Barbara Dunlop
The Billionaire’s Bidding
© 2007
For my beloved grandmother, Lucy May Malloy.
One
Emma McKinley should have been nervous as she stepped off the elevator onto the Garrison Hotels’ corporate floor. But her emotions had been wrung dry days ago.
It all started with her father’s sudden death. Then she discovered McKinley Inns’ massive debts. And then she learned of the bizarre financial offer made to her sister in order to save the family corporation.
The only thing left inside her now was a grim determination. And it was focused on Alex Garrison, the CEO of Garrison Hotels.
She clamped her bag against her Donna Karan blazer and marched her matching pumps straight down the marble-pillared hallway. She’d never been in the Garrison offices before, never had a reason to talk to her family’s rivals. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out the double doors at the far end would lead to Alex Garrison’s inner sanctum.
She ignored the stares from admin staff whose desks were tucked into discreet alcoves along the way. Nobody seemed inclined to stop her. Just as well, she wasn’t in a mood to be stopped. She might not have an appointment with Mr. Garrison, but she had a moral right to confront him in person.
How dare he take advantage of her little sister, Katie, mere weeks after the funeral, with his veiled threats and outrageous propositions?
Emma drew a breath into her tightening lungs.
Maybe she did have some emotion left in her after all.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” came a female voice on her left as the hallway widened into a posh reception area.
Emma didn’t answer. She didn’t glance across the desk at the woman, and she didn’t break stride. Ten feet from his door. Eight feet.
“Ma’am.” The voice was louder this time, more strident as a neatly suited, thirty-something woman jumped up from her chair.
Five feet.
“You can’t go-”
Emma clamped her hand around the elongated, ornate gold door handle.
Emma swung the door wide open.
Four men in dark suits, sitting at a round, mahogany meeting table, turned sharply to stare at her. Two were gray-haired, with bushy eyebrows and accusatory squints that told her she’d made a terrible blunder. The third was a younger, blond man. His sparkling blue eyes and restrained grin told her he welcomed the interruption.
The fourth man shot to his feet, pushing a leather chair backward with the motion. Dark-haired, dark-eyed and broad-shouldered, his stance told her he was more than ready to take on her and anybody else who breached his privacy.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Garrison,” came the secretary’s breathless voice from behind Emma. “I tried-”
“Not your fault, Simone.” The man’s slate-gray gaze never left Emma. “Can I help you with something?”
Emma’s grip tightened on her shoulder bag. Everyone else in the room faded to mist as her anger returned in force. She focused on Alex Garrison. “Did you think there was the
Simone gasped.
“As you can see.” Alex’s jaw clenched over the steel-threaded words. “We’re in the middle of a meeting.”
“I don’t care if you’re-”
“If you’d like to make an appointment.”
“I would not.”
“Then I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“I’ll call security,” said Simone.
Alex raised his eyebrows, gazing blandly back at Emma. She realized with a jolt that he really didn’t know who she was. How was that possible? Katie was the public face of McKinley Inns, sure. But…
“Do we
“I’m Emma McKinley.”
His nostrils flared and he jerked back ever so slightly.
Then, after a silent pause, he lifted a gold pen from the tabletop and tucked it into the breast pocket of his finely tailored jacket. His burgundy silk tie gleamed under the discreet lighting as he straightened to full height. “If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen. I believe I can spare five minutes for Ms. McKinley.”
The men started to rise.
Alex held up a broad hand. “Please. Ms. McKinley and I will use the boardroom.”
He gestured to a wide oak door and indicated she should precede him.
She crossed the room and turned yet another ornate gold handle. The doorway opened into an impressively large boardroom, dominated by an oblong table of polished, inlayed wood. The twenty chairs surrounding it were covered in burgundy leather, and a bank of windows running down one side let in the August sun that was hanging over uptown Manhattan.
She heard the door click shut, and she pivoted to face him.
“I trust you can make this quick,” he said, taking a single step toward her, planting his oxfords wide apart.
He was even larger and more impressive up close, with broad shoulders and a deep, muscular chest. Stark sunrays highlighted the uncompromising planes of his face. His chin was square, the set of his lips grim, and his eyes were the color of gunmetal gray after a glistening rain.
She got the feeling few people crossed him and lived to tell the tale. If she didn’t know he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, she’d swear he grew up on the streets of Brooklyn.
Not that any of it mattered. He wasn’t getting his hands on her baby sister or their company.
“You are
He gave a careless shrug. “I believe that’s up to Katie.”
“My father isn’t even cold in his grave.”
“Doesn’t change your financial situation.”
“I can fix our financial situation.” Maybe. Hopefully. They could always mortgage the Martha’s Vineyard property.
Alex cocked his head to one side. “I can have your loan called within twenty-four hours. Can you fix your finances that fast?”
Emma didn’t answer. He knew darn well she couldn’t fix them that fast. It would take weeks, maybe months to
