That Dating Thing

by Crowne, Mackenzie

  A low growl rumbled in Pippin’s throat and he shifted his head to glare up at Rylee.

  We don’t like her.

  Rylee tightened her grip on his leash. No, we don’t.

  Ashley pressed against Coop’s side, casting a nervous eye toward Pippin. She kept her voice low, but Rylee heard every word.

  “Please, darling. It’s time we put this misunderstanding between us to rest.”

  “We broke up, Ash. What’s to misunderstand?”

  The monster clawed furiously at the lock. Before it managed escape, Rylee rose to her feet. Both dogs scrambled up beside her. “It sounds like the two of you have things to discuss. Coming, Brian?”

  Brian hopped up from the blanket.

  “Rylee, wait.” Coop reached out to grasp her arm, and Pippin, bless his heart, lunged for his favorite lawyer. Rylee yanked on his leash too late. Like a shot, Pippin jumped up. His front paws hit Coop square in the chest with enough force to make him stagger back several steps.

  Pressed to Coop’s side, Ashley jumped away to avoid one hundred-sixty pounds of enthusiastic dog. Along with dozens of party-goers, Rylee stared, transfixed, as those fabulous Gucci dreams did Giovanni’s million-dollar girl in.

  Her heels sunk into the mushy ground and her arms pin-wheeled comically. She hit the shallow water at the river’s edge with a spectacular splash. Behind her, reflected in the rushing current, red, white and blue rockets raced into the sky to explode in a glittering, patriotic shower. A thunderous boom drowned out her furious shrieks.

  ****

  Wet, frustrated and furious, Coop yanked open the car door. Tim’s report, brought along to discuss with Rylee, lay on the passenger seat. With ill-grace he tossed the file onto the driver’s seat and bundled Ashley into the BMW with as much gentleness as he could muster. He wanted to strangle her—after he shut her up. She’d been whining, threatening to have Pippin put down and generally bitching since her unexpected dip in the East River.

  Thanks to Ashley, with Pippin’s help, he’d lost his chance to speak with Rylee. Once assured Ashley was wet, but otherwise fine, Rylee took off with Brian and the dogs. And instead of chasing her down and settling their future, he was dealing with a river-soaked diva he thought he’d left behind weeks ago.

  “I’ve got a blanket in the trunk.” He slammed the door before she could lodge any more complaints.

  Stomping to the back of the car, he grumbled beneath his breath. When he caught up with that stubborn, dark-haired, dark-eyed witch with the smart mouth and sexy walk, he was going to...

  Flipping open the trunk, he retrieved the blanket and stalked to the driver’s door. He slid behind the wheel. “Here.”

  He held out the blanket, but his gaze landed on the file in Ashley’s hands. Unease slithered down his spine. Rylee had already been hurt enough because of his stupidity. If the information in the file became public knowledge…

  “What are you doing with that, Ashley?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t think you’d want to sit on it.” She shoved it at him in exchange for the blanket. The typical peevishness of her reply helped to allay his concern, but not his frustration.

  “Can we go now? I’m freezing!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rylee gasped when the cab pulled to the curb a good twenty yards short of River View’s front entrance. After the Pippin-induced fiasco at the fundraiser, she had taken a day to regroup. Flying to Jackson, Mississippi and spending the night in her childhood home hadn’t helped. Her life was a mess, and from the look of things it was about to get worse.

  “Looks like every network in the city is here.” The young cab driver leaned on the steering wheel to gawk at the crowd crammed onto the sidewalk. Mobile TV vans, topped with large satellite dishes tilted like huge, drunken dinner plates, were double-parked on both sides of the street. “Someone famous live in the building?”

  More like someone infamous.

  “Not that I know of.” Rylee fought the cold fingers of dread threatening to cut off her air supply. The memory of another press gauntlet flashed in her mind and she fought back a whimper.

  “Th—There’s a back entrance.” She attempted to steady her shaking voice. “Down the alley. Would you mind dropping me off in back?”

  The eyes reflected in the rear view mirror said “get real”. “Lady, no way I’m getting my cab through that mob.”

  “Then take me to…” Her mind drew a blank.

  He spun in his seat. “Hey! You ain’t gonna puke, are ya?”

  She shook her head, opening her mouth to tell him to drive, but she’d waited too long. The first flash blinded her through the window, followed closely by another and then another, until the multiple bursts of light melded into one continuous strobe.

  “Damn. Talk about a flash mob!” The cabbie bent over in the seat for a better view.

  His comment barely registered over the shouted questions from the jostling crowd rushing the car. Or maybe the buzzing in her ears was responsible for her faulty hearing. But the buzzing didn’t drown out the cries of Morris, fraud and Ponzi Pete. Her childhood nightmare had come back to life.

  “Please, just drive.”

  Fascinated fear flashed in the cabbie’s rounded eyes. Clearly nervous his cab was about to be crushed, he didn’t hesitate. Straightening, he yanked the shifter into gear. “Where to?”

  “Anywhere,” she said, covering her face with her hands.

  ****

  Rylee sat on the edge of the pink, canopied bed, doing her best to ignore the posters decorating every square inch of the walls. Tony Camponelli’s daughter, Suzie, was an avid Disney fan, and Rylee had been right. Cooper Reed’s toothy grin beamed at her from the faces of several of Suzie’s cartoon princes.

  She flopped back on the bed with a groan. Even knowing he wasn’t worth the energy, her heart wept at the loss. Before things went horribly wrong at the fundraiser, he made it clear he planned to have it out with her, but she didn’t see the point. From the moment she agreed to his tempting proposal, she knew her actions would lead to disaster. Now that they had, she wished he would leave her be.

  As with Marcus, the fantasy world she allowed herself to visit for the past month had vanished, exposing the ugly reality beneath. Despite having expected it, her heart bled at the memory of Coop’s derision, accusing her of being just like her father across Elliott’s kitchen counter.

  She had no right wallowing in misery. After all, she’d been there, done that once before, but the razor-sharp fury in Coop’s blue eyes had slashed at her until she felt like one of those potatoes she’d been dicing.

  She’d been fooling herself, believing her experience with Marcus had taught her the depth of betrayal. But as horrible as that lesson had been, at least Marcus kept his contempt private, sharing it with only Rylee and his mama, of course. In contrast, Coop shared the details of his investigation with the world. The press mob outside her condo couldn’t have made his disdain any clearer.

  Therein lay the difference between boys and men. Boys were content to run home to mama when their favorite toy lost its appeal, while men were satisfied with nothing less than utter destruction.

  The trouble was, although she believed she’d loved her mama’s-boy fiancé at the time, she’d since learned the truth. There was no comparing the wispy hold-my-hand-while-we-walk-through-the-park pleasure she’d known with Marcus, to the gripping, touch-me-or-I’m-going-to-die need that had driven her into Coop’s arms, despite the expected danger.

  With a sigh, she sat up and dialed Sil’s number. It would take a lot more than twenty-four hours to purge Cooper Reed from her yearning heart, but his setting the entire New York press corps on her tail should help.

  Sil answered on the first ring.

  “Rylee!” she gasped. “Baby, don’t come home. The press is parked out front.”

  “I know.”

  “Then you’ve heard?”

  “I’ve seen.” She breathed deep. “My flight got in about
an hour ago. I headed straight home. They pounced on me before I could gather my wits enough to tell the cabbie to leave. They got pictures.”

  And for the second time in her life, her image would be plastered across the front pages of major news organizations. The first time, she was too young and too traumatized to understand the implications. But things were different now. No longer Ponzi Pete’s frightened little girl, she had no choice but to stand her ground. The foundation and its mission were at stake.

  “I’m so sorry, Sil. You and Elliott and the rest of the residents don’t deserve this.”

  “Neither do you, so hush. We’ll deal with the sharks. Now, what happened? How did they find out?”

  Rylee snorted, ignoring the squeezing in her chest. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

  “Coop swears he didn’t tell a soul.”

  “You spoke to him?”

  “Elliott did. He called two hours ago to warn us of what was coming. Apparently, he’s gotten a few calls requesting a statement.”

  Rylee wasn’t sure what to make of that. Why would he lie about leaking her identity to the press? The last time she’d seen him, dragging Ashley out of the murky water of the East River, he’d been angry enough to choke someone. Compared to strangulation, blabbing was nothing.

  “Do you believe him?”

  “I don’t know.” Sil sighed. “Elliott does, but I just don’t know. I know I’m mad enough to wring his neck.”

  Rylee was surprised to find she could still laugh.

  “There’s a lot of that going around,” she said, echoing one of Brian’s favorite phrases.

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m at the Camponelli’s apartment in Brooklyn. Brian called Tony and Tony’s wife, Maddie, insisted I stay with them, at least until I figure out what to do next.”

  “I just can’t believe this is happening,” Sil lamented. “I thought we were finally on our way. The fundraiser was such a wonderful success, well, expect for that little incident with Ashley Connor.”

  Rylee grimaced. “I’m sorry about that, Sil. It wasn’t Pippin’s fault. I was angry and he took his cue from me.”

  “Are you kidding? We earned several thousand extra with people hanging around, buying drinks while they chuckled over Ashley’s unexpected swim. The extra funds were enough to reimburse her for her ruined outfit, anyway.”

  Rylee laughed, but sobered quickly. They’d exceeded their goal, with promises of a fresh infusion of cash totaling just under eight hundred thousand. But what would happen to those pledges once the press outside her condo wrote their stories and the articles hit the newsstands?

  “I should never have come back here, Sil. I could have hired someone to work with Brian on Agnes’s buildings, and you and I could have looked for projects out of Jackson.”

  “Sweetheart, the two of us were growing old before our times in Jackson. My memories of Adam were killing me, and you were in danger of becoming an eccentric, southern spinster.”

  “I was born in New York, remember?” Rylee pointed out. “And I don’t think I’d make a very good eccentric.” She didn’t mention spinster, a fate worse than death in Sil’s book. Unfortunately, it looked like A Spinster’s Life would be the title of Rylee’s memoirs.

  “You’re missing my point, Rylee. You did the right thing coming back here, and I’m glad you talked me into coming with you. Why, I never would have met Elliott if you hadn’t, and some very deserving families are tickled pink you came back to town.”

  “Deserving families who will now have the press hounding them, thanks to me.”

  “Honey, your vets are used to facing enemies a whole lot tougher than the New York press corps. They’ll be fine. Now, tell me. What are you going to do?”

  “I have no idea, but I’ll tell you what I’m not doing. I’m not running. Not this time.” She scowled across the room at the multiple Prince Charmings. “I haven’t done a damned thing wrong.”

  “That’s my girl. Remember, sugar, you’re not alone. I’m here for you, and so is Elliott. Brian too, not to mention Tony and the boys.”

  Sil was right. She wasn’t alone. Plenty of people loved her and believed in her. Peter Morris may have given her life, but she was her own woman, forged under the shadow of deceit and greed. Her record in the charitable world stood on its own merits, and starting tomorrow, she would make sure everyone knew it.

  As for Cooper Reed, he could go to hell.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rylee’s face was everywhere. Several angles of the same shot, her features blurred slightly by the cab’s dirty window, graced the front pages of the morning papers. Expecting mug shot quality results from yesterday’s flash mob, she was surprised to find that other than the panic in her eyes, the shots weren’t so bad.

  The articles were something else. Details were slim and facts were even rarer. Innuendo and speculation made up for the lack of information. Several publications quoted the same anonymous source, questioning the connection between The Adam’s House Foundation and the daughter of Wall Street’s most infamous schemer, Ponzi Pete Morris. In addition, the same source wanted to know why Cooper Reed, the man expected to succeed the city’s current district attorney, would help conceal that connection.

  If Coop had been the one to rat her out to the press, he caught himself in his own trap. His handsome face appeared right beside hers in the morning editions. He’d yet to make a statement, probably because he’d been too busy leaving messages on her cell—thirty-two at last count. One would think he’d get the hint and give up.

  Eyeing the crowd on the sidewalk in front of River View, her resolve to set the record straight wavered. Yesterday’s feeding frenzy had shrunk, or maybe the decreased number of journalists had more to do with the fact that the sun had barely begun to rise. A mere handful of determined sharks remained, but the idea of facing even one member of the press made her heart pound with trepidation.

  Though she wanted to, she didn’t request the cabbie drop her off around back. The foundation’s reputation was her main concern, and the sooner she made herself available, proving she had nothing to hide, the sooner the speculation would wane.

  Her knees knocked as she climbed from the cab. The half-dozen reporters rushed her before she could take two steps, thrusting microphones and tape recorders in her face.

  “Alison Morris?” a cultured voice demanded.

  “My birth certificate says Alison Rylee Pierce Morris. I legally changed my name to Rylee Pierce when I turned eighteen.”

  “Richard Wallis, WCBJ. Why did you change your name? Were you hoping to conceal your identity?”

  The model-handsome Wallis had the kind of looks that would carry him straight to an anchor’s chair, if that were his ambition. The idiocy of his question qualified him as the perfect candidate in Rylee’s opinion. She disliked him on sight.

  “Is that a rhetorical question or do you really not know the answer?” The sarcastic remark popped out of her mouth before she could stop. She gulped a bracing breath. “Ponzi Pete Morris is my father.” She smiled thinly. “Of course I wanted to conceal my identity.”

  “So you could follow in his footsteps without notice?”

  His green eyes were bright with excitement, as though he were calculating the career boost gained by climbing onto the back of Ponzi Pete’s daughter. Rylee didn’t understand the appeal of piggyback rides, never had, especially when she was the one expected to do the carrying.

  “His footsteps took him to maximum security. If he was your father, would you want to follow him?”

  Several folks in the crowd chuckled.

  “That doesn’t answer the question of why you changed your name.”

  “I changed my name in order to avoid people like you. I faced my first press conference the day they dragged my father away in handcuffs. I was eleven.” She glanced around pointedly. “It looked a lot like this.”

  “I don’t make the news, Ms. Morris,” Wallis pointed out
with a lofty tilt of his chin. “I report it.”

  “Then it must be a slow news day.”

  “What is your association with The Adam’s House Foundation?” someone else asked.

  “Adam Burke wasn’t just a hero, he was my best friend. I contributed the founding donation to Adam’s House, to honor his ultimate sacrifice and the sacrifices of many other brave men and women.” She spoke over the multiple follow-up questions. “And before you ask, my maternal grandmother left the money to me in trust. The Justice Department has verified the legitimacy of the inheritance. If any of you are interested, the report is available online.”

  “So your association is that of a donor?”

  “I’ve been known to swing a hammer on occasion. As a volunteer, I help wherever I can, but I’m not on the board and I don’t have access to the foundation’s funds.”

  “You are listed as a resident of River View,” Mr. Piggyback pushed. “Adam’s House claims to provide housing for military vets. In what branch of the service did you serve, Ms. Morris?”

  “Bless your heart,” she cooed, bumping up the southern drawl and curling her lips in the sweet smile Sil employed when going in for the kill. “You should demand a rebate on that expensive journalism degree you purchased. They forgot to teach you to verify your facts before you make an accusation. By the way,” she added when his handsome face flooded with angry color, “you can call me Ms. Pierce.”

  She turned back to the snickering crowd. “For the record, my grandmother’s estate included three warehouses here in Long Island City, two of which I signed over to the foundation as part of my donation. River View wasn’t one of them. It’s my home.”

  “Melody Brighton with the Village Ledger, Ms. Pierce.” The lone female in the group jumped in. “What can you tell us about Cooper Reed?”

  “I can tell you he’s gorgeous,” Rylee drawled, earning a few more chuckles.

  “You’ll get no argument from me.” Melody grinned before getting back to business. “The two of you have been seen together on several occasions over the past few weeks. What is the nature of your relationship?”