Come Up and See Me Sometime Read online

  LIKE FATHER LIKE DAUGHTER

  That's what businessman Alex Trahern thinks about Isabel Harrison. If the prestigious headhunter thinks she can steal his top employee, just like her father stole his dad's ideas, she's dead wrong. Alex is always a man with a plan, and his plan is to get revenge on John Harrison through his daughter. But there's no contingency plan for the impact Isabel's sparkling green eyes and honey brown hair have on the decidedly non-business side of his brain...

  IF AT FIRST YOU DON'T SUCCEED, CHANGE THE GAME LIKE FATHER LIKE DAUGHTER

  After some relationship flameouts, Isabel's decided to leave love out of it and approach her search for a husband like finding a suitable job candidate. And according to her list of requirements, Alex Trahern certainly has potential. He's sexy. (Check.) Forceful and fascinating. (Check, check.) Also arrogant, obnoxious, and way too hot for her own good. (Erase. Start over.) Now, if only she could find out what he's really after...

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  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

  Epilogue

  © 2005

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  ^ »

  "I think we've got a spy."

  Marcus Danvers's announcement erupted in Alex's mind like Mt. St. Helens on a bad day.

  Pushing his chair back slightly from the massive walnut desk that sat in the center of his office, Alex met Marcus's expectant stare. "Why?"

  Leaning in the open doorway, Marcus's six-foot-two-inch frame exuded casual relaxation, while his blue eyes glittered with anticipation and amusement. "Harrison's daughter called this morning."

  The closer they got to seeing John Harrison's company dismantled, the less humor Alex found in anything.

  "Explain."

  Marcus crossed the oversized office and sat down in one of the chairs facing Alex's desk. "She wanted to know if I liked the idea of changing employers. Ms. Harrison said that she had a client interested in someone with my skills and experience."

  Alex shrugged, making a concentrated effort not to overreact and feed Marcus's offbeat sense of humor. "She works for one of the most exclusive headhunting agencies in the Portland area. She makes a lot of calls like the one you received this morning."

  Although he'd never met Isabel, Alex had no doubt she was a lot like her father. He stole men's ideas. She stole employees, specializing in the hi-tech industry. According to his sources, she was very good at her job.

  Marcus stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. "If you ask me, it's too much of a coincidence right now. Our client is only months away from closing the deal on her dad's company and she calls your most valuable employee trying to lure him away."

  "My most valuable employee being you?"

  "Well, yes." Marcus attempted a modest look of acceptance. "Not to mention an employee with inside information about St. Clair's plans to take Hypertron apart."

  Alex nodded. "I'll look into it."

  Marcus stood up to leave.

  "What did you say to her?"

  Marcus turned around, his brows raised in mockery. "If I'd said yes, I wouldn't have told you about the phone call, now would I?"

  "With your twisted sense of humor, that's not a given."

  "I told her no, boss. I'm not interested in leaving CIS. Working for you gives me a chance to use my hunter's instincts without dressing up in fatigues and chasing some poor animal through the forest."

  With a sardonic smile, Marcus left.

  He was right. Operating CIS satisfied something both male and primitive inside Alex as well. Some called him a corporate raider, but that wasn't accurate. He was a purveyor of highly specialized information. He evaluated companies, identifying their strengths and weaknesses for investment groups. A few of those groups were led by true corporate raiders, men who made their money in the warlike world of hostile takeovers.

  Alex had created CIS—Corporate Information Systems—on the advice of his dad, a few years before his death. Just out of college, Alex had considered pursuing a career in the field of arbitrage. His dad had suggested that Alex would be happier participating in the hunt than in the kill. He'd been right.

  Providing information that could help companies to grow and change the landscape of the hi-tech industry was a deeply satisfying job. He'd discovered that building up was more satisfying than tearing down, hence the reason he seldom took on corporate raiders as clients.

  Guy St. Clair was one of those exceptions. Alex looked forward to being in on the kill for the hostile takeover of Hypertron, with the primal anticipation of a predator ready to bring down its prey.

  John Harrison owned Hypertron. Both the man and the company had played their roles in the untimely death of Alex's father. Alex had been biding his time for two years, waiting for an opportunity to redress that injury. It had finally come three months ago when two unrelated but fortuitous events had taken place.

  The first had been John Harrison's overextension of his company in an untimely bid for expansion. The second had been when Guy St. Clair, a true corporate raider, had approached Alex for information on several companies including Hypertron. St. Clair bought companies and made his money in taking them apart and selling off the pieces—in this case, product patents.

  Alex considered the takeover the perfect ending for the company that had destroyed his father by refusing him the right to patent the results of his personal research and development.

  * * *

  One hour and several information-gathering phone calls later, Alex surveyed the notes he'd taken. No overt behavior on Harrison's part or that of his company indicated that he knew of the impending hostile takeover or of CIS's role in it.

  There was a chance Harrison was playing a deep game, though. If he suspected anything, his first order of business would be to secure accurate inside information. Hiring Marcus away from CIS would be a brilliant move in that direction.

  Alex tapped his pen against the yellow pad on his desk and then opened a file next to it.

  A picture of a young woman stared up at him. The black-and-white image couldn't tell him her hair or eye color, though that information was listed on her fact sheet—Hair: light brown; Eyes: green. The photo taunted him as it had for the two years since he'd opened the file on Hypertron, John Harrison, and his family. Because in that candid shot, Isabel Harrison looked innocent and too damn appealing for Alex's peace of mind.

  The heart-shaped face and sparkling eyes called to him on a level he didn't understand.

  He had had women in his life, on a very temporary basis, but he'd never found himself fantasizing about one of them when he was on a case. Yet this photo regularly found its way into his conscious mind. Had she been any other woman, he would have made her acquaintance by now, dated her, bedded her, and gotten rid of this longing.

  But she wasn't any other woman. She was John Harrison's daughter, not exactly Alex's enemy, but a woman destined to hate him when his plans for her father's company came to fruition. Using the evidence of what she did for a living, he'd managed to convince himself the picture lied.

  He had managed to stay away from her.

  Until now. His options were limited in gathering the information that he needed on this new development and what he had avoided for two years seemed inevitable.

  He would have to meet her because every possible line of inquiry led back to the same source: Isabel Harrison.

  * * *

  Isabel propped her feet on her desk and admired her new Italian leather pumps. Dark mauve, they were the perfect shade to complement the tailored jacket of her pantsuit. Sometimes size six feet had their advantages. She'd gotten her new pumps for a song off the clearance rack at h
er favorite trendy shoe store in Washington Square.

  Smiling in remembered satisfaction, she shifted her gaze to the clipboard lying across her legs and wondered if she should put "an appreciation for footwear" on her list but decided against it. That might be pushing the male chromosome just a bit too far. And it was definitely the Y chromosome she needed, or at least the result of it … a man.

  A small sound made Isabel swing her attention from the clipboard in front of her to the doorway of her office.

  Her breath lodged in her throat.

  A man stood there. Undoubtedly not her man but an impressive man just the same.

  A nighthawk, she thought fancifully. There was just something so dark about this guy, and not only his appearance. Dark and intense. She could feel him standing less than a dozen feet away. His probing, deep brown gaze momentarily froze her in place, and she stared back at him with helpless fascination.

  Black hair, cut just a little long, framed a face that was not pretty-boy handsome but drew a shocking response from her just the same. Attraction, strong and undeniable, slammed into her like an express train. Sensual lips above an aggressively square jawline snagged her attention before she got hold of her focus and sent it elsewhere.

  He hadn't even worn the customary white shirt to relieve the dark charcoal gray of his suit. Instead, he wore a crisp black shirt with a Neru collar. At least eight inches taller than her own five feet four inches, he dominated her office and her breathing space.

  The thought that this man probably had no appreciation for footwear flitted through her brain before she banished it. He was a potential client, not a potential date, and definitely not a potential mate. He was too overwhelming.

  Summoning a smile, she scrambled to present a more professional appearance and whipped her feet off her desk. In her haste, she forgot about the clipboard resting against her legs, and it went tumbling to the beige carpet.

  "Excuse me. I'll be right with you." She bent down to retrieve it.

  Heat crept up her neck and into her face as she opened one of the drawers in her oak desk and shoved the clipboard inside. He'd come farther into the room while she'd been busy dealing with the clipboard and now stood on the other side of her desk.

  Remembering her manners, she stood up and extended her hand. "Isabel Harrison. What can I do for you?"

  Nanny Number Four had drilled courtesy into her: "Courtesy is not merely a sign of good breeding, my dear, but it is more importantly a mark of respect from one person to another," she had repeatedly said. Isabel tried always to be courteous and had put the trait down on her list, wondering all the while if it would weed out too many potential candidates.

  Not many men bothered with polite gestures anymore.

  The man towering over her desk took her hand in his.

  Heat transferred from his strong, masculine fingers to her own and she hastily pulled her hand back before she made a complete fool of herself over nothing more than a common gesture of courtesy. A lot of people had warm hands. Hers were probably uncommonly chilled for some reason and that is why his skin had felt so hot against her own.

  It was not some kind of primitive female reaction thing.

  Surreptitiously glancing at the calendar on her desk, Isabel confirmed that she had no appointment scheduled. She rarely did during the lunch hour, but it wasn't unusual to have a client drop in unannounced. It was very unusual, however, for a client to have the effect on her senses that this man had. She didn't even know his name.

  She indicated a floral-covered chair in front of her desk. "Won't you have a seat, Mr.…"

  Folding his body into the chair she had offered, he said, "Alex Trahern, and I think you know why I'm here."

  So this was Alex Trahern, owner of CIS and boss to the man she had called this morning to discuss career options. She barely stifled a sigh. She didn't want one of those confrontations this morning. She really didn't. If employers would just realize that she wasn't the enemy. It wasn't her fault that they often underpaid and undervalued their employees, making her job of placing them with other companies that much easier. She wouldn't have a job if all employees were satisfied with their positions.

  However, her phone call to Marcus Danvers earlier that morning had been a complete failure. He was one of the rare employees who had absolutely no interest in moving on. Perhaps if she told Mr. Trahern that, he would forego the whole warning-her-off-of-his-employee routine.

  She summoned her most convincing smile, the one she used to encourage her clients to offer a higher salary or better benefits for the employees they wanted her to find. "Mr. Trahern—"

  "I prefer Alex," he interrupted.

  Nanny Number Four would be appalled, but Isabel nodded. "Alex, then. Although I am not at liberty to discuss my clients or potential clients, I can say that if I had contacted one of your employees, you can rest assured that he or she showed no interest in changing companies."

  Instead of looking placated, he frowned. "I don't like games, Isabel. I know that you called my assistant, Marcus Danvers, this morning with an offer to lure him away from my company. I want to know why."

  So Mr. Danvers had told Alex about her phone call. She wasn't surprised. Some employees found that mentioning she had contacted them increased their leverage when negotiating for employment benefits. Others merely felt that they owed knowledge of the phone call to their employers as proof of their loyalty. She didn't disagree with either stand, but it sometimes made her day less pleasant.

  "Strictly speaking, I did not call Mr. Danvers with an offer this morning." The conversation hadn't gotten that far.

  "The fact that an offer was not extended is unimportant. You called Marcus and I want to know who put you up to it."

  Oh dear. This was going to be worse than usual. Being warned away from an employee who had exhibited no interest in changing companies could be handled relatively smoothly. However, when an employer started asking questions about her clients, she knew she had to tread very carefully.

  "I'm sure you will understand," she said, with more hope than certainty, "particularly considering the type of business that you run, that I cannot breach the confidentiality of my clients."

  Alex leaned forward, his brown eyes intent. "What exactly do you know about my business, Isabel?"

  Squelching the ridiculous urge to back away from her desk, she straightened her shoulders. "I make it a policy to investigate the companies of the employees that I contact. It's good business practice. Naturally, when an employer expressed an interest in hiring Mr. Danvers, I gathered what information I could on CIS. I must admit that it wasn't a great deal." She looked at Alex, trying to gauge what he was thinking.

  The tensing of his jaw indicated that he wasn't satisfied with her answer. "What did you learn?"

  There was no harm in telling him what she had discovered. After all, it wasn't anything he didn't already know. "I discovered that your company sells a service rather than a product. You are apparently a purveyor of information."

  He nodded, his expression still very intent and somewhat forbidding, and yet she had this strange compulsion to reach out and touch him. She swallowed a groan at her own stupidity. Touch him. Right.

  "I also learned that you have very low turnover in your company. I could not find anyone locally that had worked for you in the past."

  Satisfaction momentarily gleamed in his eyes.

  "This morning I discovered that your company engenders fierce loyalty in its employees as well." She couldn't help smiling with her own satisfaction over that fact. "It's always a pleasure to come across someone truly content in his job."

  Alex leaned back in his chair and considered her with an air of wry disbelief. "I can't see a headhunter finding pleasure in an employee's job satisfaction. Wouldn't that make it a little challenging to lure the employee away?"

  Darn. Just when she thought things were getting pleasant. "I don't care for the term headhunter. I consider myself more along the lines of a career gu
idance specialist, and I assure you, my primary goal is to see people content in their jobs. Certainly, sometimes that requires helping them find positions with new companies, but it is always in the best interest of the person making the move."

  "Is that how you justify stealing a company's most valuable asset?" He didn't even blink when launching that insult.

  Irritation started to replace her desire for diplomacy. "I do not steal anything. Employees are people, not things. They have the right to fair compensation for their work, competitive benefits, and a comfortable work environment. If that means moving to a different company, then the ones to blame are the managers and owners of the companies responsible for a lack in any of those three areas."

  "Convenient philosophy for someone in your line of work."

  She'd had enough. "Okay. Let's get this over with. Tell me not to contact your assistant again. I'll tell you that he's made it clear he isn't interested in moving, so it's not an issue." She stood up and indicated the door with a wave of her hand. "You can leave and I'll get back to work."

  Alex didn't even shift in his chair. "Do you get a lot?"

  "A lot of what?" she asked with exasperation.

  "Employers warning you off of their employees."

  She went to run her fingers through her hair and remembered belatedly that she'd twisted it into a French knot that morning. She felt strands of hair slip loose of the knot and fall against her face. Things were just not going her way. She immediately removed her hands, but the damage had been done. Another lock of hair slid from the neat coil, and she knew that within seconds it was going to look like a rat's nest. Darn it.

  She yanked the clip from her hair, intending to pull it back into the twist. "Yes, as a matter of fact I do. It's one of the hazards of the job. You wouldn't believe what I've had to put up with."

  He paralyzed her with a lazy smile. "Try me."

  She stood there like a simpleton with her hands stilled in their attempt to repair the damage she'd done to her hairstyle. He had a dimple and goodness only knew why, but it had an astounding effect on her insides.