Truth about Cats Page 13

  DiGratten looked at him as if wondering what he would do next.

  Acting on impulse, Jennifer took over. Pretending to be her father, she inspected the bottle, sniffed the cork, swirled the small sample of wine and studied the color, then sipped. "Very good," she said.

  While the wine steward was pouring each of them a glass of the red Bordeaux, an older gentlemen walked into the room and sat beside Jennifer.

  "I'd like you to meet our Chairman, Ernest Laurent," DiGratten said when the steward had stepped away. "The lunch meeting was his idea."

  "I wanted to see you in a more formal environment," Laurent announced. "Frankly, we're not sure you are up to the magnitude of the task."

  "Mr. Engle's presentation showed a sophisticated understanding of our dilemma and an intriguing way out of it," DiGratten said.

  Laurent waved DiGratten's comment aside. "I'm not complaining about his presentation."

  Rick didn't react at all, but Eric half-jumped. Mr. Laurent had definitely not been one of the attendees at their earlier meeting.

  Laurent saw Eric's involuntary reaction and gave a humorless laugh. "Closed circuit, don't you know? I use it all the time. It lets me see what's really going on. That way I can make sure they aren't all lying to me."

  Rick nodded slowly. "So you spy on your employees?"

  "They're notified that they may be under observation. Trust me, it's perfectly legal. Plus, it's worth the investment to avoid an earnings surprise."

  "Maybe if you didn't punish the messenger you'd have a better chance at getting to the truth," Rick observed.

  It wasn't the most tactful approach. Jennifer wondered if Rick was aware of Laurent's reputation as one of the meanest men in New York, then realized that it wouldn't matter. Rick stood up for his beliefs.

  A small army of waiters carried in the first lunch course, temporarily heading off Laurent's reaction. As soon as they left the room, he exploded. "Are you saying I don't know how to manage?"

  Rick shrugged. "You seem to get results. I notice, though, that you've lost most of your senior management over the past five years."

  Laurent bit off a reply when DiGratten put a hand on his shoulder. "He is from Texas, sir."

  "Don't they teach manners in that damn state?"

  Jennifer's protective instincts had gone into overdrive hours before. Now they revved even higher. She'd seen what Rick could do. These New York types shouldn't judge him just because they didn't like the message he delivered. Or the way he delivered it. Especially since he was probably right about why Laurent's management staff was so ... mobile..

  "I would think Wall Street would be concerned about your lack of a strong succession plan," she broke in. "Your stock trend hasn't reflected your earnings pattern."

  "Who the hell are you?" Laurent demanded.

  "This is Jennifer Hollman," DiGratten said. "She's their P.R. director."

  Jennifer hadn't realized DiGratten had paid any attention to their introductions. All of her attention had appeared focused on Rick.

  "Should be doing shareholder relations," Laurent said. "Do it."

  An icy chill ran down Jennifer's back. Was he really saying what she thought he was? "I already have a job."

  Laurent gave her a feral glare. "You'll earn twice as much as these fly-by-nights pay you."

  "I'm sorry, sir."

  Rick pushed back his chair. "I'm sorry too. I thought we were here to discuss possible business synergy, not to let you pirate our talent. And trust me, I don't have to come all the way to New York to find out how uncouth I am."

  "You aren't going anywhere, young man," Laurent sputtered.

  "Mr. Laurent, watch me."

  Rick stood and strode from the room. Eric followed on his heels.

  Jennifer's back was to the window and she found her way out blocked by Laurent on one side and DiGratten on the other. Neither budged when she struggled to her feet. "Let me out, please."

  DiGratten put a hand on her shoulder. "Give me a minute, Ms. Hollman."

  "Why should I? You've insulted my boss and wasted our time. Maybe you don't have anything better to do than play sadistic games. We have a business to run."

  "Neither of us wants to waste your time. Frankly, we don't have much time ourselves. Mr. Laurent is sick."

  The blunt announcement startled Jennifer. "That doesn't give him the right to be rude."

  "No." Because she was such an accomplished actress, it was hard to tell what emotions DiGratten really felt. This looked like a genuine smile, though. "Mr. Laurent was a son of a bitch a long time before he got sick."

  "Damned right. Have to drive the business," Laurent said.

  "I'm sorry to hear you're not well," Jennifer said. "But I don't see how it helps, nor why you are keeping me against my will." She wondered if she could climb under the table before DiGratten grabbed her.

  DiGratten dropped her hand from Jennifer's shoulder. "I'm not completely blind, Ms. Hollman. From what I can see, you care deeply about Mr. Engle. I'm asking you to stay because we have a proposition we think will benefit him a great deal."

  "It's a lot better deal than he deserves," Laurent added. "If he listens to you."

  ***

  Rick tersely asked the taxi driver, Casper Kowalski, to drive faster. When he didn't appear to hear, Rick attempted the phrase in Polish. He'd picked up a few phrases from one of his mother's boyfriends.

  "Stick yourself," the driver replied.

  "I guess I misspoke," Rick said.

  "You say I go to toilet," the driver told him. "I take you to hotel very fast, so shut up."

  "That’s the third time we passed this intersection," Eric said. "Maybe we should walk."

  "Right." Rick opened the door, handing the driver a twenty.

  "Hundred seventy dollars," the driver insisted.

  Rick forced himself to unball his fists. He wanted to go home to Texas and get away from this. The last thing he needed was to spend a night in jail for assaulting one of New York's famous taxi drivers.

  "I've got it," Eric told him.

  The driver finally rolled away shouting curses or possibly blessings at them at the top of his lungs.

  "He didn't like my tip," Eric said.

  "He would have liked mine even less."

  The two men headed north toward their hotel. Rick's anger at Mr. Laurent's behavior had faded. So what was his problem? He couldn't be mad at Jennifer just because she had stayed when he and Eric had walked out. They'd waited for ten minutes outside the restaurant, but Jennifer hadn't showed. Obviously they'd sweetened the job offer. More to the point, they could give her the classy environment she was used to.

  Jennifer would fit right in. He never would.

  "I think we should try out your concepts on the TV networks," Eric told him. "Not everyone will be as blind as Hudson Media."

  "If I have to spend another day in New York, I'll hurl."

  Making better time than they would have in the taxi, the two men arrived at the hotel in less than half an hour.

  To Rick's surprise, Jennifer awaited them in the lobby.

  "Locked out again?" he asked.

  "I wanted to talk."

  "I understand why you'd reconsider their offer," he said in an attempt to be magnanimous.

  "That's part of what I wanted to talk to you about."

  "Talk away. I'm getting drunk."

  "It's only four in the afternoon."

  "It took me a while to get here. Otherwise I would have started earlier."

  Jennifer took a deep breath.

  Despite himself, Rick's gaze was drawn to her breasts' movement under her suit jacket.

  "Mr. Laurent is dying."

  Rick shook his head. "So are lots of other people."

  "Hudson Media doesn't have a succession plan. You hit that one right on the head."

  Rick signaled for the cocktail waitress. "A double margarita." He turned to Jennifer. "You want one?"

  "No."

  "Make that two
. I'll drink yours if you don't want it."

  He waited until the waitress brought him his drink, drained it, then drained hers.

  From the way Jennifer looked at him, obviously she didn't approve. Well, he didn't either. He hadn't gotten drunk since he'd left the Marines.

  "You'll make a great addition to the Hudson Media team," he conceded. The thought of her a thousand miles away was harder to take than losing her at tattoo.com.

  "Will you listen to me, or do I have to order a frozen fish and jam it in your eye?" Jennifer demanded.

  "Hmm. Can I think about it?"

  She didn't crack a smile.

  Rick broke first. "All right, talk."

  He wondered what would be possible for someone with her background and poise and his own drive. He spent half his life fighting for what Jennifer owned by virtue of birth and upbringing. Days like today proved that no amount of money could buy that for him.

  "DiGratten and Laurent aren't just looking to hire me. They want to hire you and Eric too."

  "Did you mention that we already have jobs?"

  "They're looking to do a deal. They want to merge with tattoo.com and make you President of the combined company. You move to CEO when Laurent steps down next year, if he lives that long."

  He pushed away his third drink and stared at Jennifer. "What are you talking about?"

  "They need someone who can understand the new economy. They think you might be that person."

  "That's manure. They think I'm low-life scum."

  Jennifer gave him a funny look then took the drink from the table in front of him and helped herself to a big swallow. "You might be right. You know who else thinks that, though?"

  "Who?" He was pretty sure he knew the answer--she did.

  "You do."

  "Now what are you talking about?"

  "You've persuaded yourself that you're a low-class guy who could never fit into New York society."

  "I wouldn't want to fit into New York society."

  Jennifer nodded slowly. "That's a point. But it doesn't let you off the hook. You're intimidated by them."

  Rick bit off his rejoinder. Jennifer was right. He hadn't just rejected the world of the rich and snobby, he'd cut himself off from it. It had been an understandable reaction for a teen-aged boy. As a grown man, he had to get over it.

  "I had every right to walk out of that lunch," he said, less vehemently than his earlier arguments.

  “You let them intimidate you and you ran.”

  Suppose I am intimidated. I meant it walking out at lunch."

  "That was part of Mr. Laurent's test. I think he wanted to make sure you wouldn't just cave in."

  Rick munched a handful of pretzels, then took a sip of water. "Sounds like a no-win situation to me."

  Jennifer nodded. "Except it isn't the end of the game. Hudson Media is planning an analyst meeting tomorrow. They want you to present your plans. If it goes well, they'll announce their intent to merge with tattoo.com."

  He shook his head. "Another roomful of suits to sneer at me. You can't take the slum out of a guy in twenty-four hours."

  "You're wrong," Jennifer told him. "You can be whoever you want to be, and you can do it by tomorrow. I'll help."

  Chapter Eleven

  "I'm not going to wear these wimpy slippers," Rick growled. "I'm a Texan. I wear boots."

  The tailor Jennifer had hired wrung his hands and made puffy gestures with his cheeks. "But--"

  "But nothing," Rick interrupted before the tailor could get started again. "Lots of men wear boots with suits."

  "That's fine," Jennifer agreed. "Wear the boots."

  Rick looked incredible in the Italian wool suit and starched white shirt. The gold-coin cuff links added a masculine class that surprised her. His boots added rather than detracted from the look. He'd never pass as an effete New Yorker, but that wasn't the goal.

  "But--" the tailor didn't know how to quit when he was ahead.

  "That will be all," Jennifer told him, giving his hand a friendly squeeze to soften her abruptness.

  The tailor huffed again, but eventually nodded and walked out.

  "You look fabulous," she told Rick.

  "I look like a stuffed shirt."

  She couldn't resist that invitation. Jennifer ran her hands lightly down the front of his starched shirt. "Hmm. This stuffing feels completely natural to me."

  "You know what I meant."

  "You don't have to do this, you know," Jennifer reminded him.

  "If my dressing like a monkey can make the tattoo.com team rich, I'll dress like a monkey. That doesn't mean I like it."

  It figured Rick would be more concerned about the other tattoo.com employees than he was about himself. That was part of Rick, Jennifer realized. Despite apparent differences, they shared that empathy at the core of their souls.

  Of course if monkeys really looked like Rick, a lot of women would spend their lives at the zoo. She straightened his tie. "You look great."

  "Right. I'm fixin' to bring the roof down. Let's get Eric and go."

  "Oh, Rick. One more thing."

  "What?"

  "People in New York are funny about accents. If you talk like a Texan, they think you're a hick."

  "That's a laugh considering some of the accents I've heard around here."

  "Please."

  Rick winked. "I think I can pass."

  His southern drawl had vanished completely although he sounded more California than New York. Probably something he'd picked up in the Marines, she realized.

  "And remember," she told him, "rich people aren't any different from anyone else. Project an attitude of confidence and people will believe in you." It should be easy for Rick. His air of calm self-assurance came from deep inside of what made him the special man he was. The special man, Jennifer realized, that she had fallen in love with.

  "I'll do that," he told her.

  "Then let's go," Jennifer heard herself urge.

  They walked down to the waiting limousine. To Jennifer's amusement, Eric and Rick battled to get the door for her, both beating the chauffeur by a mile.

  "You look nice too, Eric," she commented as the three settled in the back cabin of the oversized vehicle.

  "If you tell anyone I was dressed like this, you're fired," he growled. But the corner of his mouth quirked up. He was pleased at the compliment.

  Jennifer froze when they walked into the analyst meeting. There had to be two hundred analysts and, at the front of the room, a table was laid out with name-tags for Earnest Laurent, Sophia DiGratten, Rick Engles, Eric Wilson, and herself. "What am I doing up there?" she whispered when she found her voice.

  "Effective P.R. is a key part of the plan," Rick told her. "I insisted that you be given a seat."

  "I can't talk in front of all of these people."

  "You'll do fine. Just remember to hide the Texas accent."

  She supposed turn-around was fair play. Still, all she'd done was to help Rick dress as who he really was--a successful business man who knew the new world of electronic commerce like he knew the contours of a woman's body. She was the fraud.

  Laurent gave Rick a hard stare as he climbed the stairs to the table, then nodded grimly. "I didn't figure you would go along. Looks like Sophia was right about you."

  Rick nodded. "Can we get this show on the road?"

  For the next two hours, Rick dazzled the stock analysts with his proposals to pull Hudson Media into the twenty-first century. Jennifer watched as he gradually caught their attention. They went from sitting back in their chairs with arms crossed to panting after every word, scribbling down what he had to say.

  Rick even skillfully wove Eric and Jennifer into his presentation, allowing Jennifer to describe the target demographics and how they could appeal to a younger more hip audience, and Eric to detail the operations side of the combined enterprise.

  "That's the plan," he concluded.

  Dead silence greeted his announcement. Then, after ten se
conds Jennifer thought would never end, one of the hardened analysts pulled himself from his daze and brought his hands together in a hard clap.

  The applause almost deafened Jennifer. It continued for better than a minute before Laurent stood and waved for silence.

  "As a part of this proposal, Hudson Media will be merging with tattoo.com. Mr. Engles will join the Hudson/tattoo.com family as President and Chief Operating Officer. In eighteen months, I intend to step down. At that time, Mr. Engles will take over as Chairman as well." He turned toward Rick and stuck out his hand.

  For a painful instant, Jennifer wondered if Rick planned to turn his back on the man who had insulted him only twenty-four hours earlier. Then he reached out and grasped the older man's hand in his own.

  "Welcome aboard, son," Laurent said.

  ***

  This should be the best week of his life, Rick told himself. He really was rich, had been invited to appear on Wall Street Week of all things, and his mailbox was full of letters from women from around the world with proposals and propositions including marriage, just about every sexual activity he'd ever heard of, and a few he hadn't. So why was he miserable?

  Eric walked into his office with a batch of identical envelopes. "You're going to have some pretty happy people out there."

  Rick looked at the stack. "Yeah. I'd better get to work."

  Rather than leaving, Eric pulled up a chair. "Want to tell me what's wrong?"

  "What could possibly be wrong? We just got paid half a billion dollars for our company, we end up getting to manage a huge media conglomerate and don't even have to give up control of tattoo.com."

  Eric stood, walked around to Rick's coffee maker and poured himself a cup of coffee. He leaned against Rick's desk and took a sip. "You could tell her you love her and see what happens."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Just because I'm a guy doesn't make me blind. You have it bad for Jennifer Hollman. So tell her."

  "I asked her to stay. What more can I do?"

  Eric took another slow sip from his coffee mug. "You're the genius. I suspect you can figure out an answer."