Billionaire's Tragedy (Standalone Book) (Billionaire Bad Boy Romance) (10 page)

"Well, it's too late
now, buddy," she growled. Her eyes were flashing with anger and for a
moment, I feared what she'd say next. "I've gathered the information and
I'm writing the story whether you like it or not. Now, I can't promise that
it's going to be all sweetness and light, but who knows, maybe Russo is a
bigger jerk than you are and you'll come off looking like a choirboy. Thanks
for the coffee – and the flowers. They were nice. See ya!"

And with that, she turned
and stomped out of the office. As I watched her angry exit, I muttered,
"Good riddance!" I wondered whether I was going to have to file a
lawsuit against the paper when she published an article that publicly defamed
my company and me. By the time Brant came in to report on his findings, I had
calmed down and decided to cross that bridge when I came to it, but until then,
I would let go of the idea that I could win over Olivia Moore.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

Olivia

"
That
arrogant jerk!" I shouted
at Carl as I marched across the newsroom and slammed my bag down on my desk.
"I swear, there's no way on earth I'm going to that damn ball on Friday!
Not after what just happened!"

"What happened,
Olivia?" Carl asked without turning around. He was typing furiously and
while I wanted to stop and ask what he was working on, I was too pissed at Linc
to do so.

"That little boy
just gave me a great interview and then as I was packing up to go, he insulted
me!" I cried. I began frantically pulling things out of my bag and tossing
them on the desk. I dug deeper, looking for the recorder, and when I couldn't
find it, I turned my bag upside down and shook the remaining contents out onto
the desk.

"What did you say to
him?" Carl tossed over his shoulder.

"Who, me? What did I
say?" I shot back as I reached in, unzipped the side pocket, and found the
recorder and my heart moved back into my chest.

"Yes, you,
sunshine," he replied as he looked from his fingers to his screen.
"You are a difficult woman, Olivia. The poor guy hasn't had time to get
used to you."

"You're crusin' for
a bruisin', my friend," I warned. "He insulted me, told me that I had
bad manners, and that it was my fault we collided on the sidewalk. He acted
like he had nothing to do with it?"

"Olivia, calm
down," Carl said as he stopped typing and turned around. "I know
you're worked up about something, but it can't just be about this Redding guy
and what he said. Hell, I've heard men say far worse things to you and watched
you stay completely calm! What's bothering you?"

"Something doesn't
sit right with this whole shooting, Carl," I admitted as I felt the air
rushing out of my emotional balloon. Carl was right; I was pissed at Linc, but
not for the reason he thought. I was pissed because as I sat there interviewing
him, I could feel my body practically pulsing in his presence, and I couldn't
stop thinking about what it would feel like to stand up and press myself
against his strong chest while he leaned down and-

"Earth to
Olivia," Carl said as he waved a hand in front of my face and whistled a
little. "Hello? Anybody in there?"

"Sorry, I was just
thinking about..." I trailed off as I tried to push the illicit thoughts I
was having about Linc Redding out of my mind. I was way too pissed at the man
for lying and being rude to me.

"You sure it's the
interview that's got you worked up, Liv?" Carl asked. "I mean,
there's nothing wrong with admitting that Redding is a hot guy that you'd like
to-"

"Carl!" I
shouted with a smile. "Knock it off! That's so inappropriate!"

"Liv, it's really
okay, you know," he said quietly. "You're allowed to be attracted to
someone again. You don't have to spend your life in a cloister atoning for your
sins or whatever it is you think you're doing. You're allowed to be
happy."

"It's not
that," I protested dropping my eyes to the floor so I wouldn't have to see
Carl's sympathy written across his face. "It's that there's a story here
and he's not giving me all the information I need to write it! Plus, he's just
kind of a jerk!"

"Right right,"
he said. "But I'm here to tell you that it's time, Liv. You've done your
penance and it's time for you to start living again."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah,
whatever," I muttered as the tears welled up in my eyes. Carl reached
across the divide and patted my head as he smiled. I knew he meant well, but
some things took a little longer to process. I grumbled, "I'm not going to
that damn gala, though."

"Not going to what
gala?" Frank asked as he rounded the corner on his way toward Carl and I.
"Did you get invited to the Christmas Gala?"

"Yeah, Linc Redding
gave me a ticket with the damn flowers, but there's no way I'm going to that
damn thing after today," I said stubbornly. "He's lucky I don't have
a choice but to write this article. Jerk."

"Why, what did you
do, Olivia?" Frank asked as he crossed his arms over his chest and stared
down at me.

"Why am I always the
bad guy?" I protested.

"Because you are a
stubborn woman," Frank replied.

"See, told
you!" Carl mouthed from behind Frank before turning back to his computer
and resuming his fast-paced typing.

"Well, I'm not going
to spend a fortune on a dress for that stupid event," I grumbled.
"It's a waste of time and money."

"What if I said the
paper will pay for your dress?" Frank asked. "Within reasonable limits,
of course."

"What is wrong with
you, Frank?" I cried. "Why is it so important that I go to that
stupid thing?"

"It's important
because no other reporter from this paper, or any other paper for that matter,
has been invited and I want you there to see what happens and to report on
it!" Frank declared. "We need to do something to get back on top of
the newspaper game in this town, and the Washington Gala may offer that chance,
along with a few other things." He looked over at Carl who was typing
furiously, but stopped long enough to raise a fist over his head in solidarity.

"You're going to
authorize a dress on my expense account?" I asked. "You sure about
that?"

"Like I said, within
reason," he replied with a smile. "We need this, kiddo. We need a big
story and I need to you to figure out how to get in there behind the scenes and
get that story."

"I think I might
have some story worthy stuff from today's interview," I said as I pulled
out my notes and started reviewing them. "Davis Russo is kind of a mystery,
isn't he? I mean, how does a guy get to the position he's in with so little
experience and so few connections? What's his story Frank?"

"Russo's been around
for ages, I'm not sure I know what his story is," Frank admitted. "I
heard he was a Pentecostal preacher down in rural Virginia for a while, but I
don't know if that's true or not."

I was quickly jotting
down what Frank said and made a note to do some research into Russo's
background. "What do you need for tomorrow's paper, Frank?"

"I've got a cover
story, but I could use something below the fold," he said gesturing toward
Carl. "We've got a political fight on the floor of the Senate starting up
and I want to make that the lead. What have you got?"

"Did you know that
we have over three thousand child deaths in this country due to accidents with
firearms?" I asked. "And, did you know that GRIPTech has developed a
smart technology solution that could reduce those numbers to nearly zero in one
fell swoop?"

"I'd heard about the
accidental gun deaths, but I didn't know about the technology," Frank
said. "Can you have that ready for Lillian by five?"

"I thought Lillian
was only working weekends," I said.

"She was, but Burt
had to take his wife to the Mayo Clinic this week, so Lillian is in until he
gets back," he replied.

"Great," I
muttered knowing that she would ride me ten times as hard as Burt did and I
didn't look forward to it. My AP formatting skills were rusty and I relied on
the copy editors to clean up my lack of knowledge.

"I need this,
Olivia," Frank said as he patted my shoulder. "We all need
this."

I nodded as I flipped the
switch and powered up my computer. For the next several hours, I worked on
pulling together the notes from my interview with Linc and tracking down more
information on Davis Russo. As I researched and wrote, I uncovered more
information than I had anticipated and I began wondering why Davis Russo was
hell bent on destroying Linc. It looked like at every turn, Russo was working
to prevent any device created by GRIPTech from making it to the market. What I
couldn't figure out was why.

By five o'clock, I'd
written and re-written the piece several times and finally had a draft that I
thought was copy ready. I looked it over one last time and then forwarded it to
the Copy Editing desk. I knew Lillian would rip it to shreds, but I also knew
that once she did, it would be stronger than I'd ever imagined. I crossed my
fingers and hoped that she wouldn't return it tonight because if she did, then
it definitely wouldn't make the morning's paper.

I powered down my
computer and tidied up my desk as best I could before waving goodbye to Carl
who was still working on his front-page piece. I wanted to ask him what it was
about, but I didn't want to interrupt his writing flow, so I got my coat and
walked outside to hail a cab. In the cab, I called and ordered dinner to be
delivered from India Palace. Then, I sat back, looked out the window, and
watched the snow fall in big wet flakes and splatter on the glass. I realized I
had no idea where to get a dress for the ball.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

Linc

After
Olivia left, I
stomped around my office swearing under my breath before I called Mick and told
him to have the car ready in fifteen minutes. Then, I walked down the hall to
Brant's office and stuck my head in, "You busy?"

"No, well, yes, but
you can interrupt," he laughed. "What's up?"

"I'm going to head
over to the Gallery and check in with Mo," I said. "You need anything
from me before I go?"

"Nope, I'm
good," he said shaking his head. "How'd the interview go?"

"Don't ask," I
replied in an irritated tone.

"That good,
eh?" Brant said raising his eyebrow as he started pointedly at me. "I
hope you kept your cool and didn't piss off a reporter or anything."

"It wasn't me!"
I protested. "She's an impossible woman!"

"Linc, you are an
equally impossible man," he laughed. "Just please tell me that you
didn't do anything that's going to get us skewered in the paper tomorrow.
Please?"

"I don't think
so," I admitted, unsure of whether I had pissed Olivia off enough for her
to write a negative article about me or the company, but I quickly rejected the
notion. "No, she's a professional. She'll be fair, no matter how pissed
she is at me."

"You'd better hope
so, buddy," Brant said shaking his head. "We can't afford to lose
this entire deal because you lost your cool with a stubborn reporter. Keep in
mind that your ability to get out of this business is based on your ability to
land this contract. What's up with her, anyway?"

"Not a clue," I
said, trying to steer the conversation away from dangerous ground. I wasn't
ready to admit my attraction to Olivia to Brant – hell, I wasn't ready to admit
it to myself. "What's up with the contracts? You get a hold of anyone?"

"I've talked with a
few people, but nothing concrete yet," he said, turning his attention to
the stack of files on his desk. "I'm still concerned about the Chinese and
their stipulations. You hear anything from Bangor about the votes?"

"Nothing yet, but I'm
supposed to talk with him tomorrow morning," I said. "I'll keep you
posted. I'm off."

"Say hi to Mo for
me," Brant grinned. "Tell her I expect her to ditch the boyfriend and
dance with me at some point tomorrow night."

"Do I look like your
own personal Cyrano? Tell her yourself, man," I laughed.

"You're cruel,
Linc," Brant sighed dramatically. "The one woman I think I could
spend the rest of my life with and you won't help a friend out."

"You're insane,
she's got a..." I trailed off. "What do we call those guys,
anyway?"

"Gigolos,"
Brant said dryly.

"C'mon, Mo seems
happy with this latest guy," I said. "Can't you be happy for
her?"

"Not until she's
pledging her eternal devotion to me and only me," he said, shaking his
head. "Until then, they're all disposable."

"You are
certifiable, you know that, don't you?" I asked as I turned and headed for
the door. I was followed all the way down the hall by the sound of Brant's
laughter.

#

Thirty
minutes later, I was climbing the front steps of the National Art Gallery. The
building's pink marble was lit by the fading afternoon sunlight, and I could
see the evening lights beginning to shine around the edges of the steps and
over the entrance. I smiled when I saw that pots of Virginia Fraser fir trees
lined the outer edges of the staircase. They were being decorated by an
efficient young woman wearing a carpenter’s apron, and I stood and watched as
she extracted each ornament from a box, attached a hanger, and then carefully
placed them equidistant from the previous one. Mo knew how to pick her helpers.

Inside the rotunda, I
found Mo barking out orders to another group of similarly clad helpers. I stood
back and watched as she directed the action without moving a step. At
sixty-five, Mo had more energy than most people I hung out with thanks to her
genes and an intense workout schedule that involved swimming and yoga at
ungodly hours. She claimed it was due to the fact that she dated younger men,
which was why Brant was obsessed with her.

What I appreciated most
about Mo was the way she had single-handedly stepped in and become the center
of my world without displacing my parents. Every Christmas, we had a special
celebration for just the two of us where we remembered my mom and dad, and I
didn't expect this year to be any different.

"Lincoln, my dearest
boy!" she called as she caught sight of me watching her from the corner.
"What are you doing standing over there in a dark corner? Come here and
give me a hug!"

"Mo." I smiled
as I walked toward her with my arms outstretched. She gathered me in her arms
and hugged me tightly. She was wearing a black cashmere wrap over black pants
and, as always, looked like the epitome of elegance. Half the town would have
killed to look like her, and the other half would have killed to sleep with
her.

"I'm so glad you
could make it," she whispered as she kissed my cheek and patted my back.
"I've missed you!"

"I've missed you,
too," I smiled as I returned the hug and inhaled the familiar scent of the
expensive French perfume she wore according to the season. It was December, so
it had to be Shalimar. "How are the preparations coming along?"

"It'll be ready on
time, but it's going to take me cracking the whip for the next forty-eight
hours!" she declared as she turned and caught one of the staff putting an
enormous glass vase in the wrong place. "Hey! That goes over on the
pedestal like the other fifteen of them! Sheesh. What do I have to do to get
people to pay attention?"

"Do you need any
help?" I asked as I surveyed the scene.

"I could use a good,
stiff drink." She grinned as she took my hand and led me to the gallery
where the staff was setting up an enormous drink service station. She grabbed a
bottle of whiskey and two glasses then nodded toward the other end of the
building and I followed. We sat down on a bench inside the 15
th
 
Century Italian gallery and she poured us both
a drink. "What's going on, kiddo?"

"Just working on the
votes needed to get the bill passed," I said as I sipped. Mo knew all
about the struggle we'd had garnering votes, and at one point, she'd even
offered to buy them if that's what it would take. I'd laughed it off, but I
knew Mo well enough that if I asked, she'd do it. "After the shooting last
weekend, I'm not sure we have enough to get it past the initial stage."

"That was definitely
the work of Russo," she said as she took a drink of the amber liquid and
swallowed. "He's an ass. Always has been."

"We can't prove he
had anything to do with it," I sighed. "He didn't know the guy and he
had no connection to him."

"Well, I'd bet money
that he knew something was up," she said. "That man has been a thorn
in the butt of humanity for as long as I've known him. No one likes him, by the
way."

"How do you know
that?" I laughed. I knew that Mo had known Russo for a long time, but she'd
never shared the circumstances of it and I knew her well enough to know that if
she didn't share it, I shouldn't ask.

"Because if I
dislike him, you know that more reasonable people loathe him," she
grinned. Then, she looked at me seriously and said, "Be careful of that
man, Lincoln. He's got a lot of cards up his sleeve and he's not opposed to
cheating if it gives him the advantage."

"I'll keep an eye
out," I nodded. "How's the boy toy?"

"You're so
bad!" she laughed as she swatted my arm. "He's a grown man and I
think he's pretty wonderful."

"You're breaking
Brant's heart, you know that, right?" I grinned.

"That little pup has
a lot to learn before he can play with the big dogs," she laughed.

"Dance with him
tomorrow night and make his year, will you?" I asked, knowing that she
would have done that without asking. Mo had a soft spot for Brant, who followed
her around like a little puppy dog anytime he was near her.

"What about you,
mister?" she smiled. "When are you going to meet a nice girl and
settle down?"

"Who? Me?" I
asked. "Give me a break, Mo. I've got business to take care of and I don't
have time to be fooling around with a relationship."

"Who is she?"
Mo asked as she watched me out of the corner of her eye.

"Huh?"

"You heard me. Who
is she?" she repeated as she poured a second round for the both of us.

"I don't know,"
I admitted. "There's no one!"

"You sure?" she
said with a knowing grin.

"No, I'm just
frustrated because this afternoon I had a run in with a reporter who got my
dander up. She's so stubborn, Mo!" I said. The liquid in my glass sloshed
as I quickly stood and then turned around to look at Mo. She had an amused
smile on her face as she sipped, but she didn't say anything. "She ran
into me, but she says I ran into her, and she's so blunt!"

"Wait, the reporter
ran into you?"

"She's a reporter
for the
Sentinel
," I said.
"She came by my office to interview me today for an article that might
help get the votes we need for the bill, but she ended up pissed off at me and
I have no idea why!"

"It's probably all
your fault," Mo remarked into her glass. She looked up at me, smiled, and
then stood so that she was facing me. She reached out and cupped my chin in her
free hand and said, "My dear, dear boy, I can tell already that you have
it bad for this woman."

"I can't stand
her!" I protested. "Besides, I've got bigger fish to fry. I need to
get the votes to pass the bill; if I don't, the Chinese are going to back out
of the deal and we're screwed."

"Ah yes, young love,
I remember it well," she sighed. Now I was irritated with her, too.

"I'm not in
love," I grumbled. "I don't even like this woman! She's annoying as
hell, and besides, she hates me, too. Focus, Mo, on the work!"

"Alright, you keep
telling yourself that," she said. "I can already tell that you both
like each other, but one of you is going to have to relax and find a way to
lower their guard. This is the one thing you men seem simply incapable of doing
without coaching."

"What are you
talking about?" I said. I was confused, but I knew Mo was telling me
something important – something that my parents would have told me had they
still been alive. So, I listened.

"Lincoln, you are
used to being alone in the world," she said gently. "You have your
own walls that, right now, are so very high, but if you decide that you want
this woman to find her way past them, you're going to have to find a way to
lower your walls so she knows it's safe to lower hers, too. Your mother
wouldn't have wanted you to live your life alone, and your father would have
been both impressed and appalled by your relentless work ethic. Your work is
not the only reason you're alive, you know? You need to shape a life outside of
the company, or else what's the purpose?"

I nodded and smiled as I
listened and she spoke about my parents. Mo rarely gave me dating advice,
probably because she didn't think it was necessary. I knew that she was trying
to stand in for my parents at a crucial moment and that this was information
that would change things if I listened to her and put it to use. "Lower
the walls?" I repeated. "Don't work so hard?"

"Yep, and when you
do," she said as she tipped the glass and drained the last of the whiskey
in it. "When you do, holy moly, my boy. It's a wonderful thing,
indeed!"

With that, Mo turned and
headed back toward the rotunda. At the doorway she stopped, turned around, and
said, "I love you, sweet boy," before she winked and disappeared.