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  Braxton didn’t even look at the crisp white paper in the middle of his blotter. His eyes never left hers, and it took Tate a moment to realize that her discussion with Braxton had ended. He didn’t stand or even walk her to the door, but simply dismissed her with no more politeness than he would give the cleaning crew. Anger flushed through her veins and her face grew hot with rage. How dare he treat her like this? She was here to help him, and he had practically thrown her offer unopened back in her lap.

  She stood and waited for a moment, controlling her anger before she spoke. “I advise you to take our offer, Mr. Braxton. It’s the best one you’ll get.” She exited with as much purpose as when she entered.

  Tate pounded the elevator button in the vestibule in frustration. No one had ever treated her with such indifference and disrespect as Braxton had. Was he suffering from dementia or was he a complete idiot? She was presenting him with more than a bailout of his struggling company. It was his retirement ticket. Correction, it was his solid-gold retirement ticket. Or at least it had been until she chose the paper in her left pocket instead of the right. In every deal she negotiated she came in with two numbers and often hadn’t decided which she would put on the table until the negotiations were well under way. The same was true for Braxton. But when he practically insulted her, well, that was a “whole nuther ball game,” as they said down here in the South. She could not lose this deal. Would not lose it.

  She stepped in the elevator car and poked the button for the lobby. Her stomach dropped as the elevator swiftly descended the thirty-eight floors to the lobby level. She was still fuming as the doors opened and she stepped out, so incensed at Braxton’s superior attitude she didn’t see the woman approaching and walked right into her.

  “Shit,” Tate cursed, as the papers in the woman’s portfolio scattered across the highly polished granite. The force of the impact knocked the other woman to the floor and forced the air out of Tate’s lungs. She stepped back, inhaling sharply as proverbial stars danced before her eyes. “Goddamnit,” she was able to say after her lungs refilled with stale lobby air. She had always had a slightly nasty mouth, especially when she was under stress. Like right now.

  The woman on the ground finally caught her attention. Even sitting on the floor Tate could tell that she was tall, very tall, with long blond hair cascading over her left shoulder. She struggled to stand, her shoes slipping on the slick floor.

  “Sorry.” Tate reached out to help the woman up. A large warm hand filled hers and the woman was able to get some traction and stand. When she did, Tate found herself eye-to-breast with her. She had to be well over six feet tall. Tate had trouble raising her gaze from the enticing swell of the woman’s chest, but when she did she met an expectant look from the clearest blue eyes she had ever seen.

  Tate gawked at the woman, unable to do anything but. She was beautiful and graceful, even when she had sprawled on the floor like a rag doll. The woman wore an Armani suit the color of a cloudy sky, her contrasting silk blouse laying flat on the lapels of her dark jacket. Two diamond earrings winked from perfectly formed ears, while a small platinum necklace peeked out from the neckline of the blouse. For an extremely tall woman she was still feminine and sophisticated, looking like she just stepped out of a high-end fashion magazine. The woman’s taste in clothes was far different from the J.Crew that filled Tate’s closet.

  The woman was apparently waiting for an apology or some other form of acknowledgment that Tate had knocked her on her ass in the middle of a public place. Several people rushed by, darting for the elevator before the doors closed.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying any attention. Are you all right?” Tate glanced up and down her body to make sure.

  The blonde glanced at her watch impatiently. Tate stooped, gathered the papers, and placed them back in the woman’s portfolio.

  “Yes, thank you. I’m sorry but I have to catch the elevator. I’m late for a meeting.” And with those few words she dashed into the elevator just before the doors closed again and transported its cargo to the many floors above.

  Tate was still a bit winded from the encounter and her head hurt where she had connected with the woman’s shoulder. Rubbing the spot, she exited the building with much more attention to her surroundings.

  The vibration on her hip signaling a phone call took her thoughts from the tall woman, and the familiar number made her heart race.

  “What’ve you got for me?”

  Chapter Four

  With a few minutes to spare before her meeting with Peter Braxton, Victoria dashed into the ladies’ room just to the right of the elevator. Once inside she gave herself a quick once-over, making sure the collision in the lobby hadn’t marred her appearance. Thankfully she wore her blue suit today instead of the beige one she originally had laid out. This one wouldn’t show any residual dirt from the floor where she had surprisingly found herself.

  At least the woman who had knocked her on her ass apologized and helped her up. All Victoria remembered about her were her bright green eyes and the feel of solid muscle hitting her like a linebacker. The woman hadn’t even been looking where she was going when she stormed off the elevator. Victoria was lucky the collision hadn’t hurt her.

  Frowning, she examined her backside in the full-length mirror. She needed to renew her membership at the gym. She wasn’t getting any younger, and at forty-four, she couldn’t shed the pounds as easily as she put them on. She wore one size larger than she did in college and her weight had definitely shifted to different places. The finely tailored cut of her suit accentuated her positives and downplayed her negatives, and Victoria still garnered more than her share of appreciating eyes wherever she went. Most of it was because of her height. At six foot three she was definitely the tallest woman in the room, sometimes the tallest of anyone in the room, but people weren’t just gawking at her height.

  Pulling herself back to what she had come to accomplish, she smoothed and re-secured her hair in the tortoise clip at the nape of her neck, applied fresh lipstick, and with one last look in the mirror, she left.

  The sign on the door spelled out Braxton Products in large Century Gothic letters etched in the frosty glass. She took a deep breath as she pulled and the door opened silently.

  Braxton’s reception area was furnished simply but elegantly in hues of blues and tans, with wide leather chairs banking one wall. Victoria’s shoes tapped as she crossed the small area and stood in front of an empty desk. She casually looked to her left and then to her right and stepped back when she saw no one in the vicinity. Maybe the receptionist had slipped away for a cup of coffee or to deliver a message. Victoria waited patiently for several minutes before a harried elderly woman appeared from one of the unmarked doors behind the desk.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. How may I help you?”

  Victoria smiled at the woman’s polite tone. She had to be near eighty. “I’m Victoria Sosa. I have an appointment at ten thirty with Mr. Braxton.”

  The woman flipped a page in the appointment book on her desk. “Yes, here it is. His office is all the way down on your left. His assistant Susan will let him know you’re here.” She pointed in the right direction.

  Victoria thanked her and gathered her thoughts as she walked down the hall. The doors of a few offices were open, and she heard the sound of voices in discussion and an occasional laugh. Her palms began to sweat as she neared the door marked Peter Braxton, President. Brushing her hand against her jacket she stepped into the most important meeting of her life.

  Several minutes later, Braxton greeted Victoria with the reserve she expected and a look of anger she didn’t. “Mr. Braxton, thank you for agreeing to see me.” She extended her hand, which Braxton shook politely. He dropped her hand without returning her greeting, though, and Victoria felt awkward standing in the silence. Braxton looked at her critically.

  “I’m sorry. Did I catch you at a bad time?” she asked.

  After what seemed like forever, he
finally spoke. “No, not at all, Ms. Sosa. Please sit down.” He rounded his desk and offered her a chair in the sitting area of the large office. “May I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Tea, perhaps?”

  Victoria was tempted to ask for some coffee. The cup, however small, would give her something firm to hold on to. She refused, not wanting any type of crutch for this crucial discussion. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” She chose a straight-back leather chair while Braxton sat on the small couch. “Mr. Braxton, do you know why I’m here?”

  “I have some idea, Ms. Sosa, but why don’t you tell me so there is no misunderstanding.”

  “All right, but please call me Victoria.” She smiled as she became less nervous. “Mr. Braxton, Drake Pharmaceuticals is in trouble.” Victoria stopped to gauge the man’s reaction, which was only a small flare of surprise in his brown eyes, then continued. She couldn’t run away now, so she succinctly outlined the issues Drake was facing.

  After several minutes she finally said what she had come to say. “If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Braxton, we are in the same financial lifeboat. I’d like to offer you a mutual lifeline. A merger. You have what I need and I have what you need. Together we can be successful. Unfortunately I can’t offer you anywhere near the money another company can, but I can offer you this partnership. You have worked hard to make this company something to be proud of. You have an excellent business model but unfortunately have run into a bit of bad luck. I don’t want your company, Mr. Braxton.” Victoria paused for emphasis. “I want what Braxton can give Drake and what we can give you.” She took the next ten minutes to outline her plan.

  Braxton studied Victoria, then stood and walked the few steps to the coffeemaker that sat on top of the credenza. He raised a cup, offering Victoria coffee if she had changed her mind. When she shook her head he poured some for himself.

  “Your situation is very interesting, Victoria. And call me Peter.” He sat back down on the couch. “I had heard some rumors. But may I ask you a personal question?”

  Victoria stiffened but didn’t show any outward sign that she didn’t want to discuss her personal life. She was here only on business. Far too many men and a few women thought it was okay to hit on her during a meeting. She was tired of it but chose the diplomatic way out. “As long I have the right to refuse to answer.” She forced a light and unthreatening tone in her voice.

  “Lady Bruins Volleyball, 1983?” he asked hesitantly.

  “Excuse me?” Victoria had no idea what he was talking about.

  “UCLA. You rallied from an 11-2 deficit to beat Stanford 15-13 in the fifth and final game of the NCAA championship match at Pauley Pavilion.”

  Victoria was stunned. It had been over twenty-five years since her freshman year at UCLA when she was the starting blocker on the championship team.

  Braxton laughed. “My wife played for Stanford. Actually she wasn’t my wife then, but I was planning on asking her to marry me right after the game.” He looked a little sheepish. “I had fifty bucks on the Cardinal,” he added, using the mascot name for the famed school in Palo Alto.

  Victoria relaxed at his light banter and hid her surprise that a man Peter Braxton’s age had a wife who was her peer. “I’m sorry we disappointed you and you lost your money. Did you go ahead and propose?”

  “No way. Debbie was so upset she could hardly stop crying for a week. She took it hard.”

  “I can imagine. It was an unbelievable game.” Victoria hadn’t thought about her college volleyball career in ages and it all flooded back to her as if it were yesterday. She wasn’t yet eighteen when she entered UCLA on a full-ride volleyball scholarship. The top volleyball player in Arizona, she had been heavily recruited by Stanford, Arizona State, and Oregon, choosing UCLA because of its outstanding business school. For five years she juggled classes, practice, games, and an occasional affair on her way to graduating summa cum laude in 1987. She had taken a year off when she was selected to be a member of the U.S. Olympic Volleyball Team.

  “You were on the Olympic team, weren’t you? The one that won the gold medal? Debbie again,” he added at the shocked expression that must have been on her face. “Naturally she followed the games and wherever Debbie went, I tagged right behind her.”

  “Yes” was all Victoria managed to get out. When she stepped into Braxton’s office she had no idea this conversation would occur. She thought for a moment and then a shadowy face popped into her head. “Debbie Winters?” She wasn’t sure if she could recall the name of the player from Stanford.

  “Winston. She was their setter for three years.”

  “Yes, Winston, that’s right. I remember her now. Lots of red hair, always tied in a bun?” The face of Braxton’s wife was becoming clearer now.

  “Still does, as a matter of fact. Wait till I tell her we chatted today. She’ll probably kill me. You are the enemy, you know?”

  Victoria laughed along with Braxton. She knew the enemy he was referring to was the team that snatched the NCAA championship out of Stanford’s hands.

  Braxton grew quiet. “Victoria, your offer is tempting, but unfortunately I’m not the sole decision maker here, as you can imagine. I’ll need a few days.”

  Victoria knew exactly where Braxton was coming from. She might be the CEO of Drake, but she was far from making the final decision in deals like this also.

  “I understand, Peter.” She rose from the chair and extended her hand. “Think about it and let me know. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

  He walked her to the door, and when he opened it he asked, “Do you still play?”

  Victoria couldn’t help but smile. “A few friends have conned me into a beach volleyball league. I’ve never worked so hard in my life.” Of course she was twenty years older now and had always played on a hard court in an air-conditioned arena, not in the sand at the local park. But she didn’t share that tidbit with him.

  Five minutes and one handshake later Victoria leaned her head against the back of the elevator. She was exhausted. She hadn’t slept much the past few weeks, especially last night, unable to shut off her mind because she was anticipating this meeting. She needed to relax, maybe find a pick-up game this weekend at the beach. Teams were always looking for players, especially someone her height. She shook her head. This wasn’t the time to indulge in self-relaxation. Her company was failing and she had to do something about it.

  She closed her eyes and her stomach growled as the car took her the thirty-plus floors back down to the lobby. She hadn’t had breakfast, and when the doors opened she smelled the familiar scent of Dunkin’ Donuts. Before she had a chance to open her eyes, a woman cleared her throat. A face she couldn’t quite place was looking at her as if to ask, “Are you planning to get out or ride up and down all day?”

  “Sorry,” Victoria mumbled as she stepped out, allowing the woman to enter. She glanced around the building’s lobby and quickly located the source of the delicious aroma. Stuck in the far corner was the familiar pink-and-orange sign, and she headed right toward it.

  Chapter Five

  Tate rode the elevator alone, her reflection frowning back at her from the mirrored doors. The woman standing in the car hadn’t recognized her, but she was the one Tate had knocked down earlier in her anger to get out of the building. Her hair was a shade of blond Tate had never seen before but which reminded her of the sun. It would look more attractive down around her shoulders than cinched at the base of her head.

  The woman was probably a soccer mom, Tate thought. With a husband in the Atlanta ’burbs, three kids, a housekeeper, she most likely brought her lunch every day in a brown paper bag and drove the car pool once a month. “God shoot me if I ever get like that,” she said to her reflection, but her statement was pointless. She would never have more hair on her head than the current two inches cut short on the sides and sticking up all over on the top, absolutely zero kids, and wouldn’t be caught dead even riding in a minivan. But the woman had the most amazing blue eyes she
had ever seen. And did she ever smell good. Her perfume lingered in the elevator when she left. Too bad.

  A ding indicated Tate had again reached her destination, and she shook off the memory of the tall, thin woman as she strode purposefully toward the receptionist she saw earlier.

  “Good morning. I’d like to see Peter Braxton. I was in earlier this morning and need to talk to him again.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” the elderly woman behind the desk asked.

  “I was in earlier,” Tate repeated, “and just needed to step out for a minute. He said I could go right on back when I returned.” Tate used the bluster she had learned from her boss. It always worked for him, and the look on the receptionist’s face indicated it was about to work now. “Thanks,” Tate said, dashing down the hall and not giving the woman a chance to say no.

  Braxton’s assistant wasn’t at her desk, and Tate thanked God for small favors. Braxton was standing behind his desk looking out the large window. She knocked on the open door and entered the office when he whirled around.

  “Peter, I’ll only take a minute.”

  “I was under the impression our conversation was over, Ms. Monroe,” he said sharply.

  Tate chose to ignore the fact that Braxton was fuming. She had what he needed and he would just have to get over himself. “I think we parted on the wrong foot.” She pasted on her most charming smile.

  “And why do you believe that, Ms. Monroe? I was very clear.”

  Tate hesitated. A target had never treated her as coldly as Braxton had. Target, that was how she referred to the companies she and Clayton went after. Sometimes they masked them as mergers, some as partnerships, but this was an out-and-out acquisition of everything Braxton had. “I had the impression you didn’t fully grasp the magnitude of what I am offering you, Peter,” she said, repeating his phrase. “This is too important for Braxton for you to take lightly.”