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Marcos grunted. Jack wouldn’t even begin to comprehend the pain of his sexual frustration. The looks she gave him—tenderness, desire, admiration, respect. When would he tire of her? He’d expected to tire within the week, and yet it had been over a month now. He could not get enough of her. Was she tiring of him? Good God, was that a possibility?
His friend’s dry chuckle wafted in the air. “I assume your plan worked with Marissa. She no doubt thought you were taken with Virginia.”
Marcos pushed to his feet and headed to the wide bay window, his coffee cradled against his chest. “My bid has been rejected, Jack.”
Silence.
His chest felt cramped with anger, frustration. “She controls the board and somehow made sure they declined.”
“Ahh. Then I assume we’re getting hostile? Why are we even discussing Allende if not?”
“We are getting hostile.” He spun on his heel. “If we could.”
Jack made a scratching noise. “Meaning?”
Damn Marissa and her sneaky ways. Marcos had discussed for the tenth time the purchase of her shares, and she still held off selling to him. In the back of her warped mind, she no doubt believed she could bend Marcos like she’d bent his father—who else would save her company but the son? What else would ensure her continued ownership but marriage?
No. She wouldn’t get away with it, not anymore, and yet even in the midst of this surety, the fact that a woman would have power over his future made his blood boil.
“Meaning I must pressure her to sell, Williams. She’s flying to Chicago this weekend—I invited her to the Fintech dinner. As long as she owns the majority of the shares, a hostile takeover is close to impossible. She must sell, and she must sell to me.”
“Pardon my slowness, but you invited her to Chicago?”
“I want Allende, Jack.”
“You want to kill it,” Jack added.
Marcos absently scanned the busy sidewalks below. “And if I don’t?”
Jack’s usually fast retorts seemed to fail him this time.
Marcos’s mind raced with every new discovery he’d made about Hank Hollis today. The man had lost his way—not unusual after the heartache of losing a beloved wife, Marcos supposed. But he’d been visiting AA meetings, seemed to be struggling to get his life back on track. He’d been a risk-taker on the job, and ruthless when it came to disciplining those beneath him. Years ago, he’d pushed his chain of stores, every single one of them, to be better, more efficient, and the admirable numbers he’d produced for them didn’t lie.
“What if I told you,” Marcos began, “that I’d save Allende. What if I told you I’ve found a man to do the dirty work—one who’s driven and who’s thirsty to prove something to someone?” Maybe he’d enjoy coming to Mexico.
“Marcos, I’m on your board as a professional, not as a friend. The same reason you’re on mine.”
“Of course.”
And Virginia would be free of the pain her father had been causing. She would be free to be with him. Marcos.
“Well, as both, I have to tell you,” his friend continued in a thickening drawl. “It’s that damned prodigal apple. Any opportunity man or woman has to get a bite out of it, ten out of ten times, they will.”
“Amen.”
“I’m serious.”
He swung around. “All right. So we get to play gods and kick them out of the kingdom. New management, new rules, no thieving, no blackmailing, no mafia.”
“I agree. But who’s heading new management?”
His eyebrows furrowed when he realized there was no clear space on his desk to set down his cup of coffee. The last fifteen years of
his life—hard, busy years—were in this desk. A heavy oak Herman Miller, the first expensive designer piece he’d bought after his first takeover. It was old—he was superstitious—and it was a keeper and it was packed. The surface contained no photo frames, no figurines, nothing but a humming computer and piles and piles of papers that would later go into a roomful of file cabinets. He planted the mug over a stack of papers. “You are,” he flatly repeated.
Jack’s gaze was razor sharp. “Me.”
His lips flattened to a grim, hard line as he nodded. “You. And a man I consider may be hungry to prove himself.”
