Surrender to a Donovan. A.C. Arthur
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not old,” Sean said.
“Good. Is she married? That’ll make her seem more stable, like she’s achieved the dream.”
He shook his head. “She’s divorced. She has a kid though.”
Parker looked like he was contemplating that fact. “We don’t have to broadcast that.”
“I just don’t know,” Sean said, even though he was not really sure what his objection to this idea was.
“Look, we’ve got to boost ratings. Reality shows are kicking butt all over the networks. We’ve got to jump in while the water’s still clear.”
“We can’t build our name by imitating others,” he said seriously. A part of the reason why the Donovan media conglomerate succeeded was by being innovative and attentive to detail. Rushing headlong into some trend could backfire on them.”
“And we won’t survive unless we’re willing to change with the times.” Parker held up his hand to stop whatever Sean was getting ready to say. “Just give it some thought. Read the column yourself and get a feel for what we can do. And I’d love to meet with the columnist, see if she’s got some thoughts on the idea.”
“I’ll check it out,” Sean said. It was his job to do just that, regardless of what a surprise Ms. Tate Dennison had been to him.
“Aren’t you going to be late for your date?” he asked Parker when he noted his cousin was once again in his refrigerator.
With a chuckle, Parker took an apple. “I’m meeting her just down the street at the Four Seasons.”
“You’re heading to the Four Seasons for dinner and you’re in here raiding my fridge like you’re starving?”
Parker laughed.
“You always shop like you’ve got a house full of kids in here. It’s either raid your fridge or drive all the way to the Big House to raid your mom’s.”
“What about your mom’s fridge? Aunt Carol loves to cook,” Sean said, as they once again made their way down the foyer toward the door.
Parker groaned. “She also loves to nag me about my past mistakes and when I’m going to fix everything by remarrying and having some kids.”
With a nod, Sean conceded to knowing exactly what Parker meant. Not that his mother was nagging him to remarry. However, Janean was definitely in the market for grandchildren. Even though Dion was now married to Lyra, there was no talk of them having children yet. Which left the attention centered firmly on Sean.
“Then mi casa es su casa,” Sean said with a smack on his cousin’s back and a chuckle.
“Right. Call me tomorrow and we’ll talk more about your columnist.”
As Sean closed the door, he couldn’t help but think of Tate Dennison as just that—his columnist. His. Shaking his head, he went back into the kitchen to find himself some dinner.
Chapter 4
She was fussing for nothing. He wouldn’t come to her office twice in one week. That presumption was based on the fact that up until yesterday, he hadn’t been to her office in the three months she’d worked there.
It didn’t matter that she now thought her dress was too tight and too short. In the mirror behind her bedroom door it had looked perfectly fine. The black bolero jacket made the white-and-black printed dress look more professional. The wide yellow belt at her waist gave it a cheerful edge. On her feet were black sandals with three-and-a-half-inch heels and straps up to the ankle. They were office attire, just as her dress was, even though it only flirted against her kneecaps.
Her clothes weren’t a big deal, she told herself again. She wasn’t in the market for a man and most definitely not a Donovan. Not that she didn’t think she deserved a good man, but Tate was just tired of the game. Boy meets girl. They go out and both try to impress each other with lies and posturing. They get married, and they have a huge, beautiful ceremony that they will likely be paying off for years after the wedding. Then come the babies and the monotony. Inevitably one would get tired of the other and the infidelities would begin. It was like one big circle that adults continuously ran through. But not her, not again.
Sean Donovan had come to her office for something yesterday, although he had never really said what. That meant he was liable to come back. She sighed, sinking into her chair. Her computer was already on, but she hadn’t yet begun to work. The trip to the kitchenette where the coffee machines were had taken longer than she anticipated because her coworkers were very curious about her personal life as well as the personal life of every other employee in the office. It was damn tiring to stand there and listen to gossip she didn’t give two cents about. But if she walked away she’d be deemed antisocial, and the work environment she was just beginning to get used to would turn sour.
Now she was going through her emails as steam circled around the top of her coffee mug that read “No. 1 Mom.” She’d bought it for herself this past Mother’s Day. If nobody else was going to appreciate her, she would have to do it for herself. Hey, hadn’t she given that advice to a reader before? Probably, she thought with a smile.
Ten minutes into the emails, after she’d transferred a couple to the appropriate subfolders and deleted a few more, she came across one that made her catch her breath.
Need to speak with you about the column. Are you available today at 4:30?
No, was her immediate thought. Her mind screamed it over and over again. But her fingers—traitors that they were—had already begun typing her response.
Yes.
She hit Send and groaned. Evidently there was reason for her to worry about how the dress looked after all.
* * *
“If you sell me Infinity, I’ll keep the name and you can keep your job,” Sabine Ravenell said in her sultry voice.
Sean tried not to laugh at her and straightened his gray-and-latte Bulgari tie. He’d worn a suit the color of milk chocolate with shoes a darker shade of brown. At his wrists, gold cufflinks sparkled. Sean was a man of detail, whether in business or his personal appearance. He paid attention to everything and strived for the best, no matter what he did.
“I have no fear that my job’s in jeopardy,” he said simply. “Infinity is not for sale.”
Sabine crossed her legs. She wore a purple skirt, short, as usual. Her purple jacket fit her bodice tightly but not in a bad way. She was definitely an attractive woman. With her light complexion and curly black hair that hung past her shoulders, she looked extremely beautiful and intoxicatingly sexy.
Nevertheless, Sean still wasn’t interested. At all.
“Everything has a price,” she told him.
“I think you mean everyone has a price. In this case, that assumption would also be wrong.”
Her elbows were propped on the arms of the chair. She tilted her head and touched a finger to her chin. It was a practiced pose, probably designed to hit a man right in the gut with a serious punch of lust. Sean felt a mild tapping of desire but squashed it.
“Look, there’s no point in continuing with these discussions. The magazine is not for sale. And if it were, you’d be coming to the wrong man to make your deal.”
She waved her other hand, the one still stroking a finger over her chin. “Dion’s got his mind on other things,” she said dismissively.
Sean knew exactly what she was getting at. More than one tabloid had reported the downfall of Dion Donovan because he’d gotten married. But Sean knew better—his brother’s personality wasn’t tied to the playboy image the press had painted on him. So the only thing marrying Lyra had done was make him extremely happy.
“Dion’s mind is always here at Infinity. Don’t let the