The Takeover Bid. Leigh Michaels

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СКАЧАТЬ didn’t answer. His gaze was roaming over the building as if taking inventory of the eight bays, from the almost-finished Model T Ford right behind the group of workmen to the shell of a Mustang in the farthest corner.

      “Jackson,” he said, “I thought you told me this business deals in classic cars.”

      So maybe she hadn’t been altogether wrong after all. Maybe Jackson had actually taken seriously what she’d said about promoting the business. Not that he seemed to have been very selective about who he talked to.

      Jackson looked out from behind Robbie’s shoulder. “Well, it does. Sort of.”

      “It’s not what I’d call the Lamborghini capital of the world.”

      “I never said—”

      “In fact, it looks more like a junkyard.”

      Melanie took a step toward the man with the silver eyes. “Excuse me for interrupting, but if you’ve only come here to insult our products, then you may as well stop wasting everyone’s time and go away.”

      She heard Robbie gasp, and she had to admit that she was almost as surprised as he obviously was. She’d certainly never thrown out a customer before. Or a non-customer, for that matter.

      The man didn’t seem to hear her. “Mel Stafford,” he said genially. “I believe you’re the manager.”

      “Yes, I am. And I’m asking you—no, I’m telling you—that it’s time to go.”

      “But I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “I’m your new boss.”

      Wyatt had expected the news might come as a bit of a shock, because the moment he’d caught sight of Jackson—or more to the point, the instant Jackson had caught sight of him—he’d realized that Jackson hadn’t yet shared the news with the employees. If he had, he wouldn’t have ducked behind the nearest set of broad shoulders.

      He’s probably trying to pretend none of this is happening.

      But Wyatt hadn’t anticipated that his announcement would hit with the same concussion as a grenade. The three guys in grease-smeared coveralls looked as if he’d hit each of them right in the chin with a spade. Jackson turned an even more sickly shade of green and rubbed his index finger along the bridge of his nose. Trying to hide behind his hand, Wyatt thought.

      And then the manager—what kind of a woman called herself Mel, for heaven’s sake?—started to clap her hands together as if he were in the middle ring of a circus and had just pulled off an especially entertaining trick.

      No, not at all the kind of reaction he’d anticipated.

      She finally stopped applauding. “Nice try. As practical jokes go, that isn’t a bad one. I don’t quite know why Jackson would bother to set us up, but we’ve all certainly gotten his money’s worth from the stunt. Now if you’ll let us go back to work—”

      Wyatt moved a little closer. “This is no practical joke, Mel.”

      Her eyes were green, he noted. At least the part of them that wasn’t shooting sparks at him looked green. A green-eyed redhead—now there was a dangerous combination.

      “That’s Ms. Stafford to you, Bub.”

      “All right, Ms. Stafford. If this is a practical joke, why is my good buddy Jackson standing over there looking the color of mashed peas, instead of laughing?”

      She wheeled around to stare at Jackson, and Wyatt watched with satisfaction as reality hit her. “What the hell have you done?” she breathed.

      Jackson seemed to shrivel.

      Interesting phenomenon, Wyatt thought. That’s the first change we’ll be making, because I can’t have a manager who thinks she can order the boss around.

      He watched emotions chase each other across her face. Incredulity was followed by horror, which gave way to a sort of resigned shock. She blinked and finally noticed the gaggle of workmen who were watching, mouths agape.

      “Robbie, get your crew to work,” she said crisply. “Mr. Barnett will be expecting his Model T to be finished this week. Gentlemen, if you’ll step into my office, the three of us will discuss this.”

      “Mel, I—” Jackson was almost whimpering.

      Wyatt took pity on him. “There’s no need for Jackson to be involved. He and I arranged the matter of ownership between ourselves last night. So it’s only you and I who need to take up the details—Ms. Stafford.”

      Jackson appeared too pathetically grateful even to speak. He slithered past the workmen and out the side door before Mel Stafford could even react. Then she glared at Wyatt as intently as a vulture who’d been robbed of her prey. “You’ll regret letting him go,” she announced.

      “We’ll see.” Wyatt stood aside to let her lead the way.

      As he followed her across the shop and into the showroom, he noticed the crisp button-down Oxford tucked neatly into the waistband of her trim, well-worn jeans. And he wondered if the decided wiggle to her hips was an offshoot of being mad or if it was just a natural part of her walk. Not that he would have time to find out, for Ms. Stafford wasn’t going to be around for long.

      She led the way to the one small office which opened off the showroom and sat down firmly behind the cluttered desk. Wyatt decided not to squabble over who had a better right to the boss’s chair. She was still the manager, after all. For the moment.

      From under the desk a shaggy head protruded, and a long nose sniffed noisily at Wyatt’s ankles. It looked like a mop with ears.

      “Down, Scruff,” Mel Stafford said firmly, and the mop retreated.

      Wyatt lounged into the seat across from her, planted his elbows on the wooden arms of the chair, tented his fingers under his chin, and waited.

      She moved a chunk of stone out of the way. “I gather, from what you said out there, that you think you’ve bought Jackson out.”

      I think I’ve bought him out? You wish I was only thinking, lady. But he had nothing to lose but a little time. Let her talk. Let her fool herself, if she wanted.

      Let her think she’s in charge.

      Of course, it was none of her business how the change of ownership had happened. “In a manner of speaking,” he said.

      She nodded. “Do you know him well?”

      What was with the sudden chattiness? He might as well warn her that a feeble effort at charm wasn’t going to get her anywhere. Not after the fireworks she’d already displayed. But why make it easy on her? It might be amusing to watch her attempt to beguile. “A few months, I suppose.”

      “I see. How much did you pay him?”

      Wyatt lifted his eyebrows. “I don’t see why that would be any of your business, Ms. Stafford.”

      “Oh, I assure you it isn’t just idle curiosity—though I must admit to feeling some. The last time he mentioned СКАЧАТЬ