The Women in His Life. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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plenty. I believe they went as high as two hundred and seventy million dollars.’
‘What’s the catch?’
‘There isn’t one. At least, not for us. If we owned Winonda we could sell the real-estate holdings tomorrow. And to the same Japanese company. They’re standing in the wings. Waiting. They’ll wait in vain, of course, as long as Bishop’s the president of Winonda. You see, his father died in a Japanese prisoner-of-war camp, that’s why he won’t strike a deal with them.’
When Maxim said nothing, Graeme remarked in a low voice, ‘Put very simply, he’s letting his personal feelings get in the way.’
Maxim was thoughtful. After a moment he glanced at her. ‘You have good vibes about this deal, don’t you?’
‘Absolutely, Boss!’
‘So do I. And I have from the beginning, ever since you put forward Winonda as a possibility for us. Call Peter tomorrow, tell him to get the acquisition team moving at once. And good for you, Grae. I’m impressed. You must have done a great deal of research.’
Graeme shook her head. ‘A little, but not as much as you probably think. By one of those odd coincidences, my cousin Sara lives in Seattle now. She’s with a bank. I asked her about Winonda, after you’d told me to go ahead and analyse the situation. She mentioned that some Japanese company had been sniffing around. She’d heard about their interest in the Winonda real estate through her boyfriend, who’s a partner in an accounting firm. There was a nasty leak from somewhere, I suspect.’
She grinned at Maxim. ‘I guess you’re right about shredding machines, Boss. You can’t be too careful. In any event, I ran with the information Sara had passed on to me and had it checked out. It proved to be correct.’ Graeme stopped, cleared her throat. ‘The stockholders of the Winonda Group might not be too happy to learn that their president passed up millions of dollars for a parcel of real estate that nobody else seems to want. Poor judgement on Bishop’s part, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I can understand his reasoning in some ways. But yes, I suppose in the final analysis you’re right, Graeme.’
‘As the president and CEO of a public company he ought to have put personal sentiments aside,’ she stated in a voice that was surprisingly cold and deliberate.
Maxim gave her a swift look. He knew how tough, even ruthless, she could be at times. But her assessment of Bishop seemed harsh. Fleetingly, a faint shadow crossed his face. He frowned. ‘Yes,’ he said laconically, having no wish to continue this conversation, and reached for his glass.
Graeme sat back, gazed at him through appraising eyes. A muscle twitched on his cheek and he appeared strained all of a sudden and she wondered why. She was about to ask him if something was wrong and then changed her mind immediately. He was a very private man, never revealed much about himself or his feelings, and he hated anyone to pry, to try to winkle their way behind that powerful facade of his.
She lifted her flute of untouched champagne. ‘Cheers,’ she said. ‘Here’s to the Winonda Group. May it soon be ours.’
Maxim said, ‘To Winonda.’
She took another long swallow of the Dom Perignon, began to relax for the first time that day. They fell silent for a short while, both caught up in the complexity of their own thoughts. It was Graeme who spoke first, breaking the momentary lull. ‘How did your meeting with Alan Trenton go?’
‘It wasn’t with Alan. Oh, he was there, of course, but he wanted me to meet his merchant banker, John Vale of Morgan Lane, who had a proposition for me.’
‘What kind of proposition?’ she asked, her eyes instantly lighting up. Like Maxim she was excited by business, and the prospect of cutting a new deal thrilled her. It gave her a high in much the same way it did him.
‘To come to the rescue of Lister Newspapers,’ he said.
Graeme let out a long, low whistle that was audible only to Maxim. ‘My, my, that is something,’ she said in a soft voice. ‘And?’
Maxim began to tell her what had transpired earlier that evening, leaving nothing out.
Graeme listened avidly, giving him her full attention, not once interrupting him, knowing how he detested interruptions, but at the same time wondering what he would do, asking herself whether he would go after the Lister empire. Her mind raced. He was tough-minded, fearless when it came to business, but not really a gambler. He was too cautious to be that. And Lister might well prove to be something of a gamble. Rectitude and prudence he had in abundance, and she admired those traits in him. Yet, when she looked back over the seven years she had worked for him, there had been times when he had taken chances, and now, on reflection, it occurred to her that they had been rather big chances at that. Would he consider Lister Newspapers worth the risk? One never knew with him. He was so hard to read accurately – and to second guess. He might do anything, jump either way. He called her his good right hand. The problem was, most of the time she never knew what his left hand was doing.
Perhaps it was the contradictions, the unexpected in him that she found so fascinating – and irresistible. She stifled a sigh. She had always been a little bit in love with him, even though he had never displayed one iota of interest in her. Not as a woman, at any rate. Oh, he paid her lovely compliments about her appearance, said flattering things about her work, but that was as far as it went. She was his executive assistant, and therefore forbidden. He was far too involved with his business ever to mix it with anything that remotely smacked of pleasure, sex or love.
And besides, he was married – of course! And there were hints of another woman.
Still, there were times, like now, when they were not in a work environment, when she sat looking at him, listening to his mellifluous voice, enjoying his company, that she fell completely under his spell, became hopelessly vulnerable to him. He was the most dangerously attractive man she had ever met. It was not only his face, his powerful dark gaze, his elegance and distinction, but the enigma of him. For there was something extremely mysterious about Maximilian West.
And of course there was his charm. Maxim had fatal charm, the kind that makes women commit terrible indiscretions. He was a natural born lady-killer who, without doing one single thing, had women flinging themselves at him. Then again, on yet another level, there was the intellect, the brains, the drive, the energy, the ambition and the success. It was a combination that spelled one thing – power. And power was exciting to her, an extraordinary aphrodisiac like no other she had ever known.
‘You look as if you’re drifting off into Never-Never Land with Peter Pan and Wendy,’ Maxim exclaimed somewhat sharply for him, giving her a hard stare.
‘I’m right here and standing to attention, figuratively speaking that is,’ she said, forever swift on the draw and ready with a riposte. ‘If I appear to have a glazed expression it’s only because I’m concentrating on your words, Boss. And truly, I have heard everything you’ve just said.’ She offered him a bright, reassuring smile. ‘Let me sum up for you – John Vale of Morgan Lane wants you to be the white knight for Lister. Everyone involved wants it.’
‘That’s right,’ he said more mildly, sounding mollified.
‘And you’re not interested, are you?’ she went on, hoping to prove to him that she had indeed been listening, had picked up the nuances implicit in his voice. Her eyes held his.
‘No, I don’t think I am,’ he admitted.
‘Are the figures that poor?’
‘On the contrary, they’re quite impressive. In fact, the company’s in great shape.’ He let out a sigh. ‘It’s me, Grae. I’m just not excited about it, I guess. Not enough excited, anyway. No fire in my gut. I don’t believe I want to pick up my sword and go into combat for a newspaper empire. That’s more up Rupert Murdoch’s alley. Come to think of it, John Vale ought to have asked Rupert to be the white knight, not me.’
Maxim stopped, laughed ruefully. ‘Vale is dropping