The Medusa Proposition Page 7

  The thought made him shudder. But it did give him an idea. He leaned forward. “Have lunch with me today.”

  She glanced up at him, startled. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not at all. Come as my guest. I’m dining with Jeremy Smythe.”

  “Smythe? The J. Smythe of Smythe Industries?” she exclaimed.

  Ha. That had gotten her attention. “The very same.”

  Conflict raged in her eyes. Smythe was a far sight more reclusive even than Tom—the man never made public appearances and all but never left his sprawling Sussex estate in England. It had been a huge coup when the planners of this conference had convinced Smythe to attend and lend his financial expertise to the proceedings.

  And Tom had just offered Paige a chance to talk to the guy. At length. In private. It would be the scoop of the year…if she got over being mad at him and accepted his offer. Aah. Pride or professional success. It was a terrible dilemma.

  He enjoyed watching her wrestle through the decision as it danced through her expressive eyes. He could look into those baby blues all day long and never get bored.

  And then, finally, they narrowed at him in irritation. “This is blackmail, you know.”

  “Of course it is. If you want access to Smythe, you’ve got to spend more time with me.”

  She leaned back in her chair, folded her napkin and laid it beside her plate. Deliberately, she stood up. He rose to his feet, as well. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rowe, but neither I nor my career are for sale. Have a nice lunch with Mr. Smythe, and do send him my regrets.”

  And with that, she walked with silent, athletic grace to the door, picked up her bag of running clothes and toiletries and let herself out.

  He stared, flummoxed, at the closed door. “Sonofa— She can’t possibly walk away from lunch with Smythe!”

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. Rowe?” Gretchen stepped through the office just then.

  If she was startled by his rare outburst, she kept it to herself and said smoothly, “Shall I contact Mr. Smythe’s assistant and have him add Miss Ellis to your lunch itinerary?”

  He exploded up out of his chair with a curse and flung down his napkin. “No, dammit!”

  Gretchen did stare at him then in mild shock. Yeah. He knew exactly how she felt. No woman had turned him down flat like that in…hell, ever. He’d offered Paige the one thing she wanted more than to hate him, and she’d walked away from it. From him!

  He stormed out of the room, swearing, without bothering to take his neatly printed daily itinerary from Gretchen.

  Paige took the exquisitely fragile porcelain cup of perfectly prepared Earl Grey tea and carefully lifted it to her lips. “Thank you so much for speaking with me, Mr. Smythe. I must say, this has been a delightful conversation. You’re every bit as brilliant and charming as I’d heard.”

  The silver-haired octogenarian seated in a wheelchair opposite her laughed gaily. “Oh, no, Miss Ellis. It has been my pleasure, indeed. When Henry Stanforth called and asked me to take a meeting with you, how could I resist? Any young lady who can muster a former U.S. president to make her appointments I have to meet. And you have not disappointed. No, indeed, not.”

  She smiled over at him warmly. It probably hadn’t been exactly sporting of her to take blatant advantage of her Medusa contacts to wrangle this short-notice interview with the great J. Smythe himself, but darned if she was going to let Thomas Rowe get the best of her.

  The elderly man chortled. “Our young Mr. Rowe should be along any minute. Do you have any further questions for me before he arrives, Miss Ellis?”

  “No questions. But if I may speak to you off the record for a moment?”

  The piercing intelligence that had made him one of the richest men in the world flashed in Smythe’s gaze. “Methinks we come to the real purpose of your visit today, young lady.”

  Yep. A smart cookie, he was. “I have some information for you, sir. And a warning.”

  “Do tell.”

  “It is not public knowledge yet, and his family is probably only just now being informed of it, but Takashi Ando has been murdered.”

  Smythe jolted. “How do you know this?” he demanded.

  “Let us be frank. You know who I work with, do you not?”

  He nodded. “I have a good idea. Your…sisters…have been most helpful to me on a prior occasion.”

  “Then trust me, sir. I saw his body myself. Ando is dead, and he did not die by natural means. Furthermore, there was an attempt on Thomas Rowe’s life last night. Sadly, it failed.”

  Symthe’s mouth twitched momentarily. “You’re here, then, to warn me to be careful? As the only other private businessman invited to this summit you think my life is in danger? Is that it?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I thank you for your concern, Miss Ellis. I assure you, though, that my security team is of the very highest caliber.”

  Vanessa had mentioned in the call earlier—when Paige had asked her boss to pull strings and get her a meeting with Smythe—that his security team were all former SAS men—British Special Forces.

  Paige’s reporter side kicked in again. “Do you have any idea who might want to eliminate you, Mr. Rowe and Mr. Ando?”

  Smythe leaned back, assessing her alertly. He knew something. Her reporter’s instinct smelled it. She leaned forward, staring directly into his eyes. “We’re still speaking off the record. You know who I am. Who I represent. If you know something, I need to hear it so I can do my job. My real job.”

  “A reporter and a special operator,” Smythe mused. “I’d like to know how you manage to juggle both.”

  “It’s not easy,” she muttered.

  “All right then. Here’s the thing,” he announced in a sudden decision. “I was contacted a few weeks ago. Offered the deal of a lifetime. What amounts to an entire country is being sold off by its leader for pennies on the pound. Tens of billions of dollars’ worth of assets liquidated at fire-sale prices. The seller is going to be at the summit. Said he’d give me the full details here.”

  Paige frowned. “I’m sorry, but what does that have to do with Takashi-san’s death and Mr. Rowe’s near death?”

  “Don’t you see? They were likely offered the same deal I was. Maybe even other players here, too. Perhaps someone doesn’t want to enter into a bidding war for the whole kit and kaboodle and has decided to kill off the competition.”

  “Who’s the seller?”

  “I have no idea. More than a few emerging nations have overstretched themselves financially over the past few years or decades. Any one of them could be looking for a quick infusion of cash to prevent economic collapse.”

  “So they’re selling their country?”

  Smythe shook his head. “Not officially. Technically, it’s merely controlling interest in the key production resources within the country. I haven’t received the dossier of specific assets for sale yet. I expect to get it any day, though.”

  Well, then. That explained a lot. Too bad Tom Rowe hadn’t seen fit to share the same information with her when he helped her fish Takashi Ando’s body out of the Pacific Ocean. Or when she’d risked her life to catch the guy who’d tried to kill him. What a colossal jerk!

  A neatly dressed man opened the double doors into the library and announced, “Mr. Rowe has arrived.”

  Smythe replied, “Right on time. This is going to be entertaining. Send him in, Chester.”

  Frantically, Paige tried to pull her scattered thoughts together. Tom hadn’t acted the least bit surprised when he had seen Ando’s body. He hadn’t told her about the deal. Was he the one trying to eliminate the competition?

  Tom strode into the room, all cheerful confidence and energy. “Hello there, Jeremy! Long time no—”

  He broke off, staring at Paige.

  She smiled icy daggers back at him. “So nice of you to join us, Mr. Rowe. We were just having a most informative conversation, Mr. Smythe and I.”

  “What are you doing here?” Tom
burst out.

  She answered lightly, “Why, my job, of course. And speaking of which, I think I’m finished. Thank you so much for your time and hospitality, Mr. Smythe. It has truly been an honor and a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine, my dear. All mine.” The man’s voiced wavered with unholy amusement as he glanced back and forth between her and Tom. She got the feeling the old geezer was seeing far more than she’d have liked him to in the sparks crackling between her and Tom.

  She stood up to leave and moved over to Smythe’s wheelchair to shake his hand. The papery claws were strong as he held her hand and forced her to meet his gaze. “Thank you for your kindness, Miss Ellis. And please do visit me again.”

  “I will, sir.”

  With a last smile for him as Smythe released her hand, she turned on her heel and headed for the door. Unfortunately, she had to brush right past Tom to get there.

  “What are you up to?” he muttered as she drew near.

  “Don’t you wish you knew?” she replied breezily. “Have a nice lunch, gentlemen.”

  Wheezy laughter floated her way as she reached the doors. “Thomas, my boy, I think you’ve finally met your match. You two make a good pair. I must say, I envy you. Were I forty years younger, I’d give you a run for your money with her. Frankly, I’m not entirely sure you deserve her.”

  Paige’s cheeks burst into flame as she pulled the heavy doors shut on Smythe’s voice.

  “Yes, indeed, boy. You’re in for a hell of ride with that one, you are.”

  Chapter 7

  “And we’ll be back after the break with five tips on how to clean up your financial house this year.” The teleprompter went blank, the camera’s red light went off and Paige let the bright smile fade from her face.

  “Sixty seconds,” Greer announced from behind the cameraman, “and then we’ll go to a live feed with Mitch and the American delegation head.”

  “Got it,” she replied. She made an adjustment to her earbud and smoothed her hair.

  A ruckus erupted by the door and she looked up in time to see Tom Rowe put a nifty wristlock on the lighting technician and shove the guy out of his way. Rowe growled, “Paige, you and I need to have a little talk. Now.”

  Ha. Must’ve just finished his lunch with Smythe. “Not now. I’m in the middle of a broadcast.”

  “Tough. Someone else can fill in.” He strode onto the brightly lit set, squarely between her and the camera.

  “No, they can’t! I’m the on-air anchor and we are back in…”

  “Thirty seconds,” Greer announced sharply. In a loud voice aimed at Tom, he added, “Somebody get this guy out of here, dammit!”

  “Anybody touches me, I’ll rip their arm off,” Tom snarled back.

  Trepidation erupted in Paige. She’d seen him irritated before but never ready to completely lose it like this. He looked worse than furious. He looked downright deadly.

  “Please, Tom,” she murmured soothingly.

  Greer said desperately, “You can have her in two minutes, Rowe. But she’s got to throw the broadcast to a sound bite and then back to the New York office.” Tom opened his mouth to protest, but Greer cut him off. “Swear to God. Two minutes. Now get out!”

  A production assistant announced frantically, “We go live in five…four…three…”

  Paige sent a pleading look in Tom’s direction. He scowled blackly, but stepped out of camera range just as the red light over camera one illuminated.

  “I’m Paige Ellis, reporting live from the site of the upcoming global economic summit. We take you now to Mitchell Cameron who’s with the American delegation chief. Hi, Mitch. What can you tell us about American expectations for next week’s meetings?”

  The director pointed to a monitor, and the engineer switched feeds. The red light went off over camera one.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped at Tom. “You can’t just barge in on a live newscast! How’d you get in anyway? The door’s locked.”

  Tom snorted. “Yeah. Just like the door to my suite.”

  She winced. Okay, so he could pick a lock as easily as she could. Still. “I’m at work, here.”

  “You mess with me, I mess with you. Seems fair, don’t you think?”

  Greer interjected, “We’re coming back to you in twenty, Paige. Can you two lovebirds wrap up your spat so I can put on a newscast, here?”

  She glared at her boss. Why did everyone assume she and Rowe were romantically involved, dammit? They were so not a pair.

  “One minute,” Greer pleaded with Rowe. “Stand over here by me and keep your mouth shut. And then I give you my blessing to haul her out of here and fight with her all you like.”

  Paige wasn’t sure whose gaze narrowed more, hers or Tom’s. But either way, he grudgingly did as he was asked and backed off the set once more. The teleprompter lit up and she dragged her attention to it, concentrating fiercely on the individual words, but unable to string meaning together from them in her own jumbled mind. She prayed that it had been typed in correctly because whatever scrolled past was exactly what she read.

  Finally, an eternity later, the screen went dark, and Greer passed the broadcast back to the New York office. Paige surged up out of her seat, furious. “Rowe, you ever interrupt a taping of the news like that again, and you’ll be the one with the broken arm!”

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  She glared hotly but asked coolly, “That’s a nasty scratch you’ve got on your neck. You need some shaving lessons, maybe? How’d you get that, anyway?”

  He glared back. “Cat scratched me. Pesky vermin, cats.”

  “Jerk.”

  He lunged and she reflexively dodged backward, tripping as her heel caught on a row of electrical wires taped to the floor. Tom grabbed her so fast she barely had time to lose her balance before he righted her roughly by the elbow. He didn’t let go of her arm once she was back on her feet. “Come with me, Miss Ellis. We need to have a word in private.”

  She tried to yank her elbow free, but his grip was like steel and had about as much give. Vaguely aware of the smirks of the crew as he dragged her out of the bureau by force, she continued to struggle against him as they approached the hotel lobby. He didn’t let go, however, and continued to hustle her through the cavernous space.

  “Let go of me, Rowe. You’re creating a spectacle.” “Quit fighting me and there won’t be a spectacle.”

  He was right, but that didn’t mean she had to like it one bit. Scowling at him, she subsided purely to save what little reputation she had left as he all but goose-stepped her past the crowd of delegates milling about waiting for a scheduled press conference to begin.

  He didn’t stop until he’d pulled her into an elevator and the door slid closed. Only then did her let her go so he could slam in his key card for the top floor. Then he turned aggressively and planted a hand on either side of her head against the back wall of the elevator.

  “What the hell were you doing talking to Jeremy Smythe?” he demanded.

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about the little side deal you’ve got brewing here?” she demanded in return.

  “He told you about that?” Tom sounded surprised.

  “Yeah. Funny how you didn’t bother to bring it up when you were staring at your competition for the deal—dead in a bag.”

  Tom’s voice rose in outrage. “You don’t seriously think I had anything to do with Ando’s death, do you?”

  Not for a minute did she actually think he’d killed Ando. She may have considered the idea for a moment or two when Smythe first told her about the deal. But if she was honest with herself, she knew she could trust Tom. But in the name of investigating the murder, she needed to see how he reacted to the idea of being under suspicion. She shrugged, keeping her facial expression carefully stony. “Why not? What reason have you given me to trust you?”

  He sputtered. “You’d question me? My trustworthiness?”

  She pr
essed the point. “Yes, Tom. I would. I consider you a prime suspect in Ando’s murder.”

  “What about the shooter last night? Someone’s trying to kill me, too.”

  “Yeah, and he missed,” she retorted. “You could’ve hired someone to take a potshot at you to throw suspicion.”

  “Oh, come on. If I wanted to kill someone, I damned well wouldn’t leave a mutilated body lying around to wash up on a beach! I’m better than that.”

  “You’re right. You are a trained killer.” He still wasn’t giving her an unguarded reaction. She pushed harder, asking with light sarcasm, “So you’re telling me you’re not physically capable of knocking off Ando?”

  He stared down at her, and she was relieved to see he looked genuinely shocked. “I’m a billionaire. Several times over. Why would I want to kill anyone when I can buy absolutely everything I want in life for myself?”

  She didn’t like pushing him like this, but it had to be done. She answered coldly, “You can’t buy everything, Tom. Or everyone.”

  His gaze raked down her derisively. “I can buy everyone I want.”

  She reeled at the insult in his voice. Okay, so she deserved the hit for pushing him like this. But it still hurt like hell. So. He didn’t actually want her. All those sparks were exactly what they appeared to be, then. Irritation, plain and simple. Nothing more. Something inside her deflated. She’d thought…okay, so it had been stupid to think he might be interested in her. Still, it had been fun to imagine the bad boy billionaire falling for her. To be the one woman who could turn the head of a man like Thomas Rowe.

  This entire conversation sucked. Really sucked. C’mon, Tom. Gimme an honest, unguarded reaction so I can back off.

  She struck a cold tone of voice calculated to get a rise out of him. “It’s not about the money with you. It’s about winning. You’d do anything to be the one who lands the biggest fish. To be the guy who makes the deal of the century. I think it’s entirely possible that you’d kill off your competition in order to win.”