Free His Black Sheep Bride by Anna DePalo

Wellingtons.”
    â€œAnd I’ll help coordinate,” Pia chimed in.
    Tamara glanced from one to the other of her friends. “Even if Colin and Hawk are almost certainly going to be there at Sawyer’s invitation?”
    There was a palpable pause.
    Pia grimaced. “You know you can count on me. Just keep me away from the hors d’oeuvres.”
    â€œI’ll bring my attorney,” Belinda added grimly.
    Tamara laughed.
    For a moment, thanks to her friends, she could forget just how complicated a situation she was getting into.
    Still, this was surely going to be some wedding.

Six
    â€œT ell him to come in,” Sawyer said into the speakerphone, and then rose from behind his desk.
    Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a spectacular view of the Hudson River. The corporate offices of Melton Media were located on the upper floors of a gleaming midtown Manhattan building.
    Sawyer had taken several strides when his office door opened and Viscount Kincaid strolled in.
    â€œMelton,” the viscount acknowledged jovially as he came forward and shook hands.
    Sawyer wasn’t fooled for a second. Though Tamara’s father was a couple of inches shorter than his own six-two, the older man had an air of prepossession and command that only someone born into authority or accustomed to it for a long time could exude.
    In Kincaid, diabolically, the genial visage of a Santa Claus was joined to the shrewd mind of a Machiavelli—a trap for the unwary.
    â€œShall we proceed down to the executive dining room?” Sawyer asked.
    It was well before the daily news deadline for East Coast newspapers going to press, but they were both busy men.
    â€œI’m ready whenever you are,” Kincaid said, nevertheless reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket for his buzzing BlackBerry.
    Kincaid kept up his end of the phone conversation as they made their way downstairs via the suspended metal staircase that joined the executive floors of Melton Media. They were far from the chaos of the newsroom. Melton Media’s corporate offices were housed in a separate building from The New York Intelligencer .
    Sawyer listened as, apparently, Kincaid attempted to verify by phone a juicy rumor that he’d heard at a cocktail party the night before. Clearly, the viscount had the news business in his blood and wasn’t averse to rolling up his sleeves and working the phones himself when necessary.
    Tellingly, though, Sawyer couldn’t discern from Kincaid’s end of the conversation what the rumor was or whom the older man was talking to. Sawyer felt the competitive juices start to flow in his blood.
    Kincaid was a worthy adversary and would be a worthy business partner.
    â€œRumor confirmed?” Sawyer asked with feigned idle curiosity when the viscount finished his call.
    â€œYes,” Kincaid replied with a note of satisfaction.
    â€œI thought we were on the same team,” Sawyer said with mock reproof.
    â€œNot yet. Not until the merger goes through.”
    Sawyer’s chuckle held an element of respect. Viscount Kincaid might be a family friend, but he was a fierce competitor.
    When Sawyer had asked for this meeting, he’d suggested he pay a call to Kincaid headquarters, but the viscount hadgainsaid him. Perhaps Kincaid wanted another opportunity to take a look around the company that would soon merge with Kincaid News.
    Sawyer had inherited an already significant company from his father and had built it up, branching out internationally from the British newspapers and radio station that his father and grandfather had run. His grandfather had married into the newspaper business by wedding a publishing heiress, but he’d taken to it like a natural.
    Kincaid was a different animal altogether. He’d labored in the trenches of the news business, selling family real estate in Scotland to build up his company. His gamble had paid off handsomely, but Kincaid was no fool. He