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“I’m ready whenever you are,” Kincaid said, nevertheless reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket for his buzzing BlackBerry.
Kincaid kept up his end of the phone conversation as they made their way downstairs via the suspended metal staircase that joined the executive floors of Melton Media. They were far from the chaos of the newsroom. Melton Media’s corporate offices were housed in a separate building from The New York Intelligencer.
Sawyer listened as, apparently, Kincaid attempted to verify by phone a juicy rumor that he’d heard at a cocktail party the night before. Clearly, the viscount had the news business in his blood and wasn’t averse to rolling up his sleeves and working the phones himself when necessary.
Tellingly, though, Sawyer couldn’t discern from Kincaid’s end of the conversation what the rumor was or whom the older man was talking to. Sawyer felt the competitive juices start to flow in his blood.
Kincaid was a worthy adversary and would be a worthy business partner.
“Rumor confirmed?” Sawyer asked with feigned idle curiosity when the viscount finished his call.
“Yes,” Kincaid replied with a note of satisfaction.
“I thought we were on the same team,” Sawyer said with mock reproof.
“Not yet. Not until the merger goes through.”
Sawyer’s chuckle held an element of respect. Viscount Kincaid might be a family friend, but he was a fierce competitor.
When Sawyer had asked for this meeting, he’d suggested he pay a call to Kincaid headquarters, but the viscount had gainsaid him. Perhaps Kincaid wanted another opportunity to take a look around the company that would soon merge with Kincaid News.
Sawyer had inherited an already significant company from his father and had built it up, branching out internationally from the British newspapers and radio station that his father and grandfather had run. His grandfather had married into the newspaper business by wedding a publishing heiress, but he’d taken to it like a natural.
Kincaid was a different animal altogether. He’d labored in the trenches of the news business, selling family real estate in Scotland to build up his company. His gamble had paid off handsomely, but Kincaid was no fool. He knew that, in order to survive, Kincaid News needed fresh blood—someone well positioned and savvy enough to take advantage of the new mediums of communication out there, from online sites and streaming to smartphones.
Namely, the viscount needed Sawyer.
And Sawyer was eager to absorb a competitor at a relative bargain.
At that thought, Sawyer paused and mentally grimaced. Correction: a relative bargain and a bargaining relative. Kincaid had turned the business into a family legacy, and he wasn’t going to let it pass into other hands without a familial tie.
He and the viscount entered the executive dining room, which was one floor below Sawyer’s office and had an equally impressive view of the Hudson. The long table had been set for two.
They dined on steak frites accompanied by iced tea. The conversation moved idly from politics and the upcoming elections to the doings of various business associates, until, finally, Viscount Kincaid set aside his fork and fixed Sawyer with a piercing look.
“Well, I know you didn’t invite me here to discuss golf,” Kincaid said gruffly, “so out with it, Melton.”
Unperturbed, Sawyer took his time wiping his mouth and setting aside his napkin. Then he looked at the other man squarely.
“I’d like to ask for Tamara’s hand in marriage.”
Kincaid’s eyebrows rose. “Bloody hell, you’ve done it.”
Sawyer nodded.
“How?”
Sawyer gave a ghost of a smile. “I don’t suppose it could be my charm and persuasiveness.”
Kincaid shook his head. “Hogwash. Tamara would never fall for it.”
“I have been wooing her.” It wasn’t far from the truth. He had been trying to convince Tamara to see things his way.
Kincaid’s eyebrows drew together. “Since when?”
“We preferred to conduct our relationship away from prying eyes.”
Sawyer thought back to his last private encounter with Tamara. She’d been so responsive in his arms, her luscious female curves pressed into him. And he—he’d wanted to tumble her backward and have hot, sweaty sex with her right there in her studio, her red hair fanning out on that damnable red velour couch.
Sawyer felt his body tighten at the memory, and shifted in his seat. “I think you’ll find that Tamara isn’t unaware of her familial obligations.”
His last statement was met with a pause, but then Kincaid waved it away with one hand. “Certainly not in character,” the viscount growled. “She’s shown nothing but disregard until now.” Kincaid shook his head. “Her sisters, too. Three daughters and not a one with an appreciation of what it took to built Kincaid News or how I footed the bill for those fine prep school educations.”
“She does bear you some affection, you know.”
Sawyer would bet that beneath Tamara’s tartness and Viscount Kincaid’s bluster lay a genuine—if oftentimes fraught—bond between father and daughter.
A light appeared in Viscount Kincaid’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a look of cloaked cunning. “Is that so? Then I’ll expect a grandchild to be in the cards in the not too distant future.”
Sawyer schooled his expression—this was a complication that he hadn’t foreseen. “Perhaps Tamara and I would like to enjoy ourselves first.”
“Enjoy yourselves later.” Kincaid settled back in his chair. “In fact, I like the idea of a grandchild so much I fancy I’ll make it a condition of the merger.”
Cagey bastard.
“My daughter enceinte before the merger goes through.”
“That wasn’t part of the agreement.”
“How much do you want this merger?”
“As much as you do, I would have thought,” Sawyer replied drily.
“I can wait,” Kincaid returned. “I’ve got some life in me yet, and God knows I’ve long since pinned my hopes on a third generation taking over the reins of Kincaid News.” Kincaid leaned forward. “The question is, will you or someone else be a worthy caretaker for Kincaid News in the meantime?”
Sawyer said nothing. He’d learned long ago that a tough bargainer didn’t jump in with his next best offer right away. He stayed cool and deliberated his options.
In this case, he supposed he could call the older man’s bluff. Good luck convincing Tamara or either of her sisters to marry another newsman.
