by Julie Leto
Hmm…sexual energy, protection, her house…
The minute the solution popped into her head, Reina laughed out loud. But she couldn’t let a little irony stand in the way of a perfect plan.
She picked up the phone, dialed, and waited for the voice mail greeting to play. Once the beep sounded, she deepened her voice to her most sultry timbre.
“Zane, it’s Reina. God, I need you. Call me.”
1
GREY MASTERSON SHOOK HIS HEAD, wondering what the hell had possessed him to call his brother. He flipped over the metro section of today’s paper and checked the moon’s current phase. Not full. Well, so much for that explanation. Perhaps he had simply lost his mind.
“A beautiful woman is stalking you,” his brother paraphrased, his voice exactly like Grey’s, except for a practiced inflection that said I’m bored; amuse me. “And you’re complaining? Did I miss something?”
His twin’s reaction to the story Grey had just told him made it clear he thought Grey, the editor in chief of New Orleans’s second largest newspaper, must have left out something crucial. He’d presented the facts as simply as possible, starting with the publication of a tell-all book by his former girlfriend, B-actress Lane Morrow. Of course, Zane already knew about the book. Everyone in New Orleans knew about the damned book. Everyone in the damned English-speaking world knew about the book.
After four weeks on the bestseller lists, Lane’s recount of their once-secret love affair had turned him into a celebrity. Except for the journalists whose paychecks he signed, every reporter with a press card had either called requesting an interview or had staked out his condo, his office—hell, even his regular parking space at the dry cleaner. He’d considered filing a lawsuit against her for revealing the details of their sexual exploits—obviously a blatant attempt for attention—but the thought lasted only ten seconds. She’d written about their hot and heavy encounters precisely to up her celebrity status. She’d revealed his ravenous sexual hungers, then claimed that her leaving him had destroyed his appetites. As if. But the public had bought her portrayal of herself as the master seductress and him, the wild man broken by her betrayal.
At first, he’d been too damned mad to contradict her—hoping the hype would die down so he wouldn’t add to it by refuting her claims. Her asking price in Hollywood had already soared through the roof. So he’d decided to lay low, stay quiet and find peace in his stressful but ordered world.
Then he’d picked up a stalker, a beautiful one, admittedly, but the last thing he needed was another woman who was obviously seeking him out to sate her craving for attention. Adding that to a rash of problems with production at the newspaper, and Grey had had enough.
He’d called his twin, hoping his ne’er-do-well brother might have some insight into how to rid himself of his stalker. Instead, Zane couldn’t even see the problem.
“You don’t understand.” Grey’s intrinsic commanding tone rang through louder than he’d intended, but sometimes his twin needed to remember just who had been born first, even if their parents had mixed them up as babies so that their names were in reversed order. Grey had been the one to accept the legacy of the family business. Grey had been the one to devote his life to ensuring the wealth and prosperity of anyone bearing the Masterson’s name.
Zane didn’t understand duty and responsibility. He didn’t understand stress or pressure or breaking points. He didn’t now and never had. How could he? He’d been too busy proving girls weren’t the only ones who just wanted to have fun.
“What don’t I understand?” Zane asked.
“In addition to being stalked by some lunatic—”
“She’s crazy?”
“Well, not certifiable, not according to my investigator—”
“You’ve had her investigated?”
Grey smirked. Well, of course, he had. Grey didn’t consider himself a perfect man, but he did learn from his mistakes. This phone call, for instance, rated on Grey’s error scale at number nine, just below his affair with Lane, which unfortunately, garnered a perfect ten. “I wanted to know if she’d escaped from some mental institution before I decided what to do with her.”
He should have had Lane investigated before he started dating her. Her permanent record from her school days probably included a long history of being a tattletale.
“Why do you have to do anything?” Zane asked, his tone incredulous.
Grey pictured Zane lounging on his leather couch, kicking his bare feet onto a coffee table that probably cost more than the new computer system he’d had installed at the paper.
“Because she’s stalking me, dammit,” Grey answered.
“What does she want?”
“I don’t know—”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
“—and I don’t care.” Grey marched beyond Zane’s interruption. God, he really didn’t want to deal with this. Any of it. Lane’s betrayal. Her tell-all book and the intrusive backlash. The trouble at the paper. His father’s impending disapproval, his mother’s disappointed stare. The stalker was almost inconsequential in comparison to the greater questions nagging him. Like what did he really want from life? And why had he waited until he was thirty-two to ask himself that question? “I have other things to worry about than women and their impossible desires.”
“Not according to Lane’s book.”
Grey swallowed a growl. “I’m surprised you actually read a book, brother. And, of all things, that damned piece of—”
“Did you really make love in the back of her limousine while your reporters waited to interview her?”
Yes. And while it had been damned exciting at the time, he now realized the adrenaline rush wasn’t worth the price. “That’s private.”
“No, it’s public now, bro. Very, very public. Even I haven’t done it in the bathroom stall at Commander’s Palace. All these years you’ve pretended to be so restrained, then I read in this book about—”
“Zane.” Grey utilized his harshest tone again, the one he’d been using with more and more frequency lately. He didn’t like being a hard-ass. He didn’t enjoy inspiring expressions of terror from his employees. Not really. He simply wanted to run the paper with precise efficiency and turn a lofty profit. He wanted his personal life to be private and his lovers to be adventurous but discreet.
For a man with a reputation as one of New Orleans’s top power brokers, he didn’t get much of what he wanted, did he?
“If you’re done having fun at my expense, I could use some of your expertise.”
“I have expertise?” Zane asked, his surprise clear even over the phone line. “Can’t wait to hear in what.”
Grey was almost afraid to ask. “Don’t you have a private investigator’s license?”
“The instructor was a knockout. The only way I could get close to her was to take her course.”
That did it. The reality of Zane’s lackadaisical reason for pursuing a license as a P.I. stabbed into Grey’s brain like an ice pick. He reached across his desk and retrieved the nearly empty bottle of aspirin.
“Do you remember anything from the class?”
“She had the greatest set of—”
“Anything about the course material?” Grey rubbed his temple at the precise spot where the phantom puncture wound throbbed with very real, very sharp pain.
“I passed the final, didn’t I?”
Of course he did. His twin brother relished in the life of the cliché—jack-of-all-trades yet master of none. Well, dammit, this time, he needed Zane to share some of the heat. His twin had enjoyed the fruits of his Masterson trust fund and stock in the privately held newspaper long enough without having to put in even a little work. “I suppose I can count on you, then.”
“As good as counting on yourself. We do have the same IQ.”
“Yeah, but I actually use mine.”
“You called me for help, remember?”
Grey took a deep breath. All his life, he’d handled his pr
oblems—and everyone else’s in the family—by himself. Their mother had looked to Grey to supervise Zane when she and their father had gone off on some Western excursion. Dude ranches. Cattle drives. Exploring ancient Navajo artifacts in the Canyon de Chelly. Though both had been born in Louisiana, Grey’s parents loved the Old West and were having a grand time retracing the steps of the pioneers. Their father had retired early and handed the reins of the family business over to him, barely out of graduate school. But now some unknown force was threatening the newspaper, the flagship business in a growing media conglomerate that had made the Mastersons one of the wealthiest families in New Orleans.
And the worst part? Deep in his heart, Grey really didn’t care.
“Someone’s sabotaging the newspaper. For all I know, it could be my stalker. Her name’s Toni Maxwell. The newspaper’s trouble started around the time of her arrival.”
“So post a guard to keep her out.”
Duh. He may not have a P.I. license like Zane, but he did own at least a small amount of common sense. “I posted two guards, Zane.”
“And?”
“She managed to walk right past them—in a gorilla costume, no less.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, one of those out-of-work stage singers who embarrass people with stupid songs on their birthdays.”
Zane’s carefree laugh echoed over the phone line. “Very clever.”
“Perhaps, but not funny.”
“Right. Not funny.”
Grey could hear his brother nearly choking in his effort to muffle his amusement.
“So what kind of damage did the singing gorilla do?”
Grey closed his eyes, trying to block out the memory. “For starters, she stripped.”
“Naked?”
Thank God, things hadn’t gone that far. He could only imagine trying to wring any respect from his staff once he had a naked gorilla woman sitting on his lap.
“The security guards arrived before she took off much.”
“Too bad.”
Grey ignored his brother. Zane would have undoubtedly enjoyed the whole scenario. There might have been a time when even Grey would have found the situation amusing. Unfortunately, if that time ever existed, it was long, long ago.
“Here’s the clincher, brother. While this Toni Maxwell entertained the office staff at my expense, someone poured oil into the ink. We had to reprint the entire run in the main press and hit the stands three hours late.”
“And you suspect Toni Maxwell was a plant? A distraction?” A sound of understanding flowed through Zane’s voice, causing a brief respite from the stabbing pain in Grey’s head.
“Well, she damn sure doesn’t work for the local singing telegram outfits.”
“You questioned her?”
Grey remained silent. He should have called the police. He knew the woman’s name, even knew the name of the boutique she owned in the French Quarter. Hell, his investigator provided her home address, the names of the sisters who lived with her and had even offered to bring in the latest bag of garbage he’d swiped from her curbside. Grey had declined, accepted the information and then called his brother. Zane relished his playboy reputation. Who better to deal with a woman—particularly one intent on stalking him? Grey didn’t want to tangle with any more women who either weren’t holding a full deck of cards or who possessed some secret agenda.
“You want me to question her?” Zane ventured.
“I don’t have the time or the desire.”
Grey wondered how much further he should push this, but decided to go for broke. He couldn’t exactly admit to Zane that he wanted more than help with his stalker, but he owed his brother an honest assessment. “Circulation is down. Paper and fuel costs are on the rise. The union is giving my attorneys fits. I’m going to have to fire people who have worked for us for years. And to top it off, I’m handling the fallout from Lane’s book. I can’t deal with this woman stalking me, too.”
“You need a vacation.”
Grey shook his head. He needed a vacation, all right. Somewhere in Antarctica might do the trick, but he figured some persistent reporter would follow him there, too, and ask if the ice and snow were his latest remedy for his hot libido.
“Sure, I’ll just take off and leave all these problems behind.”
“Why not?” Zane asked. “All your troubles will still be waiting for you when you come back.”
Now, that wasn’t quite the answer he wanted, was it? “Maybe you can go off and relax while the family business is falling apart, but I can’t.” He took a deep breath. “Never mind, Zane. I’ll handle this somehow.”
“You always do.”
Yeah, right. Grey was considered an expert in solving problems, seeing the big picture, finding a straight arrow path to the truth. But that required energy, enthusiasm. He was fresh out of both.
After a pause, Zane suggested, “Why don’t we trade places for a while?”
Trade places? God, it had been years since they’d last pulled that stunt. Still, Grey could easily remember the liberation of Zane’s lifestyle. Parties. A little travel. Friends who merely rolled their eyes at you because nothing you did, no matter how wild or outrageous, surprised anyone anymore.
The proposal definitely held appeal. Just the idea of being that carefree, even for a short while, loosened the seemingly permanent clench of muscles in his chest. But he didn’t smile, afraid the sound of his mirth might somehow give him away. For the sake of Grey’s staunch reputation, he played it straight. If he gave in too easily, Zane might change his mind. His twin loved a challenge as much as he did. Besides, would Grey’s controlling nature really let him hand over the reins to his brother?
“Oh sure, and let you run the place into the ground?”
“Hey, hotshot. Sounds as though you’re going down fast anyway. This way, if we go belly-up, you can blame me.”
Grey continued to question the plan, even though the remembered freedom of switching with Zane held tight to its allure. Days and nights filled with nothing substantial, but loaded with lavish parties, extreme sports and college classes that required minimal study for maximum grades. Hell, had it really been since college? “I don’t know if I should let you talk me into this.”
“It’ll be fun. You’ll get to be me. Just think…sleeping in past five a.m., beignets and coffee at Café du Monde nearly every morning, licking powdered sugar off the fingers of—”
“I’ll keep my licking to my own fingers, thank you.” Grey’s fantasy halted. The one downside of being Zane was the women. Since Lane, he’d sworn off the species. At least, until he could find one he could trust. And he wasn’t so sure that feminine animal existed.
He switched the phone to his other ear, in time to catch Zane’s best argument yet.
“Oh, come on. I’ll liven up the newspaper. Besides, I do have that pesky little degree in journalism, and I’ve never gotten to use it.”
Grey hadn’t forgotten. Zane possessed a natural talent with words that Grey considered a huge waste on a man who had no focus. Yet Zane had no real experience at the Herald. Did he really want Zane using his byline on less than professional work? Did he care anymore? “That’s precisely my concern.”
“Think. No more paparazzi chasing you for comments about your sexual exploits. No more whiny lawyers to deal with. No more headaches over paying the bills.”
“You really want to trade?” Grey couldn’t erase the plaintive sound in his voice. He only hoped his brother was too self-absorbed to notice.
“Hell, I can delegate with the best of ’em. You must have some competent employees, so I can’t screw up too badly. I’ll even buy a pair of reading glasses and wear them. But if you would just take off one day of work and go in for the eye surgery like I did, I wouldn’t have to bother.”
Grey slid the gold wire rims off his nose and rubbed the tired bridge. He simply wasn’t vain enough to risk possible damage to his eyesight just to get rid of his glasses. At le
ast that’s what he told himself. Actually, there was also the little matter of surgery, anesthetic and sharp medical instruments that he didn’t much look forward to. “It won’t hurt you to wear clear glasses.”
“Fine. You just need to do one thing for me.”
Grey couldn’t imagine. He silently begged God to spare him from keeping Zane’s date with some airheaded party girl or maybe filling in for him on some excursion mountain climbing in the Himalayas.
“What?”
“I got a call from a friend of mine, Reina Price—”
Grey perked up. “Reina Price, the jewelry artist?” Though he’d never met the woman, Grey had heard things. Seen her picture. He’d been instantly fascinated. What a time to finally have a chance at a meeting—when he’d sworn off women.
“You know Reina?”
Grey covered the sound of his interest with a gruff cough. “We ran an article on her gallery opening last year. How do you know her?”
“We hang out. She leases two buildings from me and needs help with a business problem. If we switch, you’ll need to fill in. Might not be easy. She knows me pretty well. I’m supposed to meet with her tomorrow afternoon.”
Grey glanced down at his own appointment book. “You’ll have to go to the grand reopening of Club Carnal tonight.”
“As if I wasn’t going already,” Zane muttered.
Club Carnal, the hottest see-and-be-seen nightspot in New Orleans, had recently changed owners—the perfect reason for a high-profile party. Zane undoubtedly topped the A list of invitees, because anywhere Zane showed up was considered hip and hot.
“Yes, but as me, you’ll need to get there early, interview the new owner and perhaps a few patrons, then get out before things get too wild.”
Grey counted the seconds of Zane’s pause and winced. He might have just ruined his own chances. Being Grey was never as much fun as being Zane and, for the life of him, he never understood why his brother wanted to switch at all.