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Even more worrying, his chest had warmed with admiration: Imogen was speaking out for others with a passion that made him think of a completely different type of passion. His fingers itched with the desire to bury themselves in the gloss of her dark hair and angle her face so that he could kiss her into his way of thinking.
For the love of Mike … This was so off the business plan he might as well file for bankruptcy right now.
Curving his fingers firmly round the edge of his desk, he adhered his feet to the plush carpet and forced calm to his vocal cords. ‘My job is to make sure that Harry has a viable company to come back to. I am not out to destroy Langley. That’s not how I operate.’
‘That’s not what your reputation says.’
Disbelief clouded her blue eyes with grey and the disdain in her expression caused renewed affront to band round his chest.
‘Imogen, there are some companies that even I can’t salvage. But if you study my track record you will see that most of the companies I go to sort out get sorted out. Not shut down. My reputation is that I’m tough. I’ll make the unpopular decisions no one wants to make because they let sentiment and friendship cloud their perspective. I don’t.’
A small frown creased her brow. ‘So you’re telling me you’re cold and heartless but you get results?’
‘Yes. Peter and Harry wouldn’t be able to let Graham go. I can. They, you and Captain Kirk may not like my methods, but I will save Langley.’
Annoyance at the whole conversation hit him—talk about getting overheated. Who did he think he was? The corporate version of the Lone Ranger? He’d spent the better part of the past half an hour justifying his actions, and he was damned if he knew why. Anyone would think he cared about her opinion of him.
‘Now, can you please sit down so we can get some work done?’
At least that way the bottom half of her would be obscured from sight and his blood pressure would stay on the chart.
Imogen dropped down onto the chair. Joe’s words were ringing in her head—and there was no doubting his sincerity. So, whilst she saw him as the villain of the piece he saw himself as the hero.
She chewed her bottom lip—was there any chance that he was right? Then she remembered Harry Langley’s pale face, blending in with the colour of his hospital pillow. His slurred voice shaking with impotent anger as he vowed to put things right.
She thought of the size of Graham’s mortgage, his pride that his wife could be a stay-at-home mum if she wanted … of Maisey’s tears when she’d phoned her on the way here from the hospital …
All those people suffering because of the man sitting opposite her.
Yet a worm of doubt wriggled into her psyche. His deep voice had been genuine when he’d spoken of the necessity of his cuts, the bigger picture, his desire to save Langley.
But, hell, that didn’t mean she had to like him. Nonetheless …
‘Imogen.’
His impatient growl broke into her reverie.
‘Did you hear a word I said?’
‘Sorry. I was thinking it must be hard to always be seen as the villain,’ she replied.
‘Doesn’t bother me.’ A quizzical curve tilted his lip. ‘You starting to feel sorry for me now?’
‘Of course not.’
The idea was laughable; Joe McIntyre didn’t need sympathy. He needed to be shaken into common sense and out of her dreams.
‘Well, tonight we need to at least call a truce. You acting as though I am some sort of corporate monster will do more damage to Langley than I can. So you need to play nice.’
Wrinkling her nose in a way that she could only hope indicated distaste, she nodded. Instinct told her a truce with this man would be dangerous, but he was right: they could hardly attend the award ceremony sparring with each other.
‘As long as you know I am playing. As in pretending.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, his voice so dry it was practically parched. ‘Message received, loud and clear. The truce is temporary. Now, can we get on with it? I’ve ordered a taxi to take us to the hotel at seven, and I want to go through Peter’s client list with you before then.’
An hour later Imogen put her pen down. ‘I think that’s it,’ she said.
Flexing her shoulders, she looked across at him. Big mistake. Because now she couldn’t help but let her gaze linger on the breadth of his chest under the snowy-white
