by Moriah Jovan
“I’ve been thinking about this since he announced last month,” Giselle murmured, disengaging from him to snag a waiter to request ice water. Sebastian looked down at her, his eyebrow cocked, waiting. “It’s a threefer. First, you need to block as much of Fen’s fundraising as possible, like tonight. I’m sure all your friends feel just as threatened by whatever Fen plans to do to you.”
“Already done. Next?”
“You need a Truman.”
He stuck his tongue in his cheek. “Raise up a rival candidate. Wouldn’t that be hilarious? Senator from Taight—but I’d rather not back a Democrat if I can avoid it.”
“Kevin Oakley.”
Sebastian started, his eyes widening. “Isn’t he the prosecutor who decided you’d done him a favor by taking out the assholes who shot you?”
“Yes, he is and there are rumors around school he’s itching to get on with the next step in his career. He and Knox are friends, so there’s your in with him.”
Sebastian rocked back on his heels, his hands behind his back, and stared off into the distance.
“And did you read the National Review article I left on the conference table?” At his absent nod, she said, “The one on intellectual property rights? Byline Justice McKinley?”
“Yes, and it gave me some ideas on a few tech pies I could put my fingers in. I googled her, read some of the stuff she’s been writing on some of the smaller conservative blogs. She’s like a baby Thomas Sowell.”
“Baby’s about right. She’s twenty-three.”
“How do you know?”
“I go to school with her, that’s how I know.” Giselle kept the other little piece of information concerning Justice McKinley to herself for now, since Knox still refused to talk about that. “She’s a regular little political prodigy, all strict constructionist pro-life atheist. People are starting to listen to her and talk about her and—” Giselle couldn’t help a wicked chuckle. “—she’s tying the religious right up in knots.”
“Shit. I could barely spell my name when I was twenty-three, but now that you mention it, she is a bit irrationally exuberant.”
Giselle chuckled, then continued, “My thinking is if Kevin could speak with her, they may be able to help each other further their own careers. He’s not quite her brand of politician, but she won’t be happy until Thomas Jefferson rises from the dead.”
Sebastian pursed his lips. “Even if he wins, he’ll be powerless to help me. Fen has no such problems because he wants my head more than the rest of the looters and he’s the only one who can actually deliver it via the SEC. He’ll have instant clout.”
“All Oakley needs to do is give Fen a good fight. The Senate’s not going to want to yank your chain too soon and show its hand if there’s a good chance Fen’ll lose the election. It’ll buy you enough time to get through the transfer or takeover of OKH.
“After that, if you do end up sitting in front of Fen and his newfound senatorial friends, it’ll be a whole different fight that you can win on your terms without the distraction of OKH or the threat of the SEC, especially considering your attorney—you know, that poor young man who was cheated of his rightful inheritance on his wedding day when his bride-equipped-with-child was tragically and mysteriously murdered. That evil Fen Hilliard, just like OJ Simpson. Ya know he did it, but the glove doesn’t fit.”
Sebastian actually smiled in public, which made Giselle blink. “Go on, Giz,” he muttered over another glass of champagne. “I’ve always admired your deadpan delivery.”
“The trick is when Kevin should announce his intentions. Fen needs to get comfy and spend a bunch of whatever cash he manages to scrounge up. Once Kevin announces and it becomes known that you’re backing him, Fen’s going to have a hard time replenishing whatever he spends because nobody’s going to want to throw good money after bad.
“Third. When reporters start calling you for comments on Senator Oth’s anti-Taight bitterness, refer them to Knox. He can hem and haw like the good ol’ boy redneck he pretends to be—now, y’all know this is off the record, mind—mumble a few things about how he doan know nuttin’ ’bout nuttin’, but seems to him maybe Oth either wasn’t a very good businessman—and what does that say about his leadership in the Senate?—or Taight caught him with his hand in his employees’ cookie jar. Oopsie. Maybe compare Jep Industries to Enron, Tyco in passing. Jep employees lost their jobs, yeah, but that Taight, you know, he made sure they got to take their 401(k)s with ’em. That should make that rabid skunk back off and Knox could make you look like a martyr once he gets through working that shucks-n-p’shaw mojo he uses on his juries.
“You cannot get into a full-on war with Oth while Fen’s in the picture, but you do need to get him to quit riding you. The publicity is what’s going to kill you if you don’t answer it. Kevin can make Fen retreat and Knox can make Oth shut up. Once Oth is questioned, the deal you made with Hollander Steelworks will come out. You’ll end up being the sainted hero and savior of the pensions and jobs of twelve hundred people—not to mention what it’ll do for Hollander. Between Kevin and Knox, you should be able to stay out of Washington for the next three years until after OKH is no longer an issue. If it doesn’t work all the way through Knox’s fortieth, hire a Washington-savvy publicist to take you the rest of the way.”
Sebastian stared at her without speaking for a while. “Bless your little politico heart, Giz,” he said slowly. “You do come in handy occasionally.”
Giselle took the opportunity to preen a bit. She very rarely impressed Sebastian because he expected her to function on his level all the time. She continued,
“The only downside of that is if it makes Fen feel totally irrelevant—which it very well could—he may go off his rocker and three years is long enough for him to devolve back to primordial ooze. I wouldn’t put it past him to do something devastating to me, Knox, you—or all three of us—if he thinks he’s going to lose everything any which way he looks at it. He’s already gotten somewhat unpredictable and that makes me nervous. He has a taste for killing when he can’t get his way and the fact that we can’t prove anything only feeds his arrogance.”
Sebastian grunted. “I trust the next time he tries to kill you, you’ll find him up in Chouteau County somewhere and put him out of our misery.”
“I plan to, but that might wreck my newfound ambitions if it comes to light.”
“What newfound ambitions?”
She didn’t bother to suppress a nasty snicker. “One of the Jackson County APs, Craig Wells, the one who wanted to throw me under a bus to cut his teeth on Knox? He’s been sniffing around Oakley’s job.”
“Knox says he’s been sniffing around your leathers.”
“Oh, good heavens, yes. A codpiece would be less obvious than his hard-on. He just magically happens to show up places I hang out, like the law library and the grocery store. He never talks to me, pretends he doesn’t see me, but really. How stupid do you have to be to stalk a woman who you know for a fact carries a nine-mil and uses it? I’ve considered kicking his ass just for daring to think about me nekkid, but I’m not sure Kevin would forgive me for that. So my little revenge fantasies have morphed into a run for Jackson County prosecutor as a possible career move some time in the distant future once I’ve got some serious time in a courtroom under my belt.”
“Yesterday I would’ve mocked you for that. Today, not so much. You going to have Knox train you?”
“Please. Which one of us do you think would end up dead first? I’ve had quite enough of Professor Shit-for-Brains, thankyouverymuch. I don’t know what curve he grades me on but it isn’t the one he uses for the rest of the class.”
“You got him back for it on his student evaluations last year. He was pissed.”
“Did he think I’d sit still for that?”
“Apparently so.”
She huffed.
“Well, thank you, Giz. Sometimes I forget just how damned smart you are.”
“I noticed,” she mu
ttered.
He paused to think, but his attention caught elsewhere. “Oh, damn. I almost forgot why we’re here. There’s Kenard,” he said, turning toward the south end of the hall where there were more clusters of people chatting. “He’s the man with the burn scars on the left side of his face.”
* * * * *
10: MINE
Bryce hadn’t wanted to come to this thing, especially considering how he felt about Fen Hilliard and what he suspected about the man’s involvement in Leah’s murder, but curiosity won out. He’d spent every other weekend the past two months playing golf with Fen and various other business leaders about town just to see how Fen played chess.
Fen had treated Bryce like an old friend without once mentioning his campaign. He was likable, suave, and not in the least bit slick or smarmy. No hint of good ol’ boy politics. Not a whiff of courtship. He had his act down cold and Bryce could appreciate Fen’s patience, shrewd strategy, and forethought.
In all that time, however, Bryce hadn’t said much, preferring to listen instead, to observe Fen’s modus operandi, to wait for the thirty-second pitch that never came. Even the invitation to this little get-together had no hint of political purpose in it, but Bryce laughed when the courier delivered it. So. This was the thirty-second pitch.
At least now he knew Fen intended to carry his personal philosophy of philanthropy right on into Congress with him and Bryce had no intention of backing that with either his checkbook or his influence. Giving away money as a private citizen or a corporation was Bryce’s idea of generosity of spirit and community service. Using taxpayer money to do it was bullshit.
In addition, though Bryce didn’t know Sebastian Taight personally, he definitely didn’t like the witch hunt Fen’s announcement had triggered. It would’ve happened eventually, but if Taight went down, half the extraordinarily successful entrepreneurs in the country would go down with him. That didn’t bode well for anyone, not to mention what it would do to the economy.
Fen’s campaign had less to do with political ambition and a need to protect the public from rampaging capitalist pigs, but more to do with Taight’s takeover of OKH. Bryce wouldn’t trust Fen Hilliard to hold his nine-iron for him.
Bryce sighed as he returned to nursing his Perrier, disengaged from the people who had clumped around him. The company he kept at these inane functions was the most amusing he could find, but some evenings, like tonight, that didn’t say much. Bored out of his mind, he wondered if this was preferable to knocking around a dark, silent, empty house at Christmas time.
Absorbed in watching the play of light on the surface of his sparkling water, Bryce thought he saw a head of honey-colored hair in his periphery and his gut clenched.
Only one person he had ever met had hair that color, subtle in its blondeness and its redness at the same time. No hairdresser, no matter how talented or expensive, could duplicate the complicated highlights of commingling blonde and red strands.
He turned and looked for her, unable to credit that she might be here. His breath caught in his throat when he saw her. When she turned a bit, he realized that she went about on Sebastian Taight’s arm and a pain struck him behind his sternum as she chatted amiably—almost familiarly—with Fen and Trudy Hilliard.
First Knox, then Taight and the rest of the Hilliards. It stood to reason that if she was fucking Knox, she would know Taight and definitely Knox’s mother—but what kind of typist and law student had these kinds of connections? He knew no one in society by the name of Cox or who had ties to a Cox family.
Bryce drank in her appearance more fully, able to take his time and notice small details that pleased but did not surprise him. She had such an air of understated elegance, he had to wonder if she had a gun strapped to her thigh.
Her black and white dress showed off her pale shoulders to exquisite advantage and gave her hair a subtle brilliance. He liked the red earrings.
The slight plump of her breasts above the black corset caught his attention. His mind filled with images of them bare, flushed with passion, her nipples begging him to lick and suck them. He drew in a sharp breath and his erection strained against his fly. She turned away from him then and he studied the delineation of well-developed muscles in her arms and upper back. He remembered her legs the night of Leah’s visitation.
Collier’s Lilith was soft, round, lush.
Giselle Cox was most definitely not.
I notice the type of women who catch your eye: Muscular. Solid. A woman you can throw at a bed and fuck. Hard.
Brilliant woman . . . She’ll be a good trial attorney. Enough ego and charm to pull anything off and the brains and wit to back it up.
I notice the women you like to talk to: Smart. Edgy.
I assure you: You have never met a woman like me, and you never will again.
Taight led Miss Cox away from the Hilliards and she strolled about on his arm for a moment before they came to an abrupt halt. She began to talk and gesture, a highball glass of something clear over ice in one hand, while Taight listened intently. He sipped at his champagne, never taking his eyes off her, then he grinned at her. She returned it, but began to speak again and did so at some length. Taight’s expression gradually transformed from amusement to— Respect?
He wondered what Giselle Cox could possibly have to say that would have a notorious and semi-reclusive billionaire’s rapt attention. Taight very rarely attended society events and if he did deign to grace an affair with his presence, he mingled very little. He rarely spoke and he never showed any emotion.
Taight’s presence at a party for a man he had declared war upon, a woman on his arm, and his uncharacteristic public display of humor—incredible. Quite a few of the gathered shot intermittent glances at the pair, no less intrigued than Bryce.
And her! No anger tonight, no rage. Just amusement. He remembered her clumsy attempt at flirting, her straightforward charm, her obvious hope for him to ask her out—possibly more. He’d insulted her and her anger had resurfaced. He’d kissed her and she’d sunk into desire. He’d called her out and flustered her. Her moods swung wildly and she made no effort to hide them.
He could only see Miss Cox in profile, but he could read her amazingly expressive face from where he stood. She smirked once at something Taight muttered, and though she didn’t show any other overt signs of humor, Bryce could feel her amusement in palpable waves across the distance between them and pulse through his body. Whatever she said had been funny enough to make Taight nearly laugh and Bryce heard one woman actually gasp.
Jealousy, hot and vicious, seized his gut and his lip curled. Knox Hilliard knew her intimately. Sebastian Taight treated her as an equal, though not as a lover—at least, not as Bryce would have treated a lover—or would have treated her if she were his lover.
What did a second-shift transcriptionist and over-age student have to offer that she could capture two brilliant men’s attention? All his adult life, he’d known women who craved attention and did anything they could to get it. He knew when a woman faked obliviousness to attract more attention. Giselle Cox, absorbed in her conversation with Taight, either hadn’t noticed the attention they garnered or didn’t care.
She had Bryce tied in knots, a room full of men watching her with speculation, and a room full of women studying her as if to learn something.
A lovely peal of laughter rang out from her vicinity and Bryce looked up from her breasts to find himself staring into those ice blue eyes that seemed so familiar as to be eerie.
She blinked, and held his gaze. She blinked again, but had turned her attention back to Taight with a smile of genuine warmth. As if she hadn’t recognized Bryce. No, more than that—as if he didn’t exist.
Regret, deep and sharp, joined his jealousy and rode him hard. His jaw ground and he looked back down into his glass. He had blown any chance he might have had with her and he flinched at the way he had dismissed her with such finality. All he’d had to do was ask her out for dinner when she’d begged
him to—before he’d pissed her off.
One hand stuffed in his pocket, he looked down at the floor and tried for all the world not to let her get to him the way she did.
That kiss. It tormented him, now months after it had happened, but she must have forgotten it. Such a fool. Between Hilliard and Taight, why would she remember Bryce at all?
Bryce looked up again just as Taight bent to murmur something in her ear, then left her standing there, striding away from her and toward the owner of a foundering company. Once alone, her palpable humor vanished. The people who observed this grew puzzled, Bryce no less so.
After a couple of seconds of looking down into her glass, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, slowly in her nose, then out through the O of her lips. She did that several times, her breasts swelling with each inhalation. His own breath caught in response.
Suddenly he found her looking straight at him again. Deliberately, this time, and she held his gaze. Her mouth—that cherry-kissed mouth with full lips that could probably work miracles on a man’s anatomy—twitched. A corner of it turned up; not quite a smile, not quite a smirk.
Oh, no. She hadn’t forgotten at all.
Adrenaline surged through him as he returned her stare. The fantasies of his youth, the ones that had tortured him with their wickedness, the ones he’d tried so hard to quell at such great cost, curled around him. The predator in him surged and howled, all traces of regret and jealousy gone. Bryce cocked an eyebrow at her and she acknowledged him with a miniscule shift of her shoulders and lowered eyelids.
Miss Giselle Cox, whoever she was, promised the fulfillment of every one of his long-denied yearnings. She was dangerous—and he knew he’d give up everything he had to have her:
His pride.
His net worth.
His salvation.