Robyn Grady - Taming the Takeover Tycoon

The uncertain look on his face cleared and his dark eyes gleamed as he grinned. “Of course you were.”

When he flicked a questioning glance at her legs, Becca secretly quivered. The look wasn’t meant to be intimate, but her body didn’t seem to know the difference. Warmth washed through her veins, the same shot of heat that had made rubber bands of her ligaments when Jack had kissed her that night.

Becca’s hands bunched in her lap.

Don’t think about that now.

“Do you wear jeans to the office often?” he asked, steering onto the road.

“Depends what I have planned for the day.”

She sounded cool and collected despite her nails digging into her palms. His nearest arm and thigh were too close. Even in the air-conditioning, his body heat was tangible, enough to make her upper lip and hairline sweat.

“Where are we headed?” he asked, changing up gears.

“A high school.” Nodding at the stoplights, Becca set her mind to the task. “Next right here.”

“A school, huh? Someone need a new gym?”

She studied his profile, the hawkish nose, that confident air. “You really have no idea, do you?”

“I thought that’s what this week was about. Giving me a clue.”

She planned to do a truckload more than that.

“How well do you remember your teenage years?” she asked. “You’d have done well in sport. Football’s my guess.” He only smiled. “You got good grades, too, right? I bet you didn’t have to try.”

“Chemistry was tricky.”

“But you knew what you liked. What resonated. And your parents could afford an Ivy League school.”

“I worked hard when I got there.”

“What kind of car did you drive?”

He named a luxury German make.

“Fresh off the assembly line?” she asked.

His laugh was warm and deep. “You think you can guilt me out, Becca?”

“I hope I can open your eyes.”

He looked across at her again and this time when he took in her jeans, Becca sensed he was labeling her, slotting her into another compartment in his head. The very idea set her teeth on edge.

“You didn’t come from money,” he said.

He didn’t need to know the whole story—or not at this early stage in the game.

“My parents own a bakery.”

He threw her a surprised look and held it before concentrating again on the traffic.

“I’m one of four,” she went on. “We kids were taught that we needed to take responsibility for others in society who were less fortunate. Giving back and being community-minded are the secret not only to a happy life but also a happier world. During my senior year, I volunteered at hospitals and nursing homes....”

Attention on the road, his gaze had gone glassy. Becca cleared her throat.

“Am I boring you, Jack?”

“You could never bore me.” He rubbed his freshly shaven jaw, which still had the shadow of persistent stubble. “It’s just that I’ve traveled a few miles since school.”

She appealed to Jack Reed’s ego. “I can’t imagine how much you’ve learned since then. How much you could pass on.”

“Is that what we’re doing? You want me to give a talk to schoolkids about aiming for the stars?”

“A fair percentage of the kids we’ll see today have battled depression and suicidal thoughts and some have even attempted to end their own lives.”

From the way a pulse had suddenly begun to pop in his cheek, finally she had his attention.

She indicated a driveway. “In there.”

The public secondary high school had around three thousand students, grades nine through twelve. Its multi-story red-brick buildings, landscaped with soaring palm trees, had been used as filming locations for several movies and TV shows. After parking the car, they headed for an area by the front chain-link fence where a mass of students had gathered. The kids were cheering as a stream of riders on bicycles flew past in a blur of Lycra color and spinning wheels. A couple of students waved a big sign: Ride for U.S.

“Do you ride a bike, Jack?” Becca asked over the hoots and applause from the excited mob jostling around them.

“Not one with pedals. Not for a while.”

“These people are riding from coast to coast to bring awareness and help to teenagers who can’t see a light at the end of their tunnel. Whose parents might be alcoholics, prostitutes, drug addicts or dealers. A lot of those kids bring themselves up. They might be taught to fetch drugs or another bottle of booze from the cabinet.”

As the last of the bikes shot past, Jack gazed on, looking strangely indifferent. Detached.

She tried again. “The Lassiter Foundation donates to this cause every year, and we help decide where and how funds raised ought to be spent.”

He took out a pair of shades from his inside breast pocket and perched them on his nose. “A big job.”

“Not compared to the effort this bunch puts in.”

Some students were fooling around with a football. When a toss went off track, Jack reached and effortlessly caught the ball before hurling it back to the boys. Then, impassive again, he straightened his shades.

“You don’t have any children?” she asked.

“I’m not married.”

“The two don’t necessarily go hand in hand.”

“No children.”

“That you know of.”

He exhaled. “Right.”

The crowd started to head back into the building. “How freaky would it be to find out that you’d fathered a child say twenty years ago when you were cruising around in that gleaming new Beamer, acing your assignments, planning out your future with waves of twenty-four-carat-gold glitter.”

“I might have a reputation, but I’ve always been responsible where sex is concerned.”

“Right there we have a difference in understanding. How can a big-time player be responsible where sex in concerned?”

His smile was thin. “Takes practice.”

“We’re getting off topic. Point is that from day one you led a privileged life. Most kids aren’t that lucky. Most children could use a hand on their way to reaching adulthood.”

Inside the gymnasium, she and Jack sat to one side at the back in the bleachers while the leader of Ride for U.S. addressed the students. Tom Layton was a professional counselor Becca knew through various channels. He had incredible insight into the minds of young adults, a gift he used to full advantage. As he spoke to the audience, Tom and Becca made eye contact. Tom winked to say hi but didn’t miss a beat.

“Good, isn’t he?” she whispered across to Jack. “Everything seems so life or death to teens. Tom gets that. A child needs all his strength going forward because the real test is later in life when he has to follow his own star, when he needs to develop a thick skin toward those who might want to trash his dream, for whatever reason.”

Minus the sunglasses now, Jack trained his hooded gaze on her. “Would it surprise you to learn that you and I aren’t so different, Becca?”

“It would surprise the living hell out of me.”

His eyebrows drew together and damned if she didn’t sense something real shift in Jack Reed. Not compassion or empathy exactly. That would have been too much to ask. It was more of a fleeting connection that fell through her fingertips, like loose grains of sand, before she could truly grasp it.

While Tom listed signs that everyone should watch for when identifying a peer who needed help, Becca scanned the audience. The geeks up front were all ears, some even taking notes. The lot in the middle alternated between sneaking looks at smartphones and zoning out, daydreaming about extracurricular activities. The mob in the back—the ones who really needed to listen—were restless. It was difficult to see a bright future when home life sucked everything into a vortex of gray. She and Tom wanted to help change that.