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He removed the pages from the tray on the printer, then tapped the edges on the table to even them up before passing them to her. She grasped them, but he continued to hold them. She looked at him expectantly.
“When I kissed you? It didn’t have a damn thing to do with trying to scare you off.”
Before she could respond, he released the pages and shouted for Mike. “Bring her a phone so she can call for a boat,” he told the older man when he appeared in the doorway. “It’ll take about as long for it to get to the island as it takes for you to get her back to the landing. Should time out just right.”
“But it’s after eleven o’clock,” Mike exclaimed. “You can’t send her back at this time of night.”
Maris, flustered, said a little too quickly and loudly, “It’s fine, Mike. I’ll be fine.”
“I won’t hear of it.” Ignoring Parker’s warning look, Mike declared, “You’ll stay here tonight. In the guest house.”
Chapter 8
To avoid the parties being seen together in a public restaurant, the luncheon meeting was held in a private dining room on the thirty-first floor of WorldView Center. The paneled room was discreetly and expensively furnished. The hand-woven carpet was thick and sound-absorbing, the floral arrang
ements were elaborate and still dewy, the lighting was indirect and subdued. To add to the dignified ambience, heavy draperies had been drawn across the expansive windows, which ordinarily would have provided a magnificent view of the Midtown skyline.
The host, seated at the head of the dining table, asked politely, “More coffee, Nadia? Mr. Reed?”
Nadia Schuller indicated to the white-gloved waiter that she would like her cup refilled. Noah declined. They had dined on vichyssoise, lobster salad, and marinated asparagus. Strawberries Romanoff and selected chocolates had been served for dessert.
Noah thanked their host for the sumptuous meal. “It was excellent.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Morris Blume thanked and then dismissed the servers.
As Nadia idly stirred cream into her coffee, Noah exchanged a look with her that said social hour was over and business was about to commence.
In addition to Morris Blume, five other representatives from WorldView were seated around the table. Six months earlier, Nadia had arranged an introductory meeting between Blume and Noah. Blume hadn’t been coy at that initial meeting. Rather, he had stated plainly that he wished to acquire Matherly Press for WorldView.
Immediately upon adjournment of that meeting, his corporate lawyers had begun working feverishly on an acquisition proposal. After months of researching and analyzing, drafting flow charts, drawing market-share graphs, and making projections, the final rendition had been delivered to Noah in an enormous three-ring binder. This meeting was for the purpose of hearing his response to it.
“You’ve had a month to study our syllabus, Mr. Reed,” Blume said. “I’m eager to hear your impressions.”
Morris Blume was whipcord thin and strikingly pale, a feature emphasized by his prematurely bald head. A rim of sparse hair continued to grow from his scalp, but he shaved it every morning, which left a gray shadow beneath his shiny dome. He wore eyeglasses with silver wire frames and always dressed in conservative gray. The man seemed to have an innate aversion to color.
He had been at the helm of the international media conglomerate since his hostile takeover four years ago. Only thirty-six at the time, he had ruthlessly ousted his predecessor along with anyone on the board of directors who adhered to what Blume termed “archaic and unenlightened mind-sets.”
Under his leadership, WV, as it was affectionately known on the stock exchange, had expanded from its base entertainment and broadcast entities into Internet commerce, satellite communications, and fiber-optics technology. Blume had catapulted WorldView into the twenty-first century, increasing its worth from a mere billion dollars to nearly sixty billion in only forty-eight months. Stockholders easily forgave his brash methods of doing business.
So what did a mammoth like WorldView want with a gnat like Matherly Press?
That was the question Noah now posed to Blume.
“Because it’s there?” the pale CEO glibly replied. Everyone at the table laughed, including Noah. He could appreciate the son of a bitch’s arrogance because he was an arrogant son of a bitch himself.
“You’ve already acquired a publishing house in the U.K.,” Noah pointed out. “The ink is barely dry on that contract.”
“True.” Blume nodded solemnly. “Platt/Powers will be a good investment for us. Their magazine division is the strongest in the British Isles. They distribute everything from a well-respected world news weekly to the sleaziest of sleazy porno.” He gave Nadia a smile that was disturbingly reptilian. “I assure you, Nadia, that I’m far more familiar with the former than the latter.”
She looked at Blume over the rim of the china cup as she took a sip of coffee. “How disappointing.”
Blume let the resultant laughter wane before he resumed. “Platt/Powers had twelve bestsellers in hardcover last year.”
“Thirteen,” one of the bean counters at the table supplied.
“More than that in paperback,” Blume continued. “As part of WorldView, it will dominate the bestseller lists this year. We’ve got the know-how and the budget to make that happen.”
“I’ve already interviewed two writers whom you pirated from their former publishers,” Nadia remarked. “They’re very excited about your marketing strategies, particularly the ones that will give them greater exposure here in the States.”
