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“Why?” The question pops out of my mouth, and my dad shoots me a look.
“What Callie means is, how did you become interested in our paper? We don’t report financial news or anything of the sort.”
I nearly choke, but swallow the sound. How can he even ask? Is he not paying attention? I guess not. My stomach clenches. I know Dad is mired in the one or two long-form articles he writes per week, but he doesn’t even know we’re publishing articles about Jonah. Does he think I’m just taking photos and selling them to Green Media and the Post?
“Your paper caught my eye. I’m an Upper West Side resident myself, and Kings Lane is looking to expand into news media over the next five years. We believe firmly in the power of small, local outfits over national chains. We’re hoping to leverage synergies between papers to get better advertising deals and transform the subscription model into something more sustainable.”
My dad looks suitably impressed, and I want to shake him. Jonah’s words are meaningless corporate speak, and his eyes glitter while he talks. He’s greed, malice, and ambition wrapped in one beautiful package. With a silver tongue to match.
“Well,” my dad says slowly. “Callie and I had never planned to sell. We don’t want to become a faceless paper. We’re local, and we think it’s important that we maintain a connection to the community.”
Jonah nods, thoughtfully. His brow is appropriately furrowed, but it all seems fake.
“How much?” I interject.
Jonah’s brows go up. “Ready to discuss price so soon, Ms. Thompson?”
My face heats. “That’s why we’re all here, right?”
Jonah considers me, his eyes calculating. “Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
He knows. My head nearly jerks back, but I stop myself. He knows about the debt. This was planned. I was the impetus for this meeting, and the debt is the leverage. The Devil wants his pound of flesh. But there must be more. My pulse speeds, and I shift in my chair. Think. He wants revenge. This isn’t just a sale. He’s going to destroy you.
“That’s ah, very generous,” my father replies. He’s not remotely prepared for this.
“No. It’s not. The paper is worth more.” I press my lips together before I can insult Jonah to his face.
Twenty-five thousand dollars. He knows we’ll do anything for the money. Bastard. My reaction must show on my face because Jonah’s lips tilt. He enjoys this. He enjoys toying with us. I feel sick.
“Ms. Thompson. Would you like to negotiate?” He says the word "negotiate" in a tone that almost makes it sound sensual. He probably gets off on intimidating people. I won’t win by forcing him, as much as I want to rage. I can tell he’ll take pleasure in doing something just because he knows it will cause me pain. I’ve spent a long time observing Jonah Crown. He’s known for his ruthlessness and his drive to win.
While my father hems and haws, I take a calming breath and force my shoulders to relax.
“Twenty-five thousand is less than the revenue we bring in each year,” I say mildly.
Jonah’s eyes flare with interest. Is it worse for him to find me interesting or worse for him to want to ruin me? Hard to say.
“Mr. Thompson. Would you like to see the rather impressive art collection we have at the office?” He asks the question of my father, but his eyes stay glued to me.
“I’ll stay,” my dad says.
My lips twist. My father wouldn’t trust me to negotiate on his behalf.
“I’d like to speak to Ms. Thompson alone, if that’s okay.”
“Callie?”
I look over at my father, worried but determined. “It’s okay, Dad.” I sigh. “I’ll talk to Mr. Crown. I’m sure it won’t be long.”
Jonah shows my father out and George collects him with a polite smile. When Jonah turns back around, his eyes are hard and his jaw is set. He’d be pretty if the harsh planes of his face weren’t so masculine. His lips are full, even when set with displeasure, his eyes thickly lashed. His hair is impossibly dark and silky. He could be imposing if I let myself be cowed by him, especially with the way he towers over me. His suit is impeccable, tailored for his broad shoulders and lean waist.
“Done staring, Ms. Thompson?” He arches a black brow.
“Are you done looming?”
His lips curve in a cold smile before he unbuttons his suit and smoothly seats himself just a few chairs away. I catch hints of spicy cologne. Delicious. I will the thought away. Nothing about this infernal man is delicious.
My heart thuds uncomfortably under my dress as he stares me down, turning a pen in his long fingers. My gaze flicks to his hands. Large, lightly dusted with hair, an expensive-looking watch.
