“Cedros is one of the least known Caribbean islands. No one could have guessed you’d run into a local reporter there.”
“You’re right.” But uttering the words didn’t lessen Connor’s uneasiness.
“The best thing we can do now is for you to proceed with the interview. Give him as little as you can get away with. I’ll get in touch with my Chronicle contacts, and we’ll mitigate any damage it looks like the interview might do.”
The two men said their good-byes, but Connor remained standing, looking out over the deceptively calm ocean, with its currents and tides lurking below. That’s how he would get through this interview with Tim McInerny: calm on the outside, but plotting and controlling what he said underneath.
Chapter Three
Out of the corner of his eye, Tim could see Jill scowling at him while he stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie. “Stop staring at me like that. How many times do I have to explain? I wouldn’t be ducking out unless it wasn’t absolutely crucial to my career.”
“We’re supposed to be here celebrating our parents’ anniversary, not advancing careers.” Jill’s lips thinned to the point where they almost disappeared. “Do you know how long it took me to get a reservation for seven at the Platinum Grill? If all seven of us don’t show up, the maître d’ might cancel the whole thing.”
“So tell the maître d’ I got sick.” Tim tried not to roll his eyes at Jill’s control-freak ways.
“And even if he lets us keep the reservation, he’ll probably charge for seven people anyway. You know what these island restaurants are like.”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“You bet you will. I know Caleb will probably let you off the hook for the flight and the hotel room, but I expect you to pay back the hundred and twenty seven dollars Bruce and I are shelling out for your plate,” Jill said, referring to her husband.
“One hundred and twenty seven dollars?” Tim spun around and faced his sister. “That’s just for my meal? Do the lobster and shrimp do a ballroom dance before you eat them?”
“For your information, the Platinum Grill is the best restaurant on Cedros. That’s what Mom and Dad deserve on their anniversary—the best.”
“There’s a difference between giving our parents the best and getting fleeced by a place that takes advantage of sucker tourists.”
Jill’s cheeks turned bright pink, and Tim braced himself to hear her blast him for being ungrateful and inconsiderate. But before that could happen, the door to their parents’ bedroom opened, and Margaret and Calvin McInerny entered the common area with knowing looks on their faces.
“Jill, are you still worrying Tim about the dinner reservations?” A brief look of annoyance crossed over Margaret’s patrician face. “I’m sure that whatever’s come up is unavoidable.”
Calvin also frowned, but it was directed at Tim. “Are you sure you can’t reschedule? It would probably save us all a lot of grief if you could.”
“Dad, trust me, if I could, I would. I didn’t set the time, and this interview is one where I’m not in a position to make a lot of demands.”
Calvin looked at Jill and shrugged. “If he says he can’t, then he can’t. Now let’s drop it and enjoy our evening.”
The curt look Jill shot him told Tim the issue wasn’t dropped as far as she was concerned. He decided to make his getaway before she could go at him again—or worse, have Caleb arrive and both his siblings do a double guilt trip on him.
He kissed his mother on the cheek. “Have a terrific time. Be sure to let me know whether the lobster and shrimp perform the waltz or the tango.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll do a mambo.” Margaret’s eyes twinkled as she squeezed his forearm. “Good luck with your interview. I’m sure you’ll get the information you want.”
His mother’s confidence buoyed Tim and helped ease the doubts that had started to plague him. He left the suite and rode the elevator to the main lobby. After consulting a poster of the hotel’s layout, he realized he would need to cross the courtyard before he reached the vicinity of room 832.
A light breeze did little to break up the night’s humidity, causing Tim to feel as wilted as some of the tropical plants interspersed with the palm trees in the courtyard. He took little notice of the art deco sculptures or the marble fountain while he hurried to once again retreat into an air-conditioned building.
After gratefully leaving the mugginess behind him, Tim self-consciously reached inside his jacket, relieved to find his pad and pen there. Stop being OCD, he scolded himself. You’re on the brink of conducting the most important interview of your career, so far. This is not the time to turn into a neurotic mess.
Despite the warning, he couldn’t help but slide a hand inside his jacket pocket to reassure himself that the tape recorder was still there. He hoped Connor would consent to its use, because Tim would be the first to admit his note-taking skills were not the greatest. For an interview of this magnitude, he did not want to miss a single word.
Tim started to push the up arrow on the elevator, but it suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t know Connor’s floor or room. “This is an auspicious start,” he mumbled.
“May I help you, sir?” Startled, Tim jumped back to find a petite blonde in the hotel’s apricot-and-turquoise uniform standing beside him. In a polite tone, she repeated, “May I help you?”
“Uh, yes. I’m, uh, supposed to meet someone….” For a moment Tim blanked and couldn’t remember who he was meeting, but he quickly recovered. “Connor Albright. I have an appointment to see Connor Albright, but I don’t know his room number.” Skepticism crossed the woman’s face, so Tim hurried to add, “I’m a reporter, I met Connor Albright earlier today and he told me to come here tonight at eight.”
The desperation in his tone must have convinced her, because she said, “Please excuse me while I go and confirm the guest is expecting you.”
“Thanks.” Tim gave her a weak smile before she walked over to a discreet check-in desk in the corner of the lobby. He said a silent prayer that Connor hadn’t had a change of heart and left him in the lurch. Relief flooded him when the blonde returned with a small smile on her face.
“I apologize for the delay. Mr. Albright is indeed expecting you.” She pressed the up arrow and the steel doors promptly opened. But she surprised him by entering the elevator and pressing a PIN code into a keypad above the buttons with the floor numbers on them. “Access to the eighth floor requires a separate PIN,” she explained.
Tim wondered if Connor set this all up on purpose, perhaps hoping he’d get so fed up, he’d cancel the interview. Too bad, buddy, I’m following through on this.
“What about when I get to the eighth floor? Will I need a PIN there too?” Tim asked, barely keeping the sarcasm out of his voice.
The woman shook her head. “The elevator opens directly in front of Mr. Albright’s suite.”
Even after the woman stepped out and the elevator doors closed, Tim wasn’t totally convinced. But sure enough, seconds later, he stepped into a marble foyer that contained a wooden chair, a gilded mirror, and a door with an 8 labeled in chrome.
Before he could knock, Connor opened the door with an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you how to get up here. I swear I wasn’t trying to be an asshole, it really did slip my mind.”
“No problem. I’d have only thought you were an asshole if you’d told the nice lady downstairs to kick me out.”
Connor laughed as Tim followed him inside. “That’s a coward’s move, not an asshole’s. I’ll be honest, I’m not happy about doing this interview. But I told you I’d do it, and I intend to keep my word.”
“Glad to hear it.” Tim took in the modern décor of the spacious suite. Connor’s room was easily twice the size of the suite block that Tim, his parents, Caleb, Jill, and their respective spouses were all sharing. “I didn’t know they had rooms like this here,” he blurt out.
“It’s all I cou
ld get at the last minute. I intended to stay at a cottage on the other side of the island, but those plans fell through. However, these accommodations aren’t too bad. I’m quite happy to settle here.”
Settle? Tim could just imagine his family, especially Jill, freaking out over the floor-to-ceiling window view of the crystal-blue sea, along with the suite’s simple yet luxurious furnishings. He wondered how much a room like this cost. It probably had to be many, many one-hundred-twenty-seven-dollar dinners.
“Would you like a drink?” Connor gestured toward a wet bar in the corner of the room.
“Water is fine, thanks.”
“After all the hassle you endured to simply get up here, the least I can do is fix you a real drink. If you prefer one of those tropical things that you had when we met earlier, I can call downstairs and they’ll bring it up in no time.”
Tim felt like Connor was getting a dig in at him with the “tropical” comment, but he decided to let it slide. No reason to get off to an even-rougher start than they already were. “No, thanks. If you want to make it up to me, you can grant me more interview time than the forty-five minutes you’ve allotted.”
“You drive a hard bargain.” Connor handed Tim a crystal glass filled with water. “How about we stick to the original agreement, and if you find you need more time, I’ll give you an extra ten?”
Ooh, don’t get carried away with the generosity. Tim nodded in agreement. “I’d appreciate that.”
Connor led him to the dining area, and they sat on opposite sides of a glass-top table with an orchid centerpiece between them.
Tim took out his tape recorder. “I hope you don’t mind if I use this. My shorthand is atrocious, so a tape recorder helps a lot.”
“Only if you don’t mind my using one as well.” Connor pulled a small device out of the front pocket of his white button-down shirt. “I find it handy to have my own records, should a disagreement arise between us later on.”
Paranoid much? Tim wanted to ask. They hadn’t even started and already Connor was anticipating problems. He’d planned to start with a few softball questions, but since it looked like Connor wouldn’t pull any punches, Tim decided neither would he. He pulled out his pen and pad, hit the record button, and said, “I’d like to start by asking you about your health. It’s clear that you’ve lost a great deal of weight. Is this is result of an illness or medical treatment?”
Connor flinched and Tim felt a tiny stab of regret. For a moment Connor didn’t look like an imperious billionaire deigning to give an interview. He seemed like a man who had been through a great deal in recent months and was still coming to terms with it.
“I… ah… well….” Connor ran a hand through his short blond hair. “Fuck it. Three months ago, I had a heart attack and had to undergo a quadruple bypass.”
Startled, Tim dropped his pen, but Connor continued.
“Complications developed after my surgery that led to a deterioration in my condition and necessitated my staying in the hospital far longer than expected. And as you can see”—Connor held out his arms in an open, expansive gesture—“my recovery is still a work in progress. I’m not back to a hundred percent, but the prognosis is significantly better than it was this time last month.”
Holy shit! Tim turned off his recorder. “You know, I think I will have that drink.”
Connor let out a dry laugh as he slid a lever on his recorder, presumably turning it off. “Bet you didn’t see that coming.”
“Nope, can’t say that I did.” Tim got up, went over to the wet bar, and made himself a vodka tonic. After finishing the drink in three successive gulps, he made another. Only then did he feel ready to sit back down and face Connor again. He looked at the recorder but decided to leave it off for the time being. “I haven’t heard even the vaguest hint about this. How did you manage to keep the news of your condition under the radar?”
“I suppose you could call it luck.” Connor let out another bitter chuckle. “I’d just wrapped up a meeting with Warren Buffett in Omaha, Nebraska, and was preparing to return to Philadelphia when I felt a tightness in my chest. I wanted to disregard it, but Claire, my personal assistant, is from the area, and she insisted we go to her father, who’s a general practitioner, so he could check it out.
“I wanted to wait to go to my own doctor in Philadelphia, but the pain got worse, so I gave in and went to Claire’s father. I vaguely remember a car taking us to his office, but everything got hazy after that. Apparently, I’d gone into a full-blown cardiac arrest only minutes after our arrival. Claire’s father had access to a private ambulance, and she registered me in the hospital under an assumed name. It probably wasn’t necessary, since no one in Omaha neither knows nor cares who Connor Albright is. If this happened to somewhere on the East Coast or in Silicon Valley, I’m sure you people would have been all over it.”
Tim’s jaw tightened at the “you people,” but he took another swig of the vodka tonic and felt calmer. “You’re the founder and CEO of one of the country’s most important media companies. Of course, we reporters would have covered the story had we known about it. The potential financial and technological ramifications are huge. It would be irresponsible of us to not cover the story. You should give Claire a huge raise because, trust me, even people in Omaha know who you are. It was probably her due diligence that kept the Omaha press off your ass.”
“You’re probably right.” Connor stared down at his hands, clasped in front of him.
“Not telling the press is one thing, but didn’t you have an ethical obligation to inform shareholders?”
Connor’s expression, which had started to border on friendly, turned hostile. “My health is my own personal business. A few days after the surgery, I informed the board of directors of the procedure. That fulfilled the extent of my obligations.”
“I’m not so sure Albright Software Media shareholders would agree. They have the right to know if the CEO and the face of their company might possibly no longer be at its helm. That is crucial information in determining the continuing viability of your company. You know that, and that’s why you’ve kept this news a secret. However, the withholding of this information is nearly tantamount to fraud.”
Almost from the moment he’d finished, Tim realized he’d gone too far, even though he’d been telling the truth. The fury on Connor’s face was unmistakable. “Get out,” he said in a low, determined voice.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so―”
“Did you hear me? Get out.” Connor pushed his chair back and stood, his eyes blazing. “Get the hell out of here right now!”
“Connor, please wait! The recorder isn’t on, so all of this is off the record.” Tim stood and walked over to Connor’s side of the table, hoping to get him to remain there. However, he’d underestimated the potency of his two vodka tonics, because when he reached for Connor’s arm to keep him from walking away, Tim stumbled, nearly falling. “Shit,” he muttered, wishing his clumsiness wouldn’t have chosen this particular moment to make its reappearance. It took the heat of Connor’s steadying hand before Tim realized he wasn’t going to wind up flat on his face. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” Connor said, almost inaudibly. The two men looked into each other’s eyes while Connor’s grip remained firm on his arm.
Tim didn’t know whether he stepped forward of his own volition or whether Connor pulled him closer, but suddenly there was hardly any space between them and their lips were mere inches apart. Connor’s eyes, which only seconds ago had been pools of rage, now reflected the maelstrom of lust that Tim felt engulfing him.
“This is a mistake,” Tim said. Yet that didn’t keep him from wrapping one arm around Connor’s waist. With his other hand, he caressed Connor’s jaw, and he leaned in and kissed Connor on the lips.
Bad idea, bad idea, Tim’s brain screamed, but his burgeoning erection didn’t think so. And when Connor returned the kiss, grinding their hips so their hard-ons rubbed against each other thr
ough their pants, Tim couldn’t remember another moment in his life when everything felt so right.
Chapter Four
What the fuck are you doing?
The question posed itself just as Connor slipped his hand in between his and Tim’s bodies to unzip Tim’s pants and free the cock Connor couldn’t wait to taste. But the reality of who Tim was and what brought him to Connor’s room in the first place caused Connor to extricate himself from the embrace and take a step back.
He watched as the expression on Tim’s face changed from one of desire to confusion. “What’s going on?”
“We can’t do this.” Connor shook his head, trying to shake off the lust-filled cobwebs clouding his better judgment. “You should go.”
Tim’s jaw tightened and he shoved his hands into his pockets, his frustration evident. “Is it because of your heart attack? Is there a medical reason we can’t continue?”
Actually, Connor’s heart was beating furiously at the moment, but it didn’t scare him. In fact, he hadn’t felt this alive and invigorated in months, even well before his heart attack. While he indulged in the occasional one-night stand, it had been a long, long time since anyone had turned Connor on this much. He wanted nothing more than to rip Tim’s clothes off and bury his dick in Tim’s ass as far as it would go.
But he’s a reporter, not a fuck-buddy, Connor reminded himself. Things needed to stay strictly professional between them. He’d exposed enough vulnerability to Tim by talking about the heart attack. Going to bed with him might result in a loss of control that Connor couldn’t let himself sacrifice.
Connor forced himself to take another step away from Tim. The heat emanating from the Tim’s body made him want to throw all caution aside and just give in to his primal, lustful instincts. “My health has nothing to do with this. It’s just not a good idea to mix sex and business. Trust me, I’ve learned that the hard way.”
Connor thought from the way Tim’s brows furrowed that he would follow up on that cryptic statement with more questions for his article. Instead, Tim drew nearer, closing the distance between them.
Secrets With the Billionaire Page 2