Sex, Lies and the CEO

by Barbara Dunlop

  “It might be better if you don’t date for a while.”

  “That doesn’t sound like much fun.”

  “Read a book. Take up a hobby.”

  “Like golf or fishing?”

  “Not a lot of fishing in the greater Chicago area. But you could golf.”

  “Tried it once. I’d have to hang myself.” Shane shuddered at the memory.

  “You do know it’s not about the ball. It’s about the conversation.”

  “Boring people play golf.”

  Justin paused beside the closed door. “Powerful people play golf.”

  “I’d rather scuba dive or target shoot.”

  “Go for it.”

  Shane had considered both of those things, dreaming of a long weekend in the Keys or a rustic lodge in Montana. “It’s a little hard to find the time.”

  “Now that you’ve given up dating, you’ll have nothing but time on your hands.”

  “There’s a board meeting on Friday. We break ground on the new wing of the R & D facility Wednesday morning. Then I’m hosting the search-and-rescue fundraiser at the mansion next Saturday night.” Shane paused. “And I’m not going stag to that.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “Uh, no, I’m not.”

  “Then find a nice, safe date,” said Justin. “Take your cousin.”

  “Madeline is not going to be my date to the fundraiser.”

  “Why not? She could be your hostess. It’s not the same as a date.”

  “That’s pathetic. I’m not going to look pathetic at my own party.”

  “You won’t look pathetic. You’ll look shrewd. The trick here is to give the media absolutely nothing to report.”

  “You don’t think they’ll report that I’m dating my cousin?”

  “They’ll report that you and Madeline were impeccable hosts and that Colborn raised hundreds of thousands for the search-and-rescue service.”

  Shane’s instinct was to argue. But he forced himself to think it through. Was cohosting with Madeline really the safe route?

  He knew she’d do it for him. She was a sweetheart. Would it deflect public criticism? More importantly, would it protect his privacy?

  Justin spoke up again. “There’s a fine line between keeping your company in the public eye and becoming a social-media spectacle.”

  “I’ve crossed it, haven’t I?”

  “Bianca crossed it for you.”

  Shane capitulated. “Fine. I’ll call Maddie.”

  “Good decision.”

  “You do know I have a 100 percent success rate, getting lucky after that particular party.”

  “You do know those women are sleeping with the billionaire persona and not the man, right?”

  “The family mansion has to be good for something.”

  The Barrington Hills house had been in his family for decades. But it was an hour commute to downtown. And what single man needed fourteen acres and seven bedrooms?

  Shane mostly lived at his Lake Shore Drive penthouse—three bedrooms, a fantastic view and close to any number of fine restaurants.

  “I’m sure your father would be proud of how you’re using the family assets,” Justin drawled.

  Shane couldn’t help but smile at the memory. His dad had been gone for six years now, tragically killed along with Shane’s mother in a boating accident when Shane was twenty-four. He missed them both. And although Justin was being sarcastic, Dalton wouldn’t have had the slightest problem with Shane’s love life.

  Shane heard his assistant, Ginger, over the intercom. “Mr. Colburn? A Hans Strutz is on the phone from Gobrecht Airlines.”

  He and Justin exchanged a worried look.

  Shane reached out to press the intercom button on his desk phone. “I’ll pick it up.”

  “Thank you, sir. Line one.”

  “Thanks, Ginger.” He took a bracing breath. “Well, this could be really good or really bad.”

  Justin reached for the door handle. “Call me when you’re done.”

  “I will.” Shane punched line one.

  * * *

  Darci sat perched on a bus-stop bench across the busy street from the Colborn Aerospace headquarters. The June sunshine glinted on the giant royal blue sign, which stretched across the front of the building. The twenty-one story structure was two blocks from the river, overlooking a small park.

  Her father’s unmailed letter had been a revelation. It explained Ian’s bitterness, his rages at Dalton Colborn and likely his fondness for Scotch, which had increased as the years went by. The letter accused Dalton of betraying Ian, of stealing and patenting her father’s next-generation turbine design.

  It seemed Ian and Dalton had been best friends for years, until Dalton got greedy and stole everything for himself. Ian’s letter had threatened a lawsuit. He wanted money, sure. But he also wanted professional recognition for his invention. Dalton had won a prestigious award for the turbine, gaining fame that had translated into wealth and skyrocketing growth for Colborn Aerospace, while Ian’s marriage had broken up and he had spiraled into depression and obscurity.

  The letter stated that there was irrefutable proof of Ian’s claim in the company’s records. He said his original, signed schematic drawings were hidden away in a place where only he could find them. He’d wanted a court order to retrieve the designs and force Dalton to come clean.

  But the letter was never mailed. And Darci could only guess at the reasons her father might have changed his mind. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to tip Dalton off, to risk Dalton finding the drawings and destroying them. If so, why hadn’t he called a lawyer? Or maybe he had.

  She realized she’d probably never know.

  Now she sat staring at the Colborn Aerospace building and wondered if the proof could possibly be inside. Were there papers moldering in a basement filing cabinet that showed her father was a brilliant engineer? If there were, how could she get her hands on them?

  She watched people walk in and out of the building, alone, in pairs, in groups. Some were obviously executives and office staff. Some were maintenance workers. Some were likely clients and customers.

  She could walk into the lobby right now, and nobody would stop her. Though there was probably security to keep her from getting much farther than that. Maybe she’d ask to see Shane Colborn. Maybe she’d march right up to him and demand to see the historical files.

  Then again, maybe that would be stupid. Shane was likely as selfish and greedy as his father. If he learned there was proof of his family’s dishonesty, there was no way he’d let her hunt for it. Instead, he’d be the one to find it and destroy it.

  A bus rolled along the curb. Its air brakes groaned as it came to a stop and blocked her view. A few people stepped off while others boarded, then it pulled away, diesel engine grinding loudly before the sounds mingled with the other traffic.

  Children squealed in the park beside her. Birds swooped from aspens to maple trees. The wind freshened the air, blowing away the exhaust from the four-lane thoroughfare.

  It was lunchtime, and hundreds of people moved through the park and along the sidewalks. More entered the Colborn building. More came out.

  Staring at the imposing stone structure, Darci knew the smart thing to do was walk away. She should forget the letter existed and carry on with her regular life. She could head back to her car, return to the loft and finish unpacking her belongings.

  It was Friday. She and Jennifer were going to the Woodrow Club tonight. They’d meet up with some friends from Columbia, have a few drinks, maybe run into some nice guys. Who knew? This could be the night she met her soul mate.

  Not that she was necessarily fixating on meeting Mr. Right. She’d like to get married someday, settle down, have kids. Who wouldn’t? But she was in no
hurry.

  Her and Jennifer’s web-design business was growing at a very satisfying pace. They’d planned a vacation in New York City for July. They had reservations at a hotel on Times Square and tickets to three shows. It was going to be fantastic.

  Another bus passed, but it didn’t stop.

  She gazed over the tops of the cars and taxis, staring at the glass doors that led to the Colborn Aerospace lobby, while speculating on what kind of a person could get access to the basement. A repairman, perhaps. She could rent a uniform, buy a toolbox and pretend she was from the telephone or the electric company.

  Too bad she didn’t know a fuse from a resistor.

  Maybe she could deliver a pizza.

  A woman headed up the stairs to the front doors, then paused to smooth her skirt, seeming to brace herself before reaching for the door handle. She looked young, nervous and self-conscious.

  Job interview, Darci concluded.

  Then she sat up straight, a lightning bolt flashing in her brain.

  Job interview.

  Employees of Colborn Aerospace could wander all over the building. They would have security access, possibly even door keys. Nobody would question their right to be there. And they could chat up the other employees, find out where company records were kept, browse through them under one pretext or another, probably find anything they wanted about the company’s history.

  That was the answer. She’d apply for a job, go to work for Colborn. It was a brilliant plan.

  Two

  Under normal circumstances, Darci’s guilt alone would have stopped her from crashing any party anywhere, never mind one that hosted the who’s who of Chicago. But a week into her new job at Colborn Aerospace, she’d learned the oldest records were kept at the Colborn mansion. Tonight was her best chance to look around inside.

  She’d rented a four-thousand-dollar, beaded, gold silk evening gown, splurged on a pair of sparkling heels and shelled out a fortune for hair and makeup at the swankiest salon in her neighborhood. If she did say so herself, she looked fabulous. At a passing glance, nobody would guess that she didn’t belong among the rich and influential.

  Now she just needed to get through the front door.

  At the top of the semicircular staircase, a butler was discreetly checking invitations. Darci hovered at the edge of the driveway, wondering how best to approach him, but she didn’t dare stand still too long or she’d call attention to herself.

  A gray-haired couple brushed past her. The woman was dressed in a dramatic peacock-blue gown with a diamond brooch at the shoulder. Making a split-second decision, Darci fell into step beside the woman.

  “That’s a lovely brooch,” she said to her as they walked.

  Luckily, the woman turned and gave her a friendly smile. “Thank you. It’s Cartier.”

  Darci frowned. “Oh dear. You have a little crease.” She boldly reached to the fabric above the brooch, pretending to smooth it out.

  “May I confirm your invitation, sir,” the butler said to the older man.

  Darci’s heart thudded as the man handed him a card.

  “Nice of you to join us, Mr. Saunders,” said the butler.

  “There we go,” Darci said to the woman, keeping her gaze studiously fixed on the dress, pretending she was part of the Saunders party. “That looks much better.”

  “Thank you.” The woman, obviously Mrs. Saunders, nodded her appreciation.

  Another couple stepped up behind them, drawing the butler’s attention, and Darci quickly moved forward.

  Her heart was still thudding wildly as they went through the stately front doors and into the huge foyer.

  “Enjoy your evening,” she managed to say to Mrs. Saunders.

  “Enjoy yours,” Mrs. Saunders replied.

  Darci peeled off to the right, anxious to mix in with the nearest crowd.

  “Champagne, ma’am?” asked a neatly uniformed waiter.

  “Thank you.” Darci helped herself to a crystal flute from his tray.

  She had no intention of consuming any alcohol, but holding the glass would make her look more like a genuine guest.

  Earlier in the week, she’d started a job in the records department of Colborn Aerospace. It was an entry-level position, requiring little in the way of experience, with a very low pay rate.

  But for her, it was perfect, because it gave her access to the basement of the building. She and Jennifer had then poured over her father’s few belongings, hoping for a clue to the location of the original turbine-design drawings. Unfortunately, they hadn’t found anything else that seemed to help.

  But during her company orientation, Darci learned that some of the historical records were stored in the basement of the mansion. So when she read about the search-and-rescue fundraiser, she threw together this plan.

  As the guests milled around her in the main reception room, she took an absentminded sip of the champagne. So far, so good.

  “Good evening.” A thirty-something man in a business suit approached her.

  “Good evening,” Darci returned, mustering a friendly smile.

  He offered his hand. “I’m Lawrence Tucker, Tucker Transportation.”

  “Darci.” She hesitated for a split second, realizing she shouldn’t use her real name. “Lake.”

  “Nice to meet you Darci Lake. You’re a supporter of the search-and-rescue program?”

  “Very much so. And you?”

  His handshake was firm, his attitude forthright. He was a fairly attractive man, tall, with broad shoulders that gave him a powerful stance.

  “Tucker Transportation donated twenty containers of freight shipping to anywhere in Europe.” He indicated a long row of tables with silent-auction signage above them.

  “You ship to Europe?” She wanted to keep the conversation focused on him and away from her.

  “We ship worldwide. Europe, Africa, Asia, Pacific.”

  “You’re a large company?”

  “You’ve never heard of Tucker Transportation?”

  “I’ve definitely heard of you,” she quickly lied. “But I’m afraid I don’t know many details.”

  “We’re the third-largest shipping company in the nation.”

  “Impressive.” She took another sip of her champagne.

  “There you are, Tuck.” A tall, gorgeous blonde woman twined her arm possessively around Lawrence Tucker’s.

  “Hello, Petra.” He greeted her with a quick peck on the cheek.

  She pouted her deep red lips. “Don’t forget, you promised to come with me on a wine-cellar tour.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  The woman’s gaze moved to Darci, where it paused, becoming speculative.

  “This is Darci Lake,” said Tuck.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Petra. She didn’t let go of Tuck. If anything, she pressed closer.

  She was several inches taller than Darci and wearing four-inch heels. Darci guessed she was in her late twenties. Her manicure was perfect, as was her hair. And her gown likely cost more than Darci’s. Plus, she probably owned it.

  “It was nice to meet you,” Darci said to Tuck, not having the slightest desire to get between Petra and her designs on the man. “Perhaps I’ll see you again later on.”

  As she moved toward the back of the house, Darci left the great room behind and found herself in a wide open hall. It had twenty-foot ceilings, marble pillars and gleaming white archways. Antique-style lampposts dotted the perimeter, while an imposing wrought-iron chandelier hung in the center of the room. The decor focused on an equestrian theme, with a big bronze statue of a stallion on a large rough-hewn wood table. Rich oil paintings of rural stables and the countryside hung on the walls, and several red velvet-and-walnut armchairs bordered the room.


  After an initial scan of the area, Darci found her attention drawn to a small open doorway. It led to a staircase, tucked in a corner behind a pillar and partially screened by one of the lampposts.

  She wandered toward it, pretending to be fascinated by a grandfather clock against the wall. Feeling like a spy, she glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention to her movements.

  The crowds were sparser here than out front in the great room. But there were enough people that she blended.

  She eased her way behind the lamp.

  Then she moved to the pillar.

  With another quick check to make sure no one was watching, she scooted to the shadowed staircase and started down.

  The stairwell was dim, and she gripped the rail. After what seemed like a long distance, she came out at a narrow white-walled hallway with a blue-and-silver-tiled floor and fluorescent lights along the ceiling.

  Her heart began pounding harder as she chose between left and right. Right would take her to the back of the house while left would take her toward the front. It was a toss-up, but it seemed to her that decades-old business records would more likely be at the rear of the house.

  She turned right and started along the hall.

  She came to a closed door and tried the knob. It was locked. She jiggled it, thinking it was old and it might give way.

  “Can I help you with something?” came a deep, accusatory voice.

  She quickly twisted around, and her heart sank with a thud.

  His face was shadowed, but she instantly recognized him.

  She swallowed. “Mr. Colborn.”

  He took a step forward, his piercing blue eyes pinning her in place. “Did you take a wrong turn?”

  Her mind scrambled for a plausible explanation. “I, uh...I heard you were giving a wine-cellar tour.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You did, did you?”

  “Petra mentioned it. Petra and Tuck. I was talking to them earlier, and—”

  “You know Tuck?”

  Darci nodded. She’d known Tuck for all of five minutes. But she wasn’t about to get stuck on that detail.