By Lisabet Sarai
Eternal Press 2008
http://www.eternalpress.biz/book.php?isbn=9781897559246
Blurb
Ruby Maxwell Chen, the beautiful and ruthless CEO of a huge British business empire, is used to getting her way. When she encounters American entrepreneur Rick Martell, though, she wonders if she hasn't finally met her match. From the trendy clubs of London to the Hollywood Hills, Ruby and Rick compete for ownership of a strategic factory in Malaysia. Neither has any qualms about using sexual wiles to smooth the path to success. Neither anticipates that their mutual attraction will turn into something more intense and difficult to control.
Excerpt (PG)
I hear the door open, open, but for half a minute, I do not look up from the papers on my desk. Let him understand that he is not my most important business.
When I finally do raise my head, it takes every shred of my self-control not to betray my shock. It is him, my arrogant seducer from last night. His hair is neatly combed, true, he is wearing an armani suit and there is a flash of gold at his cuffs, but there is no mistaking that pirate mustache or those intelligent, audacious eyes.
Once again, I sense the sexual force that emanates from him. I will not succumb this time. I will not even acknowledge our previous meeting.
I summon every ounce of power and pride. Rising from my chair, I offer him my hand. “Mr. Martell? I am Ruby Maxwell Chen.”
My skin must be cold, for his feels burning hot. I release him as quickly as politeness allows. “Please sit down.” My voice is cool, even, neutral. Even I am amazed, and I see grudging admiration in Martell’s eyes.
“Thank you for making time to see me, Ms. Chen.” He has decided to participate in the charade. Good, that should make things easier.
“If you had not contacted me, I would have sought a meeting with you. I understand that we have some common interests.”
Am I deliberately baiting him? He wonders, and so do I.
“Quite so,” He says seriously, “And I believe that we can resolve the situation to our mutual benefit.”
I make my face a mask. “Please proceed.”
“I need that fabrication plant in Malaysia. Etymologics needs it.” His eyes flash. “We have several designs nearing completion, and we cannot risk manufacturing them in the states.”
“Risk?” I ask, caught up in his intensity.
“Industrial espionage,” he says. “In the U.S. we could not afford our own fab plant; we would have to contract as a third party. It would be all too easy for our competitors to steal our designs. We have applied for several patents, but as you know, that takes a long time, and provides only the smallest measure of security.
“Malaysia, Baktar’S Plant, is perfect for our needs. A foundry that we can own and control. And I know the country, know the people and how things work.
“So I gather. You grew up there, did you not? In fact, your mother is Malay, I believe.”
Martell grins. “You've done your research, Ms. Chen. Yes, Malaysia is my second home.”
He does not say anymore, but somehow I know that he is aware of my background as well, my part-British, part-Asian heritage. What a strange coincidence, that we should have such a similar history.
“I gather that you have persuaded Mr. Baktar that your company would serve his interests better than the Maxwell Companies as proprietors of his chip foundry. Presumably, by offering him a higher price.”
Martell does not speak, but I read assent on his face.
“And if the Maxwell Companies should meet or exceed your offer, what then?" I lean forward to make my point. “We are a far larger enterprise than your Etymologics, Mr. Martell. We have deep pockets.”
Martell grins, most incongruous given the tension in the air. “I am aware of the size and power of your company, Ms. Chen. However, you may not be aware that Ahmed Nasruddin Baktar is a distant cousin on my mother's side. There are ties of blood to consider.”
And favors, and counter-favors, I think bitterly. Martell is animated and relaxed. He seems not the least cowed by me, though he continues his respectful form of address. From half a room away, I feel the force of his presence, willing me to melt, to accede to his desires.
I struggle to take control of the conversation, and my own unruly reactions to his damned physicality. “You spoke of mutual benefits, Mr. Martell. Do you have a specific proposal to present?”
“Yes, I do.” He suddenly seems almost boyish in his eagerness. “Rather than being adversaries, let us become partners..”
I raise one skeptical eyebrow, but say nothing.
“I propose that we—Etymologics and the Maxwell Companies—invest jointly in Baktar’s Plant. Fifty-fifty, at the price that you last quoted him. In return, Etymologics will have first claim on the Foundry’s capacity, for our own designs. Meanwhile, your company will book and mangae contracts for third-party fabrication projects to utilize the excess capacity.”
“In which company would the title be vested?”
“Etymologics would be the official owner. We need to have final control in order to securely advance our technologies. But we will not require more than twenty-five percent of the plant’s capacity, at a maximum, while the Maxwell Companies will keep eight-five percent of the revenues from all outside projects.”
I do not like the way that this is going. He is too glib. Before I can object, though, he has pulled a slim notebook computer from his briefcase and is beside me, setting it up on my desk.
“Just take a look at these figures, Ruby. You’ll make millions.” He stands disturbingly close as he fiddles with the touch pad, booting the machine. I catch a whiff of his evergreen cologne. Despite my resolve, my knees turn weak. I am assaulted by an all-too-real image of his tumescent cock, swaying in front of my face, and the remembered sensation of the probing whip handle.
He is logging in, eager to show me his analysis. My eyes follow his fingers; I cannot help it. B-A-R-R-A-C-U-D-A. I suppress the urge to laugh at the way his password mirrors his self-perception. As he brings up his spreadsheet, I scrutinize his face. Did he deliberately reveal his password? Or was this a careless slip on his part? He seems unaware of any lapse as he points excitedly at the screen. I file the information away for possible future use.
“You see, Ruby. Based on these projections, your company would clear three million pounds annually, even if Etymologics projects consume the maximum anticipated capacity. Given ramp-up time, I would expect that our utilization will be significantly lower than maximum, especially during the first two years, leaving you with even higher profits.”
“This assumes that the current boom in chip fabrication outsourcing continues, however. May I?” I reach forward without his permission and start typing over the values in some of his spreadsheet cells. “What if the market softens? What if there is another Asian economic crisis, as some analysts are predicting? In that case, not only would I not profit, I would lose money on my investment.” I point to the final column of numbers, which revises itself in response to my changed parameters.
“Meanwhile,” I say, looking him straight in the eye, “Etymologics gets guaranteed production facilities at a discount rate.” Martell holds my gaze, hint of a smile half-hidden by his mustache. “It seems that I am taking all the risk, whereas you get a certified benefit.”
“Quite correct, Ruby.” Some part of me notes his annoying shift to familiar address. “However, the likely returns on your investment if current conditions hold are nothing short of phenomenal.” He looks at me thoughtfully. “As you know, the Maxwell Companies did not grow to their present impressive size without taking some risks.”
He is right, of course, and his basic analysis appears sound. Somehow, though, I don’t trust this man, with his flashy suit, his easy-going American manner and his loose-limbed body that oozes sexuality with every move. He knew that I would be at Proscenium last night, clearly, targeted me and humbled me, just to obtain an advantage in the present negotiations. Was this someone that I wanted as a business partner?
“No, Mr. Martell,” I say finally, trying to put steel in my eyes and in my voice. “Maxwell Companies must own and control the foundry in Cyberjaya. I would be willing to consider providing discounted rates or preferential booking for Etymologics, in return for some investment from you. However, that plant is to be the anchor for Maxwell’s expansion into Asia. I cannot relinquish it to someone else.”
Martell says nothing. For long minutes, we simply look at each other, at an impasse, while the heat rises. He cannot quite believe that I have refused. I try to imagine seducing him as I did my Mr. Dalton, using my body to bend him to my will. I fail utterly.
Thanks Lisabet for stopping by,
Anita
www.anitaphilmar.com
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