When Fate Delivers

WHEN FATE DELIVERS

By

Kathryn Anne Dubois

© copyright Sept 2007, Kathryn Anne Dubois
Cover art by Kat Richards, © copyright Sept 2007
ISBN 978-1-60394-084-9
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

Lauren Taylor lifted her chin. “Look at him. We’ll never pull this off.”

“It’ll work,” her vice president, Ashley Carmichael, assured her with her usual overconfidence.

“What? Lying?” Lauren peered through the mirrored window into her own conference room of Taylor & Company. Soft lights with dark green leaded glass were lit at each corner. The carpet’s understated floral pattern was more representative of an old fashioned library than a place of business. It was a serene pleasant atmosphere that Lauren had worked hard to maintain.

But now the air was charged with tension. At the polished mahogany table sat lawyers and staff from her own company and from that of Coleman Enterprises. Others stalked the room.

“Stalling for time,” Ashley said. “That’s all we need today, just a little time to regroup.”

Lauren thought they’d need more than that but kept it to herself.

They both watched in silence the way the president of Coleman Enterprises towered above his staff as he leaned against the wall, hands thrust deep in pockets of designer trousers. Lauren’s last scrap of confidence dissolved as she studied the man noted for his ruthless takeovers, because the next company he had chosen to target was hers.

“He looks dangerous,” Ashley murmured, then frowned.

Lauren nodded. She could see it for herself. His crisp white shirt contrasted nicely with hair the color of the darkest espresso. It was expertly cut and combed smoothly off his face. She would bet he left nothing to chance.

“It could be worse,” Ashley said. “Look at the tall blond, the one who looks more like an athlete than a business man?” Her gaze lingered on him. “He looks amused.”

“How is that worse?”

“I don’t know. I’m reaching.”

Lauren groaned. “I know he’ll recognize me.” Though it had been just one day and so long ago, she remembered well the feel of strong arms sweeping her up, carrying her safely into the house.

“You were eleven years old,” Ashley said. “I doubt you made much of an impression.”

Lauren tugged at the hem of her power business suit. “Let’s hope I didn’t so he doesn’t make the connection. But the man’s not stupid. Even if I succeed in holding my own today, he’ll eventually figure out that I was the little girl he rescued that day.”

Ashley tucked a strand of thick blond hair behind her ear. “Actually, that may work in your favor, may evoke some empathy. That is, if the man has any. And your company is probably of little consequence to him anyway, simply a paper transaction.”

“That’s what I don’t get. Why is he even at such an insignificant meeting?”

Lauren sighed. She hated this. Give her a spreadsheet and data, a nice statistical analysis, and she could come up with a viable plan in hours, but place her wits against a live human being and she was lost.

She turned back to her adversary and studied the way his eyes roved, staking out his territory, awaiting the kill; just the type of man she’d always avoided socially. But this was much worse. If he bought fifty percent of her stock, he would be her partner in business. She’d be no match for him. She held her breath, warding off the wave of hiccups threatening to erupt.

“What’s important,” Ashley said, “is that you remain professional. You’re good, Lauren, damned good - when it comes to business.”

Lauren flicked lint off her skirt in rapid clicks.

Ashley grabbed her hands. “You can do this, Lauren.”

Now even Ashley, who Lauren could always count on to keep her cool, was panicking.

But it was no wonder. It had been a week of hell.

Lauren glanced down at the postcard discarded on her desk. It had arrived Monday from her sister, Jessica. Milan, Italy, this time. Along with her usual greetings, she mentioned that she was selling her half of their inherited retail company.

Dumfounded, Lauren and Ashley, nevertheless, had managed to get Coleman’s representatives to agree to a preliminary meeting before the sale went through. They never expected Coleman himself to show up.

“Look at me.” Ashley took Lauren by the shoulders. “You’ve got to show him you're a force to be reckoned with, not someone who will roll over and let him take charge of your business. Persuade him it isn’t worth his trouble. At least delay this thing until we can kill your sister--”

“Let’s leave my sister out of this for now.” She peeled off Ashley’s fingers and steered her towards the door. “Okay. Let’s do this. You go first, then I’ll follow.”

Lauren watched Ashley enter and make her way toward the conference table. Apparently, his staff took it as a cue to take their places at the table. The black panther, however, simply watched and continued to hold up the wall.

When Ashley was settled, Lauren took a little breath and stepped through the doorway. But before her toe could even clear the threshold, she saw him push off the wall and come at her in long strides, a determined look on his face. She almost did an about face.

She froze instead. A few feet inside the door. In a matter of seconds, he loomed up, standing too close, cornering her, his size blocking out the comforting view of her staff.

“Ms. Taylor?” Even his voice was commanding. A rich baritone that resonated throughout the room.

She looked up his length, determined to meet his gaze squarely even though being just shy of 5’2” made it difficult. But more challenging was something for which she was wholly unprepared: The warmth in his clear blue eyes.

“Mr. Coleman.” She smiled politely, offering her hand. “We finally meet.”

He took her hand, studying her with unnerving intensity. “We've already met, Ms. Taylor.”

Her mind raced for a suitable response. “I...” She pulled on her hand, but he held firm. Then he had the nerve to run his thumb over the base of her knuckle. She decided to feign confusion, as though she didn’t recognize him, unlike every other female in the country.

“I think you’re mistaken, Mr. Coleman.” She held out hope that maybe he didn’t remember her exactly but simply recognized the name.

He smiled. “I’m rarely mistaken. But it was a long time ago. And now, well, I’m without my lawn mover … and, of course, this time I’m wearing a shirt.” He laughed.

At the mention of his shirt a memory returned with alarming clarity of her being cradled against a bronze chest.

He dipped and whispered in her ear, “It's been awhile, button.”

Button. . She wanted to crawl into a hole. But when she frowned up at him, he was looking past her at the large framed watercolor of her family’s house in the suburbs hanging on the wall. He tapped his finger against the glass, pointing to the tiny array of purple flowers along the stone walkway of the white-bricked rancher. “I planted those,” he said with a smile, apparently comfortable with his modest roots. But she reminded herself that he was equally at ease devouring large corporations.

“I recognized you immediately.” His mouth twitched. “Your freckles are a dead give away.”

Wonderful. His blue eyes crinkled with pleasure. She was almost drawn in by him until she remembered that her very future was at stake. By all accounts this man was one smooth operator, and she had learned the hard way not to be taken in by charmers.

“I see,” she said, trying to move past him. “Please, let me introduce you to my staff.” But he blocked her path. In response, he stepped closer and she found herself practically up against the wall. He had nerve, she’d give him that.

“We don’t need our staff, Lauren. Tell me why you requested this meeting. Are you hoping to up the price?” He favored her with an amused frown.