Taming the Takeover Tycoon. Robyn Grady
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a luxury German make.
“Fresh off the assembly line?” she asked.
His laugh was warm and deep. “You think you can guilt me out, Becca?”
“I hope I can open your eyes.”
He looked across at her again and this time when he took in her jeans, Becca sensed he was labeling her, slotting her into another compartment in his head. The very idea set her teeth on edge.
“You didn’t come from money,” he said.
He didn’t need to know the whole story—or not at this early stage in the game.
“My parents own a bakery.”
He threw her a surprised look and held it before concentrating again on the traffic.
“I’m one of four,” she went on. “We kids were taught that we needed to take responsibility for others in society who were less fortunate. Giving back and being community-minded are the secret not only to a happy life but also a happier world. During my senior year, I volunteered at hospitals and nursing homes....”
Attention on the road, his gaze had gone glassy. Becca cleared her throat.
“Am I boring you, Jack?”
“You could never bore me.” He rubbed his freshly shaven jaw, which still had the shadow of persistent stubble. “It’s just that I’ve traveled a few miles since school.”
She appealed to Jack Reed’s ego. “I can’t imagine how much you’ve learned since then. How much you could pass on.”
“Is that what we’re doing? You want me to give a talk to schoolkids about aiming for the stars?”
“A fair percentage of the kids we’ll see today have battled depression and suicidal thoughts and some have even attempted to end their own lives.”
From the way a pulse had suddenly begun to pop in his cheek, finally she had his attention.
She indicated a driveway. “In there.”
The public secondary high school had around three thousand students, grades nine through twelve. Its multi-story red-brick buildings, landscaped with soaring palm trees, had been used as filming locations for several movies and TV shows. After parking the car, they headed for an area by the front chain-link fence where a mass of students had gathered. The kids were cheering as a stream of riders on bicycles flew past in a blur of Lycra color and spinning wheels. A couple of students waved a big sign: Ride for U.S.
“Do you ride a bike, Jack?” Becca asked over the hoots and applause from the excited mob jostling around them.
“Not one with pedals. Not for a while.”
“These people are riding from coast to coast to bring awareness and help to teenagers who can’t see a light at the end of their tunnel. Whose parents might be alcoholics, prostitutes, drug addicts or dealers. A lot of those kids bring themselves up. They might be taught to fetch drugs or another bottle of booze from the cabinet.”
As the last of the bikes shot past, Jack gazed on, looking strangely indifferent. Detached.
She tried again. “The Lassiter Foundation donates to this cause every year, and we help decide where and how funds raised ought to be spent.”
He took out a pair of shades from his inside breast pocket and perched them on his nose. “A big job.”
“Not compared to the effort this bunch puts in.”
Some students were fooling around with a football. When a toss went off track, Jack reached and effortlessly caught the ball before hurling it back to the boys. Then, impassive again, he straightened his shades.
“You don’t have any children?” she asked.
“I’m not married.”
“The two don’t necessarily go hand in hand.”
“No children.”
“That you know of.”
He exhaled. “Right.”
The crowd started to head back into the building. “How freaky would it be to find out that you’d fathered a child say twenty years ago when you were cruising around in that gleaming new Beamer, acing your assignments, planning out your future with waves of twenty-four-carat-gold glitter.”
“I might have a reputation, but I’ve always been responsible where sex is concerned.”
“Right there we have a difference in understanding. How can a big-time player be responsible where sex in concerned?”
His smile was thin. “Takes practice.”
“We’re getting off topic. Point is that from day one you led a privileged life. Most kids aren’t that lucky. Most children could use a hand on their way to reaching adulthood.”
Inside the gymnasium, she and Jack sat to one side at the back in the bleachers while the leader of Ride for U.S. addressed the students. Tom Layton was a professional counselor Becca knew through various channels. He had incredible insight into the minds of young adults, a gift he used to full advantage. As he spoke to the audience, Tom and Becca made eye contact. Tom winked to say hi but didn’t miss a beat.
“Good, isn’t he?” she whispered across to Jack. “Everything seems so life or death to teens. Tom gets that. A child needs all his strength going forward because the real test is later in life when he has to follow his own star, when he needs to develop a thick skin toward those who might want to trash his dream, for whatever reason.”
Minus the sunglasses now, Jack trained his hooded gaze on her. “Would it surprise you to learn that you and I aren’t so different, Becca?”
“It would surprise the living hell out of me.”
His eyebrows drew together and damned if she didn’t sense something real shift in Jack Reed. Not compassion or empathy exactly. That would have been too much to ask. It was more of a fleeting connection that fell through her fingertips, like loose grains of sand, before she could truly grasp it.
While Tom listed signs that everyone should watch for when identifying a peer who needed help, Becca scanned the audience. The geeks up front were all ears, some even taking notes. The lot in the middle alternated between sneaking looks at smartphones and zoning out, daydreaming about extracurricular activities. The mob in the back—the ones who really needed to listen—were restless. It was difficult to see a bright future when home life sucked everything into a vortex of gray. She and Tom wanted to help change that.
Thirty minutes later, as the principal thanked his guests and a round of applause went up, Jack immediately stood to stretch his spine. Becca looked up the entire length of him. God, he was tall.
“Still awake?” she asked, standing, too.
“Sure.” He stretched again. “Coffee would be good though.”
As they headed down the bleacher aisle, she helped bring the bigger picture into focus.
“The foundation works with school counselors across the country to get help to students who are under imminent threat. Who need our help now. This minute. We put on camps where they can talk about their problems in a safe and encouraging environment. Where they can share everything with others they identify with. It’s important these kids know they’re not alone.”
At the bottom on the bleachers, Jack held up a hand. “Excuse me a moment? I need to make a call.”
Okay. She’d drowned him with information, trying to make every second count. Now she needed to ease her foot off the pedal. Mix it up a bit.
“No problem,” she said. “Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”
Jack drew out his cell and thumbed in a number as he strolled across the floor. By the time he’d disconnected, he’d wound back and was approaching a group