The Elliotts: Mixing Business with Pleasure. Brenda Jackson

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      “Shane against Finola?” Bridget added in disbelief about their aunt and uncle. “They’re twins, for Pete’s sake. Someone has to talk to Grandfather and make him see reason.”

      Finola stepped next to Bridget and shook her head at her father. “He won’t be changing his mind. He’s got that ‘till hell freezes over’ expression on his face. I’ve seen it before,” she said with a trace of bitterness.

      “It’s not fair,” Bridget said.

      Finola had a faraway look in her eyes. “He has his own definition of fairness,” she said softly, then seemed to shake out of her split-second reverie. She smiled at Bridget. “I’m glad I have you on my team.”

      Gannon had never been one to shirk a tough fight and he wouldn’t shrink from this one either. “May the best Elliott win,” he said to Finola, although he knew the stakes were damn high. “Talk to you later,” he said to Bridget, Liam and Finola, then moved toward his father immediately confident that he would do anything to help his father make their magazine, Pulse, the top dog at EPH.

      He was an Elliott, born and bred to compete, excel and win. Every Elliott in the room had been raised with the same genes and high expectations. It was in their blood to fight and win. Shrewd as always, his grandfather had known that fact when he’d issued the challenge, Gannon thought. Regardless of who won—and Gannon was damn determined to make sure his father was the winner—Patrick had just assured a banner year of earnings for each magazine and Elliott Publication Holdings.

      His uncle Daniel stopped him on the way to his father. “You look like a man with a mission.”

      “I think we all are,” Gannon said wryly and squeezed his uncle’s shoulder. “The least he could have done was pass out a year’s supply of antacid with this kind of news.”

      Daniel chuckled and shook his head. “Good luck.”

      “Same to you,” Gannon said and walked the few feet to where his father and mother stood.

      Twirling his glass of brandy, his father met Gannon’s gaze. “I should have known this earthquake was coming.”

      “Who could have predicted this?” his mother, the most easygoing person he knew, asked. She met Gannon’s gaze and smiled. “I see you’ve already recovered and are ready for the game.”

      “It’s in my genes,” Gannon said with a nod to his father.

      “You have some ideas already?” his father asked, clearly pleased.

      “Sure do.” Gannon knew the first person he wanted on the Pulse team: Erika Layven, the woman he broke up with over a year ago.

      Erika Layven reviewed the layout for the April issue of HomeStyle magazine with a critical eye as she took another sip of instant hot chocolate with marshmallows. Wiggling her sock-clad feet beneath her desk, she studied the spring-flower theme of multicolored roses, sprigs of lavender and cheery pansies. A huge contrast from the gray, bitter-cold January late afternoon she glimpsed outside her fifteenth-story window in Manhattan.

      The weather made her feel cold and old. The recent report from her doctor hadn’t helped much either. Add to that the New Year’s Eve party she’d attended with a forgettable man and the more forgettable kiss at midnight and she could feel downright morose.

      If not for the pansies, she told herself and straightened in her chair. She had a bunch of reasons to feel good. As managing editor of Elliott Publication Holdings’ new magazine HomeStyle, she had the opportunity to help create a vision and make it come true. She had power. She had influence. She had a dream job. If she felt herself missing the rush she’d felt when she’d worked for Pulse, she pushed it aside. This was better, she told herself. In this world, she ruled.

      A knock sounded at her door and she glanced at the frog clock on her desk. It was after five-thirty on Thursday night. Most employees had left for happy hour.

      “Yes?” she called.

      “It’s Gannon,” he said, then unnecessarily added, “Gannon Elliott.”

      Erika’s stomach jumped into her throat and she took a full moment to catch her breath. What did he want? Pushing her curly hair from her face, she pulled together her composure. “Come in,” she said in as cool a voice as she could manage.

      The door opened and Gannon—six-foot-two, black hair, green eyes and killer body—filled the doorway, filled the room. She steeled herself against him and strictly instructed her hormones to behave, her palms to stop sweating and her heart to stop racing.

      Idly wishing she’d kept on her boots so she could meet him almost eye to eye, she stood in her sock feet behind her desk. “Gannon, what a surprise. What brings you here?”

      “Hadn’t seen you in a while.”

      Your choice, she thought but took a different tack. “I’ve been very busy with HomeStyle.”

      “So I hear. You’re doing a fabulous job.”

      “Thank you,” she said, unable to fight a sliver of gratification. Gannon was tough. He’d never been given to flattery. “It looks like Pulse is full of excitement as always.”

      He nodded. “What did you think of the series we ran on fighting Internet viruses?”

      “Excellent,” she said. “I loved the day spent with an Internet security soldier. Fascinating.” She paused a half beat. “I would have added a fraction more human interest.”

      His mouth lifted in a half grin. “That’s one of the things I always admired about you. You see the good in an article but are always looking for a way to make it better.”

      “Thank you again,” she said, feeling curious. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

      He glanced at her bookcase and tilted his head sideways to read a few titles. “How much do you like it here?”

      Confused by his attitude, she studied him carefully as he lifted her frog clock from her desk. He wasn’t acting normal. Although she wasn’t sure what normal was for Gannon. Their relationship had clouded her instincts where he was concerned.

      “What’s not to like? I get to help rule,” she said and smiled.

      He glanced up and met her gaze and she felt a mini kaboom go off inside her. He chuckled. “That’s one way of looking at it.” He returned her frog clock to her desk and reached for her mug, lifting it to just below his nose. He smiled. “Hot chocolate with marshmallows. You must not want to stay up tonight.”

      Erika’s stomach twisted and she felt her sense of humor wane. Gannon possessed all kinds of insider information on her because they’d been lovers. A fact she had tried hard to forget during the past year. “A good night’s sleep keeps me sharp.”

      He nodded and paused thoughtfully. “Do you miss Pulse at all?”

      The blunt question surprised her. “Of course I do,” she said. “The fast pace, always being on the cutting edge. There СКАЧАТЬ