by Tracy Wolff
Especially after her debacle with the Bijoux article. Her cheeks heated as she once again thought of how badly she’d messed up that whole thing. She’d spent much of last week going over her notes, trying to see where she’d gone wrong in vetting the source, but everything had checked out. Everything had seemed fine…right up until it had all fallen apart.
She still didn’t understand how she had made such a terrible mistake.
Malcolm told her it was because her nose wasn’t developed yet—he was always going on about how all the great investigative reporters had a nose for a story…and a nose for the truth. When she was little, before her mother had died and her father had bugged out for parts unknown, her dad used to say the same thing. But he’d told her she had that nose. That she was going to be a great reporter.
And though he’d disappointed her in a lot of different ways through the years, she’d never doubted him when it came to that. Probably because she hadn’t wanted to doubt him. Hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that the one tenuous thing that held them together was nothing but a lie.
As she stood staring at a particularly beautifully arranged aquarium—filled with orange clownfish and yellow-and-blue angelfish swimming amid bright pink, yellow-and-blue sea anemones—she was hit with the most awful thought yet. What if she didn’t really want to be a reporter? What if she’d done all this—busted her butt at the top journalism school in the nation, worked her heart out to land the worst job at one of the most prestigious papers in the country—not because she actually wanted to be a journalist, but because she’d been so desperate to get her father’s attention, to make him love her, that she’d made herself into a person she thought he would want?
It hadn’t worked. Not that it was exactly a surprise—from the moment her mother had died, Desi had ceased to exist for her father. Then again, everything had ceased to exist except his job. He’d shuffled her from relative to relative, exhausting their hospitality while he chased stories overseas.
And where had that gotten them? He was dead and she was in the middle of this ballroom, taking notes about rich people and wondering if maybe her whole life up until this point had been a lie. Not exactly a stellar year for either of them, if she did say so herself.
Her soul-searching was cut off when a familiar male voice asked, “Sparkling water?”
She turned to see Nic, a glass of champagne in one hand and a glass of sparkling water in the other. He was dressed in a different tuxedo from the one he’d been wearing the night she met him, but he still looked absolutely gorgeous. Absolutely devastating. Or maybe it was just that she was devastated. She couldn’t tell. All she knew was she wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms, burrow into his chest and pretend that everything was going to be okay.
“You look thirsty,” he told her, holding out one of the glasses with a quirk of his eyebrow.
And because she knew he would take her mind off everything that was whirling in her brain—and because she knew a perfect setup when she saw one—she took the glass from him. Then she looked over the rim and delivered her line. “Funny, I was just about to say the same thing about you.”
“Were you?” he asked with the crooked grin she had come to love. “Well, you wouldn’t be wrong.”
She went off script then, tapping his glass. “You should probably drink up, then.”
“Oh, I intend to. In fact—” He paused suddenly, his eyes darkening to the mossy green shade she loved the most. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing at all,” she lied. “Why?”
“Something is,” he told her as he searched her face. He was frowning now, all levity replaced by concern.
How could he tell? she wondered a little wildly, even as she calmly met his gaze. She’d learned a long time ago to keep her emotions tucked deep inside, so deep that sometimes even she forgot they were there. So how did he know?
“I can see it,” he said, and for one crazy moment she thought he had read her mind. But then she realized he was reacting to her denial…and the upset she obviously wasn’t as good at hiding as she’d thought she was.
“Here.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, rubbed his thumb gently over the skin just beyond the curve of her mouth. “Your dimple’s gone. That only happens when you’re upset.”
No one had ever seen that before—not even her. She’d gone through most of her adult life thinking she was one of the very few people who didn’t have a tell, thinking she had hidden herself deeply enough that there was nothing for anyone to see.
And then Nic had come along and blown that idea right out of the water when they’d barely known each other a week. How did he do it? How did he see her when she couldn’t even see herself?
“Desi?” he urged, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing—”
“Don’t do that. Don’t pretend with me.”
“I’m not. I swear.” And to her astonishment, she wasn’t. Because right then, in that moment, standing in his arms, she was okay. More okay than she’d been in a very long time. “It’s just been a crazy day. But I’m good now.”
She could tell from the look in his eyes that he understood what she hadn’t been able to say—that being with him had made her okay—but he didn’t push it. He didn’t say anything at all. Instead, he dropped his glass of champagne on the tray of a passing waiter and pulled her into his arms.
“Is this the part where you ask me to dance?” she teased, more than ready to clear her head of painful thoughts.
“Actually, this is the part where I whisk you outside and ravish you.” But contrary to his words, he swept her onto the almost empty dance floor, spinning her around to the beat of some old-time song she recognized but couldn’t name.
“I thought I told you earlier that we weren’t making love on the balcony this time.”
He laughed, bending his head to drop a soft, sweet, sexy kiss on her shoulder. “Yes, but I checked. No balcony.”
She laughed then, too—she couldn’t help it. No matter how awful her mood was, Nic always found a way to make things better.
“So I’ll take that as a yes?” he asked blithely.
“Take it as a maybe,” she answered.
He quirked a brow. “Maybe’s not no.”
“No, it isn’t.” She held on while he twirled them around. “But it’s not yes, ei—” She broke off midsentence, gasping and clinging to him as he suddenly lifted her up and spun her around.
“Let go,” he said as he gently moved her away from his body. And though it went against every instinct she had, Desi did what he said for once. And then laughed her head off as he spun her all the way out before reeling her back in with a quick snap of his wrist.
She felt it happen right then—in the middle of the dance floor at a fancy gala that he belonged at and she certainly didn’t. Desi felt herself slide headfirst into love with Nic Durand.
She spent the evening breaking all the rules. Instead of blending into the background and observing the wealthy and sometimes famous, she allowed herself to be introduced to them. To be drawn into conversations with them. Then again, it wasn’t as if she had a choice.
Being Nic Durand’s date meant being surrounded by people all the time. She wasn’t the only one who loved him, after all. He might be new to Southern California’s high society, but Nic had the kind of personality people gravitated to—and the billions of dollars at his disposal only added to his appeal. But even without the money, he was one of those guys everyone wanted to be friends with. Larger than life, funny as hell, handsome as all get out—and nice to boot. What was there not to love? God knew, she’d tried and look where it had gotten her.
Still, she couldn’t quite believe that she was in the thick of things—wasn’t sure that she wanted to be, if she was honest. When she’d agreed to taking him as her date, she�
�d kind of planned to still do the wallflower thing. Sure, she’d known he’d attract attention, but she thought that would only make it easier for her to blend in to the crowds.
But Nic wasn’t okay with her blending in to the background. Actually, he wasn’t okay with her being more than two feet from him all night. Not in a creepy, possessive kind of way that would have made her champ at the bit—and probably deck him before the night was over—but in the concerned, solicitous way that said he was looking out for her. And that he was proud to have her by his side.
And so she found herself making miles of mental notes about who was doing what with whom—and what they were wearing while they were doing it. Twice, she slipped away to ostensibly use the bathroom only to spend the time hiding in a corner and talking into her recorder as fast as she could.
Not that she was talking to these people under false pretenses—everyone Nic introduced her to was told she worked for the Los Angeles Times and was covering the party for their society pages. But the thing was, no one seemed to care. At least that she could tell, no one acted any differently toward her at all.
At least until she met Marc Durand.
From the moment she locked eyes with Nic’s brother, she knew she was in trouble. And she couldn’t even say that she didn’t deserve it, because she totally did. He was the CEO of Bijoux, the man she had almost accused in print of lying, cheating, stealing and helping to fund the most egregious human rights violations. Was it any wonder he was looking at her as if he wanted to take her apart tiny piece by tiny piece? And then feed those tiny pieces to one of the sharks swimming in the tanks just beyond the pavilion?
Marc saw her and she saw Marc before Nic had a clue that anything was amiss. She tried to slip away before the eldest Durand could make a scene, but the moment she moved an inch farther away than Nic deemed acceptable, he turned to her with a frown. “Everything okay?” he asked.
She, who always had a snappy comeback, had no idea what she was supposed to say to that. And so she just shook her head, letting her eyes find Marc and his date, as they were trying to extricate themselves from the clutches of San Diego’s mayor.
Nic followed her gaze, and sudden understanding flashed across his face. Then he pulled her in close, bending his head to whisper in her ear, “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry.”
Don’t worry? Easy for him to say.
He flashed Marc a grin, but Nic’s older brother continued to glare at her. Which was fine, she told herself as she braced for the impending storm. She owed the man a serious apology—now was as good a time as any to get it over with. She just wished it didn’t have to be in front of all these people. The humiliation of making the mistake was bad enough, but having all these people witness the fallout—people she had to work around regularly—was more than a little daunting.
Nic must not have figured that out, though, because after excusing them from a group of movie execs, he put a hand on her lower back and propelled her straight toward the center of the ballroom. Straight toward Marc.
“Hey, bro,” Nic said when they reached the other couple. He clapped Marc on the back before turning to Marc’s date, a gorgeous redhead with kind eyes and stunning bone structure. “Isa, you look gorgeous tonight as always.” Nic leaned down to kiss her cheek.
“I do what I can,” she responded, hugging him warmly. “Keeping up with the Durand brothers isn’t always easy.”
“I think you’ve got that backward,” Nic told her with a laugh. “You’ve certainly kept Marc on his toes through the years.”
“Yeah, well, someone had to.” She cast a teasing glance at the man in question, then slipped her hand into his and squeezed.
“Isn’t that the truth?” He kept his hand on Desi’s back as he turned to her. “Desi, this is my future sister-in-law, Isa. Isa, this is Desi.” He said her name with a kind of reverence it didn’t deserve, his voice soft and warm and open as he pulled her even closer into his side. It was the first clue she had—or, at least, the first one she paid attention to—that said his feelings might be as strong as hers. Panic raced through her at the thought, mingled with the discomfort she already felt upon meeting Marc. For a moment all she wanted was to find a place to hide.
But that wasn’t fair—to Nic or to Marc and Isa. Desi had screwed up royally and it was time to finish paying the piper. Which was why, when Nic turned to introduce her to his brother, she made sure to meet Marc’s eyes, though it was the last thing she wanted to do. He was as handsome as his brother, but in a much colder, more standoffish way. How did Isa avoid getting frostbite? Desi wondered as she held her hand out to him.
“It’s nice to finally put a face with the name,” Marc said, his blue eyes coolly assessing her as he shook her hand. “Nic’s been talking about his Desi for months.”
The words should have warmed her—God knew, she’d spent much of the past five months thinking about Nic, too—but there was something in the way Marc said them that made the words sound like a condemnation instead of a simple observation.
Then again, in his mind, she’d seduced his brother, gotten pregnant, then disappeared only to write an exposé full of lies about his company. The surprise wasn’t that he was insulting to her. The surprise was that he was speaking to her at all.
With that thought in mind, she took a deep breath and willed herself not to screw up what she was going to say next. Which was probably easier said than done, considering how nervous she was. And how badly she’d already messed up.
“Actually, I’m really glad we’re getting this chance to meet,” she told him.
“Are you, now?” He lifted a brow—it was obviously a family talent, one designed to make these two men even more devastatingly attractive. And infinitely more intimidating. “And why’s that?”
His tone was polite, insouciant even, but—unlike his brother—he had a tell. It was a small one, but the way his lips tightened just a little when he looked at her told her how angry he was. Which was…fair enough.
“I want to apologize for all the trouble my article caused you,” she told him. Beside her, she felt Nic stiffen, then move as if he wanted to say something. Without breaking eye contact with Marc, she put a restraining hand on Nic’s hip, telling him without words that she was a big girl and needed to take care of this herself.
He didn’t relax at all, but at least he didn’t butt in, so she counted it as a win.
“I know that’s not enough,” she continued, keeping her voice steady despite Marc’s laser-like gaze. “Just like I know how much damage it would have done if that article had actually gone to print. I made a lot of mistakes when I was writing that article—including avoiding speaking with Nic early on because of what had happened between us—and I’m really sorry for what I put you both through.”
“It’s fine, Desi.” Nic wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder. “Marc understands.” This last was accompanied by a hard look at his brother, one that basically told Marc he’d better accept her apology or there would be hell to pay later.
She hated so much that she was a point of contention between the two brothers. They were close—she’d read that while she’d been researching her article and now, seeing them together, she knew it was true. And the fact that they were bristling at each other right now, because of her, made her a little sick.
“On the plus side,” Isa said, trying to break the very obvious tension, “if you hadn’t written that article, Marc and I probably wouldn’t be together now. And neither would you and Nic. So, that’s two good things that came out of it, right?”
“Absolutely,” Nic said, and from the look on his face he actually meant it. Which seemed crazy to her after everything she’d put him through. But when he’d said clean slate, he’d really meant it. Which—again—made him a much better person than she’d ever imagined.
“That is a good point,” Marc s
aid, and he sounded friendlier than he had just a few moments before. But the tell was still there, the tightening of his lips, even when he was smiling, and she knew things weren’t nearly as over as Nic wanted them to be.
Fourteen
It took only two hours for the situation to come to a head. In that time, she’d danced with Nic, recorded copious notes and even managed to make the rounds of the aquariums to see the ones she’d missed. She’d also let Nic talk her into bidding on a homemade wooden cradle for the baby, donated to the silent auction by a San Diego artisan.
It would fit really well in Nic’s house, a traitorous little voice in the back of her head said. Not that she was seriously thinking of moving in with him or anything. Because she wasn’t. Not yet and probably not ever. But the cradle was pretty and she would love to put her baby in it, so who cared where it went as long as it kept their son safe and happy.
“Would you like more water?” Nic asked as they finished a dance and he escorted her off the dance floor.
“Actually, I was hoping to cut in,” Marc said smoothly as he appeared from nowhere. “May I have this dance?” he asked her.
She knew she should say no, knew she should make some kind of excuse and get out of it. But there was a predatory light in his eyes that told her escape wouldn’t be possible—not unless she wanted to cause more trouble between Nic and Marc, which was the absolute last thing she wanted.
Besides, she would have to deal with him some time—he was her baby’s uncle, after all. She might as well hear him out, let him say everything he wanted to say to her right now, and then maybe they’d be able to move past it. If she was lucky.
“I was just going to get her some water, actually—” Nic started.
“I’d love to dance,” she told Marc. Then she stood on her tiptoes to give Nic a quick kiss on the cheek. “The baby and I are perfectly hydrated. So stop worrying and dance with Isa.”