The Billionaire Bid

Had she…could she have been…thinking about the Tyler-Royale building as a home for the historical museum? It seemed the only explanation of that cryptic comment. But why hadn’t she just come straight out and said it?

Because if the announcement wasn’t going to be made until today, not just everybody had known about the store closing—and the last thing the publisher of the Chronicle would do would be to take a chance of the local television station beating her newspaper to the story.

Gina closed her eyes and tried to picture the department store. It had been a while since she’d shopped there, but if her memory was accurate, the space could hardly be better suited to house a museum. Areas which had been designed for the display of merchandise would be just as good for showing off exhibits, and a soaring atrium in the center of the building brought natural but indirect light to the interior of every floor. The store was big enough to house not only every exhibit the museum currently displayed but every item currently in storage as well. The stained-glass windows from St. Francis Church would be no problem; they could have a gallery to themselves.

In addition, the building sat squarely in the middle of the downtown area—an even better location for a museum than Essie Kerrigan’s house was. There was even a parking ramp right next door.

But best of all, in Gina’s opinion, was the fact that nobody in their right minds would pay good money for that building. If Tyler-Royale couldn’t run a profitable store in the center of downtown Lakemont, then it was dead certain nobody else could. No, Tyler-Royale couldn’t sell it—but they could donate it to a good cause and save themselves a wad in taxes.

And why shouldn’t that good cause be the Kerrigan County Historical Society?

The newspaper said that the CEO of Tyler-Royale had come up from Chicago to make the announcement at a press conference scheduled for ten o’clock that morning. Since she didn’t know how long Ross Clayton would be in town, Gina figured that would be her best opportunity to talk to him. All she needed, after all, was a few minutes of his time.

Not that she expected the man to make a spur-of-the-moment decision. This was hardly like making a contribution to the United Way; he couldn’t donate company property without the approval of his board of directors. And even if he was in the mood to give away a building at the drop of a hat, Gina couldn’t exactly take it. She didn’t even want to think about the fuss it would create if she were to call a meeting of the museum’s board of directors and announce that—without permission or consultation with any of them—she’d gone and acquired a new building.

But a few minutes with the CEO would be enough to set the process in motion. To give the man something to think about. And to give her a hint about whether he might act on the suggestion.

Her path toward downtown took her past Essie Kerrigan’s house. Gina paused on the sidewalk in front of the museum and looked up at the three-story red brick Victorian. The building looked almost abandoned, its facade oddly blank because most of the windows had been covered from the inside to provide more room for displays.

Gina had spent the best hours of her life inside that house. As a teenager, she had visited Essie Kerrigan and listened to the old woman’s tales of early life in Kerrigan County. As a college student, she’d spent weeks in the museum library doing research. As a new graduate, her first job had been as Essie’s assistant—and then, eventually, her successor.

In a way, she felt like a traitor—to the house and to Essie—even to consider moving the museum away from its first and only home. The building was a part of the museum; it always had been.

But in her heart, she knew Anne Garrett had been right. She had been thinking too small. She simply hadn’t wanted to let herself look too closely at the whole problem, because she had thought there was no viable alternative.

Putting a roof over the garden and the driveway would be a temporary solution for the cramped conditions, but if the plan was successful and the museum grew, in a few years they would find themselves stuck once more in exactly the same dilemma. And then they’d have nowhere to go, because the building was already landlocked, hemmed in by houses and commercial buildings.

If the museum was ever going to move, now was the time. Before they had invested hundreds of thousands of dollars in new construction. Before they tore up Essie Kerrigan’s house. The house was salvageable now—a restorer would have no trouble reversing the few changes which had been made to accommodate the museum. But as soon as the work started, knocking out walls and adding a couple of wings, the house would be even more of a white elephant than the Tyler-Royale store was.

“It’s all right,” she whispered, as if the house were listening. “It’ll be better this way. You won’t be carved up after all, because a family will buy you and make you truly beautiful again.”

Why the CEO had chosen to hold his press conference at the city’s premiere hotel instead of in the store was beyond Gina’s understanding, until she walked into the main ballroom and saw the final preparations under way. Cables and power cords snaked underfoot; lights and cameras formed a semicircle around the lectern set on a low stage at one side of the room, and people were milling everywhere. No wonder he’d wanted to keep this circus out of the store. Even though it would be closing soon, there was no sense in driving the last customers away with all the noise and confusion.

It was not exactly the place for a confidential chat, of course. But she didn’t have much choice about the place or the time, so she edged into the crowd, watching intently.

Almost beside Gina, a reporter from one of the Lakemont television stations was tapping her foot as she waited for her cameraman to finish setting up. “Will you hurry up? He’ll be coming in the door to the left of the podium—make sure you get that shot. And don’t forget to check the microphone feed.”

Gina, hoping the woman knew what she was talking about, edged toward the left side of the podium. She was standing next to the door when it opened, and she took a deep breath and stepped forward, business card in hand, to confront the man who came out onto the little stage. “Sir, I realize this is neither the time nor the place,” she said, “but I’m with the Kerrigan County Historical Society, and when you have a minute I’d like to talk to you about your building. I think it would make a wonderful museum.”

The man looked at her business card and shook his head. “If you mean the Tyler-Royale store, you’ve got the wrong man, I’m afraid.”

“But you—aren’t you Ross Clayton? Your picture was in the Chronicle this morning.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But I don’t exactly own the building anymore.”

Gina felt her jaw go slack with shock. “You’ve sold it? Already?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Gina looked more closely at him and felt a trickle of apprehension run through her as she recognized him. The photo of him in this morning’s paper hadn’t been a particularly good one, and she only now made the connection. This was the man who’d been having lunch with Dez Kerrigan yesterday at The Maple Tree.

At that instant a tape recorder seemed to switch on inside her brain, and Gina heard in her memory what Essie had said about Dez Kerrigan.

He has no sense of history, Essie had said with a dismissive wave of her hand. In fact, the older the building is, the better he likes knocking it down so he can replace it with some glass and steel monster.

Dez Kerrigan was a property developer—that was what Gina should have remembered as soon as she heard his name.

A familiar and uncomfortable prickle ran up the side of her neck, and she turned her head to see exactly what she was expecting to see. Dez Kerrigan had followed Tyler-Royale’s CEO onto the little stage.

“I own the building,” Dez said. “Or, to be perfectly precise, what I own is the option to buy it. But I’m always ready to listen to an offer. Your place or mine?”

CHAPTER TWO

GINA couldn’t believe the sheer arrogance of his question. Your place or mine? The very suggestion was an insult. Even if she actually had been staring at him yesterday at The Maple Tree—which of course she hadn’t—she wouldn’t have been inviting that sort of treatment. If he went around like this, propositioning every woman who happened to look in his direction…

The CEO said under his breath, “Dez, I think you’re on thin ice.”

Dez Kerrigan didn’t seem to hear him. He glanced at his watch and then back at Gina. “I’m a little busy just now, but after the press conference we can meet at your office, or at mine. Which would you prefer?”

Gina gulped. “Office?”

“Of course.” There was a speculative gleam in his eyes. “What did you think I was doing—inviting you to climb into my hot tub for a chat?” He shook his head. “Sorry, but I’d have to know you a lot better before I did that.”

Gina felt as if she was scrambling across a mud puddle, trying desperately to keep her feet from sliding out from under her. She needed to do something—and fast—to get her balance back. “I, on the other hand,” she said sweetly, “am quite certain that getting better acquainted wouldn’t make any difference at all in how I feel about you.”

His eyes, she had noticed, were not quite hazel and not quite green, but a shade that fell in between. Unless he was amused—then they looked almost like emeralds. And there was no question at the moment that he was amused.

“I suppose I should be flattered,” he murmured. “Lust at first sight is a well-recognized phenomenon, of course, but—”

Even though Gina knew quite well that he was laughing at her, she still couldn’t stop herself. “That is not what I meant. I was trying to say that I can’t imagine any circumstance whatever that would get me into a hot tub with you.”

“Good,” Dez said crisply. “Now we both know where we stand. Do you want to talk about the building, or not?”

Gina could have hit herself in the head. How could she have gotten so distracted? “Since you’ve only just cut a deal to buy it, I don’t see why you’d be interested in talking about selling it.”

“Don’t know much about the real estate market, do you? Just because there’s been one deal negotiated doesn’t mean there couldn’t be another. Let me know if you change your mind.” He stepped off to the side of the platform as Ross Clayton tapped the central microphone in the bank set up on the lectern.

Gina, fuming, headed for the exit. What was the point in sticking around? She had real work to do.

The television reporter who had been standing next to her earlier intercepted her near the door. “What was that little face-off all about?”

“Nothing at all,” Gina said firmly and kept walking.

She was halfway back to the museum before she could see the faintest glimmer of humor in the whole situation. And she found herself feeling a hint of relief as well. Of course, she was still disappointed at losing the chance to acquire an ideal building, but at least she hadn’t made a fool of herself by going public with her crazy plan before she’d checked it out. It would have been almighty embarrassing to have gotten the museum board excited over the possibilities and then had to go back to them and admit that her brainstorm hadn’t worked.

Tyler-Royale’s CEO was a pro with the press, Dez thought as he listened to the smooth voice explaining that no, the five hundred employees of the downtown store would not lose their jobs but would be absorbed into the chain’s other area stores. The reporters were circling like sharks in the water, snatching bites now and then, but Ross remained perfectly calm and polite. As the questions grew more inane, Dez let his attention wander to more interesting matters.

Like the little redhead who had been lying in wait for them. Now she was something worth thinking about. First she’d turned up at The Maple Tree yesterday, having lunch with the press. He’d thought that perhaps she was a reporter too. That would account for the inspection she’d given him. She’d looked him over like a cynical searchlight—not exactly the sort of feminine once-over he was used to.