Billionaire's Tragedy (Standalone Book) (Billionaire Bad Boy Romance) (14 page)

"It was time to come
home for a while, things had gotten difficult and the stories I wanted to
report were not popular with the network bosses," she said carefully. I
knew she was hiding something, but I knew better than to violate our truce to
try and dig it out.

"How did you wind up
at the
Sentinel
?" I asked,
trying to switch the topic away from the sensitive area and toward something
more neutral.

"I've been friends
with Carl Jackson, the political reporter, since forever and Frank was in the
market for a features reporter, so Carl recommended me and, tah dah," she
said as she sipped again. She looked up at me and tipped her head to the side
and shot me a wry grin, "Here I am. I'd ask you the same questions, but I
already know the answers."

"Is your family here
in D.C.?" I asked, ignoring the obvious attempt to raise my hackles. I
would remain calm and cool, no matter what she said. "Will you spend the
holiday with them?"

"Uh, no," she
said as she turned and looked at a Dutch painting of lemons piled in a silver
bowl with a string of dead fowl laying next to them. She laid a hand on my arm
as she deadpanned, "Now that's a lovely painting isn't it? Nothing signals
great wealth like silver and dead animals, does it?"

"What?" I said
as I turned and looked at the painting. She was right, and I laughed at the
joke. "I've never heard that before, but it's true."

We stood there looking at
the painting for a long time, but all I could focus on was her hand resting on
my arm. I could feel the heat from her hand transferring itself to my arm, and
every so often, I could feel her grip tighten and then release. And in that
moment, I wanted nothing more than to touch her.

Our silent contemplation
was interrupted when, in the other room, the orchestra began to play and the
Sinatra-sound alike that Mo had hired broke into "The Way You Look
Tonight." I turned and smiled, "Would you like to dance with me,
Olivia Moore?"

"Uh, well..."
she stammered as she looked at me and then shifted her gaze to the painting in
front of us
. "
I'm not...um..."

"Sure, no problem, I
get it," I said stepping back and downing the last of my champagne. I felt
my defenses going up as I realized that I'd mistaken manners for attraction and
that she obviously wasn't interested. I turned and said, "Shall we-”

“Redding, don’t get your
boxers in a twist, I’ll dance with you,” she said grabbing my arm and pulling
me back. “I just wasn’t sure where I should set my glass, and I didn’t want to
get scolded by the party police.”

“You would?” I asked and laughed
as I took her glass and set it and my own down on a bench in the gallery. I
turned to her and held out my arms as she flowed into them. She fit perfectly.
We waited a moment, caught the beat, and then began dancing around the room.

“You really do look
lovely,” I ventured as she looked up at me.

“I think Sinatra has
warped your brain, but thank you,” she laughed. I was very aware of the fact
that my hand now rested very close to the spot where her waist gently curved
and I moved my hand up a little to avoid the temptation to move it lower. She
returned the compliment, “You look very handsome in that tuxedo.”

“Thank you,” I nodded as
we glided across the floor toward the outer edges of the gallery. I could feel
her body lightly pressed against mine as her hand rested on the back of my
neck, and her closeness triggered every nerve in my body to go on high alert.

“Why did you invite me to
this gala?” she asked as she looked up at me with those piercing green eyes.

“What?”

“You heard me,” she said
as she smiled sweetly and pressed her fingertips against the back of my neck.

“I invited you because I
wanted to apologize for offending you and because I thought it would be a nice
chance to get to know each other a little better.” She raised an eyebrow,
grinned, and opened her mouth to speak.

“Well, well, well, isn’t
this a sweet little scene?” a familiar voice interrupted our dance, and I
quickly let go of Olivia and turned to find Davis Russo standing a few feet
away with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a smug grin on his lips. “The
billionaire buys a reporter! What a wonderful little Christmas story!”

“What are you doing here,
Russo?” I said in a flat voice.

“I’m celebrating the
holiday season,” he grinned as he sipped his drink and gave Olivia the once
over in such an obvious way that it was clear he was looking to start
something.

“Davis? Davis Russo?”
Olivia said as she moved toward him with her hand extended. “It’s so good to
meet you. I’m Olivia Moore, a reporter for the
Sentinel
.”

“Yes, I know who you are,”
Russo said in a bored voice ignoring her hand. “You’re the little girl that Mr.
Redding has hired to spin his story in the press. I see why he hired you. You’re
cute.”

“Why thank you kindly,
Mr. Russo,” Olivia said in a clear voice. “You’re entirely too kind, but I
think you’ve confused your own shortcomings with those of Mr. Redding. You see,
he’s not like your kind. He actually has a stake in participating in the
democratic process, rather than purchasing his power behind the scenes. But I
realize that when one has such a limited perception of how politics actually
work, it’s difficult to imagine that anyone else has a wider vision.”

Russo’s eyes grew wide as
she spoke, and I watched her as she moved closer to him while she spoke. “You’re
a loathsome man, Russo,” she continued quietly. “Everything you do is about destroying
people, and if I have my way, once I’m done investigating the connections
between you and that scumbag who killed the senators, I’ll be able to hang your
sorry ass out to dry.”

And with that, Olivia
turned to me, nodded, and said, “Thank you for the dance, Mr. Redding. It was
quite pleasant.” She turned and walked out of the gallery, leaving both Russo
and me to stare at her disappearing into the rotunda.

“So, you did her in the
back gallery, then, didn’t you?” Russo said with a slimy grin.

“You son of a-" I
growled as I moved toward him with a fist in the air.

"Easy, easy,
Redding," he grinned. "If you punch me in here, you might not only
damage a priceless piece of art, but you might also find yourself being
escorted out by the D.C. police, and then how will you be able to make your way
to the bed of that beautiful, young reporter if you're sitting in a jail
cell?"

"Russo, you are such
a bottom feeder," I said through gritted teeth. He was right about the
consequences, of course, but I wasn't ready to give up the fight. "It's
all going to come out in the end and then you'll be the one sitting in a jail
cell, wishing you had listened to your own advice."

"We shall see, Mr.
Redding," he taunted as he turned and walked back toward the rotunda.
"We shall see."

I stood in gallery until
I had my emotions back under control, and then I walked out to find Mo. She saw
me and simply tipped her head toward the front entrance and mouthed the words,
"Go after her," at me. I nodded and quickly headed for the door. I
stood at the top of stairs scanning the sidewalk until I saw Olivia stepping
into a waiting limo.

"Olivia!" I
called as I descended the stairs. "Olivia! Wait!"

She paused for a moment,
looked up at me, and then ducked into the car and slammed the door shut.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

Olivia

I heard someone calling
my name as I was sliding into the waiting limo, but there was no way on earth I
was going to allow anyone to take a picture of us together or write a story
about us in the daily gossip columns. I looked up at him for a moment and then
slammed the door shut. The driver sped off toward my apartment as I ignored the
frantic calls and car horns that blared as we left the gallery. Not more than a
block from the party, we were surrounded by police cars with flashing lights
forming a roadblock. The limo driver looked back at me and said, "What did
you do back there?"

"Me? I didn't do
anything!" I cried as the police officers surrounded the car and one of
them opened the back door. It was on the tip of my tongue to protest the
outrageous stop when a familiar face looked into the back seat and smiled.

"I'm sorry about the
commotion, Miss Moore, but I'm going to need to collect your jewelry,"
Jacques said as he slid in next to me. Turned and waved at the officer holding
the door and said, "We're good, I've got what I need! Thanks, guys!"

"I'm so sorry,"
I said mortified that he might have thought I was trying to make off with the
diamonds. "I did not mean to...I just forgot... Oh, God, I'm so
sorry."

"It happens,"
he laughed as he made quick work of unfastening the necklace and storing it in
a velvet box before he unfastened the earrings and stored those with it.
"Although, I'm not sure I've ever had to employ the police to help me stop
a runaway borrower before. That'll make quite a Cinderella like story!"

"God, I'm so embarrassed,"
I cringed as I sunk down in my seat. "I was just so focused on escaping
that circus that I didn't think about it."

"I can
understand," Jacques nodded. "Those events can be overwhelming."

"It was more than I
bargained for," I mumbled as I opened my purse and checked my phone. There
were messages from Frank, Carl, and Bix, but I was in no mood to deal with any
of them at the moment. Russo's slimy insults had left me feeling sick to my
stomach and angry with Linc for his silence. It was like Africa all over again,
and I had no desire to repeat that experience, even if I was more attracted to
Lincoln Redding than I'd been attracted to anyone in a long time.

"I'm sorry it wasn't
a good experience," Jacques said as he doubled checked the clasp on the
box and then looked at his watch.

"Actually, the
dressing up part was great fun," I said with a smile. "I wish dealing
with people had been as much fun."

Jacques laughed heartily
and told me about the time that a drunken socialite had walked into a pool
wearing three million dollars worth of borrowed jewels and he'd had to jump in
after her to retrieve the pieces.

"Well, at least I
didn't humiliate both of us," I laughed.

Fifteen minutes later,
the driver pulled up outside of my apartment building and got out to open the
door. I thanked him and was headed toward the front door of my building when I
thought I heard someone calling my name. "I'm sorry, Jacques," I
called as I turned back toward the car. "Did you-" Confused, I saw
that the first limo had pulled away and a second limo pulled up behind it.
Linc's face was in the window.

"Olivia!" he
shouted. "Olivia, I need to talk to you!"

"What do you want,
Redding?" I said in an irritated tone as he exited the car and walked
toward me. "What is it now? You want to make sure I understand how and why
you've got me in your back pocket?"

"You know that's not
true," he said. "I never said I was buying your skills."

"Yeah, but you
didn't stand up to Russo, either," I said turning and yanking open the
door. It was cold out and my open toed pumps were not made for standing on the
cold cement. "You just stood there and let him think whatever he wanted to,
even though you knew it wasn't true."

"You seemed to be
able to stand up for yourself just fine," he replied as he followed me
into the lobby. "Despite the fact that your little boyfriend seemed too
busy to intervene." The night doorman shot me a questioning look and
pointed toward the phone. I shook my head before heading to the elevator.

"I don't have a
boyfriend," I said in a clipped tone.

"Then who was that
guy in the monkey suit using the police to chase you down to get a ride?"
he challenged.

"Linc, that was...oh
forget it, you're too pig headed to listen," I said waving my hand over my
shoulder.

"No, no, who was
that guy?" he persisted.

"If you must know,
he was the security guard that came with the jewelry, and he flagged me down
because I was so mad at you that I ran off wearing a million dollars worth of
borrowed jewels!" I yelled at him. "I don't have a boyfriend!"

"With an attitude
like that, I'm not surprised," he said dryly.

"You are so
infuriating!" I yelled as I smashed a finger into the elevator button in a
futile attempt to make it hurry up. "Look, I get it. You're the big man in
Washington, you have an agenda, and you need to get things done. What I don't
get is why you are such a complete wimp when it comes to Russo."

I knew I'd hit home as I
watched Linc's face begin to turn red. "I'm a wimp? Is that what you think
of me?" he asked as he struggled to maintain his outward calm. I could see
his hands clenched at his sides, though.

"I don't know, it
kind of seems like you let Russo dictate the terms of engagement." I
shrugged. "Just saying."

"That's probably
because you have no idea what's at stake," he replied as he moved toward
me. I wasn't keen on having an argument in the lobby of my building, but I
didn't want to continue it in the elevator, which didn't seem to be coming, anyway.
I quickly slipped out of my shoes, bent to grab them off the floor, lifted the
skirt of my dress up, and flung it over my arm as I headed for the stairs with
Linc hot on my heels.

"Perhaps whatever it
is that you have at stake is of little interest to me," I tossed over my
shoulder as I began quickly climbing the stairs. "Have you ever thought of
that?"

"Why are you so
incredibly difficult?" Linc shouted into the stairwell. "You're
impossible to actually have a conversation with!"

"Did I ask you
to?" I shot back as I kept climbing. I knew that I'd better slow down. I
was in pretty good shape from regular runs around the city, but at this pace, I
wasn't going to make it to the sixth floor before I collapsed.

"God, Olivia, you're
so defensive and hard that it's nearly impossible to say anything to you
without causing a major blow up!" He continued climbing in an attempt to
keep up with me. I was surprised that he hadn't given up and headed back to the
comfort of his limo already, but I wasn't in any mood to stop and find out why.

"Do you ever stop
and wonder why that might be?" I yelled at the man two flights below me.
"Do you ever think that maybe I have a perfectly good reason for why I
behave the way I do, and that maybe, just maybe, you're part of the problem?
No, of course you don't: you're Lincoln Redding, billionaire businessman who
can get anything he wants at the snap of his fingers, why not reporters,
too?"

"That's completely
unfair!" he yelled up at me. "You know nothing about me, either, and
yet you make all of these assumptions about who I am and how I live!"

"Am I wrong? I mean,
I spent an afternoon listening to you talk about how you have a vendetta
against Davis Russo and the AWN," I countered as I tried to keep
breathing, talking, and climbing. It wasn't as easy as I thought it would be
and Linc was gaining ground. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Redding!"

"You're wrong,
Moore!" he huffed as he continued climbing. "You're absolutely wrong
because you never listen!"

"When have I never
listened to you, Redding?" I shouted. "I sat in your office listening
to you talk about your business and your plan to bring Russo down by making
guns safer, and then I wrote an article about you!"

"But you didn't
listen to what I was trying to tell you!" he yelled as he rounded the last
set of stairs. I had yanked open the door that led to my hallway and was
standing looking down at the lower landing when he appeared. "Why don't
you listen to what I'm telling you?"

"Because I believe
actions speak louder than words, and your inaction at the gala speaks
volumes!" I shouted as I spun on my bare feet and headed down the hallway
toward my apartment. Linc followed closely, not saying anything. I stuck the
key in the lock and quickly opened the door and stepped inside.
"What?"

"God, Olivia, just
stop fighting," he said throwing his hands up in the air as he shook his
head. "Can't we simply have a conversation? Does it always have to be so
combative between us? Please, let's just talk."

The shift in his attitude
caught me off guard and suddenly, I felt ashamed. I wasn't sure what to do
because if I slammed the door on him, it would feel childish and petty, but if
I let him in, it would mean I'd be agreeing to talk, and I wasn't sure how that
would go. I made an instant decision and stepped back, ushering him into my
apartment with a gesture. He smiled weakly and entered.

"Something to
drink?" I asked, trying to find my footing. "I've got wine and might
be able to mix a martini for you, if you want."

"Wine would be nice,
thank you," he said as he looked around.

"I know it's
probably pretty small and incredibly sparse compared to the places you're used
to living in," I said as I dug into the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of
Rioja. I quickly opened it and poured two glasses and carried them out to the
living room. I offered him one and then gestured toward the couch. He sat down
and gathered up the skirt of my dress and sank down next to him. "This is
probably kind of shabby compared to your place, huh?"

"No, I was just
thinking about how warm and homey it feels compared to mine," he said as
he took the glass and held it up to toast. "I have a lot of properties,
but nothing ever feels like home."

"How is that
possible? You've got tons of money, you should be able to decorate a place just
the way you like it."

"Yeah, but..."
he trailed off as he sipped his wine.

"But what?" I
asked and then waited. When he didn't speak, I smiled encouragingly and said,
"Remember, you were the one who said I was supposed to calm down and
listen."

"Right," he
smiled a little, but the light didn't reach his eyes and I was left wondering
what was going on. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again as he
shook his head.

"Okay, so here's the
deal," I said knowing that the ball was now firmly in my court. "I'll
tell you one thing, then you tell me one thing. We'll trade off so no one is
left hanging out to dry. How about that?"

"Are you going to be
nice?" he asked. I looked at him and smiled as I gazed into his beautiful
blue eyes. I felt a familiar ache begin in my chest and then slowly spread
downward as I looked at his handsome face. The scent of his cologne wafted
across the space between us and I closed my eyes for a moment and breathed it
in. Opening them, I looked up at him and spoke.

"I promised I will
be as nice as I can be," I said sweetly.

"That sounds like a
trap," he laughed nervously.

"Ask me anything. I'll
answer the best I can."

"Why are you so
defensive and angry all the time?" he quickly blurted out.

The part of me that
didn't want to have to answer that question went on high alert and I felt my
defenses quickly going up, but then I remembered that I'd been the one who made
the deal, so I took a deep breath and explained, "When I was in Africa, my
news editor betrayed my trust and it cost several of my sources their lives and
almost cost me mine. I guess I haven't quite let go of that."

"Did the two of you
have a relationship?"

I inhaled sharply and
then said, "No, no, it's your turn, remember? Why don't you feel like you
have a home?"

"I don't know,"
Linc said as a look of pain crossed his face. "I just don't."

"No, you don't get
off that easily," I said shaking my head. "I told you something
really personal, and now you have to reciprocate. Why don't you feel like you
have a home?"

"I was in college
the last time I felt like I had a home," he said looking at me. His eyes
were full of pain, so I reached out and gently rested my hand on his leg as he
spoke. "When my parents were killed, Mo stepped in and helped put
everything in order for me. She was my mother's best friend, and I was so lost
that I had no idea what to do. But when that house was sold, I felt like my
sense of home went with it."

I nodded, not knowing
what to say, but thinking that it was better if I didn't say anything at all.
Linc set his wine glass down on the coffee table and ran his hand through his
hair as he continued, "I didn't grow up with a lot of money, you know. I
wasn't rich until after my parents were killed. Talk about blood money."
He winced as he said it. "I made the majority of my fortune buying and
selling stocks that Brant's dad recommended. It wasn't something I was doing
intentionally; I just wanted to be able to create something that would change
things."