Page 40 of The CEO’s Assistant

Cordelia had her coat half on. She'd picked up the phone thirty seconds earlier to see whether Wren had written back overnight, and then Veronica's name had come up on the screen instead.

"How much of it?"

"Enough that I'm already in the car." The indicator ticked under her voice. "A reporter called the duty line at seven. She knows somebody's buying Hale Capital and she knows it's supposed to be finished by the fall, and as far as I can tell that's all she knows. She hasn't got a name for the buyer or a number. She has no idea when we signed anything, which is the only good news I have for you this morning."

"Who called?"

"Annika Lindqvist. She does finance for the Pacific Ledger, and she's good, which I wish she weren't. Seven o'clock on a Sunday, Cordelia. Nobody makes that call unless she thinks she's holding something."

"Who answered the call?"

"Dinah. She gave her the line about not commenting on speculation, and Lindqvist thanked her very politely and said she'd be running the story either way." Veronica paused. "We've got until four."

Dinah had run communications for four years and had never once needed to be told a thing twice. Cordelia got her other arm into the sleeve. Nine hours, but it was Sunday, which meant half the people she needed were at their kids' softball games and the other half were asleep.

"Has she actually seen something, or is this just talk?"

"Just talk, I think. She didn't read anything out and she didn't quote anybody at me. She was fishing. Somebody's told her something and she wants to know if it's true before she prints it."

"Then it's fixable."

"That's a very calm sentence for ten past seven."

"It's fixable, Veronica." Cordelia had already planned two calls ahead. Etta Iverson first, because she needed a lawyer's answer on what they could and couldn't say before anybody opened her mouth. Jo Ferrante at Northstar second, because if Jo heard about this from her own people before she heard it from Cordelia, eighteen months of goodwill went out the window in an afternoon. "Get Dinah and Lauren Pike into the office. Petra Voss can work the inside of the building from her kitchen, I don't need her here. Etta's in Seattle, so she'll have to join by phone. Everyone by eight."

"On a Sunday?"

"Tell them I'll make it up to them."

"They'll come. They always come, that's not the part I'm worried about." The indicator stopped. "Are you all right? I'm only going to ask you once today, so you may as well answer it."

"I'm fine. Eight o'clock." Cordelia put the phone in her coat pocket and went down.

It was already warm outside. It was the second week of June, and the peonies and sweet peas along the harbor walk had bloomed all at once, four blocks of them. She walked past them without turning her head, working out what she was going to say to Jo Ferrante when Jo picked up.

She was at the office at twenty-five past seven, and Wren was already there. Only the antechamber was lit. Wren had the desk lamp on and both screens up, and her hair was pushed back off her face. Cordelia had never seen her in jeans in the office before. There was a news alert open on the left-hand screen. She'd seen it herself, then, and come in.

Wren looked up when Cordelia came through the door, and for a second she didn't say anything.

"A reporter called us at seven this morning," Cordelia said. "Annika Lindqvist, at the Ledger. She knows somebody's buying the company. She goes to print at four. I can’t stop it, but maybe we can slow it down."

Wren pulled a pad toward her and wrote the name down. "Then between now and four, the only thing that actually matters is that nobody outside this building finds out she called. Because the second Northstar hears it from anyone but you, they'll start protecting themselves instead of us, and then we're negotiating with them and the Ledger at the same time." She looked up. "Have you told them?"

"I'm calling Jo Ferrante within the hour."

"Good." She turned the pad over. "Do you want the deal file pulled out of your office, or do you want it left exactly where it is?"

It was the right question. Paper that stayed put stayed quiet. "Left where it is. The minute it moves it gets copied, and then it's sitting on somebody else's desk."

"Understood.” Wren paused for a beat. “Did you get home all right last night?"

Cordelia looked at her. "Fine. Get me Etta on the phone."

By nine they were all in. Lauren arrived in tennis whites and did not apologize for it. Veronica looked her up and down over the top of a legal pad. "You didn't have time to change?"

"I had time. I chose not to use it." Lauren dropped into a chair. "I have been trying to get on that court since March. Do you know what the waiting list is on a Sunday morning in June? I want it noted somewhere permanent that I was up four-two and serving."

"It's noted," Dinah said, without looking up from her screen. "I'll work it into the statement. Hale Capital does not comment on market speculation, and Lauren Pike was up four-two."