When Noah got to the microphone, he made a couple of jokes to break the ice, then consulted his notes: “Pleased to announce…welcome the opportunity to work with…corporate synergies involved…”
Throughout his speech, he noticed Kayla kept her gaze fixed somewhere over his left shoulder. Uncomfortable, eh? He wondered again what had brought her here and knew that, as soon as the press conference was over, he was going find out.
Focusing again on the assembled reporters, he concluded by saying that additional copies of Whittaker’s press release were on a table at the back of the room.
Then, when Quentin and the president of Avanti stepped forward to flank him at the mike, he fielded questions from reporters, eventually calling on a guy in jeans.
The reporter stood up, a smirk hovering at the corners of his lips. “The stock for Whittaker Computing has been down recently. Can you comment on the markets’ reaction to the recent bad press about you?”
Noah tensed. Whittaker Computing—one of a handful of companies that made up Whittaker Enterprises—was partly publicly owned. There were any number of reasons why Whittaker Computing’s stock had taken a hit recently, as any half-wit could tell you, but the weasel in front of him was obviously trying to bait him.
Noah gave him a semblance of a smile and then, keeping his tone even, said, “The markets have better things to do than follow any spurious rumors written about me.”
Noah watched as Kayla slunk farther down in her chair at the back of the room. Feeling a tad self-conscious, was she? Well, welcome to the club, babe.
He started to call on another questioner, but the smirking jerk in jeans—probably some overeager new recruit looking to make his mark—persisted. “What about the impression you’ve given that you can’t get along with women? There’s been speculation that this could affect Whittaker’s ability to recruit female executives.”
Noah gripped the sides of the lectern. He’d like to deck the questioning little dweeb. “Maybe it’s a question of the ability of a few particular women to get along with me.”
This earned him a chuckle or two from the audience.
He held the reporter’s gaze until the guy shifted. “Whittaker Enterprises is an equal opportunity employer. We value and welcome female employees. In fact, we’re proud we’ve been rated one of the best places for women to work by a leading Boston magazine. Our on-site day care and flextime schedules are models for the industry. The women at Whittaker who work with me wouldn’t tell you differently.”
Then, determined this time to cut off the smart-ass, Noah turned to look at another part of the room. “Next question.”
Fifteen minutes later, the press conference was over. Immediately, he spotted Kayla scurrying into the hall.
“Excuse me,” he said curtly, shoving his way past the milling press and striding out of the room.
He caught up with her halfway down the hall and captured her elbow. “We need to talk.”
She started and looked up at him guiltily.
“What?” he asked blandly. “Attempting to make your escape?”
“I’m sure we’ve said all there is to say to one another,” she said, her tone cool enough to freeze penguins in their tracks.
“On the contrary, Barbie,” he countered dryly, looking pointedly at her blond hair and pink sweater.
She pulled her elbow away from him. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I may be Barbie, but you’re no Ken, Mr. I-Change-Women-with-the-Seasons Whittaker. Barbie and Ken had a committed, monogamous relationship for over forty years.”
God, she was maddening. She’d just compared him unfavorably to a plastic doll’s main squeeze.
He wondered again why he still found her pulse-poundingly attractive. Sick. He was sick.
“As unpleasant as it is for the both of us, we need to talk and I suggest we do it in private—unless you want our public bloodletting to continue?” He took her elbow again.
She looked around. “I’ll scream.”
Aside from the two of them, no one was in the hallway yet. They were some distance from the room where the press conference had been held, and probably most of the journalists were still gathering their equipment. Still, Noah knew that Kayla could make herself heard.
“I wouldn’t advise it,” he said dryly. “Not unless you want another newspaper headline about us, and I doubt that.”
She opened her mouth.
“Think about it,” he said forcefully. “Our names conjoined in ink. Again. Forever.”
Three
Upstairs in Noah’s office, Kayla still couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a bad idea. A very bad idea.
They didn’t do well talking to each other. Or even being in the same room together.
Noah gestured her to a seat.
“No thanks,” she said.
“Suit yourself,” he responded, then sat at the edge of his desk, folding his arms across his chest and crossing one foot over the other at the ankle.
She glanced around his office. It was all chrome and black and glass with two walls displaying great views of nearby hills. Her cubicle at work would have fit into the space behind his desk.
Grudgingly, she admitted that, whatever else Noah was, he did appear to be spectacularly successful.
“What the heck are you doing here?” he asked abruptly, drawing her attention back to him.
“I was filling in for another reporter,” she said, self-conscious under his scrutiny. All at once, her skirt felt too short, her top too tight and her heels too high. Damn him.
He raised a brow. “Since when are gossip columnists asked to fill in for business reporters?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that it was none of his business, when it occurred to her that she’d just been handed a great chance to ask as many questions as she wanted about the acquisition of Avanti—if, that was, she acted at least passably civil toward him.
“I’ve been trying for a lateral move to the business desk at the Sentinel,” she responded stiffly.
She could see she’d surprised him. “You want to write something other than salacious rumors?”
She checked her temper. “Let’s not cross that ground again, shall we? As I think I made clear before, I work hard at my job. It’s just that I want to be doing the type of reporting that I got into journalism for.”
“And that would be—?”
“Business reporting,” she said, her tone clipped. “Are you going to tell me what you wanted to talk to me about, or not?”