This Stream of Dreams (Mirella, Rashid and Adam Book 2) by Roberta Latow Page B

men to front for him. But make no mistake, they all know who’s boss, who runs the show.”
    “You’re beginning to sweat, Ralph.”
    “Listen, Ed! You wouldn’t be the first to be taken in by that image he likes to project: tough, handsome good looks, casual, cool manner, solid and wealthy. All that healthy indifference to big bucks and power; and shy as a Quaker about dirty dealings in the boardroom. The best tip I can give you is to watch out. The sonovabitch may tread softly, but he touts a big stick all the time, even if you can’t see it, and the bastard knows how to use it.”
    “I get the message, Ralph. You’ve given it enough times, for God’s sake.”
    “I don’t think I can face him, Ed. Revenge is sweet, and I’ve got him by the balls. He’ll have to cave in to this takeover bid for the Corey Trust. I’ve seen to that. But I just wish I didn’t have to eyeball him.”
    “Oh, you’ll face him, Ralph. You won’t like it and I imagine you’ll squirm a bit, but you’ll face him. You’ve been setting him up for more than two decades. What surprises me is that you waited twenty-two years to get the knife betweenhis shoulder blades and steal away his company. Correction. You can hardly call this a heist with the kind of money we’re putting up to take over a multinational conglomerate, operating on three continents with annual sales of $5.4 billion.”
    The signal sounded inside the sleek stainless-steel self-service elevator warning them that it was about to stop. The floor number, 22, lit up on the band of numbers in front of them over the door. Automatically, like the door that soundlessly glided open, the two well-dressed, well-pressed businessmen fell silent. Two young, very pretty women, each carrying a stack of files in their arms, stepped in, pressed the button of the floor they wanted, and rode up two floors with the men. They left the elevator, its doors again gliding closed as if on a cushion of air. For the fourth time in less than two minutes, they whizzed smoothly upward toward their destination, the boardroom of the Corey Trust.
    “Great ass on the blond one, just the kind I like to get into,” Ed said.
    “I’m a leg-and-tit man myself,” said Ralph Werfel, the Corey Trust’s number-one man after its managing director and owner, Adam Corey. He put down his Mark Cross pigskin attaché case, took out a fine linen handkerchief from the breast pocket of his Armani jacket, and wiped his sweaty hands before nervously replacing it.
    “Jesus, Ralph, this isn’t like you. Pull yourself together. You’re not acting much like the man I’ve heard quite rightly called the Corey Trust’s English predator. You’ve made as brilliant and gutsy a set of moves with aggressive takeovers and mergers in the last six months as I’ve ever seen you or the trust make. There’s no turning back now. Corey’s set up, and in just about three minutes we’re going to blast him out of the water.
    Ralph shook his head; perspiration beaded his upper lip.
    “All that’s new about this deal, Ralph, is that you’re targeting your own company. Nobody in the world of finance is going to say boo to a goose over your role in this. Quite the contrary, and you know it. That is, after all, why you did it, isn’t it? Those three
p
’s: power, praise, and politics. And not wanting to be number two for another twenty-two years.”
    “Adam isn’t going to sit still for this, Ed.”
    “Tough shit. Together you have created an amazing successstory, and I can’t see you shirking at your moment of glory. Your merger-mania has cost you a business friend. His reticence and peculiar business morals have lost him his company and his best business associate. It’s even Stephen. And you’re right and he’s wrong in the financial climate of today. Now let’s get this raid over with and our acquisitions in the bag.”
    Ralph Werfel felt better, and had to admit that that ruthless little shit of an upstart Ed Osborne