Billionaire Games Boxed Set 1-3 (64 page)

“If he wants to come out,” Roxanne said. “But Ms. Weber…please understand—” Her tone issued an unmistakable warning. “I wouldn’t want his head filled with any foolish ideas.”

That probably wouldn’t stop Lauren, but hopefully a sense of decency would. Lauren didn’t have to tell Frankie she thought Frank Garrett was his father to get her point across. The implication would be more than enough.

Roxanne’s four-year-old son ran across the set and climbed into a chair that had been placed between the talk show host and her guest.

Frankie looked at Roxanne for direction.

“Hi, sweetie.” Roxanne smiled at the boy. “This is Ms. Weber. She wants to talk to you.”

Frankie turned to Lauren and waited for her to say something.

“Frankie…” Lauren’s tone, drenched in gentle persuasion, placed additional emphasis on his name. “Is there anyone out there in TV land that you’d like to say hello to?”

Frankie nodded.

Lauren pointed to the right. “Just look into the camera over there, and say whatever you want.”

Frankie peered at the camera and waved. “Hi, Aunt Candy. I’m on TV.” His upper lip twitched slightly to one side—a trait all too familiar for Roxanne.

Lauren smiled. “And what a lovely child he is. I’d say there’s a striking resemblance.” She paused. “Wouldn’t you?” She topped off her declaration with a triumphant stare straight into the eye of the camera.

The damage was done. Anybody with eyes could see that Lauren wasn’t speaking of any resemblance between mother and child. Frankie’s locks, curly and black, were far from Roxanne’s straight chestnut-brown hair. Nothing about his piercing baby blues resembled Roxanne’s unusual eyes shaded the color of purple violets. No, it was clear—Frankie didn’t resemble his mother at all.

A
fter filming the show, Roxanne and Frankie went home to their apartment overlooking Central Park. Candy had left for Florida the day before, at Roxanne’s insistence, and now Roxanne was wondering what she’d been thinking.

Heading to Florida—a place she hadn’t been in five years—wasn’t Roxanne’s idea. If she’d had her way, she would have chosen to never set foot in the state again. But Jerry, her psychiatrist, had said she’d never be free of her demons if she didn’t face them. And that meant returning to Florida for an extended stay.

Well, at least she could nip this Lauren Weber fiasco in the butt before she left. Sure, Lauren’s audience had seen Frankie, but if Roxanne could keep the whole of America from getting a firsthand look at him, she had to try.

Inside her bedroom, Roxanne carelessly tossed her clothes inside her suitcase while holding the telephone against her ear with her shoulder. “I do not want it aired.”

“They won’t go for it,” Walt said with a measure of regret in his tone. “What they’ve got is too hot.”

“Well, threaten them then.” She cradled the receiver in her hand while various scenarios, all of them revenge oriented and involving Frank, wreaked havoc in her mind. “Tell them they’ll never get another interview from anyone even remotely associated with Simon Productions. Ever again.”

“Roxanne, I tried. They don’t care.” His words were kind, and draped in a sympathetic tone, but they missed the mark. “It’s going to air in a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks…?” Nothing could lessen that blow. “Why so soon?”

“Rox…” Walt said. “They aren’t going to let this one sit on the back burner. Just go on to Florida and let the whole thing blow over.”

Blow up was more like it. “Okay,” Roxanne agreed in a defeated tone. She slammed the phone down, but continued to stare at it. Lauren Weber had managed to turn her world upside-down. “Bitch.”

A Few Days Later

Florida

Roxanne’s red Porsche sailed down the highway. With the convertible top down, her hair flew recklessly around her head and she’d reach up from time to time to push it out of her face.

Approaching Tampa, she checked the radio to see if she could pick up Y-95. The station had been a favorite of hers. After a few twists of the dial, the hard-rocking sounds of J Geils poured out from the speakers. As the band serenaded her with their wit about how much
Love Stinks
, she said softly, “Boy, does it ever.”

Ten minutes later, she passed the
Welcome to Tampa
sign, stirring a familiar excitement within her. Yesterday, returning to Florida was the last thing she wanted. But now, surprisingly, coming home felt good. Of course, the new house probably had a little something to do with that. She’d never laid eyes on it, outside of photographs, but she already loved it.

After Jerry had convinced her she needed to go back to Florida, for her own sanity, she’d been so scared that Frank was going to magically appear from out of nowhere that she bought the house through a service. She knew the floor plan inside and out, even though she’d never set foot in the place.

At the intersection of Busch and Armenia, Roxanne waited for the traffic light to turn green. No matter how good coming home felt, it had little effect on her mounting dread. If Frank saw that show, or heard about it, he’d find her no matter where she was. She could only hope this would be the last place he’d look.

Roxanne pulled her car into the semicircle driveway and parked behind Candy’s black Targa. She climbed out, and neither the humidity nor the heat dissuaded her as she went to the passenger side and gathered her sleeping son in her arms.

Heading toward the front door of the two-story wood-trimmed house, she found it even more appealing than she had when she’d seen it in the photographs. In person, it looked even more inviting nestled amid tropical trees and plants.

At the door, she was unable to get to her keys and leaned on the doorbell.

The door opened promptly. “Hi, Jameson.” She felt a measure of comfort seeing half the husband-and-wife team that’d been in her employ since right after Frankie’s birth.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Roxanne.” Jameson’s accent suggested that he knew how to do things properly. And as far as Roxanne could see, he did. “Shall I take him?”

“Yes, please.” She passed Frankie off to him. “Have Rose put him to bed,” she said of Jameson’s wife.

“Ms. Candy is out by the pool.”

“Thanks.” She gave Jameson a smile, then darted through the house and out into the backyard.

Candy was bikini-clad and laid out on a poolside lounge chair, soaking up the sun. The tropical heat washed over Roxanne in a thick wave of sweltering moisture as she dropped into a nearby chair. She’d almost forgotten how unpleasant Florida’s humidity could be. Candy didn’t move. Roxanne considered that she might be sleeping and cleared her throat.

Candy’s eyes opened behind her Sun Clouds. After a moment, she asked, “How’d the interview go?”

An unpleasant feeling devoured Roxanne. Grudgingly, she admitted, “Not well.”

“So what happened?”

“All she wanted to talk about was Garrett-Hollander.” Roxanne tried to show as little emotion as possible, even to Candy.

Candy tipped up her sunglasses and propped them on her forehead. “That was the subject?”

In the background, one of Garrett-Hollander’s songs played on the radio sitting on the ground at Candy’s side. Since Roxanne’s mysterious departure from Frank’s life five years ago, he’d written many songs about her. Some indicated his hatred for her, while others simply begged her to come back. There were also songs alleging that she’d been a hooker. It was one of those songs that played on Candy’s radio now.

…I played the fool

I trusted her

But she let me down

Cause while I was away

Roxanne was out selling herself

All over town…

“I’m surprised she didn’t ask me about that damn song.” Roxanne hated that song and she cursed Frank for writing it. To hear him tell it, she’d been out prostituting herself just because she could. It hadn’t been that way at all and it pissed her off that Frank would suggest as much.

“So tell me what happened?” Candy flashed Roxanne an eager smile. She loved gossip. Especially when it involved the two of them.

“Well, to make a long story short—” Roxanne hesitated. “She asked me point blank if Frank Garrett was the father of my son.”

“No…” Candy’s disbelief glowed in her emerald eyes, brightening them. “What’d you say?”

“I denied it, of course. But the bitch wouldn’t give up.” She paused long enough to get a hold of her frustration. “She even conned me into bringing Frankie out on the set.”

“During taping?” Candy’s voice shook.

“Oh, yes. And she commented on the resemblance too.” Roxanne reacted like an injured puppy. “And she wasn’t talking about me and Frankie.”

“Oh, wow.”

“If he sees that show…” Roxanne’s voice trailed off as she thought about Frank. Quickly though, she regained her composure and added, “I hate to think of the consequences.”

“Frank’s in his own little world,” Candy said. “The last thing he’s got time for is to keep up with you.”

“Yeah, right.” Roxanne’s disbelief escaped in her laughter.

Candy didn’t speak right away. The silence was deafening. “Did you know their first album was a flop?” she asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “When their second album came out, it did so well that people went out and bought the first one.”

“They have two albums?” Roxanne asked innocently.

Candy raked an admonishing glare over Roxanne. “They have three, which is my point exactly.” It was like she knew Roxanne had chosen to play dumb. Uh oh. That meant the lecture was coming. “It hasn’t been your concern to keep up with him, so why should he have gone to so much trouble to keep up with you?”

“Okay, so maybe you’re right.” Roxanne wasn’t quite ready to give up the fight. “But if what you say is true…then why do
you
know so much about them?”

Candy ignored Roxanne. “You do have reason to be concerned though.”

“How so?”

“If Frank sees that show…you’re dead meat.” She slid her sunglasses back over her eyes and sank down into the lounge chair.

“That’s very comforting, Can…” Roxanne’s voice trailed off. She didn’t want to think about what might happen. Nothing good could come from that.

“Face the facts,” Candy said, “Frankie is a walking, talking replica of Frank.” Her unwelcome words surrounded Roxanne like a fine mist. “I know you had your reasons for running away from him.” Compassion filled her tone, yet if offered little comfort. “But you better realize…it just might be time to pay the piper.”

Roxanne went upstairs to take a long, hot bubble bath. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, she poured bath oil into the stream of running water. She sat there almost in a trance, watching the tub fill and the bubbles grow. Satisfied with the water level she turned it off, got undressed and stepped in. Sliding down through the bubbles, she began to feel confident that the water would soothe her soul and chase her troubles away.

Why? Why was this happening now? Especially after all this time. Everything had been going so well too. But now the bottom was about to fall out.

Why did it always come back to Frank Garrett? Roxanne tried to put him out of her mind, just as she’d tried to do so many times before. But somehow he always managed to keep sneaking back into her thoughts. A long time ago, she thought running away would solve her problems. She thought running away would set her free. Free from Frank. Now she realized she’d been mistaken.

Her past was about to come back to haunt her. She knew she wasn’t up to facing Frank. She didn’t know if she’d ever be ready for that. In Roxanne’s mind she had done nothing but love Frank. She’d only tried to help him, and in return he’d let her down. Once again, he’d doubted her before giving her the chance to explain. And he’d promised he would never do that again.

Roxanne wanted desperately to go back. Back to the beginning. Back when things were fine. Back before the hatred. Back when there was only love.

As the water rocked back and forth, time also rocked back and forth, until Roxanne had no concept of time at all. And once again, she had no idea what was the past and what was the present….

*I hope you enjoyed this preview of
Crazy For You
. If you’d like to read the book in its entirety, it’s available on
Kindle
or
Nook
, or check with your favorite online retailer. Please turn the page for an excerpt of
Saving Katya
by Sandra Edwards.*

SAVING KATYA

by

Sandra Edwards

CHAPTER 1

OLYMPIC CHAMPION Kate Peterson dreaded the inevitable, the day her sight faded for good. The doctors had promised that her remaining senses would pick up the slack. Their assurances offered little comfort. She didn’t care if her sense of smell perked up when her eyesight diminished.

The Winter Olympics in Squaw Valley, California, was a hell of a place to test those theories. But since she was here, she couldn’t resist testing her sense of hearing. She clutched the ice rink railing and closed her eyes.

The blades gliding over the ice hummed in her ears. Kate envied the skaters. Soon enough, her own skating would be reduced to cruising around the rink, but only with someone else’s guidance.

Kate’s eyesight had been fading for the past year. She’d lost thirty percent of her peripheral vision in one eye and twenty-five percent in the other. According to the doctors, she had about a year left before she hit one hundred percent.

She could see it now. She’d turn into one of those pathetic has-beens, living solely in the glory of the past. Her life would be reduced to reminiscing about the days she used to sail through the air in an axel or a loop, knowing she’d never again pull off anything so basic as a simple waltz—the easiest of jumps.

She leaned against the railing, her eyes still closed, and “listened” to the latest round of Olympic hopefuls. The whipping and snapping of skaters taking to the air was followed soon after by the sound of blades crashing onto the ice. Kate envisioned a perfect landing.