He looked around the room. They were an impressive bunch, and, though he and his siblings could needle each other mercilessly, they had an unshakable bond.
At the head of the table sat his father, James, who, in his retirement, still chaired the board of directors. His mother, Ava—who’d passed along her coloring of dark brown hair and vivid blue eyes to his brother Matt and his sister Allison—was a respected family court judge. Matt, who was older than Noah by two years, was also a vice president at Whittaker, though he’d increasingly been developing his own business interests. Allison had followed their mother’s footsteps into the legal profession and become an assistant district attorney in Boston. Quentin, the oldest sibling, was CEO of Whittaker Enterprises.
Missing were Quentin’s wife, Liz, who was at home with their baby, Nicholas, and Allison’s husband of one month, Connor Rafferty, who ran his own security business.
Noah supposed, given his siblings’ penchant for ribbing each other, he shouldn’t have been surprised that, once the board meeting had ended, and because they had time to kill before the press conference at eleven, the topic of conversation would turn to the recent headlines about him in the newspapers.
Thanks to Kayla, in the span of two weeks, he’d been branded a philanderer for fooling around with Fluffy, been reported to have had a public scuffle with Huffy during which she’d slapped him and he’d been seen restraining her and, to top it off, been witnessed having an argument with Ms. Rumor-Has-It herself.
He wondered whether Kayla had seen Sybil LaBreck’s column that morning and figured she must have. Sybil’s headline screamed: Kayla and Noah Kiss and Make Up!
Fortunately, Huffy—er, Eve, he corrected himself, annoyed that now he was unintentionally adopting Kayla’s ridiculous names—was in Europe on a modeling shoot and thus probably unaware of the headlines linking her most recent ex to a secret affair with Ms. Rumor-Has-It. Otherwise, he might have had another irate female to contend with.
In any case, he took grim satisfaction in knowing Sybil’s column that day had probably riled Kayla. After all, he had to suffer through grief from his family.
“Well,” Allison continued, “I, for one, would love to congratulate Kayla Jones.” She looked at Quentin and Matt for affirmation. “Unlike those vapid, vampish vixens you sometimes date, she’s smart enough not to be bowled over by your charm, Noah.”
Noah mouthed vapid, vampish vixens incredulously while his brothers stifled their mirth. Then he frowned. “Great. I’ll let Connor know that, if you ever get tired of the D.A.’s office, you can have a second career as a gossip columnist.” He added, “Does family loyalty mean nothing to you?”
“Not since you tried to get me married off to Connor,” Allison returned sweetly. “How did you put it to him?” She pretended to try to remember for a second, then snapped her fingers. “Oh, right. I believe your words were ‘Why don’t you help take her off our hands?’”
Noah grumbled. “Maybe I shouldn’t have put it like that, but you and Connor belonged together. This situation’s different.”
Matt’s lips twitched. “Ms. Rumor-Has-It does seem to have your number, unlike—uh, how did she put it?— Huffy, Fluffy and Buffy. And, on top of it all, your little columnist is undeniably hot.”
Noah quelled the sudden, inexplicable urge to slug the amused look off of his brother’s face. So, Kayla was hot; she was also a menace, and she was not “his” little columnist. “Yeah, and she’s also a consummate teller of tall tales in that fiction column of hers.”
At the head of the table, his father cleared his throat and gave him a level look. “The bottom line is there’s a problem here that you need to fix. Even if there’s not a modicum of truth in the recent headlines, they’re bad for public relations—both yours and Whittaker Enterprises’.”
Quentin nodded. “Dad’s right, as much as I’d like to think otherwise. Some people will believe the press, and even those who don’t will wonder if you’re playing and partying harder than you’re working.”
Noah watched his mother cast him a sympathetic look that nonetheless managed to carry a hint of reproach. “I know I raised you to be respectful toward women, Noah, so I have no doubt that the recent press about you is just an aberration. Nevertheless, darling, I have to agree with your father and brother. You must fix this. No more headlines, and you should try to do something to repair your public image.”
Noah knew his family was right. His philosophy of working hard and playing harder had long worked for him, but then Ms. Rumor-Has-It had come along.
He had to deal with her and the trouble she’d stirred up in his life.
What was she doing here?
Noah stared in disbelief at the figure slinking into a seat at the back of the roomful of assembled reporters, cameramen and photographers awaiting the beginning of the press conference.
As if she could go unnoticed.
Even if she hadn’t been a head-turner with her blond hair falling like a curtain past her shoulders and a figure that was a siren call to every straight guy in the room, she had on a ridiculous outfit consisting of a pale pink sweater made of some clingy material that hugged her br**sts, a pencil-thin pinstriped skirt showing off legs that went on and on, and some come-hither heels.
Watching as she got a once-over from the guy next to her while, oblivious to any attention, she pulled out a notepad, Noah smiled grimly: I rest my case.
Much to his annoyance, the memory of their kiss lingered with him. Her lips had been soft, silky and full beneath his, and their effect had gone through him like a shot of brandy. But so what if the woman had proved she could kiss with real feeling?
He frowned. The last thing he needed to be thinking about right now was their kiss. The press conference would start any minute. He’d resolved this morning to deal with her, but he hadn’t expected to be confronted with an opportunity here, now, surrounded by half the press of Greater Boston. Hell.
Anyway, the real question was, what was she doing here? Last time he’d checked, gossip columnists didn’t cover breaking business news.
As the clock on the back wall hit eleven, he strode to the podium at the front of the room. He was going to announce the acquisition by Whittaker Enterprises of Avanti Technologies, a small company located along Route 128, Boston’s high-tech corridor, and because the acquisition of Avanti impacted Whittaker’s computer business—his area of expertise—he’d be doing the initial presentation. Afterward, he and Quentin, as well as the president of Avanti, would field questions.