Changing Constantinou's Game

by Jennifer Hayward

  Her mother’s ultrasharp gaze softened. “Izzie, you were so young. I never should have pushed you into that audition. You weren’t ready.”

  No kidding. She winced, remembering that stiflingly hot day in L.A. as if it were yesterday. Her mother had pulled strings to get her a trial for an entertainment reporter position with a national news show at the network she’d been doing a television sitcom for at the time. Fresh out of school and nervous as hell, Izzie had been up against competition with five times her experience, and known the only reason she was in the room was because the producer was half in love with her mother.

  “It was a disaster,” Izzie muttered. “I completely fell apart.”

  “You were terrified. It was wrong of me to do that.”

  Had it been? Or had she just choked? Izzie cringed, remembering how she’d forgotten first one line, then another, her mother’s face getting redder and redder as her daughter blew it over and over again. Until finally the producer, a sympathetic look on his face, had suggested that they call it a day.

  Her jaw tightened as she remembered how silent her mother had been on the drive home. As if to say, I knew you were the ordinary, less spectacular daughter, but did you have to embarrass me that badly?

  She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’ve made my way here, Mother. My career has been all me. You need to respect that.”

  Her mother nodded. “I respect the fact that you want to do this on your own. In fact,” she lifted a brow, “I applaud that. But you need to start letting me in. I’ve been trying for months to make things right between us and all you keep doing is pushing me away.”

  Izzie gave her mother a disbelieving look as Dayla delivered the line as though she was on a set with a live audience of hundreds. How could she think a few months of sporadic attempts to connect with her daughter was going to make up for a lifetime of not caring? “You need to earn that right, Mother.”

  “I’m trying to. But you aren’t budging an inch.”

  Izzie’s mouth flattened. “Unlike you, I’m not good at command performances.”

  Her mother’s frown deepened. Izzie watched her mentally check herself and pull her mouth out of its twist. Frowns were bad for business. Frowns took years off your career. “Sometimes I think you’re the one who has the drama degree, Izzie.”

  She got pointedly to her feet. “How about Wednesday for dinner?”

  Her mother nodded, halfway across the room before she tossed her parting barb. “I’ll have Clara make reservations for sushi. We have to keep you in anchor shape.”

  Oh my God. Izzie balled her hands into fists. “I hate sushi!”

  “Oh that’s right...” Her mother disappeared through the double glass doors leaving devastation behind in her wake. As usual.

  Izzie picked up her phone and called Jo, deciding a bottle of wine at her best friend’s place superseded the need for a bath. She tossed the Messer file into her bag; she’d read it on the subway ride over to Jo’s. There had to be something in that file that would discredit Frank Messer. Because interviewing Alex was not an option. Ever.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “YOU NEED TO stop looking like you’re being dragged to your execution,” Jo chided, pushing Izzie through the tuxedo-and ball gown-clad crowd toward the bar. “It’s just an interview. Ask him to do it and get it over with.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Izzie muttered. “You’re not the one who told a half truth, then had a ridiculously hot one-night stand with the man you’re supposed to be interviewing.”

  “Oh come on, Iz.” Jo slid onto a stool at the gleaming ebony bar and lifted a brow at her. “How many scrapes did we get ourselves out of in J school? Where is your adventurous spirit?”

  “This is not creative ways to explain covering a high-end escort service as our final project,” Izzie retorted, sliding onto the stool beside her. “Why couldn’t you have lectured me after Italy?”

  “Then you wouldn’t have had the big night with the stud.” Jo’s smile was ear to ear. “Which was the best thing that’s ever happened to you, by the way.”

  Izzie made a face at her. The bartender came over, leaned his palms on the rich dark wood and gave Jo a long look. “What’ll you have?”

  “Two dirty martinis,” Jo said with a flirtatious smile. “Heavy on the olives.”

  “You got it.” He gave her friend one last admiring look before grabbing a shaker.

  Izzie groaned. “You are something else. It’s like every man in the world is programmed to love you.”

  Jo lifted a brow. “I send out pheromones, Iz. Phare-o-moans. As in I give guys a chance. You’re so caught up in your ‘up at six for a run, eight to eight caffeine-induced endurance race’ you wouldn’t know fun if it hit you in the butt.”

  Izzie glared at her. “That is so unfair. I have a career. I’m climbing the ladder...”

  “You need some fun in your life. Desperately.”

  “I do have fun.”

  “You think putting purple nail polish on your toes is a walk on the wild side. I’m talking fun.”

  “Yes, well, look where all the wildness has gotten me.” She’d spent the last two days trying to discredit Frank Messer in a desperate attempt not to do this, but the more she’d spoken with him and researched, the more credible he’d become. He’d played an awfully significant role in the creation of Behemoth and everyone in the industry knew it. So here she was, stuck in the vomit-inducing position of having to approach Alex at this gala event for the Met that NYC-TV was sponsoring, to ask him for the interview.

  The gala was hosted in the museum’s breathtaking Temple of Dendur with its exotic ambient lighting and ancient temples lit by a mystical, otherworldly glow, and the organizers had perfectly captured the spirit and ambience of ancient Egyptian times. But instead of enjoying the atmosphere, Izzie had spent the whole evening searching for Alex’s tall, dark figure, her heart in her mouth.

  She’d twisted back around on her stool to watch Jo bestow another high-wattage smile on the flirtatious bartender, when her friend’s eyes sharpened on the crowd. “Tall, black hair, blue eyes, you said?”

  Izzie froze, a fist tightening in her chest. “Yes, why, do you see him?”

  “Killer body?”

  “Yes,” she croaked, her throat dry as the Sahara.

  “This could be him. He’s with another guy—blond, nerdy in a cute kinda way.”

  “His business partner, Mark,” Izzie said weakly. She’d done her research.

  A low whistle escaped her friend. “Wow, Iz. He is smoking.”

  Not helping. The crowded room seemed to close in on her as she turned ever so slowly and followed Jo’s gaze. Suddenly it was terribly, impossibly hard to breathe. Alex was standing talking to the Met’s PR person, not fifty feet away, the black Armani tux he wore drool-inducing on his tall, powerful frame.

  She whipped her head around before he could see her, pressed clammy hands against her thighs. What was she supposed to do now? Walk up to him, say hi and unload her bombshell? She’d spent so much time trying to discredit Messer she didn’t have a plan. And suddenly that seemed very stupid indeed.

  “Drink,” Jo said, shoving the martini at her. “A bit of liquid courage is all you need.”

  * * *

  Alex smiled at whatever the PR woman for the Met was saying, hearing none of it. He detested the inane small talk these occasions required. Yes, she was glad Sophoros had sponsored the evening. Yes, he understood his checkbook was important to the organization’s continued success. He got it. Enough.

  He was tired. His temper was short. Pretty much bottom of the barrel since his lawyers had told him Frank Messer was going to be a big, huge pain in his behind. He needed to figure a way out of this mess with the least damage to Sophoros and he wasn’t doing that here making small talk.

  The PR person finally took the hint and moved on to schmooze another of the sponsors. Alex shot a glance at Mark. “Ready to get out of here?”

  His partner
nodded. “Except you might want to check out the blonde at the bar near the fountain. She’s been staring at you for a few minutes now and she’s a looker.”

  Normally all about the blondes, Alex found himself bored by the thought. He’d been annoyingly, persistently consumed by thoughts of a particular voluptuous brunette all week. And even though he’d told himself Izzie was all wrong for him, that he didn’t need a woman distracting him when being on his game was all that mattered, he couldn’t get her out of his head.

  Hell. He glanced in the direction Mark was looking. His partner was right. The blonde was stunning. The kind of leggy, sophisticated beauty he’d normally be all over. And she was staring at him. But it was the brunette beside her who caught his eye. Her back to him, she had the same long, thick chestnut hair and curvaceous body Izzie had. And the dress she had on was fantastic, a body-hugging number that left her back completely bare...

  “Something else, isn’t she?” Mark muttered.

  “So is the woman beside her.” His gaze sharpened on the brunette. Something in the way she held herself, in the tilt of her head, reminded him of Izzie. And now he was losing his mind, because in a city of eight million, the chances of Izzie being here were slim to none.

  He was just about to turn away when the brunette twisted slightly in her seat to look at them. He stiffened, his gaze locking onto her face. It was Izzie. Minus the dark-rimmed glasses he’d removed before taking her to bed. He took in how the gown molded her delectable figure, her wide-eyed stare as she sat frozen on the stool. And wondered how fate had put her in his path twice in one week.

  His gaze narrowed as she slid off the stool and walked quickly toward the opposite end of the ballroom. She was running away from him? He stared incredulously as she hightailed it through the crowd as fast as those ridiculously high shoes she was wearing allowed.

  “I’ll be right back,” he muttered to Mark, clenching his teeth. Women didn’t walk away from him. And certainly not this one.

  * * *

  Izzie knew the minute Alex started to follow her. It was like a centrifugal force that pulled on her steps, threatened to drag her back toward him, but she kept going, determined to face him when she had her wits about her. And that was not now.

  She twisted her way through the crowd, as fast as she could go in her prize possession four-inch designer heels. Trained her gaze on the ladies’ room doors.

  “Izzie.” It was a command, not an address. She kept walking. She was almost there, just a few more steps and—

  “Izzie.” Alex clamped a hand down on her shoulder and swung her around. “What are you doing?”

  She swallowed hard, her high heels bringing her face-to-face with his furious glare. “I—I needed to use the ladies’ room.”

  “At the exact moment you saw me?” The scathing disbelief in his voice made her cringe. “Try again.”

  Heat filled her cheeks. She shifted her weight to the other foot, her gaze dropping away from his. “Believe what you like. I need to pee.”

  The look on his face told her he didn’t believe her for a second. But he dropped his hand and took a step back. “Fine. I’ll be here.” He propped himself up against the wall near the entrance to the ladies’ room, arms crossed over his chest. Izzie lowered her gaze and stalked past him.

  She took an extraordinarily long time while she collected herself. Debated how to approach what she had to do. When she came out, he was standing in exactly the same place, arms crossed over his chest, looking indolently, indecently gorgeous. She made an attempt at casual, but a lacing of bitterness edged her voice. “How was your flight?”

  His dark brows drew together. “I had to leave, Izzie. I told you I had an emergency.”

  Frank Messer. She reminded herself what this night was all about. Business. Not acting like a girl. She waved a hand at him. “It’s fine. I’m over it.”

  “Then why walk away like that?”

  She shook her head. “I told you I—”

  “Needed to use the washroom.” He gave her a grim look. “Okay, let’s try this another way.” Taking her arm, he walked her toward the exit. Her pulse accelerated at the thought of being alone with him again and that was just silly, because what she should be focusing on was convincing him to do this interview.

  “That was your friend Jo, I assume.” He stood back while she preceded him through the French doors to the outdoor terrace, deserted except for a couple of men smoking. “She looks like a man slayer.”

  “The poor bartender was drooling all over her.”

  “She’s attractive.”

  Izzie blinked at the understatement. “You don’t think she’s gorgeous?”

  “I think you’re gorgeous.” He stopped at the far end of the terrace that overlooked the gardens and leaned back against the wall that separated the two, his gaze moving over her in a leisurely inspection that lingered on every curve.

  “Alex,” she muttered. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Why should I when you look so sensational in that dress?” A mocking glint entered his eyes. “When I saw you I thought it couldn’t be you—it’s such a crazy coincidence that we’d both be here.”

  Her cheeks heated to boiling. Tell him now, Izzie.

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Then I convinced myself I must have conjured you up. I’ve been thinking about you, Iz. A lot...”

  The world came to a grinding halt. “You have?”

  “Mmm.” He nodded. “I was wondering how you made out in the interview.”

  Oh. Her heart dropped. Of course he hadn’t really been thinking about her.

  “Izzie.” His low, husky laughter wrapped itself around her. “I’m teasing you.”

  He stepped in close, picked up her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing an openmouthed kiss to her palm. “What are you doing?” she asked in a strangled tone.

  “Checking to see if you taste as good as I remember.”

  Oh, God. “Alex, I—

  “Ssh—” He lifted his lips from her hand and pressed his thumb against her mouth.

  Her stomach did a loop-to-loop. A wry smile curved his lips. “As hard as I try not to, all I keep thinking about is you in my bed, Iz...”

  His deep, velvet tone made her heart race. Her lower lip trembled as his thumb dropped away from her mouth and he bent his head to hers. “Have you?”

  “Have I what?” she asked helplessly.

  “Have you thought about me?”

  One last shred of self-preservation kicked in as she remembered how he’d left her in London. “I thought we agreed it was only one night.”

  “Does it feel like it’s over?” he growled, dragging her closer so she could feel his heart pounding against hers.

  No. No, it didn’t. She braced herself as he brought his mouth firmly down on hers, staking his claim. A wild flurry of excitement at being in his arms again rushed through her. With a helpless sigh, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Just one kiss...

  “I like this dress,” he muttered against her lips, his hands burning into her bare skin as he swept them down her back. “Hell, Izzie, I have no self-control when it comes to you.”

  His words thrilled her, sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. She lost herself in the feeling of his hands on her again. The sensuous slant of his mouth as he nudged hers open and took the kiss deeper. She arched her neck, welcoming the sweep of his tongue as it slid against hers. He groaned and dragged her against the hard length of his body. Started an ache deep inside her she wanted desperately to assuage the same way they had the last time.

  “Come home with me,” he urged raggedly.

  Her body said yes. But her brain... She yanked herself out of his arms and took an unsteady step backward. Sucked in a breath. “I have something I need to tell you...”

  He frowned, running a distracted hand through his hair as his gaze tracked her. “Okay...”

  She swallowed hard. “When I told you that night in London
I was in communications I didn’t tell you the—”

  “There you two are.”

  She looked up, horrified, as James walked across the terrace toward them, his eyes glittering with the satisfaction of a hunter who’d cornered his prey. “You’re a hard man to find, Constantinou.”

  Alex drew his brows together. “Do I know you?”

  James stopped in front of him, sticking out his hand. “Izzie’s boss, James Curry, from NYC-TV.”

  Alex froze. Kept his hands by his sides. “The James Curry who’s been calling my office every day for a week?”

  “The very same,” her boss acknowledged,unperturbed. “Has Izzie gotten around to explaining what we want to do with the exclusive?”

  Alex’s voice was icy cold as he turned to her. “You’re a reporter.”

  Izzie blanched, every ounce of blood in her body seeming to flee to her feet. “I was just about to explain.”

  Her boss’s gaze swung to Izzie, then back to Alex. “Do you two know each other?”

  Alex’s mouth tightened. “Nice try, Curry. Wasn’t half a dozen unreturned phone calls enough to convince you I’m not interested?”

  Her boss shrugged. “Messer’s going to kill you in the court of public opinion.”

  “Messer doesn’t have a leg to stand on.”

  James lifted his shoulders. “Do you really want to take a chance on that?”

  Alex’s gaze flicked to Izzie, moving scathingly over her. “So you sent Isabel to persuade me? Don’t you think that’s going a bit far?”

  “I thought some female persuasion might help, yes.”

  Izzie felt herself sink into the depths of hell. “James,” she interjected, “why don’t you let Alex and I finish our conversation? We can—”

  “Actually,” Alex interrupted, “I’d like to know...do you often ask your reporters to go to the lengths Izzie did for this story? Or was I a special case?”

  Her boss frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Alex’s fists clenched by his sides. “You really are scum of the earth, aren’t you?” He took a step closer to James, his six-feet-plus, wide-shouldered frame dwarfing her boss’s slighter one. James stood toe to toe with him, unfazed, his chin jutting out belligerently.