Affair with the Rebel Heiress / The Magnate's Pregnancy Proposal. Emily McKay
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Jonathon shrugged. “It never hurts.”
Annoyed, Ford continued speaking. “I know her well enough to know she’s not going to back out of a business deal for personal reasons.”
Jonathon tapped his fingers across the mouse pad while he waited for the slow hotel wireless connection to load the results page. “I hope you’re right. Kitty owns nearly sixty percent of the company. If we don’t have her on board, the deal will never go through, regardless of whether or not we can convince anyone else.”
“I know that.” His tone was a little sharper than he’d intended.
Jonathon raised his hands in a gesture of defense. “Just reminding you.” He clicked on a page, then sat back, waiting for it to load. “If she backs out now, we’ve wasted a decent chunk of change. And I don’t like wasting time, either.”
“She’s not going to back out. Selling Biedermann’s to us is going to make her a lot of money. That’s all the incentive she needs. She’s been rich all her life and we’re going to make her richer. There’s nothing else we need to know.”
But by then Jonathon had leaned forward to read whatever Pandora’s box Google had pulled up. He let out a low whistle.
“What?” Ford demanded.
“You might want to read what Suzy Snark has to say before you say anything else that’ll get you in trouble.”
Tension seized Ford’s stomach. “Who?”
“Suzy Snark. She’s a gossip blogger here in New York. Talks about Kitty every once in a while.” He looked up at Ford. “You didn’t really read that report from Wendy, did you? Suzy Snark was mentioned multiple times.”
The tension that had started in his gut seeped through the rest of his body, leaving him frozen on the spot. He should just cross the room and take the damn laptop from Jonathan, but no matter what orders his brain issued, his feet weren’t following them.
Finally he said, “Stop being so damn cryptic and just tell me what the damn thing says.”
“Trust me, you’re going to want to read this yourself.”
He took the laptop from Jonathan and sat back down on the sofa, only vaguely aware of Jonathan walking away to give him privacy. As he read, his tension coalesced into cold, hard anger.
A few minutes later, Jonathan returned, holding out a shot of Scotch from the hotel’s courtesy bar. Ford carefully set the laptop on the coffee table before accepting the drink. He took several long drinks, then realized his knuckles were turning white from gripping the glass too tightly.
Finally he stood and headed for the door with grim determination, almost too angry to speak.
“Where are you going?” Jonathan asked.
“To find Kitty.”
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