"How?"
"By standing up in front of everyone and behaving like a nice close-knit little family who are wholeheartedly in empathy with one another and particularly with Meredith. I want every journalist who's present to be able to get enough of an earful and an eyeful this afternoon to last them for weeks so they'll get out of our lives and stay out. I want them to leave that press conference room drowning in sympathy and convinced there's no ill will among us." Pausing, Matt looked at Meredith and said, "Where can we assemble all the reporters? Intercorp's shareholders room isn't very large—"
"Our auditorium is," Meredith said quickly. "It's already decorated for our annual Christmas pageant, so it's clean and ready."
"Did you hear that?" Matt demanded of Parker.
"Yes!"
"Then get over here as soon as you can so we can prepare a statement," Matt ordered, and immediately hung up. He glanced over at Meredith, and the way she was looking at him went a long way to banish the jealousy that had been eating him since she'd smiled at Parker's voice; her eyes were filled with admiration, gratitude, and a little awe. And a lot of apprehension.
He was about to say something reassuring, when Lisa Pontini suddenly shoved away from the wall, her lips trembling with amusement. "I used to wonder how you managed to make Meredith throw caution aside and go to bed with you, get pregnant, get married, and nearly go to South America with you—all within a few days. Now I understand what happened. You're not a tycoon, you're a typhoon. By any chance," she asked, "have you ever voted democrat?"
"Yes," Matt admitted dryly. "Why?"
"I just wondered," she lied, noting Meredith's quelling frown. Sobering, Lisa held out her hand to him, and quietly said, "I'm very happy to meet Meredith's husband at last."
Matt grinned at her and returned her handclasp. He decided he liked Lisa Pontini immensely.
Chapter 44
At Matt's suggestion, Meredith had invited all the store's senior executives and upper level managers to attend the news conference, in an effort to eliminate speculation among store employees by providing them with fact, albeit secondhand fact, from their managers. In order to soften up the press, Bancroft's deli department had been ruthlessly raided on Meredith's orders, and all 150 reporters who were now taking their seats in the auditorium had been partaking of liberal amounts of imported food and expensive wine.
As she waited in the wings offstage with the two men who'd rushed to her aid, Meredith felt not only gratitude, but an odd sense of well-being. Forgotten was the bargain Matt had inflicted on her and the argument she'd had with Parker the other night; all that mattered right then was that both men had wanted to help when she needed them. Trying to hold off an inevitable attack of nervousness, she looked at Matt. He was standing just a few feet away from Parker, glancing over the public statement they'd all collaborated on, but which he had mostly written. Parker was doing exactly the same thing, and Meredith knew why they were: Both men were deliberately avoiding the need to speak to, or even look at, each other. In her office they'd treated each other with cool civility while they debated the exact wording of the statement that was about to be read by Bancroft's head of public relations, but their mutual dislike had been glaringly obvious. Both of them had agreed that when they walked out on that stage, there would be a show of friendly unity, but Meredith wasn't certain they'd be able to put up a convincing pretense when they so obviously couldn't stand each other.
Now, as she studied the pair of them, their instinctive animosity seemed almost funny, because she was suddenly struck with how very similar they were in some ways. Both of them were unusually tall and undeniably handsome—Parker in an impeccably tailored blue three-piece suit with his Phi Beta Kappa key pinned discreetly to his vest pocket, and Matt in a beautiful charcoal suit with a faint gray pinstripe that made his shoulders look even broader. Parker, with his sun-streaked blond hair and blue eyes, had always reminded her of Robert Redford, and never more than today. Glancing at Matt to make a comparison, she studied the tough angles of his jaw and cheek, the sternly molded lips and the thick dark brown hair that had been beautifully cut and shaped. On second thought, Meredith decided abruptly, the two men were not alike at all. Parker was the image of cultured, civilized urbanity, while Matt was ... not. Even now there was a reckless, brash forcefulness about Matt that not even eleven years of acquired social polish could hide. In all actuality, his face was too rugged, too harsh, to be conventionally handsome—except for his eyelashes, Meredith thought with an inner smile. He had absurdly thick, lush eyelashes.
Suddenly the noise level in the auditorium dropped, lights brightened, a microphone squealed, and Meredith's pulse began to hammer, banishing all thoughts of anything but the next few minutes. "Ladies and gentlemen," Bancroft's P.R. director said, "before Miss Bancroft, Mr. Reynolds, and Mr. Farrell come out here to answer any additional questions you may have, they have asked me to read the following statement, which contains the facts, as they know them, of the incident that has caused you to assemble here today. The statement is as follows: 'Three weeks ago, the irregularities in the divorce decree supposedly obtained by one Stanislaus Spyzhalski were first noted by Mr. Reynolds. Immediately thereafter, Miss Bancroft and Mr. Farrell met to discuss the matter ...'"
As the statement neared its end, Parker and Matt put down their copies of it and started toward Meredith, positioning themselves on either side of her. "Ready?" Parker asked her. She nodded, nervously smoothing the collar of her pink wool suit. "You look lovely," he reassured her, but Matt frowned worriedly at her tense features.
"Relax," he warned her. "We are all victims, not perpetrators, so don't go out there looking stiff and secretive or they'll keep digging, looking for something we're hiding. Be natural and smile at them. Meredith," he said urgently, watching her struggling to draw an even breath. "I can't pull this off alone! I need your help!"
That remark seemed so incredible coming from a man who'd barged past every obstacle she tried to put in his way lately that it wrung a laugh from her when only a moment before she'd been consumed with angry dread at having to discuss her private life in public. "That's my girl," he said with an approving grin.
"Like hell she is!" Parker snapped as the P.R. director finished reading and spoke their names, which was their cue to walk onstage.
Blinding flashes exploded the instant they walked onstage, minicam lights tracked them like bright white eyeballs as the trio stepped up to the bank of microphones at the podium. As had been decided, Matt opened up the interview to questions, but Meredith was startled by the humorous tack he used to do it: "So nice of you to attend our little impromptu gala, ladies and gentlemen," he said. "If we'd have known yesterday that you were going to be here today, we'd have brought in some circus elephants to do justice to the occasion." He paused for the laughter to subside, and then he said, "We'll be up here for only five minutes, so let's keep the questions short and to the point. I have all the time in the world to spend with you," he joked, pausing again for the laughter to subside, "but Meredith has department stores to run and Parker has meetings this afternoon."