Dangerous In Love

by Alexa Davis

  “He’s not getting in?” I ask.

  “He’s protecting our escape,” Anthony answers as Trevor hits the gas.

  This is too much. Apart from school photos and driver’s license photos, and the occasional candid by Naomi, I haven’t had a picture taken of me in my life that was in any way public. Even with that, Naomi’s random pictures of me are the most public, and her shots only make it as far as her Facebook page.

  It was fun pretending and playing dress-up for a while, but the fantasy’s over. People grabbed at me, trying to get my attention and everyone was shouting, just shouting at me. I’m just a girl from a place nobody’s ever heard of; I don’t know if I can do this anymore.

  “It looks like they’re already posting pictures,” Anthony says.

  “What?” I ask. “How?”

  Anthony shrugs. “It looks like they’re just teasers, so far,” he says, “but don’t be alarmed if you see yourself in a few dailies tomorrow morning and likely a few tabloids over the next week or so. Also, you may want to stay away from the online stories. A lot of those people aren’t concerned with facts as much as they are sensationalism, and you don’t want any part of it. Whatever you do, stay away from the tabloids. Don’t even read the cover,” he says. “Trust me.”

  I’d love to answer if only I could speak.

  We get back to the hotel and security’s already waiting outside to escort me into the building. I don’t know how the reporters got here so fast, or even if they’re the same ones, but if it weren’t for the additional security, I don’t know if I could have made it through the hotel doors.

  By the time I get back up to my room, my head is swimming. I’m so disoriented that I almost don’t notice that every piece I looked at Tiffany’s, every dress, every pair of shoes, every set of earrings, every everything I showed any interest in at all, is in my room, waiting for me.

  Chapter Eight

  Long Island

  Nick

  “Marly, hey, come in,” I say as my longtime lawyer, mole, and mentor knocks on my office door.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “Come in and shut the door, if you would.”

  Ellie hasn’t left her room in three days, and I don’t blame her. The moment that first reporter got wind of who she was and what she was doing in New York, things were bound to go a little crazy.

  A little crazy would have been fine, but the tabloids have taken a particular interest in Ellie.

  “I suppose you’ve heard about the recent issues Ellie and I have been having with the yellow press,” I say.

  Marly nods. “Yes, I have,” she says.

  I ask, “What do you think we should do about it?”

  Marly leans forward, saying, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but we both knew this was going to happen.”

  “Did we?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” she says. “We did. I don’t know what you were thinking sending her on a Fifth Avenue shopping spree right when we’re trying to get the board off our backs, but this is reflecting poorly on you.”

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I tell her. “Just because I own a company, I’m not allowed to date or buy a girlfriend a few things?”

  “A few things would have been fine, but they’re reporting that your friend went home with over a hundred grand in jewelry and clothing,” Marly says. “You don’t think a little discretion might have been nice?”

  “A hundred grand is nothing,” I tell her. “What's the problem?”

  “The big deal, sir,” she says, her face growing a deeper shade of red with every syllable, “is that you are the head of this company, and we are not in a stable position right now. You ducked away from the central office for two months with hardly any warning and almost no explanation.”

  “Again,” I start, “what’s the—”

  “It’s the timing,” Marly says. “The company’s on the verge of complete upheaval and you’re sending your girlfriend on a shopping spree. What do you think that does to investor confidence?”

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “We’re holding steady this morning, but that’s just because we’ve found a new bottom,” she says. “Don’t fool yourself, this keeps up, and you don’t start doing some serious damage control with the company, and that bottom’s going to drop out from under you.”

  “I see,” I say. “Marly, I need to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

  She shifts in her seat, but says, “Okay.”

  “Did you tip off the press about Ellie and where they could find her?” I ask.

  “Of course not,” she says with a scoff. “Why would I do that?”

  “Well, you’ve been fairly upfront with your feelings on the matter,” I say.

  Marly rolls her eyes and, with a smirk, she says, “It’s been a bad idea from the start. You could have gotten to know this woman again without uprooting the company. Every inch of this mess is because you don’t know how to be discreet about shit.”

  My eyebrows go up. Marly gets away with a lot when we speak in private, but she’s never been this outright disrespectful.

  “Uh-huh,” I say. “Have you seen the new twist to the story yet?”

  “Twist, sir?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I answer. “Apparently, a staffer close to me walked in on Ellie and me in a, quote, ‘compromising position in the main room of Stingray’s new headquarters.’ The author of the article seems to think this is yet another indication that I’m putting my personal desires above the interests of the company and the shareholders. That wasn’t you?”

  “You don’t understand what you’re doing to the company,” Marly says. “You’re gambling away the future of a lot of people by this stupid flight of fancy. The two of you reconnected, well that’s just fan-freaking-tastic, but this company was doing just great before she came along and if it has any chance of bouncing back, you’ve got to stop doing what you’re doing. Keep sleeping with her if you want, but get the company out of Mulholland now. I hear construction just started on the new building: You have to stop it. Then, put a halt to the money flowing to the new headquarters and get your head out of your ass, Nick. You’re killing the business, and the board isn’t going to put up with this a whole lot longer.” She’s on her feet now, saying, “Come on, Nick. I’m trying to protect you here. You need to meet me halfway.”

  “You went behind my back, didn’t you?” I ask.

  She furrows her brow and shakes her head. “I was trying to wake you up, Nick,” she says. “You have to stop pushing the board. You have to—”

  “Marly, you’re fired,” I say.

  “Make all the jokes you want,” she says. “I’m not kidding around here.”

  “Neither am I,” I tell her. “I can handle people questioning me. I put you in your position because you have a particular talent in that direction, but Marly, you sent those reporters after Ellie. I could have lived with the leak about her and I in the conference room back in Mulholland, but you didn’t just go to the press with your concerns, did you?”

  “Sir,” she says in a tiny voice, “I—”

  I slam my fist on my desk. “You sold me out!” I roar. “You went to the board and told them to give me one last chance to drop the Mulholland office before having me fired; well, congratulations. I just got the call from Reeves, and that’s what he told me. Of course, getting your name wasn’t all that difficult. I said to think of it as a gesture of good faith. It sounds like you didn’t say everything you could have. I appreciate that. Still, he insisted that I stop production at the office. There’s one minute detail you forgot to cover.”

  “What’s that?” she asks.

  “This is my company!” I roar. “You may have managed to turn the majority of the board against me, but you forget I still have some friends in this company. The office is being built, the board can’t do a thing about it, and you can consider yourself fired. Now
get the hell out of my office.”

  Marly takes a long, slow breath and walks to the door. She turns around and, shaking her head at me, and she says, “Most of the board was already against you, Nick. Before you said anything about Mulholland, they were trying to find a way to get rid of you. You don’t have the computer smarts Jacque had, and you’re so obsessed with this nobody you knew for like a week fifteen years ago that the one card you did have to play, your ability to close a deal and to run the company, started slipping a while ago.”

  “Thank you for your concern,” I tell her. “Security’s going to throw you out now. Maybe if we all get lucky, you’ll bounce into traffic. Now get the hell out of my office and never come back.”

  One of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do in my life is to hold a stern expression while my longtime mentor and confidant is escorted out of view. I’m furious, but I’m also hurt. For a man in my position, it’s only acceptable to show the first, and that rarely.

  I get up from my desk and walk across the room to close the office door. Metering my breathing, I go over to my semi-secret liquor cabinet, located beneath all the plaques and certificates and pictures of me with notable people.

  Doing my best to steady my hand, I pour two fingers’ worth of Glen McKenna into a tumbler and take a drink.

  Marly’s been with the company … with me, almost since the company began. I have no illusions about it: Stingray wouldn’t have been anywhere near as successful as it is if it weren’t for her.

  I never thought she’d betray me like that.

  Taking one more sip of scotch, I walk back to my desk and press the intercom button.

  “Yes, Mr. Scipio?” Darla, my assistant, asks.

  “Could you send Malcolm in?” I ask.

  “Yes, Mr. Scipio,” she says.

  A moment later, the door opens.

  I’ve been going over this in my head since Malcolm told me what Marly had been up to behind my back. At first, I didn’t want to believe him, but when I got the call from the board …

  “Mr. Scipio,” Malcolm says, opening my office door, “you wanted to see me?”

  “Yeah, Malcolm,” I say. “Come on in and shut the door, would you?”

  I could be angry at Marly for going behind my back and putting my position in jeopardy, and I am. I could mourn the loss of her from the company, and I am. Right now, though, I have to stay focused.

  Along with losing a mentor, I’ve also lost my insider. Whenever I wanted to take the board’s temperature on something, I’d call Marly. Whenever someone under me started scheming for my job, Marly told me about it.

  I need a new mole.

  “Have a seat,” I tell Malcolm. “Do you know why you’re here?” I ask.

  “No,” he says.

  “Well,” I say, “I’ve got something I want to run by you. Before I do, though, I want to impress upon you how crucial it is that this conversation stays between us. Do you think you can handle that?”

  “Of course, sir,” he says. “I’d never betray your confidence.”

  “Yeah,” I say, leaning back in my chair and smiling. “Well, I guess we’re about to find out, because if this is going to work, I’m going to have to tell you everything.”

  * * *

  Malcolm got through our discussion without rending his garments, so I’m tentatively looking at it as a successful meeting. He had a lot of questions, as I expected he would, but he seemed to handle everything okay.

  As I’m leaving the office, I give Ellie a call.

  “Hey,” she says, answering the phone.

  “Hey, you all right?” I ask. “You sound stressed.”

  “I made the mistake of switching on the television for the first time in about a year,” she says. “They’re still plastering my face in the news. What’s better, apparently someone from town sent in a picture of me from high school, so I look like I’m about a decade younger than I am.”

  “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am about that,” I tell her. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s how it goes, I guess,” she says and sighs.

  I get down to the car, and Trevor opens my door. Getting in, I tell Ellie, “I’ve been thinking about it. I don’t know if this is something you’d consider or not, but I have a house out on Long Island. It’s just a beach house, really, but it’s away from the city, away from the press. I thought maybe you’d prefer staying there over—”

  “If it’s not Manhattan, you’ve got yourself a deal,” she says.

  Part of me wants to tell Ellie how Manhattan’s not all that bad as long as you can stay away from the press, but I think better of it. “I’m leaving the office now,” I tell her. “Why don’t I invite a few friends who’ve been through this sort of thing over tonight and maybe we can figure out the best way past this. What do you think?”

  “Just nothing big,” she says. “I’m fine if it’s a few people, but I’m not in the mood to meet a whole lot of people.”

  “I know just the ones to invite,” I tell her. “Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll be there to pick you up shortly, and I’ll have your stuff gathered and sent to the Long Island house.”

  “Okay,” she says with a loud exhale. “I’ll see you when you get here.”

  On the way, I send a few texts to select people, informing them of “a little get-together” this evening.

  When I get to Ellie’s room, she doesn’t say much. She doesn’t say much when we’re back in the car, headed along Long Island Expressway, either. The whole ride, I don’t think she says more than ten or fifteen words, but she’s holding my hand tightly as she sits in the seat next to me.

  I know this isn’t what she signed up for, but all I can do about it now is try not to make things any worse.

  As we’re pulling up to the beach house, Ellie leaves my side a moment to get a better view out the window.

  “This is a beach house?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I tell her.

  “The thing’s huge,” she says. “Where I’m from, we call this a mansion.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” I tell her. Trevor pulls up in front of the door.

  Ellie lets herself out, and I follow close behind.

  The beach house is a twelve-bedroom, seven bathroom villa right on the beach. I’m gearing up for a tour, but as soon as I mention the house has four separate offices, a den, a library and a dozen rooms, Ellie says she wants to do her exploring later.

  “Thank you for this,” she says as we come through the back doors and onto the sun deck. “I was starting to go crazy in that room, and it wasn’t like I could leave. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I tell her. “Take the next few hours and just relax. People won’t start showing up until eight o’clock, so we’ve got a little while.”

  I leave her to make the necessary calls for tonight’s get-together—catering, some light entertainment. By the time I go back to the main room in the center of the house, Ellie’s passed out on the couch. I grab a blanket from one of the closets and place it on her.

  I’d say I can only imagine what she’s feeling, but the truth is I know exactly what she’s going through.

  I wasn’t always a billionaire, and for more than half my life so far, nobody knew who I was. After Stingray’s IPO made me a billionaire, I barely left the apartment where I was living for months.

  The difference is that I asked for it. She didn’t. All I can do now is protect her the best way I know how.

  For now, I just sit in a chair across from Ellie and watch her sleep.

  When the caterers arrive, I lead Ellie to one of the bedrooms where she won’t hear all the commotion.

  “I’m sorry I’m this tired,” she says. “I don’t even know why. It’s not like I’ve been doing anything.”

  “Stress does that to a person,” I tell her. “Don’t worry about a thing, just get some rest. If you want, I can cancel the—”

  “No, it’s fine,”
she says through a yawn. “Wake me up when they’re here. I like knowing I’m not the only one who’s been through this—I mean, I’m sure you have and everything. I just meant—”

  “Shhh …” I say. “Just relax. I’ll let you know when they’re here.”

  I leave the room just in time to hear the doorbell ring.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, looking down at my watch.

  * * *

  Apparently, what I call a small get-together qualifies as the A-List party of the season, according to Ellie. Luckily, that wasn’t a problem for her.

  Now it’s about four in the morning. Ellie and I are cleaning up, and she hasn’t stopped raving yet.

  “Seriously, when Yon Blacker came up to me and introduced himself, I almost died,” she says, carrying a handful of dishes to the sink. “Did you ever see Druscilla Lost?” she asks. “That movie changed my life, and there he was going on about how big of a pain in the ass Tim Tripp is to work with—” She ends the phrase with what I can only describe as a prodigiously long grunt.

  “Well, I’m glad you had fun,” I tell her.

  “By the way, I did get quite a bit of advice about how to deal with the paparazzi, but nearly all of it included some level of violence,” she says.

  “That’s mostly venting,” I tell her as I top off my third garbage bag of the evening. “The worst thing you can do is go after a reporter. I guess Björk got away with it, but that was an exceptional circumstance. Frankly, that lady had it coming, but I wouldn’t suggest it.”

  “You know,” she says, “I have to tell you, I’ve been wondering if there was any way we could make this work. I like you, but I think we both know this isn’t my world.”

  “What are you saying?” I ask as my smile disappears.

  “What I’m saying,” she tells me as she gathers a few loose bottles from the counter, “is that I don’t want to go back to Manhattan. I’m saying that I want to stay here at the beach house, at least until you’re done in the city. Naomi’s not going to be thrilled about it, but if anyone’s qualified to solve the many, many problems that come from being in a relationship with you, it’s you.”