High Stakes (5 page)

“My concern is for the people you get money from. Who are they? Can they afford the donation? How much do they donate? Where do they get it from? And how dependent are they on what they give to you?”

“I’m not privy to that information.”

“Seriously?”

“My job is to produce a day-long show.”

“No Christian ethics driving you?” Jamie’s eyes narrowed and she sat up a bit straighter. “My religion or beliefs do not matter here.”

He had her going now. “Even if you’re milking people in the name of God?”

“Some might consider it milking people. Others say it’s supporting Jesus’s ministry. Spreading His word to others.”

“If you can do so without bankrupting donors, that’s okay.”

Her brows lifted. “I assume forty dollars a month isn’t going to make someone go broke.”

“First, for people below the poverty level who cling to religion as their only hope in the world, their donations might be a lot more than they can afford. In
His
name. Second, I’ll bet there are bigger contributions.”

She tapped her pen on the table. “How can we clear this up?”

“Get me the list of donors. Let me talk to them.”

“I doubt that’s possible.”

“Who would know if it is?”

“The board running the organization.”

“Then ask them. Better yet, let me ask them.”

She nodded. He’d be damned if she didn’t believe what she was saying. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Pulling out a card, he handed it to her. “Here’s my contact information in case you didn’t save my number. Call me. I’ll investigate as I always do, and we’ll let, as the cliché says, the chips fall where they may.”

Pique tinged her cheeks red. “I’m sure we’ll be vindicated, Mr. O’Neil. I’ll be back in touch.”

He was nobody’s favorite person as he left the offices, but he’d gotten his job done. Now, if only he could do the same with Rachel Scott.

Rachel walked into Dylan’s office building, much as she had last winter. She’d come when he printed the actual transcript of her interview with Sophie Tyler. That whole fiasco still made her furious. She’d done a fair and balanced piece with a woman she liked. Crane had edited it well, then the supervisor of her show bastardized it. She’d been vocal in her objections until their boss, John Walsh, had, once again, held the foreign reporter position coming up this summer over her head.

Dylan was waiting for her, slouched in a chair in the entryway. He looked fantastic in jeans, a blue cashmere sweater and a sports coat. Her heart did a little lurch until she quelled it.

When he caught sight of her, he stood. “Hello, Ms. Scott.”

Rachel, baby, that feels so good.

“Drop the formality, Dylan. I already know you regret what happened. I just wish I did.” Once again, her last words came out before she could censor them.

“Bullshit.” He walked a few paces toward her. “Come on. Let’s take this to my office.”

She followed him down a corridor and then another. “This wasn’t where you were last winter.”

He stepped aside when they reached an open doorway. The name plate read Dylan O’Neil. Associate Editor and Contributor.

“You got a promotion?”

“I guess. I’ve taken some responsibility for the direction of the pieces we run. I like the challenge.”

The office was spacious, with a window overlooking a little park. The walls were a dark tan, the furniture brown leather and the wood accents light oak. “Nice view. Great décor.”

When he didn’t respond, she turned to find him staring at her. “That it is, darlin’.”

Ah, darlin’, you take my breath away.

Dropping down behind his desk, he motioned to the chair in front of it. No equal seating at the conference table in the corner—a power play, for sure. She removed her long leather coat and sat, too.

Steepling his hands, he stared at her. “You agree to my terms?”

“I thought I didn’t have any choice.”

His gaze stony, he angled his head. “There’s the door. I’m sure you can find some other sucker to charm the pants off, literally, and get all the choices you want.”

“All right, that’s
my
first requirement. If you’re going to snipe at me for however long this investigation takes, I’m not doing it.”

“Why? We’re used to sniping.”

“Not after…” she knew her face colored, but his meanness hurt.

“We fucked? Not after we fucked?”

All she could do was nod. It had been much more to her. Hell, she’d been in his company for ten minutes and already felt vulnerable to him. “I told you before. I made love. But we can use
had sex
if you prefer.”

“I
prefer
never to discuss it again.”

“Fine by me.”

He glanced up at the ceiling, as if he trying to decide something. “You’re right about the sniping,” he finally said. “Meanness isn’t an O’Neil gene, thanks to my mother. I’ll try to be nice. You do the same with me.”

She nodded.

“What about the three things I proposed?” he asked civilly.

From a Prada bag her mother had bought her for her last birthday, she pulled out a folder and handed it to him. “These are a list of all the segments or special shows I’ve done since I came to NSMBC. I’ve starred the ones I’m most proud of.”

He skimmed the list. The corners of his mouth turned up. ”You did something on high heels? Seriously?”

She raised her chin. “That’s one of my favorites. I interviewed women about how much they loved their shoes, then I talked to podiatrists on the physical aspects of footwear.”

“How’d that go over?”

“Well. I made a pledge.” Scooting back, she lifted her foot, showing off brown, hand-tooled boots with only an inch-high heel. “I vowed to never wear anything higher than a one-and-a-half-inch heel. I asked others to take the pledge.”

“How many did?”

“Eight thousand women went to the website and it’s still going strong. The whole thing is kind of fun.”

A glimmer of approval shone in his eyes. “Then, congratulations.”

“As for following me around at work, presumably to see that I’m not a slacker, I can handle that.” She hoped. Proximity to Dylan was going to be hard since she remembered so much about their time together.

I love the way your skin smells,
she’d said, burying her face in his chest. Even as she’d followed him down the corridor, she got a hint of something spicy and sharp.

“And the last requirement? I thought you’d balk at that one.”

“I did. But my supervisor insisted. So I have a caveat of my own in that area. And, as you told him, it’s a deal breaker.”

His navy eyes narrowed. “What?”

“That for everything I tell you about my life, you tell me something comparable about yours.”

“Hey, with Bailey being the Second Lady, my life’s an open book.”

“You know those aren’t the things I mean.”

“Give me an example.”

“You’re bound to ask me about hobbies past and present.”

“I know you were a beauty queen.”

“Yes, well, I’m also a dancer. I love ballet and still practice, take classes.”

“Ah, interesting.” ”So, a parallel to that would be…”

“I was the star forward on our soccer team in high school. But car racing is my favorite sport now.”

“Great, that’s what I mean.”

“Then, here’s what I mean. Tell me what was the worst thing that ever happened to you. Something that seriously affected you. Mine’s that my mother and father split, and dad had an affair. Resulting in a half sister.” His face tightened and she knew it was from remembered pain. “Jesus, is that what you’re after? Information that you can use on Bailey?”

Reaching inside her purse again, she drew out another folder. “No, here’s our agreement.”

He took the document.

“This is a contract stating personal information given to each other in the next few months cannot be made public. We both have to sign it. There’s a copy for you.”

“You knew I wouldn’t trust you.”

“Dylan, one thing I
am
sure of about you is that you don’t trust me.”

“What else are you sure about?”

She stood then and gathered her things. Zeroing in on his face, she said, “That the night of the wedding, we made love. We didn’t just have sex, we didn’t fuck, we made love.”

With that exit line, she walked out of his office.

Standing by a window at JKF Airport, looking out over several jets, Dylan scowled and checked his watch again. He was happy that his son was coming home from Paris, but he couldn’t get his earlier conversation with Rachel out of his mind.

What else are you sure about?

That the night of the wedding, we made love.

She’d been right about that, though he’d never admit it to her. But he wouldn’t think about her. Instead, he’d take joy in his kid. The plane had landed a half hour ago. So, where was he? Hogan could find his way through the exit gates to meet him here.

“Dad! Dad!” He heard the boy before he saw him. By God, it seemed as if he’d grown taller in two weeks. And he’d cut his hair. When he’d left New York, it was down to his shoulders. Though Dylan’s parents didn’t like it, Dylan did. He’d spent some time in his youth with long locks, too.

Rushing to Hogan as soon as he came through the gate, Dylan grabbed the boy and drew him close. Hogan held on, too. “I missed you, buddy.”

“Man, I missed you, too, Dad.”

When they drew apart, Hogan self-consciously touched his head. And Dylan could read what was in his navy blue eyes. “Look at it,” was all he said.

“I see.” Though he knew the answer, he said, cheerfully, “How come?”

“She made me do it.”
She
referred to Stephanie, his glamorous ex-wife.

“How?” Staying outwardly calm, Dylan was furious inside. As was his son. They both knew how to put up fronts for what the woman did to both their lives.

“She said a hundred times in the first few days she hated it. She wore me down.”

“I know the feeling.” Eventually after the divorce, Dylan had to be honest with his son when he saw Stephanie pulling the same shit on Hogan as she had on him. “I’m sorry.”

Hogan shrugged. “It’ll grow back.”

“And meanwhile, you’re still a handsome dude.”

Hogan grinned and suddenly all Dylan’s problems with Rachel Scott disappeared. They began threading their way through the throngs to exit. Since Hogan left clothes at both Stephanie’s apartments in New York and Paris, he had only a carry-on.

They started down the walkway. Hogan asked, “How was the wedding?”

“Great. I sent you pictures.”

“Yeah. I’m bummed I missed it.”

He headlocked Hogan. “Me too.”

“Wanna get something to eat?”

“Uh-huh, something besides lettuce and tofu.”

“Don’t tell me.”

“Yep, she’s vegan now.”

They walked outside, and Hogan shivered. “Geez, it’s cold here.”

“Let’s hurry to short-term parking.” When they reached the car and slid inside, he turned to his son. “Where to?”

“The pub. I wanna see my family.”

Dylan felt bad that Hogan didn’t see Stephanie as his family. But there was nothing he could do about the fact, because, although she had joint custody, Stephanie had never been a real mother to him.

“Ah, there’s my boy.” As soon as Dylan and Hogan came through the pub door, Pat ducked under the bar opening and strode to his godson. They hugged. “I’ve missed you, lad.”

Hogan hung on. “I missed you, too, Uncle Pat.”

When Pat drew back, he scanned Hogan. “Mary Kate O’Neil is gonna be mighty pleased to see that hair.” At Hogan’s frown, and at Dylan’s gesture of disgust, Pat added, “But I miss the curls.”

“I know. I’m starved.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Liam came out of the back, carrying a dish that smelled like Irish heaven. “Made your favorite, kiddo.” He set the tray on a table. “But a proper greeting first.”

As natural as day turning into night, Hogan went to Dylan and gave him the same kind of greeting as he’d given Pat. The O’Neil siblings had been blessed with affectionate natures and passed that on to their kids. “Hi, Uncle Liam.”

They all sat around the table while Hogan devoured his Irish stew. “This meat is”—his eyes sparkled—”
vraiment bon
.”

Everybody’s jaws dropped. “Speaking French now, kid?” Pat asked.

“Not much else to do while mom worked. She, um, set me up with a tutor.”

The three brothers exchanged looks that mirrored each other’s.
On a school break?

“Good,” Liam put in. “Maybe you can teach the rest of our kids.”

“Oh, yeah, Cleary and Sean”—Liam’s teenager and Pat’s twelve-year-old—”would rag on me for weeks.” Though the boys were all great kids, they often tangled, because of adolescent hormones, Pat guessed.

Patrick had a quick flash of meeting Brie when those hormones were raging inside of him. Sometimes, in their good periods, they still did.

“So, what’s new?” Hogan looked to Liam. “You married yet?”

“Nope. You?”

Laughter.

“Not quite, kid. But soon.” Liam took a bead on Pat, then Dylan. “And it’s going to be a quiet one. We might elope.”

“No way in hell,” Dylan blurted out.

Hogan added, “Sounds cool to me.”

And Pat warmed inside. He loved the camaraderie in his family. In truth, he didn’t care whether or not Liam and Sophie eloped. He and Brie had.

After Hogan finished two bowls, he said, “Are Grandma and Grandpa upstairs?”

Liam winked at Hogan. “With your favorite dessert.”

“Can I go see them?”

“Sure,” Liam said. The brothers often made decisions for all the kids. It worked for them.

When Hogan disappeared into the back, Pat drew them all beers and sat back down. “What the fuck, his hair? He loved it long.”

“I can hardly contain myself. Every time he visits her, she pulls this shit.”

Liam sighed. He hated bad-mouthing anybody. “It’s such a shame, but I admire you for encouraging him to go with her. He’s old enough to decide no.”

“He has to have a mother.”

“Far as I’m concerned,” Pat bit out, “he’s got three good women to fill that role right in our family.”