The Playboy's Protegee

“It won’t crash,” Harry said as if reading her mind. “I’ve never had a bad flight.”

Of course the golden boy wouldn’t. The skies wouldn’t dare misbehave for him. “Yes, but with my bad luck, today might be the first. Look at the proof. We got stuck with each other, didn’t we?”

He smiled, giving her the grin that she knew had melted hearts for miles. “The more I think of that, the more I think how lucky you are, in the good sense. I’m a Jacobsen.”

“So? That just means you got your foot in the door. Personally, I would have rather had Lyle McKaskill.”

“Really? He’s fifty. But then, I forget you like them older.” Harry’s smile had faded.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

But the plane had launched itself into the air, and, instead of answering, Harry turned his attention out the window as the city of Saint Louis began fading from view.

Megan fumed. Dig and rip. What did he mean anyway with that crack? Did he know how absolutely infuriating he was? He was a cad. A jerk. A first-class…Mentally she ripped on him, but it did nothing to assuage the conflicting feelings now going through her.

She’d always avoided being this close to Harry Sanders. The man was a walking pheromone, a womanizer. And she wasn’t as immune to him as she’d always thought she was. Sitting next to him she could smell his cologne. He smelled of wilderness, of something wild and primal. His short blond hair looked silken, eminently touchable. She could picture running her hands into the golden strands, and grabbing hunks of his beautiful hair as he thrust into her. She’d pull his lips back down to hers and…

Stop right there! That was not a picture or a fantasy she needed. The last thing she needed was to have any type of sexual harassment charges drummed up on her, or for her to send any sort of subliminal sexual messages to Harry.

The man was one hundred percent pure playboy. He ran through women like water.

The last thing she needed was to lose her focus. Harry Sanders was, for better or worse, her mentor. This was business. That was all. Her career could be made or broken on this trip. She couldn’t screw it up with thoughts she didn’t need to be having about Harry Sanders.

HARRY WATCHED Saint Louis fade into the ground below. They’d gone westward, and then circled back, heading east over the northern end of the city on their way to New York. From his seat by the window he was able to look southward and see the Gateway Arch as the plane cut through the scattered remnants of high cirrus clouds. It was a beautiful day for flying.

So focused on his thoughts, he barely heard the captain’s announcement that they’d reached their cruising altitude of thirty-something thousand feet. Had it been thirty-two or thirty-four? Maybe it had been thirty-six. The ground could be seen intermittently. He thought about asking the flight attendant for a moment, but then dismissed that idea. There was no point.

He knew the damage to his psyche and concentration was already complete. The irritating Megan MacGregor had wormed her way under his skin.

He couldn’t believe it when she’d almost missed the plane, and worse, he had actually found himself worried about her! What was wrong with him? He’d been glad to see her! Her missing the plane would have been a godsend; she would have proven once and for all how irresponsible she truly was, and how she wasn’t what she seemed. But she’d made it just in time.

And she’d taken his advice. She’d bought new clothes. The saleslady who’d helped her ought to be shot. Megan had gone from a prim, proper and frumpy man-eater to a sexy, irresistible siren in a blue suit. And underneath her silk deep-V shirt she’d worn cream-colored lace.

No man needed to see that, and Harry had been only inches from being able to bury his face right into the ripe breasts that the lace did nothing to conceal.

Thank goodness she hadn’t gotten Lyle McKaskill for her mentor. The man was married, but that wouldn’t have stopped Megan. Harry winced slightly. No guy stood a chance, not even him.

Maybe Megan was the type that a man needed to sleep with once. Not that Harry planned on sleeping with her, of course, but he comforted himself on knowing what she’d be like—a quick fling. Then afterward he would discover that she wasn’t worth it—that the fire was in the chase, not the capture.

But it was tempting. He’d told Grandpa Joe that Megan was a sexual harassment case waiting to happen. He had to make sure it wasn’t with him.

“Are you going to explain your comment from earlier?”

Her voice cut through the haze of his thoughts and he turned to face her. She sat a scant eighteen or so inches from him. To kiss her, all he’d have to do was lean over. “What comment?”

She sighed, her full red lips puckering with mild distaste. “Never mind. Perhaps we should discuss the upcoming meetings. Why don’t you give me your thoughts on what we’re up against.”

“I could,” Harry said, and then he drew himself up. “Why not?”

After all, they did have two hours to kill. He proceeded to fill her in. She listened attentively, her expression never changing as he outlined the new Jacobsen Enterprises strategy.

“Who came up with that?” she asked.

“Jill Benedict and Alan Dalen. If you want to discuss the presentation with them, they’re right behind us, three rows back, right before the partition. Their mentors are seated across from them. Aisle five.”

“No. I don’t need to talk to them.” The shake of Megan’s head sent her brown hair into her face. She pushed the loose strands behind her ears. Along with her new clothes, she’d gotten her hair cut. Harry resisted the urge to tuck a wayward strand back behind her right ear. Her face scrunched into cute ridges across her forehead, indicating she was deep in thought.

“You don’t like the idea,” Harry observed.

Megan gestured. “No, I don’t. It’s still limited. It’s missing something.”

“Jill researched everything you discussed at the meeting. You remember the meeting.”

Megan sidestepped that question as if that meeting was now irrelevant. “I should have done the research on this myself. I hate delegating. Something’s always missing whenever I do.”

“Nothing’s missing. It’s a great plan. Betty is going to do the presentations. We’ll be meeting in the conference room of Smith and Bethesda, the legal firm that Evie’s hired to act as intermediaries for the sale. It’s as close to neutral ground as we can get. Evie’s legal team, and some representatives from Evie’s, will be there.”

“The presentation is still wrong. It’s missing something,” Megan repeated. Her face still showed her concentration. She took a sip of juice.

“You said it was missing something in the meeting too,” Harry reminded her. “We’ve fixed that.”

“No, we haven’t. We’ve simply found out why the restaurants were losing money, and that the problems that they’re having are easily correctable. We can keep the establishments open, which eliminates one of Evie’s complaints against our bid. But we didn’t address Evie’s main concern. What is it that makes our presentation better? Why are we a better company than Odyssey Holdings? Why should they sell to us instead of merge with Odyssey?”

Harry looked at Megan. Her face had become more animated, and he found his gaze drawn to her full lips as she spoke. Those lips were eminently kissable. “What makes Jacobsen better, Harry?”

“Grandpa Joe.” The words were the first thing to his mind and they shot off his tongue before he even thought to think about and perhaps stop them.

“Exactly!” Megan looked triumphant. “That’s it! Grandpa Joe, well, to me, Joe Jacobsen. He’s what we need to sell to Evie’s. Grandpa Joe cares. That’s what makes us better than Odyssey Holdings, why Evie’s should take our bid over Odyssey’s. Jacobsen Enterprises is a family company. Sure, it’s a public company with publicly traded stock, but the family holds the majority of the stock. You’ve got a trust fund full of it, don’t you?”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“Harry…” Her tone protested his vague answer. “This is important.”

He exhaled. He’d been raised not to talk about how much money he had. “Only thirty percent of the stock is owned by nonfamily members.”

“Evie’s is a private company, based on a man’s love for his wife. What we need to sell, Harry, is your family. Your family firm will take care of Evie’s. It won’t be lost somewhere in the corporate shuffle of some large, anonymous holding company. Jacobsen will take care of Evie’s, just like it was a Grandpa Joe’s Good Eats.”

Harry thought about that for a moment. She had a point. An excellent point, in fact. “I’ll have Betty work it into the presentation.”

“No.” Again Megan’s firm tone stopped him. “She’s not going to make the presentation. You are.”

“What? That’s not my role on the team. While it’s under my leadership, Betty is a better presenter.”

“It doesn’t matter. You are going to present the proposal, Harry. Look at the image you’ll bring to the floor. Grandpa Joe cares about this acquisition so much that he sent his grandson, a stockholder, to personally oversee it. You need to make the presentation, and run the negotiations. You’re not the new car manager but the salesman on the floor. I’ll help.”

Harry wasn’t sure he liked this idea. His sister Darci had always been the negotiator. Even Kyle, Alan’s mentor, was a much better negotiator than Harry was. Harry always handled the public relations end of things, the spit-polish so to speak. He calmed nerves, smoothed over ruffled feelings, made transitions flawless. As Megan had just put it, he was the new car manager. He cemented the deals but was never in the forefront.

“And how will you help?” he asked.