Once Upon a Friendship

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “Look at this.” Gabrielle pointed to a particular line on a transaction sheet. It held a code that identified the person who’d generated the sheet: George, not that Gabrielle had reason to know that. And not that it mattered. His father’s attorney filled out paperwork for him all the time.

  Her body pressing more completely into his mattered more than anything at the moment.

  He didn’t want anyone snatching that beautiful body away from him. Gabrielle’s attention was addictive.

  And he had to get a grip on himself before he lost his place as family in her heart.

  “Look, Liam,” she said, sounding a little irritated. He’d never realized how much he liked that tone. It told him she cared.

  “I am looking.”

  “Every one of these sheets deals with transactions we now know were fraudulent. They were sent to your father down here for signature, which clearly means that he wasn’t at work generating the business. And every single one of them was initiated by the same employee code.”

  “It’s George’s code.”

  It didn’t mean anything. Except that George had been covering his father’s ass while the old man lived his double life.

  And maybe... “George knew what was going on,” he said as Gabrielle nodded.

  He wanted to be glad that they were uncovering evidence. As more things came to light, they were getting closer to the truth. Closer to having the whole thing resolved and behind them.

  But George?

  And was Ray Buckus in on everything, too, as Gabrielle had said Gwen Menard suspected?

  Was anyone trustworthy?

  “Who’s George?” Tamara asked.

  “Your father’s corporate attorney,” Gabi answered for him.

  And he had his answer. He knew two people who were completely trustworthy: Marie and Gabrielle. But if he went after Gabrielle, tried to date her, he could likely lose Marie’s trust. And if things didn’t work out for him and Gabrielle in the long run—if he got the urge to move on that had hit him at some point in every relationship he’d ever had—then he’d lose Gabi, too.

  Lose the only two people in the world he knew he could really trust.

  A man would be a fool to jeopardize that.

  Shaking his head, Liam chalked up his rush of emotion for the woman at his side to the emotional turmoil his father had wreaked the past weeks. And the complete change in his personal circumstances.

  Obviously, whether Jenna was ready to come out with her new boyfriend or not, it was time for Liam to start dating again. Before he blew the best thing in his life.

  His friendship with his business partners.

  * * *

  DINNER WAS WONDERFUL, if a bit uncomfortable. Gabrielle loved being around Tamara. The young woman was smart and way more astute for her age than Gabrielle had been. She was also kind.

  And a bit bossy, too. Most particularly when it came to her mother.

  Missy was a nice woman. Obviously in emotional crisis. But Gabrielle trusted her.

  The discomfort came from the man sitting beside her. In jeans and a polo shirt he looked...as great as Liam always looked. She was just seeing him differently.

  He seemed to be looking at her differently, too.

  And more than usual. Far more. Every time she turned her head, she caught him looking at her.

  Making her self-conscious about the skinny jeans and knee-length open sweater she’d pulled on over a jeweled long-sleeved T-shirt. He’d seen the outfit before. It wasn’t as if she had a closet full of clothes. But maybe he thought she should have dressed up more?

  Or was too dressy?

  Not that his surreptitious looks gave off any hint of disapproval. To the contrary. They were making her want to stand on the deck in the moonlight and kiss him.

  The cruise around the harbor was sold out and included live entertainment, but when there were opportunities to talk, the conversation centered around Tamara. The fault of all three adults there, not the child’s.

  It was as though they were all avoiding any negative topics—until the teenager asked them about Denver. She wanted to know about the mountains and the malls. About the Connelly Investments building and the home Liam had grown up in.

  A home that could possibly be seized by the courts if Walter Connelly was found guilty of fraud. At the moment, Liam’s father was still living there.

  “I texted Dad earlier,” Tamara said when they were just finishing their meal. “I asked him if I could come to Denver.”

  “You did?” Missy said with shocked displeasure. And Gabrielle wondered if it was the first time the girl had texted her father since the breakup.

  “I know you told me to wait for him to contact me, but I just wanted to see what he’d say.”

  “What did he say?”

  “No.”

  “That’s it?” Liam asked.

  “He said that he’s busy with work right now and wouldn’t be able to show me around or spend time with me.”

  Gabrielle figured it was the best answer of any he could have given, unaware as he’d be just what Tamara knew about his current situation.

  “So, I was thinking,” the girl went on. “Maybe I could come stay with you two?”

  “With us?” Gabrielle looked at Liam.

  “Wait,” Liam said, sitting back and scooting his chair a bit farther from the table. A bit farther from Gabrielle. “I thought we made it clear. We aren’t... We don’t live together. We’re friends. Period.” His statement sounded so...final...it hurt Gabrielle’s feelings.

  “I know. But you’re pretty much living together,” Tamara said as Gabrielle breathed through the pain inside of her. “You’re in the same building.”

  “In different apartments,” Gabrielle said before Liam could express any more discomfort.

  Tamara spent the next ten minutes or so asking Liam about things they could do together in Denver. And Gabrielle breathed a sigh of relief.

  To cover any inexplicable and completely inappropriate disappointment that hung in her midst.

  * * *

  ELLIOTT TANNER WAS waiting for them as they came through security. Marie was with him. And they seemed to have become quite good friends over the past couple of days, based on the ease with which Marie was conversing with him.

  “It’s crazy,” she said as soon as she was in hearing distance. She went right up to Gabrielle, gave her a hug hello and then turned to Liam. “The Colorado district of the federal prosecutor’s office made an official announcement this morning—on a Sunday—that a grand jury indictment is being sought on several federal criminal charges against your father, and reporters are everywhere. George is just saying ‘no comment’ and ‘not guilty,’ and your dad hasn’t been seen out. So this afternoon they showed up at the coffee shop, waiting for you to show your face. I called Elliott right away.”

  “According to my source, someone looked at public records and saw that you’d just purchased the Arapahoe,” Tanner said, keeping them all within the big reach of his shoulders, as though he was their umbrella.

  Liam shrugged his carry-on over his shoulder, filled with adrenaline. He was a freelance reporter working for peanuts from his apartment. But no one was going to care about that. They cared that he was his father’s son.

  “I’ll get a room at a hotel,” he said. Thinking clearly.

  Marie was there.

  His time alone with Gabrielle was over.

  They’d made it safe and sound.

  And right then he cared more about his friends’ safety than anything else. Once he drew attention away from them, he’d find some way to get to his father. The old man had a lot to explain.

  Liam wasn’t going to put up with Walter’s refusals to speak to him. Not anymore.

  “Yo
u absolutely will not leave.”

  “No way.” Marie and Gabrielle spoke simultaneously. “You’re going to come home. We can figure out ways to get you in and out when you need to go,” Marie continued.

  “Then they’ll just hound you,” he told them.

  Gabrielle was walking beside him. “I’ll be happy to give them our statement.”

  As his attorney. He’d forgotten about that for a second. “And think what the publicity could do for Marie’s business,” she added, her words hitting him hard.

  Not because of what they said, but because she knew just what to say to calm his concerns. He wanted to go home. To be in the building they’d all bought together. She was giving him a way to do so and still live with his conscience.

  As soon as they had their luggage—including the suitcase of Walter’s things—Tanner herded them to an elevator farthest away from baggage claim. “I don’t think anyone knows we’re here,” he said. “There were only a couple of die-hards parked out front when Marie and I left out the back. And I’ll be around to make certain that no one gets in to bother any of the three of you.”

  “You’re one body,” Liam said, still not convinced.

  “They’re reporters, not bandits with guns.” Gabrielle’s laconic reply brought a smile to his lips. And there he was wanting to hug her. To loop his arm through hers. And feel her shoulder pressing up against his.

  He wanted to know that when they all went home, when all goodbyes had been said for the day, Gabrielle would still be with him.

  Not downstairs with Marie.

  And that thinking was going to get him in far more trouble than any reporter could.

  Tanner held the elevator door for the three of them, waiting to board last. “I plan to hang out at the coffee shop,” he said. “And I’d suggest, for now, the three of you hire a security guard to cover the private entrance in the back. You don’t want someone getting aggressive with any of your older residents as they come and go.”

  “It’s probably all going to die down in a day or two,” Liam said aloud, allowing himself to believe it. Glad to focus on something besides Gabrielle. “News’s shelf life is shorter than a gallon of milk’s these days,” he continued. “I’m assuming there have been no more mysterious letters left, or new paint jobs?”

  “Until the reporters showed up this afternoon, all was quiet,” Marie told them. She’d reported the quiet part both times Gabrielle had called from Florida.

  The three of them agreed that Elliott should find twenty-four-hour security for the back of the property for at least the next week. And then Marie spent the rest of the trip home bombarding them with questions about their weekend. Most particularly about Tamara.

  All in all, Liam figured it was good to be home, despite Denver’s thirty-degree drop in temperature after Florida’s balmy winter weather. There was no snow on the ground. He was in a warm car. There were groceries in his cupboards. And he had good friends.

  The only blight that he felt more acutely than was called for was his jealousy of Marie, who was in the backseat with Gabrielle. In Florida, that had been his place.

  And he’d liked it there.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  GABRIELLE MADE IT to bed late due to Marie’s continuous questions about her weekend. She was happy to share everything but her inappropriate feelings for Liam. They’d disappear with time.

  She also didn’t mention his obvious distaste at the idea of his little sister thinking there could ever be anything romantic between Gabrielle and him. That memory was for her alone. To pull out anytime she started to daydream about his kisses.

  Or get jealous about his girlfriends.

  Or feel the hurts in his heart as though they were her own.

  Dressing with care the next morning—in a short, slim black skirt, a white blouse and a jacket, with a black-and-white polka-dotted scarf—she applied more makeup than she normally did for work and slipped into pumps that she’d bought for a Christmas party one year. She did it all with one thought in mind—not embarrassing Liam.

  She was glad she had as she avoided the back entrance she normally used, veering through the coffee shop and then out onto the street. To say there was a barrage of reporters would have been overstating the matter, but there were four of them, talking to each other, cameras around their necks. Looking for the insignia of one of the major news sources, she was glad to see none.

  Things weren’t as bad as they’d all feared coming home the night before. Liam was not being targeted.

  Feeling Marie’s, her staff’s and Elliott Tanner’s gazes on her back from just inside the store, she approached the loiterers.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” She addressed the reporters. “I’m Gabrielle Miller, counsel for Liam Connelly. Mr. Connelly would like everyone to know that while he is deeply saddened to hear about his father’s arrest, they are not currently in contact, nor is he employed by or associated with Connelly Investments in any way.”

  “Yeah, right up until he pockets his inheritance,” one young man grumbled. He was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt—could use a shave and a haircut, too. His attitude matched his appearance.

  “Doesn’t Liam Connelly stand to inherit whatever might be left of his father’s significant holdings after investors are paid back and Walter Connelly is in jail?” another man asked before Gabrielle had a chance to acknowledge the under-the-breath comment. The second guy bore a badge that said he represented Detector Online, a fairly well-known internet news source.

  There was someone there from their local community news as well.

  “No, he does not.” Gabrielle’s smile was genuine. She realized that Walter Connelly, while autocratic, unbending and sometimes cruel, had actually done his son a favor in disowning him. “Liam is not in his father’s will.”

  “So why does he have counsel?” the jeans-clad attitude asked.

  “To deal with people like you.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.

  “People like me?” Attitude asked. His camera had been whirring since she’d first addressed them.

  “People who look for dirt where there is none,” she said. This punk thought he was going to make Liam’s life miserable just because he could? Without caring at all about the innocent people he was affecting? “If you did your homework, like a good reporter should, you’d see that Liam has never appeared directly with his father in any of the society pages. Even when they traveled in the same circles, they didn’t travel together. If you think being the owner’s son gave him any power, you’re wrong. Unless you think making social appearances and overseeing small accounts does that. Liam, by the way, is a freelance reporter. Maybe you could read the article he did on last week’s Douglas case and get some pointers about covering real news rather than looking for some to make...”

  Three reporters were staring at her with open mouths.

  The fourth, the target of her inappropriate diatribe, shut his.

  No one was going to care that this was her first press conference. That she was a public lawyer who represented people who’d never make it on the news unless they were dead. Or committed a heinous crime against someone like Liam.

  All they were going to care about was that she’d just allowed herself to be cajoled into screwing up.

  Bad.

  * * *

  LIAM HAD WRITTEN his article, submitted it and left town. He’d been greeted at the airport late Friday night by the sister he’d never known and not given more than a fleeting thought to the professional project. The night before, after leaving Gabrielle and Marie’s and making it up to his own apartment without incident, he’d purposely avoided the internet. He didn’t want to see what might be waiting there.

  But Monday morning, after a hard workout on the equipment he’d had installed in the bedroom ne
xt to his own—and a very late breakfast—he went online to see how bad his father’s press was getting.

  How much of it there was.

  To determine his own plan of action.

  As a reporter and as a son.

  It wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. All of the major news sources mentioned another billionaire businessman allegedly being the next in line to take a fall. A basic overview followed: development land was sold to investors who later found they’d invested in swampland when the land they were supposed to have invested in was reported as a holding of a senator who was taking a political hit for illegal campaign managing.

  And Connelly Investments had continued to take investment dollars for Grayson Communities when Connelly no longer held that commodity.

  He just couldn’t believe his father had been that stupid. Nor could he get bogged down by that stupidity.

  When he’d avoided it as long as he could, he typed in the web address for the news source carrying his own article, hoping that it would have an impressive amount of hits. And worried that it wouldn’t. For himself.

  And because he’d had a thought. Maybe he could convince his father to let him write a series of articles about him. His climb up from nothing. The years of integrity in the community and success that had followed. He was going to offer to help preserve his father’s good reputation in any way he could. To write articles that were fact based, instead of sensation based, to counteract the bevy of press that had arisen in the past twenty-four hours.

  He wanted to do it for Tamara. For himself. And, if what Gabi and Tamara believed was true—that his father really hadn’t committed fraud—he wanted to do it for the old man, too.

  He just needed to be able to prove to his father, in a way that was measurable, that his own articles would carry weight. Hits on Friday’s article could be that proof.

  He was planning to be armed with the offer to write the article when he demanded an audience with the old man. The idea could have merit if his article had a respectable amount of hits.

  The editor had given him administrative rights over his content so that he was able to see what most viewers could not—the page’s statistics.