Masquerade (Corporate Heat Book 3)

by Desiree Holt

  But here she was, five years later, still unskilled, undereducated and her only saleable commodity seemed to be her looks.

  A quirk of fate had gotten her into her first fashion show, where she’d heard girls saying how important it was to capitalize on their looks while they could. The girl who had brought her to the organizer had kept telling her if the right people saw her, the big money was waiting. Maybe she could catch on with a modeling agency and at last have some kind of stable income. When the man had approached her after the fashion show, she’d had all she could do to keep from screaming and throwing her arms around him. Professional, she kept reminding herself. Cool and professional.

  She knew this was big money. The business card with raised lettering he’d given her bore the name of an agency several of the girls were familiar with.

  “His models get to travel to very exotic places,” Mari Wilde had told her. “They even get jobs in Europe and South America. Those pay big bucks, chickee.”

  Big bucks. That would certainly be nice.

  A waiter approached their table.

  “Would you like a drink?” the man across from her asked.

  Alexander, she reminded herself. His name’s Keith Alexander.

  “No, thank you, Mr. Alexander. But some iced tea would be nice.”

  He looked at the waiter. “Iced tea for the lady and a scotch on the rocks for me. Now.” He smiled again. “Let’s get down to business. I have some important projects on the calendar and I want to discuss where you’d fit in. We’ll need to get a portfolio done for you. Include you in the publicity package.” He tilted his head, studying her. “You don’t mind if clients might want to see a photo shoot, do you?”

  “Oh no. No, not at all.” Special observers were often invited to photo shoots. She didn’t care as long as she got paid the amount he’d teased her with. Not to mention the travel to exotic places.

  They ordered lunch, although Arianna wasn’t sure she could eat all that much. Nerves had stifled her appetite. Alexander chatted at her all through lunch, his voice warm and pleasing as if he knew her nerves were strung tight and needed soothing. When the waiter had cleared away their plates, he pulled an envelope from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to her.

  “This is just a simple letter of agreement,” he explained. “It gives us permission to represent you exclusively. It explains your hourly rate and sets out which of your expenses we cover. If you could read it and sign both it and the copy, we can move forward. Bella Donna Models has been asked to provide the models for some major upcoming advertising campaigns.”

  Bella Donna. Arianna had to control herself. Several of the girls in the show had mentioned them. Said they did photo shoots in exotic places and their models got top exposure. One girl had warned her when Alexander approached her that the word was their models didn’t last long. That Bella Donna was always looking for fresh faces.

  Arianna didn’t mind. As far as she was concerned, if there was a lot of turnover, it created opportunities for more people. For however long it lasted, it would establish her and give her the credentials to seek other representation. She read the letter through, but it seemed pretty straightforward to her. The fees she would receive made her eyes pop.

  “You could have someone look it over,” Alexander pointed out, “but there are no hidden clauses, as you can see. And we should move forward on this as soon as possible.”

  Of course we should.

  “The thing is,” he went on, “we have a big contract with a bathing suit designer and we’re doing a location shoot in the Caribbean. On an island.” He grinned at her. “Ever been to the Caribbean, Arianna?”

  Ever been to the Caribbean? He might as well have asked her if she’d been to Mars. With the pen he handed her, Arianna scrawled her signature at the bottom of both the letter and the copy. Alexander took the original.

  “Most excellent,” he told her. “Let’s get out of here. I think I can get you squeezed into this afternoon’s photo session for portfolios.”

  “Oh,” she breathed. “That would be wonderful. Are we going right now?”

  “No sense wasting time. We want to be ready for Elite. I have a car waiting that will take us right to the studio. If all goes well, we’ll be on a plane for Miami tonight, then off to the location.”

  Is this moving too fast? Should I ask for time to think it over? Discuss it with someone? But then I might lose the opportunity. Lord knew there were dozens of females out there like her, hungry for something like this.

  Swallowing her misgivings, she let Alexander take her arm and guide her out of the door.

  Chapter Four

  They managed to snag the last empty booth at the little Italian place right next to the office building. Just as they slid into their seats, Lindsey’s cell rang and she glanced at the screen.

  “It’s the office,” she told Taylor as she pressed the button to answer. “God. I just left there. What now? Yes, Leda, what is it?”

  “We have the television on in the break room, Lindsey. Someone just told me Mr. Wainwright’s death is on the noon news.”

  Lindsey blew out a breath. “I guess we should have expected it. He’s a player in the business community and his wife is a big deal in social circles. Anything negative?”

  “No. It’s being called an unfortunate one-car accident.”

  “Okay. You know the drill, right?”

  She could almost see Leda nodding.

  “We have no further information and all questions should be directed to you.”

  “Good work. No wonder you’re so valuable. Listen. Set it up to record the next broadcast. If anything else pops up, text me, but we should be back in about an hour.”

  She sighed as she put the phone on the table and looked at Taylor.

  “I know this is only the beginning. I’ll meet with everyone this afternoon to create a game plan. I’ll see who I can hand off some of my clients to so I can take over some of Craig’s. I know they’ll need special handling.”

  “What about Jerry Ortiz? This morning you identified him as working on some of those clients with Craig.”

  Lindsey chewed her lip, trying to choose her words with great care. “Don’t get me wrong, Jerry’s as good as they come, but he also has a healthy dose of arrogance and he may not listen carefully enough to our hot-button clients. Or he may see this as a chance to put his own stamp on things without clearing it with me.”

  Taylor nodded her agreement. “I hear you. I trust your judgment, so I leave it all up to you.”

  “Have you heard from Noah again?”

  “Yes. He messaged while you were on the phone with Leda. He’s on his way back from the Wainwright house. I told him to meet us here. I want to give him that cell phone we found and have him check out both the phone and the call.”

  “But if the number is blocked, how will he find out who it belongs to?”

  Taylor’s mouth curved in a tiny smile. “Trust me. Noah can find out just about anything. And if he can’t, he knows people who can.”

  The waiter filled water glasses and served coffee and the two women reviewed everything so far, which, sad to say, wasn’t that much.

  “Call me crazy,” Taylor said, “but I just have this wild feeling there’s more to Craig’s accident than we see on the surface, and that in some way it’s connected to Elite.”

  “God, let’s hope not.” But Lindsey had the same feeling dancing along her spine, even though she did her best to squash it.

  By then Noah had arrived, easing onto the bench seat next to his wife.

  “So how did it go with the ice queen?” Lindsey asked.

  Noah gave a little snort. “At least I’m not frozen to death, although it was close. Was she like that with you, Lindsey?”

  “Except when Craig was around. I’ll tell you.” She shook her head. “I could never quite see the two of them together, but it was obvious they had a tight connection.” She shrugged. “I guess it takes all kinds.”
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  Taylor nodded. “I met her for the first time when Noah and I came down here to talk to Craig about the merger. When we had dinner with them, she certainly put on a good performance. I’m sure becoming part of Arroyo was important to her. Craig said she came from South American high society and I believe it.” She turned to her husband. “So how was your meeting with her?”

  “About as you’d expect. It’s obvious she’s grieving but she’s also one of these people who never lose control. She had a couple of people there, obviously friends, helping her with the arrangements. It seems they took care of all that ahead of time.”

  “As I would have expected,” Taylor agreed. “I’m sure you let her know we’re here to help if she needs it. That’s just standard procedure.”

  “I did, although I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for a call.” He paused to ask the waiter for some coffee. “I discussed the autopsy with her.”

  Taylor snorted. “I’ll bet that was fun.”

  “She made this big deal about not wanting his body mutilated, especially since everything looked so cut and dried. I explained it all to her again, and while she’s not too happy about it, she’s decided it would not be in her best interest to raise a fuss.”

  “Thank the lord for that. Where does that leave things as far as the funeral is concerned? We definitely need to have a presence.”

  “The detective I spoke with said they should be finished with everything, including lab results, in a couple of days. Natalia said she’d have someone call or fax the funeral arrangements over to the office as soon as they were finalized. Or have someone call us. She hoped everyone would be able to attend.” He shrugged. “Should give the cops plenty of time to complete the autopsy. They’re probably trying to pin down how a healthy man would suddenly have some kind of episode that would cause an accident like this.” He shook his head. “I saw the pictures of the accident. The car was all smashed to hell against the concrete of the overpass. It doesn’t look like he tried to stop at all.”

  Taylor’s forehead creased in a frown. “You think it was suicide?”

  “Not necessarily. The autopsy may give us some answers. I spoke to the medical examiner and he said they were waiting for his medical records to arrive, plus the lab analysis of his blood. They aren’t sitting on it, believe me.”

  “If it was suicide,” Taylor said slowly, “we may have more problems than we think.”

  “Let’s not borrow trouble if we don’t have to,” Noah told her. “Wait for the facts.”

  “I agree. It’s bad enough handling the flood of calls as the word of Craig’s death spreads.” Lindsey explained to him how they were dealing with things.

  “She’s got it taken care of,” Taylor told her husband. “Elite’s in good hands. Did Natalia say anything about Craig’s ownership share of the agency?”

  Noah shook his head. “She knew the setup. Craig told her when we first approached him. Right now she’s the grieving widow, but once we get past that you can bet she’ll be all over us asking questions. Too bad. She provided the startup capital for Elite and when we bought into the firm, she got a healthy payday. I’ll remind her of that if need be. We have enough to do without going head to head with her.”

  “Speaking of paydays and the accounting,” Taylor interjected, “I don’t know if Craig was cooking the books here or not. That’s the first thing I always think of when something strange pops up. It’s just the way my mind works. Noah, we should bring in John Martino if he’s available. If anyone can find something, it’s John. He’s the best forensic accountant around.” She turned to Lindsey. “You remember John, right? You met him four years ago. What do you think? He’s the best we can get for this.”

  Every muscle in Lindsey’s body tightened and for a moment she stopped breathing. Shock ran through her system. She did her best not to show her reaction to Taylor. She just hoped her face didn’t give away the thoughts racing through her mind. She remembered John Martino, all right. In hot, vivid, erotic detail. Probably in greater detail than she wanted.

  Too many nights she still dreamed of his hands on her body, his mouth sucking on a nipple, his teeth scraping it. His touch everywhere, his fingers inside her, his lips pulling on her clit. And her stupidity where he was concerned. She hadn’t seen the man for four years, but she still had to work hard to push him to the very back of her consciousness. But at Taylor’s words, just like that, the current crisis faded into the background and sensual images swirled in her mind. She had to cross her legs and send her body signals that this was no time to be thinking about the things she and John Martino had done naked in her bed.

  Four years ago Taylor and Noah had come to Miami, where she was working at the time, to talk to her about taking the job at Elite. John Martino, their close friend, had been in town digging through the books and accounts of a major land developer. He had joined them for dinner twice and it had been instant fireworks between the two of them.

  Lindsey had never been the kind to fall into bed with anyone after just a hello. But John, with his dark good looks and incredible personality, his total sexiness and hands that did magical things to her body, swept all her rules and good intentions aside. For four days and nights they’d lit up the atmosphere with the air sizzling between them, something the Cantrells knew nothing about. Four days of intense emotion and even more intense erotic pleasure.

  When he’d left her, the last thing he’d said was, “I’ll call you. Count on it. We aren’t even close to finished here.”

  She’d thought he meant it. When a couple of weeks had passed and she’d heard nothing from him, not even an email, she’d toyed with the idea of contacting him, but something had held her back. It wasn’t as if he’d made her an actual promise. She reminded herself over and over that it was a common expression, a friendly way of saying so long and it was nice.

  Finally, on one of the Cantrell visits to Elite, she’d managed to bring him up in a conversation with Taylor in what she’d hoped was a casual manner.

  “How’s John? Where is he now? What’s his latest project like?”

  It seemed John was in Bermuda for a special client and no one knew how long it would take. The man traveled all over the world. Okay, she’d thought, I’m a big girl. John’s a nationally sought-after expert in his field who probably never has a spare moment. He was in great demand, and why not? He was the best at what he did.

  So she’d waited some more, doing her best to push him to the back of her mind. Weeks then months had gone by without any contact. She needed to get over herself. It did sadden her that she’d been so sure the connection they’d made was strong, only to have nothing come of it. Or maybe she’d been the only one who’d felt that way and she’d misunderstood the whole thing.

  She was still waiting for that call, anger and hurt and disappointment a ball of emotions she’d buried as deep as possible. Now she’d have to face him again, and she wondered what that would be like. How would she handle it? How would he? Would he act as if nothing had ever happened between them?

  I have to stop driving myself crazy. I’m thirty-five years old, a mature, adult businesswoman, for god’s sake, not some sex-crazy idiot.

  “I think it’s a great idea,” she agreed, hoping her voice gave nothing away. “He’s exactly what we need.”

  “Good. I wanted to get everything else set before I bring up our next challenge.”

  “Challenge?” Noah lifted an eyebrow.

  “Yes.”

  As soon as the waiter had taken their orders, Taylor pulled the cell phone out of her purse and handed it to Noah.

  “What’s this?” He turned it over in his hands.

  “A puzzle,” Taylor said.

  “This rang in a drawer of Craig’s desk while your wife and I were meeting in there,” Lindsey told him.

  “Yeah?” One eyebrow arched. “It was in a drawer?”

  “Yes.” She looked at Taylor. “Startled both of us, me especially. I had no idea he kept some kind
of secret phone hidden away. Noah, caller ID is blocked on the phone so you have no idea who’s calling.”

  “When we tried to call back,” Taylor added, “we got nothing. As if the phone itself was dead.”

  “Whoever had the phone on the other end probably pulled the SIM card.”

  “And in just seconds the phone locked and we don’t have the password. I want to know who this guy is and who else called Wainwright on this phone.”

  Noah turned it over in his hands, studying it. “I’ll call Liam Benedict. He’s hired a data specialist who might be able to help us.”

  Taylor turned to Lindsey. “Liam owns a company in Tampa that creates specifically tailored security software for companies like defense contractors. Lately they’ve branched out and gotten into digital forensics, and hired on a couple of experts.”

  “The theory is,” Noah added, “to find out how the codes on the SIM cards can be broken then write software that prevents that.”

  Lindsey’s jaw dropped. “Wow. I thought I was up to date on this stuff.”

  “It’s a whole new field,” Taylor explained. “It’s flourished since the government has refused to allow phone companies to release the lock codes on phones.”

  “But it’s also come up,” Noah added, “because people running illegal enterprises have hired people to write their own lock codes and change them regularly. I’d be happy to explain to you how it all works if I understood it more.”

  Taylor laughed. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s hooked on this stuff like a kid.”

  Noah laughed, an unusual sound from him. Lindsey was used to his implacable, stolid expression, one that softened only when he looked at his wife.

  “We’re still planning to be here for a few more days, right?”

  “Yes.” Taylor nodded. “Until we find out what the hell Craig was into and what position it leaves Elite in. I want to give Lindsey all the help she needs to make sure things are running to her satisfaction. And hopefully not find any more surprises.”

  “Then I’m going to call Liam and ask him if we can borrow his expert for a couple of days. I can send the plane for him.”