Man Trouble (17 page)

He didn't answer, and she continued. “There are plenty of documents confirming that Mary existed. I was also telling the truth when I said that I think she lived on this island.”

Jake exhaled slowly. He motioned toward the table. “Fine,” he said. “Sit down and show me what you have.”

Molly looked suspiciously at him. He certainly wasn't wearing the expression of a man who
felt very strongly about the preservation of important cultural heritage sites,
as he had claimed the other day. He looked more like a man who wished that she would disappear and take her heritage site with her.

She pulled out the copy of the old map and put it on the table, turning it to face him. “Here,” she said, pointing. “Do you recognize the coastline? The salt ponds? Those two crosses represent the two windmills. The name of the plantation was Dyer's Fortune.”

“And?” Jake asked.

“Mary's ship was called the
Lady Fortune,”
Molly said.

He nodded. “What else?”

“Um…that's it,” Molly said.

“That's it? That's all you have?”

“For now, yes. But I have friends at the British Library and the Public Records Office, and I'll be checking with them as soon as they're back at work after the holidays. It's possible that the name Dyer is connected to Mary's family in some way.”

“Time is getting short,” Jake said. “We had agreed on two weeks, which will be almost gone by the time that the holidays are over.”

“I know, but I might need a little longer to find the information.”

“Or to confirm that you can't find it,” Jake said. “I'm afraid that I have to draw the line at two weeks.”

“But—” Molly began, dismayed.

Jake shook his head. “I wish I could give you more time, Professor, but I can't afford to. I'm sorry, but the project needs to move forward. Every day's delay costs my company money…money that belongs to the Berenger shareholders.”

“But this is important,” Molly exclaimed. “I'm not just going to stop searching after two weeks! What if I turn up the proof after you've bulldozed half of the site?”

Jake looked coolly at her. “That's a good question,” he said. “What if you do?”

She thought of what Carter had said, and met Jake's gaze, steeling herself. She had no intention of trying to blackmail him into doing Carter's project—friendship only went so far. But she was willing to fight a little harder on Mary's behalf. “It wouldn't look very good for your company—in the press, I mean—to be caught destroying Bonny Mary's plantation, would it?”

His mouth curved slightly. “I agree. That might be a problem for us.”

“Then you have to give me more time. You don't have any choice.”

“Don't I?” Jake asked. “Because it seems to me that it might be a problem for
you
if the press found out about your novel-writing habit.”

Molly gasped. “What?”

“I think that we understand each other.”

“Are you telling me that if I try to go to the press with any information that connects Dyer's Fortune to Mary Morgan, you'll expose me as Sandra St. Claire?”

“Yes,” Jake said. “And let me add that you started this fight. You just threatened me, Professor. I've done my best to be reasonable and helpful, to the limits of my ability. Whereas you have been conning me, my staff, and my guests. You've been using unethical methods to try to manipulate me into working with your friend—”

“Unethical methods!” Molly exclaimed. “You kissed me, just to humiliate me! What do you call that, morally upstanding?”

Jake grinned. “You didn't seem to mind at the time.”

“I was acting,” Molly said coldly. “I found the whole experience very unpleasant.”

“Then I'm impressed. You're a hell of an actress.”

Molly glared at him, nearly speechless with fury. With shaking hands she gathered up her papers and clutched them to her chest. “That's it,” she said through her teeth. “This discussion is over.”

He was chuckling as he watched her. “So soon? You were off to a good start, Professor. Blackmail can be very effective when it's done right. But then, you have a habit of starting games that you can't follow through, don't you?”

Berenger Chief Battles Wall Street Critics—and Rumors of Personal Chaos

Until recently, Jake Berenger, the flamboyant chief executive of Berenger Corporation, seemed to have it all. But even the mighty can fall. With Berenger stock languishing at an all-time low, the once-celebrated playboy billionaire is now dogged by rumors of serial womanizing and drug use. Mr. Berenger was unavailable for comment, but a company spokesman claimed that the accusations were without merit.

“I'm getting very tired of that term,” Jake said darkly, tossing the printout down onto his desk. It was late on Friday afternoon, and his office had just faxed him an article due to run in Saturday's
Washington Post.

“Playboy billionaire?” asked Cora. She had been reading over his shoulder. “You were the one who courted that image, dear. Isn't it a bit hypocritical to get angry at the press now that it's suddenly working against you?”

Jake leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms against his chest, and scowled at her.

She gazed right back at him. “Well,” she said, “don't worry. You won't have to suffer with it much longer. The stock is down almost two dollars since the
Wall Street Journal
article, which means that—technically—you aren't a billionaire anymore.”

“Thanks,” Jake said coldly. “That's great to hear. If you have any bright ideas about how to instantly repair my public image and get the stock price back up, I'd love to hear them. The best our PR department can do is to tell me to start promoting the Berenger Foundation. They say that our charitable donations have been too discreet, and I need to spend more time being photographed with sick children. How's that for hypocritical?”

“Over my dead body,” Cora said, looking appalled. “That can't have been their only idea. These people are supposed to be good.”

“They are, but they're not magicians. We're falling back on the usual strategy…trying to place positive articles while doing as much damage control as possible. I've been cutting costs for months, and rearranging our sales department, so our margins should be better this quarter, which will help. A market upswing would also be nice, but that one's out of my hands. It's going to take time.”

Cora sat silently, tapping her fingers against the arm of the chair. Her lips were pressed together, and he could see that she was thinking hard. Finally, she exhaled. “Your PR team is wrong,” she said. “This is not the time for the ‘usual strategy.’ This is an emergency situation. We need to be proactive.”

“Believe me,” Jake said, “I know. I've even been reconsidering the interview issue. But it's not going to help me to start talking to the press right now. If I suddenly show up on TV, everyone will ask the obvious question: Why? And under the circumstances, the obvious answer is that I'm in trouble and I'm trying to save myself. If the street starts speculating about internal problems at Berenger, things are going to get a lot worse.”

“I agree,” Cora said. “Now isn't the time to start giving interviews. You'll need to do it soon, but not yet. First, we have to give the press a better story about you. Then, when they have something new to focus on, we'll put you on TV.”

“You sound like you have something in mind,” Jake said.

“I do,” Cora said. She smiled at him. “It should make you very happy to hear that the era of the playboy billionaire is over. We're going to announce your official engagement to Amanda Harper.”

Jake started to laugh. “For a minute,” he said, “I thought you were serious.”

“I am,” Cora said indignantly. “And I haven't suddenly gone senile, so stop looking at me like that. It's a good idea. A splashy public engagement to a nice girl like Amanda would be the perfect way to handle your image problem. Everyone loves a reformed sinner. I can see the headlines now: ‘Playboy Tamed by True Love.'”

Jake was beginning to think that he was the only sane person left on the island. “Let me make sure that I understand you,” he said. “You want me to use Harry's daughter to patch up my reputation? Am I the only one who sees an ethical problem with this?”

“Yes,” Cora said. “Because there is no problem. I'm not suggesting that we lie to the Harpers. Harry will love this idea. It's just the kind of stunt he'd come up with, and Amanda is hardly shy. She'll adore all of the attention—she's her daddy's daughter, after all. She's young enough to enjoy the drama of a scheme like this.”

“And I'm old enough to know better,” Jake said. “Forget it.”

“All we need are a few months of you looking devoted and domestic. It will stop the rumors, make Skye's accusations look like sour grapes, improve your image, and give you the time you need to get the company back under control.”

“And then? What is my new fiancée going to say when I thank her and show her the door? Because that's exactly what I'll do. I have no intention of marrying Amanda Harper, or anyone else.”

“You don't have to marry her,” Cora said. “Engagements are broken all the time. Maybe Amanda won't like
you
once she gets to know you.”

“Or maybe we'll fall madly in love and live happily ever after? I appreciate your multilayer scheme, Ma, but this is more than I'm willing to do to indulge the tabloids. Or your hunger for grandchildren. Sorry. I'll figure out a way to handle this problem on my own.”

Cora exhaled impatiently. “This is the perfect solution, don't you see? And Amanda is the obvious choice. She's a family friend, not an outsider. She understands this world.”

“Her father
is a family friend,” Jake said. “Amanda is just a twenty-one-year-old kid. She may or may not understand what she'd be getting herself into. When Skye's manager called me to arrange our first date, Skye understood perfectly well that it was about business. It wasn't supposed to be personal, but look what happened.”

“It must be terrible to be so irresistible, darling,” Cora said dryly.

Jake ignored her. “Let's say that I do use Amanda Harper to build myself a new reputation as a born-again family man. What if she starts believing the hype?”

“That wouldn't happen,” Cora said stubbornly.

“I wonder. I see a lot of agendas involved with this plan of yours, and several of them conflict with mine.”

“Jake…”

“I'll tell you what else I see. Myself, in three months, being forced to choose between either marrying a woman I don't love, or facing another nasty public breakup
and
the loss of Harry Harper, my friend and most loyal board member. Not a pretty scenario, is it?”

Cora sighed. “All right,” she said. “I surrender. But you have to admit, it was a good idea.”

“Maybe. But to pull it off, we'd need a young, good-looking woman with a sterling reputation, no desire to use the press for her own purposes, and no interest in actually marrying me. We might be able to find a candidate at our local convent, but when you remember that she'd also need a talent for lying and deceit, it starts to look dicey. I don't know anyone who…” He broke off, startled. Unbelievable as it seemed, he actually did know someone who fit that bill.

“What?” Cora asked.

Jake frowned. Molly Shaw was more than attractive enough to make a believable fiancée. And he knew firsthand that she had a knack for lying and deceit. With her secret life as Sandra, and her associated paranoia about publicity, she was highly unlikely to start giving interviews à la Skye Elliot. And based on the way yesterday's encounter had ended, he felt safely able to say that she did not want to marry him.

“You're thinking of someone,” Cora said eagerly. “Who?”

“Someone who would never agree to do it,” he said. “Even if I decided to ask her. I'm not convinced that we need to take such drastic measures.”

Cora looked frustrated. “Well,” she said, “let me know when you are convinced. I just hope that by then, it won't be too late.”

CHAPTER 17

A
t nine
A.M.
on Saturday morning, Jake was back in his office at the villa. He had just finished breakfast on the terrace, and was attacking his e-mail inbox. He had almost a thousand messages waiting for reply or deletion, and that was only a week of backlog.

The phone rang. The villa had five lines, including a satellite link, but his private number was the only one that went directly to his desk without being answered by Cora's staff. He picked it up. “Yes?”

“It's me,” said Susan Horowitz, his executive assistant. “Good morning. I'm sure that it's much nicer weather where you are, but I don't want to hear about it.”

“Susan,” Jake said. “It's Saturday. Don't you have a personal life?” It was an old joke between them, and he knew for a fact that she did. Her ability to balance marriage, motherhood, the minute details of his business schedule, and a significant chunk of the rest of his life said a lot about her natural level of efficiency.

“Listen,” Susan said. “I just got a very strange phone call from Ed Thatcher's office at Atlas. His assistant tracked me down at home—I don't know how, and it's creepy to think about it—but the thing is that Ed wants to talk to you. Now. They gave me a number to call to connect you.”

“Why?” Jake asked warily. He didn't know Ed Thatcher personally, and he didn't want to. Ed was CEO of Atlas Group, Berenger's main competitor. They were by far the largest hotel and resort group on the planet, and also operated a line of luxury cruise ships.

“Don't know,” Susan said. “They didn't say.”

“Shit,” Jake muttered. Recently, Atlas had been swallowing smaller companies like a lion gulping down chunks of bloody meat. When an interviewer on CNBC had asked Ed about Atlas Group's latest acquisitions, Ed had chuckled and said that the current market prices of those companies had made it look as if the NYSE was having a fifty-percent-off sale, and he just loved to shop.

“Do you want me to stall? I can tell them that I can't find you.”

“No,” Jake said. “I'll talk to him. Put me through.” He had a bad feeling that he knew what this was about, and if he was right, he needed to confirm it immediately. Berenger stock had dropped again on Friday. If Ed Thatcher was calling now, on a weekend, just days before Christmas, it was not to wish Jake a happy holiday. It was to make him the Christmas goose.