The man who cared about nothing but his driving need for success. He was legendary for it and she couldn’t fault it because she was his mirror image.

She took a sip of the rich, velvety red, her palate marking it a Cabernet/Merlot blend. “I am curious about one thing, though.”

He lifted a brow.

“What is your real opinion of women?”

His sexy, quirky mouth turned up on one side. “If you think I’m answering that, you consider me a stupider man than I am.”

‘No, really,” she insisted, waving her glass at him. “Utterly open conversation. I want to know.”

His long-lashed gaze held hers for a moment, then he shrugged. “I think the science of relationships goes back as far as time. As far as the cavemen… We men—we hunt, we gather. We provide. Women want us for what we can offer them. And as soon as we can’t, as soon as they get a better offer,” he drawled, “we are expendable.”

She was shocked into silence. Considering that her mother had been the only thing keeping her family afloat with her alcoholic father off work more than on, that seemed ludicrous. “You can’t really mean that,” she said after a moment. “It’s crazy to lump all women together like that.”

He lifted a shoulder. “I never say anything I don’t mean. You wonder who’s really in the power position, Bailey? Think about it.”

She frowned. “What about women who can provide for themselves? Women who bring equal billing to a relationship?”

“It doesn’t survive. There is always a balance of power in a relationship. And when a woman has that power, the relationship is never going to last. Women need us to dominate. To be the provider.”

She stared at him. “That’s ridiculous. You are impossible.”

His white smile glittered in the muted confines of the jet. “I’ve been called worse this week. Come on, admit it, Bailey. A strong woman like you must like a man to take control. Otherwise you’d walk all over him.”

A warning buzzed its way along her temple, signaling dangerous territory she wasn’t about to traverse. She lifted her chin, met his magnetic blue gaze head-on. “On the contrary. I like to be in control, just like you do, Jared. Always . Haven’t you figured that out already?”

His lashes lowered, studying, analyzing . “I’m not sure I have one-fifth of you figured out.”

The air between them suddenly felt too hot, too tight in the close confines of the jet that pulsed with the powerful throb of the engines. She took a jerky sip of her wine. “Should we get back to rehearsing?”

“After dinner.” He nodded toward her glass. “Enjoy your wine. Be social.”

She searched for something in the safe zone to talk about and when that didn’t materialize, pulled her purse toward her, searched for her lipstick and fished it out to reapply.

“Don’t.”

Her hand froze midway to her face. “Sorry?”

“Don’t reapply that war paint. You look perfect the way you are.”

Heat spread through her, confusing in its intensity. He’d probably used that line on a million women. Why it made her drop the lipstick back into her purse and reach for her lip balm instead was unclear to her.

Jared sat back in his chair, tumbler balanced on his knee, hand sliding over his dark-shadowed jaw. “There’s never a hair out of place, Bailey. Never a cuff that isn’t perfectly turned or posture that isn’t ramrod straight even after four hours of rehearsing.” He angled an inquisitive brow at her. “Why the facade? What are you afraid people might find out if you relax?”

She angled her chin at him. “I work in the male-dominated, testosterone-driven world of Silicon Valley. Men will walk all over me if I show weakness. You of all people should know that.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “Is that why you turn them all down? Let them crash and burn for all to see?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “That would be their stupidity if I wasn’t showing interest. And this would be my personal life. Which doesn’t have any part in this conversation.”

“Oh, but it does,” he said softly, his gaze holding hers. “We need to go into this presentation like a well-oiled machine. Know each other inside out, anticipate each other’s needs, move together seamlessly until we are a well-orchestrated symphony. Trust each other implicitly so no matter what they throw at us we’ve got it. But right now, we’re a disjointed mess. The trust is lacking, and I don’t feel like I know the first thing about you.”

A chill stole through her. No one knew her. Except perhaps Aria. They knew Bailey St. John, the composed, successful woman she’d created by sheer force of will. A female version of the Terminator…and not even bulldog Jared was going to uncover the real her.

Which necessitated an act. And a good one. She cradled her wineglass against her chest, leaned back in her seat and slid into the interview persona she’d perfected over the years. “Ask away, then. What do you want to know?”

* * *

Jared leaned back in his seat and took in Bailey’s deceptively relaxed pose. He had no doubt from her evasive answers that she was going to give him only half the story. But something was more than nothing, and their disastrous rehearsals necessitated some kind of synergy. They weren’t connecting on any level except to strike sparks off each other. Which might be fine, desirable even, in the bedroom, but it wasn’t helping here with the board breathing down his neck, the press all over him like a second skin and the most important presentation of his life looming.

If he and Bailey walked into that room right now and did the presentation, they would go down like the Titanic. Slowly and painfully. Davide Gagnon might have handpicked them as partner, but it didn’t mean they could afford to miss one detail about why he should work with them.

He took a long sip of his whiskey, considered her while it burned a comforting trail down his throat, then rested the glass on his thigh. “I was reviewing your résumé. Why the University of Nevada-Las Vegas for your undergrad? It seems an odd choice given your East Coast upbringing. Florida, right?”