“What are you talk—”
“James.” Izzie stepped between the two men, heart pounding. “Please go inside. I’ll handle this.”
Her boss shook his head. “I don’t think I should—”
“That’s an excellent suggestion, Curry,” Alex broke in, a dangerous glimmer lighting his eyes. “Why don’t you follow it before I do what my fists are itching to do.”
Her boss looked from Alex to Izzie and back. “I think you should ex—”
“James,” Izzie broke in desperately. “Alex and I have something we need to discuss. Please go. I’ll find you afterward.”
Her boss gave her an uncertain look. Izzie pleaded with him with her eyes. “All right,” he said finally. “Think about it, Constantinou. It’s the smart thing to do.”
Izzie watched him go, sucking in a deep breath. Alex looked her over, his voice so cold, it sent a shiver down her spine. “You should have been an actress like your mother,” he drawled. “Your performance was utterly brilliant, Iz. I bought the naive young thing hook, line and sinker.”
She shook her head. “It isn’t anything like that. I was coming to track you down that day, yes, but I had no idea who you were when we got stuck in that elevator. Your receptionist said you’d left hours earlier and I was looking for Leandros, not Alex.”
His lip curled. “You expect me to believe that? You forget I have a hell of a lot of experience dealing with the media. I know exactly what lengths reporters will go to for a story, although I have to admit prostituting yourself is above and beyond.”
“Prostituting myself?” She stared at him, horrified. “I would never do that, Alex, I—”
“How did you manage it?” A disdainful glitter shone in his eyes. “My schedule was all over the place that day.”
She shook her head, knowing this was getting way out of control. “I didn’t manage anything. I went into reception, asked for Leandros, they told me you had gone back to the U.S. and I left. You were very closemouthed about yourself that night.”
“You wonder why,” he came back savagely. “So you just happened to get stuck in that elevator with me. Are you even afraid of them by the way?”
“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Alex, be reasonable here.”
“Given what’s going on in my head, I think I’m being exceedingly reasonable.”
He looked like he wanted to put his hands around her neck and strangle her. She took a step backward. “I swear to you I had no idea who you were until I came back to work and James showed me a picture of you. Everything that happened between us was real.”
“You expect me to believe that?” His blue eyes gleamed with leashed fury. “How much of a fool do you think I am?”
“You heard James,” she said desperately. “He had no idea what you were talking about. This wasn’t a setup, it was—”
“Enough.” He ground the word out with such force she stopped in her tracks. She backed up until she met the hard concrete of the wall. He followed her, pinning her against it. “No more lies.”
She willed herself not to flinch as he took her jaw in his hand. “What if I’d been an overweight, unattractive has-been, Iz? Would you still have had the guts to seduce me?”
She raised her chin in defiance. “I went to bed with you for exactly the reasons I told you in London.”
Disbelief flared in his eyes. “What was that—oh yes, I remember now,” he jeered, his gaze raking over her. “You didn’t want to have any regrets. For once in your life you wanted to go after what you wanted. Well, you sure did, Iz. Too bad it was a wasted effort.”
Tears stung the back of her eyes. How dare he dismantle their wildly romantic night and make it into something dirty and disgraceful. “It wasn’t—”
“Tell me something, Iz.” He slid his thumb across her trembling lower lip. “Did you enjoy yourself while you did your duty? Or were those little moans all an act?”
She lifted her hand to slap him, but he caught it easily in his own before she got it halfway to his face. “Save it,” he bit out grimly. “I’ve had enough.”
He took a step back, his face hard as stone. “Tell your boss he has a snowball’s chance in hell of getting this story.” Then he turned and strode back inside, his long, furious steps eating up the length of the terrace. She stared blindly at the entrance, at the lights and laughter of a party still in full swing. Sank back against the wall, palms sweaty, heart racing. How had it all gone so horribly wrong? How could she have predicted Alex would drag her out here and kiss her after walking out on her in London? That he would want a repeat performance of that night as much as she did?
She pressed her fingers to her lips, still stinging from the intensity of his kiss. A kiss that had thrown her off her game completely...made her believe they might have something together. Stupid, she berated herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could she have made such a mess of this? How could Alex think she had set him up like that? Slept with him to get an interview? It was inconceivable.
A wave of perspiration broke out on her brow. How was she going to convince Alex it had all been a huge, crazy coincidence?
What was she going to tell her boss?
She found him inside, talking to a producer from a rival station. He blew off the conversation and cornered her in a quiet spot behind the exhibits. “What is going on, Izzie?”
She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I will fix this, James.”
“You sure as hell will. What in God’s name was Constantinou talking about? What setup?”
Her stomach lurched. “It’s complicated. He’s just...misinterpreted something.”
His gaze narrowed. “Misinterpreted what?”
She pressed her lips together. “This has nothing to do with work, James, we—I— It’s personal.”
“I can see that. When were you going to tell me you knew him?”
“He’s just an acquaintance. He’s misunderstood something. Give me a chance to make this right and I will.”
Her boss sighed. Seemed to run out of anger. “Look, Izzie, I know you wouldn’t do anything unethical. It’s just not you. So whatever’s going on...fix it and get that interview.”
She nodded. That’s exactly what she was going to do. She just had no idea how she was going to do it. What exactly did the odds of a “snowball’s chance in hell” equate to?
CHAPTER SEVEN
ALEX COULD COUNT on one hand the times in his life he’d made a decision that went against his instincts. It had made him difficult to coach on the football field. He’d been dubbed the Rebel Quarterback for his penchant for changing a play late in the game, giving his coaches a virtual heart attack. But nine times out of ten he’d won the game. Because his instincts, his feel for the field, had always been dead-on.
But standing here, looking out at the Manhattan skyline from Sophoros’s fiftieth-floor offices, he was about to act against them. After an epic battle between him and the PR team, he had conceded they had to be proactive about the way the Messer case was framed in the media. The interview with NYC-TV, his director of PR had insisted, was the perfect contained opportunity to do so. Isabel Peters was anything but a hard-edged reporter, they could play it as they liked, and the network would syndicate it across the country, allowing him then to go underground, his version of the story out there.
He blew out a long breath and pressed a hand against the glass. Laura Reed was one of the best PR people in the country. The lawyers were okay with the strategy, with certain ground rules. It was the right thing to do. Except every bone in his body was telling him not to do it. He’d spent eight years avoiding the media. Eight years avoiding any chance that some fame-seeking reporter would smell something wrong about the night his career had ended and expose his biggest mistake. And now he was going to jeopardize that?
His stomach twisted, contracted as though it was being put through a sieve. Laura Reed had called this a contained story. There was only one person on the planet who knew about h
is biggest lapse in judgment, and that person would never talk. He had to do this. Had to contain Frank Messer in the only way possible. But to give the interview to Izzie after she’d deceived him like that? It made his soul burn.
He slammed his palm against the glass. That he’d fallen into James Curry’s trap so easily was downright embarrassing. How had his radar not picked up on what Izzie was? Because of course she’d been staking him out. He’d deliberately waited until the crowds were gone to get on that elevator, and she’d stood there jabbering on her phone until exactly the right moment to jump on with him.
What he wanted to know was why she hadn’t asked him about the interview that night in London while she’d had the chance. Why had she waited until the charity event to ambush him? Had she been trying to soften him up first? Then make the ask?
He rubbed his hand over his face, fatigue attacking every cell of his body. If he were to be honest, the disappointment was the worst. Yes, he’d lusted after her that night as any red-blooded male would have. But it had been more than that. He’d liked Izzie. She’d seemed different from the jaded, ambitious women who filled his social circles. And when he’d seen her again that night, he couldn’t stay away. Hadn’t wanted to.
His mouth tightened as he looked down at the midday traffic jamming Lexington Avenue. He’d broken his iron-clad rule not to trust another female after one night of potently good sex. Crazy, when there couldn’t be a man alive who’d received such a clear demonstration of the untrustworthiness of women than him, not once but twice in his life. First with his mother, who’d walked out on his family for another man. Then with his own blind faith in the fiancée he’d been so madly in love with he hadn’t seen her betrayal coming until she’d set her engagement ring down on the kitchen table and told him she was leaving him for his biggest competition—the man who’d taken his job and his dream along with it.
He would never trust a woman again. Ever. So why had Izzie gotten to him so?
Why did he still want her?
He let out a curse and levered himself away from the window. Even after everything she’d done, he still burned for her. Maybe it was the desire for revenge...maybe he just couldn’t get enough. Whatever it was, it was still insistently there.
He walked to his desk and picked up his espresso. The plan he’d devised would rid him of both problems. He would handle Isabel Peters far more deftly than she’d tried to handle him. He would take what he wanted and walk away. And he was going to enjoy every minute of it.
A knock sounded on the door. Grace slipped in, set a pile of papers on his desk and turned her curious gaze on him. “Isabel Peters is here.”
“Thanks. Show her in.”
He leaned against the front of his solid wooden desk as Izzie appeared in the doorway, wearing a simple green dress that hugged her lush figure. He zeroed in on the stiff set of her face and shoulders. She was nervous. Good.
He gestured toward the sitting area by the windows. “Have a seat.”
She walked past him and perched on the corner of one of the matching leather chairs. He sauntered over and sat opposite her, deliberately letting silence reign until she squirmed in her seat.
“What made you change your mind?”
“My management team thinks we need the public on our side.”
“You’ll do the interview then?”
He nodded. “With a few conditions.”
A guarded look replaced the relieved glimmer in her eyes. “Which are?”
“We have complete control over the final edit.”
“That’ll never happen.”
“Then you won’t get the interview.”
She frowned. “What else?”
“You’ll be the reporter.”
“James assigned the story to me. It’s mine.”
He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “That part I don’t understand. The community reporter doing an investigative feature? Working your way up the ladder Hollywood-style, Iz?”
She clenched her hands in her lap, fire flashing in her dark eyes. “What’s it going to take for you to believe the truth? I didn’t know it was you, Alex.”
“Give it up,” he encouraged in a bored tone. “We’re wasting time here. What I am interested in,” he said deliberately, “is if you’re still part of the package?”
Her face turned the exact color of his fire-engine-red Ferrari. “That was way over the line.”
“Too bad,” he gibed. “I’m in the driver’s seat now. You need me.”
She looked down at her hands, twisted them together in her lap. “You said a few conditions...”
He nodded. “I’m assuming you want to get started on the interview right away?”
She inclined her head.
“I have business in California this week,” he drawled. “You’ll need to come with me.”
Her mouth fell open. “I—we—I can’t do that. We can do the pre-interviews by phone.”
He shook his head. “We do it in person or we don’t do it at all.”
She chewed on her lip, uncertainty glittering in those big brown eyes. “What’s the matter?” he goaded. “You were all over me that night in London.”
“That was real,” she hissed. “This has to be strictly business now.”
He moved his gaze leisurely over her curves in the sexy, understated dress. “Why, when we clearly mix business and pleasure so well?”
Her back went ramrod straight. “That’s enough.”
A slow smile stretched his lips. “I recognize ambition, Iz. I get it. I’m ruthless too. Why not scratch the itch? Get it out of our systems?”
She flashed him a heated look. “If we do this it’s business.”
He crossed one leg over the other in an indolent gesture. “Does your boss know we’ve slept together? How far you decided to take it? Or was that just because you were enjoying it and you made the call?”
She stood up. “I’m done with this conversation.”
“Get your bag packed, Iz.” He rolled to his feet. “We leave tomorrow morning.”
“I can’t do that.” She gaped at him. “I have stories I’m working on.”
“Hand them off,” he ordered, striding over to his desk. “Grace will call you with the details. Oh,” he added, sitting down in his chair. “Don’t forget your bathing suit. The pool is spectacular.”
Her mouth tightened. She walked out without a backward glance. He smiled and pulled a file toward him. He’d bet his Ferrari Izzie looked amazing in a bikini. He couldn’t wait to find out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHE REALLY SHOULD get out of the sun, Izzie thought lazily, staring up at the perfect, clear blue California sky. Except after the stress of the past couple of days, heaven right now was floating on her back in Alex’s infinity pool and escaping the heat.
She sighed and trailed her hands through the water. It was one of those sweat-inducing, steaming-hot summer California days that made everyone go a little crazy. So she’d done what any self-respecting native Californian would have done while Alex was in San Francisco in meetings and the ever-present tension between them was gone for a few hours. She’d headed outside to the pool, armed with a pitcher of cold lemonade and a book.
She should get out of the sun. And she would soon. It was just that the infinity pool with its gasp-inducing, hundred-foot drop to the Pacific was like teetering on the edge of heaven. In fact, everything about Alex’s excessively private Spanish-style home perched over the wildly beautiful golden beaches of Malibu was heavenly. Acres of tropical gardens swamped the grounds with color, its expansive outdoor living spaces encouraging one to spend all their time outside. And then there was the house, with the works of the great Impressionists on the walls.
She flicked her hand through the water and sent an arc of diamond-shaped drops through the air. It was a privileged, luxurious slice of paradise, as elusive to most as the man she’d been interviewing all week. Four days into their stay, three days into their backg
round interviews, and she still knew so little about the man behind the trophies she was afraid to pick up James’s calls. That night in London hadn’t been an outlier. Alex didn’t talk about himself. Had given one-line answers to every question she’d asked and nothing more.
She shut her eyes against the blinding rays of the sun, sweat dripping down her forehead and beneath her lashes. Alex was hosting a party for business associates tomorrow, after which she was headed back to New York, with or without the story. Which meant today she had to get him to talk. A near impossible task when your interview subject had zero trust in you.
She waved her arms and pushed herself back to the center of the pool. She’d done everything she could to convince Alex she was telling the truth but it was like talking to a wall. The man she’d met in London was gone. And the aloof stranger who’d replaced him unnerved her. So did the ever-present heat between them. He might hate her for what she’d done, but he still wanted her. That hadn’t gone away. It’d made her flee dinner on the intimate little terrace last night like a woman possessed.
Twenty-four hours, she told herself. Twenty-four hours and she’d be out of danger. But she needed him to talk first.
“You researching cloud formations?”
The sardonic observation from a deep, amused male voice had her yanking herself upright and feeling for the bottom. But the water was too deep and she plunged, her arms and legs flailing. Kicking back to the surface, she pulled in a breath, coughing and sputtering.
“Do you always sneak up on people like that?”
“I thought you said you were a champion swimmer...”
“That doesn’t help when you scare the life out of me.” She pushed her soaking hair out of her face and took in yet another of the gorgeous designer suits that molded every lean muscle of his body into a work of art.
His gaze slid over her. She’d put her minuscule bikini on while he was out. What had possessed her to do that?
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