Billionaire's Tragedy (Standalone Book) (Billionaire Bad Boy Romance) (12 page)

"Terrors," she
laughed. "My parents are on a Christmas cruise this year, so there's no
escape."

"Ah yes, the middle
years, I remember them well," he smiled as he turned and held out his hand
to me. "And, you must be Olivia. I'm Phillip Tullio."

"It's so nice to
meet you, Phillip," I said shaking his hand and trying not to be too
intimidated by my surroundings. "Thank you for inviting me here."

"It's my
pleasure," he said as he turned and motioned us toward a small seating
area where he had an assortment of necklaces and matching earrings on display.
"I've chosen a variety of pieces that would compliment an emerald green
dress and your red hair."

"Oh my," I
whispered. "These are beautiful."

"Which do you think
would go best with this?" Bix asked as she pulled out the fabric swatch
and handed it to Phillip. He looked at it for a moment and said, "I have
the perfect piece. One moment."

After he'd disappeared
into the back, I turned to Bix and whispered, "I can't wear these things!
They're a million dollars! I'll lose an earring or someone will kidnap
me."

"First of all,
they'll assign you a security detail, so you can't be kidnapped," she
reassured me. "And second, there is no way on earth you could possibly
lose one of these earrings. I've worn these pieces before and they fix them on
pretty tight."

"Great, so I'll be
in pain from the torture devices I'm wearing to make me look beautiful," I
said sarcastically. "Aren't heels enough for you?"

"Shhh," Bix
smiled as she patted my arm. "You'll look lovely in them."

Phillip returned a few
minutes later holding a black velvet tray on which rested a necklace that
looked like hundreds of tiny snowflakes connected by hundreds of tiny diamonds.
He lifted the necklace from the tray and moved around behind me. I shrugged out
of my jacket and lifted my hair up so that it was out of the way, and Phillip
secured it around my neck.

"This is the
Snowflake necklace by Van Cleef and Arpels," he explained. "It is
made up of three hundred and sixty-seven stones totaling more than thirty
carats."

I swallowed hard as I
gingerly touched the jewels resting on my neck. "Dare I ask how much it
costs?" I tentatively asked.

"It's worth
approximately three hundred and ninety-thousand dollars," he said
casually. "It's one of our more expensive pieces, but it's quite
popular."

"I can
imagine," I said, looking at Bix with a panicked expression on my face.

"It looks lovely,
Liv," she said. "I think it would compliment your gown quite
nicely."

"You think so, do
you?" I muttered as I stood up and crossed over to where the full-length
mirror stood. I looked at myself in my thermal shirt and jeans and wondered how
in the world I was going be transformed into someone elegant enough to wear
something like that.

"I think that one's
the one, Phillip," Bix said. "Are there earrings to go with it?"

"Oh, of
course," he replied, bringing the tray over to where I stood and affixing
each earring to my lobe before standing back to appraise the overall effect.
"Yes, I think with the dress, this will look stunning."

"And, you'll lend it
to me for the evening, will you? Like the jewelry library or something," I
said.

"We will,
Olivia," he laughed. "We do this rather frequently for all kinds of
clients. Especially during the holiday season."

"Why is that?"
I asked genuinely curious as to why this world-renowned store would lend out close
to a million dollars worth of jewelry to someone who so obviously couldn't
afford to buy even one diamond.

"It's good
advertising when we loan it to beautiful women who wear it elegantly," he
smiled. "It's likely that after seeing this on you tomorrow night, a
number of men will be buying one for wives who saw you wearing it. That way you
look spectacular for your event and we benefit from it!"

I burst out laughing for
the first time since entering the store and said, "In other words, I'm a
walking billboard!"

Phillip and Bix chuckled
with me and then Phillip explained the loan process and security detail that
would be assigned to me the next night. Tullio would be my last stop before the
gala and my first stop on the way home, and in between, I would be like
Cinderella at the ball. We said our goodbyes and Bix and I headed out to the
waiting cab.

On the ride home, I
reached out and grabbed my best friend's hand and squeezed it tightly. I looked
at her and smiled trying to express my undying gratitude for all she had done
for me.

"I love you, too,
Liv," Bix said as she squeezed back. "It's going to be an amazing
evening. You'll see."

I hoped Bix's confidence
could override my nerves about whether Lincoln Redding would behave at the
gala. There was a part of me that hoped I'd never have to see the man again,
but a small flicker of something like hope made me wish the opposite.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

Linc

After
I left Mo, I had Mick drive me home to my apartment at the Watergate Complex.
This apartment was what I considered command central, but it wasn't home. After
my childhood home had been sold, I had decided that I wasn't ever going to put
that much emotion into any physical place again. So, as I built up my fortune,
I purchased apartments all over the world and had them outfitted with exactly
the same things in every location. The walls were all painted the same colors
and the linear, modern furniture was all situated the same general layout. I
slept on the same mattress covered in the same sheets and made my morning
coffee with the same espresso maker in every apartment. No matter where I went,
the apartment would always be the exact same from my computer to my clothes. It
worked well because I never had to pack when I traveled, but it also felt oddly
impersonal because there were no mementos or little personal items in any of
the places. I had pictures of my parents and Mo in each place, but beyond that,
there was nothing that would indicate where I actually lived. It was a nomadic
existence, but it was one that suited me.

Brant had sent over a
file with all the information I'd requested about the shooting and the shooter.
It had been almost a week since the shooting and there was still no information
available on the guy who'd carried a gun to Capitol Hill and shot five
senators. In an age when all information was only a finger-click away, this
didn't seem plausible. How could the police not know who the shooter was? As I
read over the file, I realized Russo's fingerprints were all over this mess, or
at the very least, those of the AWN. The guy had been shot by police,
transported to Washington General, and died on the operating table. There was
no identification on the body and the police still had no idea who he was.
Witnesses at the scene had heard him repeating, "You can't have my gun!
You can't have my freedom!" before he'd opened fire on the senators, but
other than that, he hadn't said anything else. The police were currently
running a DNA sample to see if it matched with anyone in the system, but they
were no closer to identifying the man than they had been on the day he'd died.

"This makes no
sense," I said as I re-read the file for the third time. "How can
they not know who the guy is?"

I thought about calling
Brant to get his take on it, but it was late and I knew that all we'd end up
doing was rehashing the information we already had. What needed were new data
points, so I made a call and set up an early morning meeting with someone I
thought might have some answers.

#

Friday
morning, Mick drove me over to the private office of Senator Larry Bangor. He
maintained a separate office away from Capitol Hill specifically for the
purposes of meeting with people who wanted to remain apolitical. When I arrived,
I was ushered into the inner sanctum and was not at all surprised to see it
decorated to vaguely resemble Bangor's favorite hunting haunt. There were deer
and elk heads mounted and hung in corners of the room, and all the furniture
was covered in tartan plaid. I was just wondering what it had cost to create
this nightmare when Larry entered the room.

"Linc!" he cried
as he crossed the room holding out his hand. "It's so good of you to
come!"

"Senator," I
said, taking his hand and pumping it a few times before stepping back and
gesturing around the room. "This is quite an office you've got here."

"Yeah, my wife did
this for me a few years ago," he laughed. "She wanted me to feel at
home, but I always feel like I'm being watched when I'm in here. I guess she
might have wanted that, too."

"Ah, yes," I
nodded, knowing that the senator's wife was known to have stepped out a time or
two with younger political aides. It was a strange world these people lived in,
but I reminded myself I wasn't there to pass judgment; I was there to get
information.

"Coffee, Linc?"
offered asked as he sat down in a large wingback chair and prepared to pour.

"That would be
great, thank you." I took a seat in the chair across from him and waited
to see what his first move would be.

"I've got four votes
that I think I can safely deliver," he said as he handed me a steaming hot
cup of coffee. "But I'm not entirely sure if I can bring in the rest."

"And why is
that?" I asked as I sipped. The coffee was rich and quite delicious, and I
was surprised by its quality.

"I've been talking
with my colleagues and they think that it's better to let the bill die and then
start from scratch next session," he said as he watched me closely.

"And why is
that?" I repeated calmly. Inside, I was seething and ready to let loose on
the man. He was reneging on our deal and that was unacceptable, but I knew that
hearing his rationale for letting the bill die would give me insight into what
was going on in the Senate and possibly give me the upper hand.

"Those of us who are
in power right now think that it's better if we draw up a bill that reflects
our interests more closely rather than vote to approve a bill that was brought
to the floor by the Democrats," he said plainly.

"So, you want to
waste time killing this bill and waiting until next year to write the exact
same bill?" I asked raising my eyebrow.

"Well, there would
be some differences," Bangor said as he nervously shifted in his seat.

"Such as?" I
was thoroughly enjoying how he was beginning to sweat.

"We would eliminate
the assault rifle ban and we would grandfather in those guns already in
circulation," he said quickly looking away.

"Wait, you're going
to allow more people to buy assault rifles and you're not going to enforce the
smart grip technology on all guns no matter when they were brought?" I
said. "That seems like a very foolish thing to do, Senator."

"Linc, we don't have
a choice!" he protested.

"Of course, you
do," I replied coolly. "You always have a choice. And so do
I
."

"You just don't get
it, do you?" he said shaking his head. "You have no idea how beholden
we are to the AWN for campaign contributions and donor lists. Russo owns most
of us because he rallied the votes for each of the senators who've been up for
re-election in the past two years. He personally got out and drummed up support
for these campaigns. If we oppose him, we're going to be replaced by people who
are far more pro-gun than we are."

"So, your solution
is to sit back and take it up the ass from Russo?" I asked point blank.
"You're the worst kind of cowards there are. You aren't worthy of holding
your position and maybe you should be voted out. Better yet, maybe you should
be thrown out of office."

"Linc, my hands are
tied! Please don't ruin my life over this!" he begged. I knew that Bangor
thought I would release the sordid details related to his personal
proclivities, but I had only used that as a mechanism to get him to garner
votes. I knew that if I released that information, it would harm his wife and
his children far more than it would ever harm him. But he didn't know that – yet.

"You disgust me,
Bangor," I said as I set my coffee cup down and stared at him.
"You're everything that's wrong with the legislative branch in this
country. You're small and petty, and-"

"Hey, you don't get
to judge me, Redding," he shot back. His shoved himself up out of the
chair and stood over me his cheeks red with anger. "You're the one who is
looking to make a fortune off of this smart grip deal. I'd say that you have
interests in the bill that are less than honorable, as well."

"My goal is to
eliminate accidents and curb the illegal gun trade," I said as I stood up
and met his anger with a cool dismissal of his claim. "If I make money,
that's a bonus, but it's not the primary goal."

"Oh please, you're a
liar," he scoffed as he waved a hand at me. "I know that you stand to
make billions off of the contract you're preparing to sign with the Chinese,
and that if this bill doesn't get passed, you'll lose your shirt. This isn't
just about the money – it's
all
about
the money!"

"I think you have me
mistaken with someone else you deal with, Bangor," I said calmly, not
wanting to betray how correct he was. "You've probably lost track of all
the dirty deals you're involved in, so I don't blame you for mixing it all
up."

"Give it up,
Redding," he said, trying to maintain his confident air. His darting eyes
gave away the uncertainty of his claim, and I knew he was questioning whether
the information he had was correct or not. I aimed to throw him off the trail
and from the looks of it, it was working.

"Bangor, I'm going
to recommend that you get the votes necessary to pass the bill or you are going
to suffer some extraordinarily serious consequences that have the potential to
alter your life significantly," I said coolly as I headed for the door. I
opened it, turned and looked at him, and added, "And not in the kinds of
ways you'd like."

"Fuck off,
Redding," he said as I nodded and exited. I closed the door gently behind
me and after I heard the latch click into place, I waited a few moments.

Through the closed door,
Bangor's angry cry of "FUCK!" was music to my ears.