Billionaire's Tragedy (Standalone Book) (Billionaire Bad Boy Romance) (17 page)

CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO

Olivia

"
Nice
lunch bag," Carl grinned when I
walked into the newsroom.

"Thanks, my minions
made it for me," I said as I tossed it on my cluttered desk and looked at
him expectantly. "So, what do you have for me?"

"First, how was the
gala?" he asked. "I saw your picture in the society column in the
Post
; you clean up good, Moore! But my
pressing question is whether Cinderella made it home from the ball by
midnight?"

"Funny you should
ask, Jackson," I said shooting him a side eye. "I had a lovely time,
despite spending most of my day confined to the inner sanctum where they did
their level best to turn me into a beauty pageant contestant. Have you ever
been to one of these places?"

Now it was Carl's turn to
shoot me a look. "You have got to be kidding me."

"No? Okay, well, let
me tell you, my friend. The Reformation had nothing on these places," I
said shaking my head. "They poked, pinched, and prodded me within an inch
of my life so that I'd look picture perfect. It was hell."

"You wore it
well," he laughed. "And those sparklers that they said you almost
made off with! How in the hell did you get those?"

"I've got friends in
high places," I shrugged. "And I did not try to steal them! I just
got pissed and went for a drive...and forgot I was wearing them."

Carl's booming laughter
filled the newsroom causing a few of the weekend reporters to look up from
across the room and shoot him nasty looks for interfering with their work. Once
he'd stopped laughing, he turned to me and said, "So, what got you so
pissed off that you stormed off wearing almost a million dollars worth of
diamonds?"

"Davis Russo,"
I said. "That man is a slime bag."

"Well, that's pretty
much common knowledge," he replied as he held out a sheet of paper.
"Look here, this is what I emailed you about."

I took it from him and
began to read. My eyes grew wide as I realized exactly what I was reading.
"You've got to be kidding me!" I yelled.

"Nope, I got it from
an anonymous source that I trust," he said shaking his head. "I'm
working on verifying the list, but if that's true..."

"Then that bastard
Davis Russo is gearing up to run for president next year!" I hissed.
"Where is he getting the money?"

"Look at the list,"
Carl said pointing to the bottom half. "He's got donors in all fifty
states and some of the most prominent business people in the country are
backing him."

"This is obscene,” I
said. "That guy is a menace to society. How can he claim to be someone
capable of leading this country?"

"I guess if you have
enough money behind you, you can claim to do anything," Carl said dryly.
"Don't quote me on any of that yet, though. I haven't verified that it
beyond a shadow of a doubt."

"This would explain
his behavior last night, though," I mused as I looked at the list.
"He was cocky and arrogant, more so than usual."

"It could have just
been the shock of him seeing you decked out in a dress," Carl muttered.

"I heard that,
Jackson," I said. "Seriously, what would motivate him to run for
president? Does that even make sense to you?"

"I can't figure it
out, either," he replied. "I've been wracking my brain trying to
figure out what the underlying motive is and I can't come up with a
thing."

"Doesn't he
understand that if he does this, it's going to open up his entire life to
outside scrutiny?" I asked. "He's going to have to turn over tax
returns and all kinds of things that the AWN has never asked for. What is his
deal?"

"I know,
right?" Carl said as he turned back to his computer and began typing. He
stopped and turned back towards me, "Hey, what happened with Redding? Did
you see him at the gala?"

"Yes, I did," I
said tightly. Telling Bix about the after party was one thing, but there was no
way on earth I was going to let Carl know just how well I'd gotten to know
Linc. "We talked, we laughed, we danced, and then we insulted Russo
together. Nice guy."

"Any plans to see
him again?"

"Not a clue," I
replied. "Not a clue. Now, shall we dig in and see what we can find on
Russo?"

Wisely, Carl stopped
questioning, nodded, and then started typing. It wasn't long before Frank came
bustling into the newsroom carrying a copy of the
Post
and wearing a look of concern.

"What is this I see
in the competition this morning, Moore?" he asked as he slammed his copy down
on my desk.

"Look, I'm working
on it, Frank," I said cautiously skirting the issue. "I just didn't
think the social calendar was the priority this morning."

"MOORE! It's the
reason I sent you there!" he yelled. I knew Frank well enough to know that
he would blow his top and then calm down and listen, so I waited as he read me
the riot act about how irresponsible it was to be a features writer and not
write features. I nodded and listened and soon he ran out of steam.
"Explain yourself."

"I had a run in with
Davis Russo, and now Carl's got information that he might be gunning for the
presidential nomination for the Republican
party
,"
I said, trying to throw Frank off the track of society reporting. "And
this morning, I heard from a reliable source that Larry Bangor is trying to
sabotage the gun safety bill after promising bipartisan cooperation to pass
it."

"Wait, what?"
Frank and Carl both said.

"My source overheard
two congressional aides talking about how Bangor was actively trying to sink
the bill this past week because he knew that after the shooting, support for
the bill was short. He's going to sink it. The question is why."

"How quickly can you
find out?" Frank asked.

"I don't know, how
many more ball gowns
are you
willing to buy me,"
I tossed back.

"Don't be a smart
ass," Frank said as he headed to his office. "Get that damn article
filed by midnight tonight or I'll reject any expense account forms you submit
for last night's festivities!"

"Promises,
promises," I called after him and then got to work trying to track down
the sources.

It wasn't until hours
later that I remembered to check my phone and found a message from Linc asking
me to call him at my earliest convenience. The formality of the message was
off-putting, so I saved it and decided that if Lincoln Redding wanted to talk
to me, he was going to have to make a little bit more of an effort than that.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE

Linc

Around
four o'clock that afternoon, Mo buzzed me from the lobby of my building saying,
"Linc, I'm on my way up; I've got provisions and I need to talk to you, so
start pouring the drinks." I laughed, knowing that she had sweet-talked
Burt, the doorman, and probably bribed him with some kind of insanely delicious
treat.

When Mo knocked on my
door a few minutes later, I opened it to find that she hadn't been kidding. Two
young men followed her into the apartment and waited until she said, "Set
the bags in the kitchen and then we're good to go, boys," before they
moved. While the helpers were unloading the groceries onto the counter, Mo
grabbed me and hugged tightly.

"You okay,
kiddo?" she asked. I nodded, wondering what was up with her. She was
dressed more casually than I'd ever seen her dress before in a red cashmere
sweater that hugged her curves and matched her lipstick and a pair of black
leather pants that looked like they had been painted on her long, lean legs.

"What is up with
this?" I asked as I gestured to the outfit. Mo raised her finger to her
lips and shushed me then pointed toward the kitchen. I laughed, "What is
wrong with you?"

The boys came out of the
kitchen and the taller of the two asked, “Is that all you need, Ms. Warren?"
Mo smiled warmly at them both and nodded as she handed each a bill and wished
them a happy holiday. The boys didn't look at the money she handed them, but
once they were outside the door I heard two shouts of joy and the sound of them
jumping joyously in the hallway.
 

"What did you give
them?" I asked, knowing that chances were good she'd tipped them some
insane amount.

"I just wanted to
spread a little holiday cheer," she shrugged as she looked around.
"Where's my drink, buddy?"

"Oh, sorry, one
martini, shaken not stirred, with four olives, coming up!" I called as I
headed to the kitchen and pulled the shaker out of the freezer. I poured the
martinis into two glasses, added olives, and brought them out into the living
room.

"My God, this is
such a beautiful place," she said. "I always forget how well
decorated it is since you never invite me over."

"Mo, you know-"
I began.

"I know, I know, you
always meant to invite me, but you're too damn busy," she laughed. "I
understand. You young people have things to do."

"From what I
understand, it's you older folks who have younger people to...um..." I
raised my glass and an eyebrow as I looked at her.

"Oh, that's a good
one!" she burst out laughing before she raised her glass and then sipped.
"Mmmm, I love a good martini. No one makes them quite the way you do,
Linc."

"So, tell me how the
gala went last night," I said as I offered her a seat. She chose the
chaise end of the gray couch and kicked off her black leather pumps before she
curled up in the corner and began to regale me with tales of clumsy waiters,
tipsy guests, and an orchestra that refused to stop playing despite the fact
that the gallery manager had to tell them four times that the party was over.

"It was a wonderful
success and I think everyone had a wonderful time," she said then turned
to me and said, "Except you and the reporter. What happened, Linc? She
went running out like a bat out of hell and you followed her; you didn't even
say goodnight!"

"I know, I'm sorry
about that," I said. "We ran into Davis Russo in the Dutch gallery
and he insulted her – well, both of us, really."

"Russo is a
loathsome man," she said as she sipped her drink. "I didn't want to
invite him, but I didn't have a choice. His cronies threatened to boycott the
gala and refuse to donate to the children's charity if I didn't invite him. I
hate Washington political circles, but they do pay the bills."

"I know, I don’t fault
you. I was just trying to steer clear of him for the evening, but it seems like
he has some kind of homing device when it comes to me," I said. "He
accused me of hiring Olivia to be my own personal reporter and then insinuated
even more inappropriate things."

"He's a disgusting
little pig," Mo said and I noticed there was a hard edge in her voice when
she spoke of Russo. "One of these days, he's going to get what he has
coming to him."

"What do you know
about him, Mo?" I asked watching her expression shift subtly from distain
to a cold hard look that told me she knew something she didn't want to share.

"Bygones," she
said waving me off. "He's just a pig, and I would prefer not to spend my
time discussing swine behavior. Tell me what happened between you and Ms Moore.
I heard that the police had to stop her outside of the loop."

"She'd been so
incensed by Russo that she forgot that she was wearing almost a million dollars
of Tullio's diamonds," I laughed as I recalled the way that Olivia had
stormed out of the gala and gotten into the limo. "You really shouldn't
piss off a redhead, you know?"

"Oh, I know,"
she said nodding. "But they got the jewelry back?"

"Oh, yes, her
bodyguard collected it and dropped her off at her apartment," I said
quickly.

"How do you know
that?" Mo said raising an eyebrow. I'd been caught, but then I was pretty
sure she already knew what had happened or she wouldn't have shown up with
enough provisions to last a week.

"Fine, you know,
don't you?" I said looking like a guilty schoolboy.

"I know
nothing," she smiled. "So, tell me everything."

I'd never hidden anything
from Mo before, and I wasn't about to start now, so I told her the entire story
from start to finish, including the message I'd left on Olivia's phone.

"You are an idiot,
my boy," she said laughing as she held out her empty glass. "And if
you'll make me another martini, I'll tell you exactly why."

I quickly whipped up a
second round of stiff drinks and then returned to the living room to hear what
Mo had to say. She accepted the glass with a smile and then gestured to the
spot next to her on the couch. "Sit, dear boy."

"It was obvious to
me from the moment that I met your young woman that she is someone
special," she said smiling. I opened my mouth to speak, but Mo put her
hand up and said, "Don't interrupt me." So, I sat back and listened.

"You, my boy, are
going to have to be bold with that girl. You can't play that silly, male game
of holding back and waiting to see if she's going to take the bait, then
deciding whether to go all in. No way. This time, you're going to have to jump
in and swim around if you want to convince her that the water is fine."

"What the hell are
you babbling about, Mo?" I laughed. "Swimming, fishing, water? This
makes no sense."

"C'mon, you're not
that clueless, Lincoln," she scolded gently. "This woman is cautious
and wary, you can see it in the way she approaches people, and if you want to
get anywhere with her, which I absolutely recommend that you do, then you, my
darling, are going to have to be brave and bold. Not arrogant, mind you, but
bold."

"I don't understand
what you are saying, Mo," I said shaking my head. "Put it in plain
English, please."

"Linc, you need to
give her a reason to want to be with you," she said as she sat up and
grabbed my hand. "You need to show her that you want her and that you are
willing to be the first one to say the hard things or be vulnerable."

"That's insane,
Mo," I said. "I'm not going to act like a sissy in order to attract a
woman who obviously has very little interest in communicating with me." I
held up my phone to indicate Olivia had not returned my call.

"God, you are so
dense," Mo said as she squeezed my hand. It was as if she was trying to
transmit knowledge through my skin. "Listen to me, look at Brant. Do you
see what he does?"

"Yeah, he chases
after you like a lovesick schoolboy, despite the fact that you have a boyfriend
and are not interested in leaving him," I said in exasperation.

"Never say
never," she said quietly.

"Wait, what?" I
said eyes widening as I looked at her. "You are?"

"Brant, bless his
soul, had the courage to spill his guts and tell me what he really felt,"
she said. "I don't know what I'll do or if we'd ever to be able to make
something like that work because there are so many factors working against us,
but he let me know he'd been giving it thought for a long time and had tried to
think past most of those obstacles. I was moved."

"So, you're just
dumping the other guy just like that?"

"No, I didn't say
that," she said then grinned, "But we are really just kind of a
friends with benefits thing anyway."

"God, Mo, you are
one hell of a lady," I laughed.

"My point is that if
Brant had not taken the initiative to let me know what he was feeling, then I
never would have even considered taking a chance because it wouldn't have been
an option," she said triumphantly. "And if there's anything I've
learned in my sixty-five years on this earth, it's that you will always regret
the chances you didn't take, but very rarely will you regret the ones you did."

"So, I should just
bare my soul to Olivia and tell her she's my one true love?" I said dryly.

"No, silly, but you
do need to say more than 'call me back at your earliest convenience!' What the
hell kind of message is that?" she muttered. "You need to ask her out
on a real date and impress the hell out of her. You can do that, you've got all
the money in the world!"

"She's not impressed
by money. She's made that incredibly clear."

"Then use your money
to plan an unpretentious date that will dazzle her," Mo said. "You've
got an imagination; look at what you've done thus far. Now put it to good use
and woo the girl!"

"Mo, I think you're
getting drunk," I laughed as I listened to her rattle off a list of
possible dates that all seemed over the top to me, but it got me thinking.

"I believe I might
be, so let's have a little dinner. Shall we?" she said as she tried to
push herself up off of the couch with one hand. I took her martini glass and
helped her up. Together, we went into the kitchen and pulled together dinner
out of the bags of groceries the over-tipped boys had left on the counter.

We sat down at the
kitchen table and talked about all of the dates I might plan for Olivia as we
ate and laughed. After we'd finished, we cleaned up the kitchen and loaded the
dishes in the dishwasher together, laughing about the old days when my parents
had claimed that they'd had a child simply so that they'd always have someone
to set the table and clean up after the meal was done. Mo told me about how my
mother had called her the first time I'd refused to do either and wanted to
know what she should do with the sullen boy I'd become at thirteen.

"I told her to send
you to military school," Mo grinned.

"You did not,"
I laughed. "Did you?"

"Did too," she
grinned. Then suddenly, she grabbed my shoulders, shook me lightly, and said,
"Lincoln, you can't live for your company. It's an honorable thing you've
done to try and right a terrible wrong and avenge a loss, but to continue to
make that the center of your world is causing you to miss out on so many other
things. Please, my darling boy, do not miss this chance to fall in love."

I nodded solemnly, even
though on the inside, my stomach was churning. Love? Who said anything about
love?

#

I
thought about what Mo had said all night; the next morning, I called my florist
and ordered a big, beautiful bouquet of winter flowers to be delivered to
Olivia's apartment.

"Do you think she'll
like the arrangement?" I asked once I'd told her what I wanted.

"I think she'll love
it," the woman said. "It's the perfect combination of cheer and
romance."

"Well, don't send it
until I can get down there and write a card for it," I said.

"Oh, I know that,
sir," she laughed. "We all know that you never send flowers without
them."

"Am I really that
predictable?” I asked as I chuckled.

"That's not
predictable, sir. That's kind and considerate, and women love that kind of
thoughtfulness."

I told her I'd be there
within the hour to write a card, and then hung up and headed for the shower,
whistling a happy little tune as I thought about what I would say to Olivia.