Kept (8 page)

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, Kimberly and I need to discuss next quarter’s marketing campaign. Kim, I sent you my comments on your budget. Did you get them?”

When their father was alive, he, with Kimberly’s help, had been in charge of all sales, marketing, and publicity. Since his death Kim had completely taken over that aspect of the business.

Kim nodded and pulled her laptop out of her briefcase. “I haven’t had a chance to read them in detail,” she apologized.

Alyssa licked her lips nervously and reached into her bag. “Actually, I was hoping to sit in on this meeting. I have some ideas—”

Harold looked up, his gray-blond eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. “Ideas? You?”

She focused on her uncle, determined to block out the presence of the large, overbearing male presence next to her. “I’ve been hoping to get more involved on the business side, and now that I’ve starred in two campaigns, I thought I should be involved in the overall marketing strategy.”

Harold barked a laugh. “You expect me to believe you think at all beyond your next party or next shopping trip? Did you think last weekend when you embarrassed us all by losing control at the AIDS benefit?”

Alyssa could feel Derek stiffen next to her and felt humili
ation’s icy grip curl around her insides. Constant press scrutiny had forced her to grow a thick skin, and for the most part her uncle’s comments bounced off her. But having Derek there, listening to him berate her, made her want to curl up in a ball and hide under the conference table. “You may not care about my ideas,” she said, hating how her voice shook with embarrassed rage, “but I’m still a significant stockholder in this company. That gives me a right to be involved with the business.”

Bull’s-eye.
She took keen satisfaction in the way Harold flushed all the way to his thinning blond hairline. He was still furious that her father had changed his will, splitting his share of Van Weldt Jeweler evenly between herself and Kimberly. It had been a shock to everyone, Alyssa included, but Harold had taken it as a personal affront.

“Your shares are still in trust and therefore under my control. So for the time being, your only job is to look pretty for the camera and not embarrass us in front of the press. A task I hope Mr. Taggart will assist with.” Harold’s anger fled as quickly as it flared, and he bared his teeth in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s not pretend. We all know where your value to this company lies, and it’s not between your ears. Your job is to smile for the cameras. And when you’re not doing that, you do your best not to make an ass out of yourself.”

Vapid. Stupid. Brainless.
Every insult to her intelligence the media had ever doled out came back in a searing rush.

She looked to her sister for support, but Kimberly kept her gaze focused on the screen of her laptop, the tight lines of her mouth the only sign the tension in the room was getting to her.

Alyssa’s stomach churned with embarrassment, made all the more acute because Derek was there to witness it. She shoved it aside and pasted on her famous, toothy, party-girl smile as an alarm went off deep inside her leather bag.
“Well, speaking of smiling and looking pretty, I’m about to be late for a spa appointment.”

She stood up, trying not to shiver when Derek’s shoulder brushed against hers as he stood, too. She turned on her spiked heel, striving for a dignified exit though she felt about a tenth as confident as she had when she’d entered the conference room.

“Mr. Taggart will accompany you, of course,” Harold said.

Alyssa froze, her megawatt smile pulling down at the corners. “I’m perfectly capable of going to get a pedicure and a bikini wax on my own. Besides, Andy will be with me.” Andrea, the assistant she’d hired right after she moved to San Francisco, was waiting for her in the lobby.
God, I hope she remembered my ibuprofen,
Alyssa thought as her temples began to pound.

But Derek reacted as if she hadn’t even spoken and used his powerful body to herd her toward the door. “After you,” he said, gesturing her to precede him.

She stepped out in the empty hallway and turned to face him. Even in five-inch heels, she barely came to his chin, and she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. At the hard, closed expression on his face she was reminded of her first impression. That he was like a craggy peak of a mountain. Stone cold and just as forbidding.

“Listen,” she began but found she was tongue-tied under that flat, emotionless stare. Was this really the man who had touched her with such eagerness his hands shook? The man who had whispered hot, dirty things in her ears, moaned against her neck as he’d thrust deep inside her?

“Yes, Miss Miles?” he prodded after several seconds of her silence. His voice was blank, all business.

“This is incredibly awkward for both of us. Given the circumstances, don’t you think it’s best you tell my uncle you can’t work for him?” She couldn’t stand this. Bad enough
her uncle had sicced a keeper on her, but she couldn’t bear having Derek follow her around, watching her every move.

His answer was a short, quick shake of his head. “No can do. The Van Weldts are one of our biggest clients. I can’t quit because of personal reasons.”

She stamped her foot and clenched her fists. “Then put someone else on the job. I saw you working with other people that night. Can’t one of them play prison warden?”

“Sorry, princess. I’m afraid I’m it. Your uncle wants me to keep tabs on you and report back anything he might not like, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Like it or not, we’re stuck with each other until your uncle says different.”

Andy Ingram took the bottle of pills Richard Blaylock handed to her and slipped them into her purse. “When do you want me to use these?”

Richard consulted his calendar. “Wait a couple days. The press is still getting a lot of mileage out of last week’s pictures. There’s the White Light benefit coming up next weekend. Dose her at the beginning of cocktail hour so it kicks in right around the time she goes up to accept the award.”

Andy smiled and nodded as if Richard had asked her to pick up his dry cleaning. But she couldn’t help anticipating the sight of Alyssa stumbling on the stage as she went up to accept the award the White Light Foundation was going to present her with for all her “activism.” As far as Andy could tell, Alyssa’s philanthropy consisted of showing up, baking some cupcakes, and posing for photos. She didn’t care about those girls, Andy knew. It was all a big ploy to help clean up her image, to distance herself from the party-girl persona that had gotten her on the cover of magazines.

It made Andy sick to the tips of her toes. Andy had graduated magna cum laude from Brown with a degree in English literature, but when she moved to San Francisco, she’d been told she was lucky to get an entry-level job at a local
magazine. The accompanying entry-level salary didn’t even cover her rent, much less her massive school loans.

When she’d heard through a friend that Alyssa Miles was in the market for a new San Francisco–based assistant—and, more importantly, what the position would pay—Andy had swallowed her pride and gone for an interview. It hadn’t been hard to convince Alyssa she would be the perfect assistant. Efficient, organized, hardworking, and, most importantly, she had no interest in using Alyssa’s show-business connections to further her career.

At least, that’s what Alyssa thought. Andy was, in fact, building up quite a Rolodex of press contacts she planned to use once she’d paid off her debts and left Alyssa Miles far behind. After all, they would owe her after all the tips she’d given them over the last six months.

Still, she felt a little sick to her stomach when she woke up every morning and braced herself for another day of performing useless, meaningless tasks for a useless, meaningless celebrity like Alyssa. It was so unfair. Andy had clawed her way out of her working-class Massachusetts neighborhood, gotten an Ivy League education, yet she was reduced to babysitting a famous-for-nothing celebutante.

Fortunately, Richard Blaylock had recently approached her with a little side project. Andy was only too happy to participate because the extra money she earned meant her loans were nearly paid off. Plus, it had the added bonus of ruining Alyssa’s public image, right when she was on the verge of proving to the public she’d left her wild, hard partying days behind her.

Andy loved to watch Alyssa unwittingly reap what she’d sown.

“You’re sure she doesn’t suspect anything?” Richard asked, glancing surreptitiously over his shoulder to make sure no one was coming.

Andy shook her head. One thing she’d learned very quickly
about Alyssa was that while she knew she needed to be careful of people, she so badly
wanted
to trust people, it was rather easy to get into her confidence. All it had taken were a few late-night conversations, shared secrets, and a few careful compliments, and Andy was in. Alyssa had given Andy almost unlimited access to her life; it didn’t occur to Alyssa that Andy might try to screw her over. “I just tell her they’re ibuprofen, and she takes them without looking.”

“Well, watch the dosage next time,” Richard warned. “Last time was too close. We don’t want to have to explain an overdose.”

“Of course,” Andy said. She didn’t know why Richard and whomever he was working with wanted to make it look like Alyssa was relapsing. All Andy was concerned with was keeping the prescriptions to the various pharmaceuticals filled and receiving those extra deposits in her online checking account every month.

“Andy? Where are you?” Andy’s shoulders tensed as she heard Alyssa’s voice from down the hall. “I have to be at LaBelle by eleven. I managed to squeeze in a facial for you, too, so we can’t be late.”

“One more thing,” Richard said when Andy started to go. “Harold hired some bodyguard to keep an eye on Alyssa. You’ll need to be really careful, make sure he doesn’t suspect anything.”

“Don’t worry,” she said reassuringly. “As long as the money keeps showing up in my bank account, no one will have any idea Alyssa’s not a relapsing junkie headed for a meltdown.”

D
EREK WOULD HAVE thought following one celebutante around San Francisco would be child’s play in comparison to his previous life as a sniper. Once during a mission in Afghanistan, he’d lain motionless for nine straight hours in a shallow trough dug into a rocky mountainside. He hadn’t moved so much as a nostril, not even when a group of goat herders walked within six inches of his stand, so close they could have brushed the cold metal of his muzzle. Watching, still as death, waiting for them to pass and for his military targets to come into focus, waiting for the moment when he could pick them all off like ducks in a carnival game.

After two days on Alyssa Miles’s tail, Derek was ready to shoot anything. Starting with himself.

Yesterday was bad enough. He’d dutifully accompanied Alyssa and her mousy assistant, Andy, to a spa so pink and feminine he worried he was going to have to hand over his balls at the reception desk. The woman at the reception desk had assured her there was no one else in the spa, and, when pressed by Andy, that all cell phones and cameras had been confiscated.

“You clear out the whole spa?” Derek asked. He found it hard to swallow that he could be so attracted to the kind of woman who needed a whole goddamn spa to herself.

“You would, too, if someone took cell-phone pictures of you getting a Brazilian wax,” Alyssa snapped.

He didn’t think he’d seen that one. But the mention of Alyssa’s wax job was enough to make his hands sweat and his mouth go dry.

The receptionist flushed red and murmured an apology. “We’ve banned her from the premises, Miss Miles. And we’d like to thank you with a complementary honey wrap for being so understanding.”

“Thank you, Gina,” Alyssa said and flashed the woman a dazzling smile. Then she handed Derek their purses, and she and Andy followed Gina back to the treatment rooms and left Derek to cool his heels with a back issue of
Vogue.

A honey wrap.
He wondered what the hell that entailed. Imagined a woman trickling honey over Alyssa’s bare, smooth skin. He remembered in vivid detail exactly what Alyssa looked like naked. Especially the sweet, juicy fruit nestled between her legs, almost completely denuded of hair save for a dark bronze tuft of the sweetest, softest curls he’d ever touched.

Cold. Calm. Professional. This is just another job.
He ripped his thoughts away from Alyssa and reminded himself what he was doing. He had a job to do. That was it. He’d never gotten emotionally involved with any of his clients, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Besides, the Alyssa he met the night of the charity auction and the woman he was assigned to keep tabs on were not the same person. Sure, she was still quick with a smile and tried to be friendly, but from the moment he sat down beside her in Van Weldt’s office, he’d felt cold standoffishness emanating from her in waves. Even her hand was icy when he’d taken it.

So different from the sultry, flirtatious sex kitten who’d run her hot little hands all over his body. If he closed his
eyes he could still feel her fingers wrapping around his cock, sending him up in flames.

Now she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

So he kept his eyes wide open, reminding himself sharply that the woman he’d taken home that night was an illusion. She was only having a little fun at the expense of the one guy in the world too clueless to know who she was. The girl who had her fake, toothy smile always at the ready as she met her adoring public—that was the real Alyssa Miles.

But that didn’t stop his thoughts from wandering after a couple hours. What the hell were they doing to her that was taking so long? Sweat beaded under his collar as he imagined her, lying on a table, covered in honey.

Was she getting waxed again? Was she at that moment lying with her legs parted as another woman reached down….

He shifted in his seat, crossing his legs to hide his burgeoning erection. Shit. His thoughts were taking on the tone of a bad porno.

He was jolted momentarily out of his daydreams by the trill of a cell phone coming from Alyssa’s purse. He ignored it. But when it rang three more times in quick succession, he figured it might be something important.

Maybe he should bring her phone to her.

Or maybe you’re looking for an excuse to go find out what the hell’s going on behind the pink doors.

He pushed through the doors into a dimly lit hallway. The sweet, sultry scent was stronger back here, and wind-chimey new-agey music piped through invisible speakers. The hall was lined with closed doors. He listened at each one until he heard the low murmur of voices.

He opened the door and felt all the blood in his brain make a beeline for his cock at the sight that greeted him. Alyssa was half reclined in a padded, upholstered chair. A fluffy white robe fell open at her knees as she propped her
feet on a stool. The woman kneeling at her feet poured oil into the palm of her hand before rubbing it into Alyssa’s foot and then working her way up Alyssa’s calf and midway up her thigh. Another woman sat at Alyssa’s right, working oil into Alyssa’s hand and arm with sure, firm strokes.

Alyssa’s eyes were closed, her expression one of relaxed bliss. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth soft, her body languid. He swallowed hard, feeling like he’d stepped through a time warp into a secret harem, where Alyssa was being stroked and oiled, ready to be delivered for his pleasure.

He watched, mesmerized as the woman at her feet moved to the other leg. His palms itched at the remembered feel of her skin under his hands. Smooth, hot, silky soft. He wanted to banish the women from the room and put himself in their place. Kneel at her feet. Stroke his way up her thighs and part her legs wider. Dip his head down. He licked his lips. He’d been so wild that night, so focused on getting inside her before he lost control, he hadn’t had a chance to taste her pussy. Now his mouth watered for it, his body throbbed with the need to do all the things he hadn’t had a chance to do in their one brief, mind-blowing encounter.

“You really shouldn’t be back here.”

Derek whipped his head around at the scolding voice and started at the sight that greeted him. Andy stood at his left shoulder, dressed in a thick, white spa robe. Her dark hair was skinned back from her face by a headband, and her mouth was pursed in a scowl. At least, he thought it was a scowl, but it was hard to tell with her face covered by a coating of thick green goop.

He blinked, but the creature from the black lagoon was still standing there, waiting for an explanation. “Her phone was ringing.” He gestured lamely with Alyssa’s purse. “Thought it might be important.”

“Who was it?”

Derek looked over to see Alyssa watching him with heavy-
lidded green eyes, a lazy little cat woken from her nap in the sun.

Andy rummaged around in Alyssa’s bag and looked at the display. “It was Marianne. Probably about the fund-raiser. I’ll call her back and see what she wants.”

Andy ducked out of the treatment room, leaving Derek standing there like an idiot, heat rushing into his face as Alyssa and the two women working her over pinned him with inquisitive stares. He mumbled something about meeting her in the waiting room and backed out, praying none of them noticed the raging hard-on tenting the front of his pants.

After the torturous trip to the spa, Derek was relieved to learn that today Alyssa was keeping her clothes on, for the time being anyway. She had an interview with a reporter from
Bella Magazine,
and he assumed there would be no reason to remove her close-fitting jeans and striped sweater. Later she had a photo shoot scheduled and, having seen some of Alyssa’s past layouts, Derek didn’t even want to think about what he was in for.

He followed Andy and Alyssa into the restaurant where they were first scheduled to meet the reporter. The restaurant hadn’t yet opened for lunch, but the manager had opened it up so Alyssa and the reporter could talk privately.

As they walked into the dimly lit bistro, an athletic-looking brunette dressed in black pants and a dark green sweater stood and waved them over. She held out her hand to Alyssa. “Meredith Winslow,
Bella Magazine.
”

Alyssa shook her hand and smiled. “Alyssa Miles. This is my assistant, Andy.” Andy stepped up to shake Meredith’s hand.

Alyssa took a seat at the table while Andy sat down a few tables away and pulled out her BlackBerry.

“And who’s this?” Meredith asked, eying Derek with speculation and unmistakable interest.

Alyssa’s careful smile pulled tight at the corners. “This is Derek. He’s…” A tiny frown line appeared between her brows as she struggled to decide how to describe him.

“I’m her personal security detail,” he clarified.

Meredith’s brows pulled into a frown. “Does the heightened security have anything to do with your father’s death?”

Derek felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Despite her look of concern, Derek sensed something predatory in the reporter’s manner.

“Not exactly,” Alyssa said, her smile strained.

“How have you been holding up since his death?” Meredith’s face was all sad eyes and sympathy as she switched on the tape recorder.

“It’s been difficult,” Alyssa replied. Her fingers twisted nervously on the table in front of her.

“I can only imagine. Finding your father like that, it must have been awful for you.”

Alyssa nodded. “I have pretty bad nightmares.”

“Really, like what?”

Alyssa got a faraway look in her green eyes. “I dream about that night, about finding them. Sometimes I dream there’s someone else there, waiting to kill me, too.” She shook her head, as though jolting herself back to reality.

Meredith looked down at her pile of notes. “Interesting.” Derek didn’t like the way her eyes lit with morbid curiosity. “I read that in the initial police report you said you thought you saw a shadow running across the lawn.”

Alyssa nodded.

“So do you think the police were too quick to pin the blame on your stepmother? Maybe someone else was involved?”

Alyssa’s smile was long gone. Now her face was a stressed mask, her lips pressed into a tight line, her mouth pulled down at the corners. She was silent for several seconds, lost deep in
thought. Finally she shook her head. “It was all so scary and overwhelming,” she said, the horror evident in her voice.

Derek felt an unwilling tug of sympathy as he watched Alyssa try to compose herself. The gory crime scene had been well documented in lurid detail. He’d seen his share of blood and death, and even
he
couldn’t say he ever got used to it. He could only imagine how someone like Alyssa, sheltered from any of life’s harsh realities, would react to such a scene.

An unfamiliar urge washed over him—the need to comfort her, hold her close, reassure her that everything was going to be okay.

“It’s hard to know exactly what I saw,” Alyssa continued, “but I’m sure the police knew what they were doing.”

Meredith nodded. “And how do you respond to the people who say your presence in your father’s life and your involvement with the business drove your stepmother over the edge?”

Alyssa flinched as if she’d been hit, and Derek forced himself to stay seated in his straight-backed chair. He looked over at Andy, wondering why she didn’t say anything. She continued to poke at her BlackBerry, oblivious.

“My stepmother was troubled,” Alyssa said carefully. “I deeply regret any pain I caused her, but I’m not sorry for trying to have a relationship with my father.”

There was a tight, pinching sensation in Derek’s chest that he tried to ignore. He didn’t want to feel sympathy for Alyssa, didn’t want to be touched by her vulnerability. He wanted her to be the vapid trust-fund baby he’d read about, not this big-eyed, sad girl who sat there and took it while this reporter aimed repeated jabs.

He was just about to say screw it, end the interview, and hustle her out of there, when Alyssa seemed to gather herself up. She sat up straight in her chair, pasted the tooth
paste smile back on her face, and cleared all emotion from her wide green eyes. “Do you mind if we talk about something else? I’d really rather not dwell on tragedy.”

“Of course. I apologize,” Meredith said, her smile as sincere as Alyssa’s. “Let’s talk about fun stuff. Are you seeing anyone these days?”

Alyssa’s cheeks blushed hot pink. “N—no, not really.” She lowered her eyes.

The damn woman couldn’t lie to save her life. He wondered if the reporter noticed.

Meredith gave her one of those conspiratorial, “hey, it’s just us girls here” smiles. “Please. You can’t convince me you don’t have tons of guys knocking down your door.”

Derek was locked on her face, waiting for her to give him a look, to betray some sign to the shark of a reporter that their relationship wasn’t strictly personal.

Then another thought hit him. Maybe the stammering and blushing wasn’t all about him. He’d seen the articles linking her to everyone from a skinny, eyeliner-wearing rock star to the French-Lebanese dude who supplied the Van Weldts with the majority of their diamonds.

Who knew what—or who—Alyssa had been doing since Derek had seen her last?

“I’m single right now,” Alyssa said, and this time the conviction rang true. “My relationship track record hasn’t been so hot lately.” She gave the reporter a sheepish smile, and Derek fought the urge to warn her not to let her guard down.

“You’re referring to your relationship with Eddie Bennett?”

The dusting of freckles across Alyssa’s nose stood out in stark contrast to skin gone pale as marble. “That’s one example, yes.”

Meredith cocked a dark eyebrow at her. “Do you regret your relationship with Eddie Bennett?”

He could see the moment Alyssa finally went over the edge, when her fragile hold on her composure snapped.

“Considering he told me he loved me and then put naked pictures of me on the Internet for the entire world to see and then told everyone I was the worst lay he’s ever had, yeah, I’d say I regret it.”

Even Andy was startled out of her BlackBerry coma by Alyssa’s mini tirade.