Man Trouble (25 page)

“Sorry,” Jake said. His voice was neutral, but his arm felt like iron around Molly. “No time to talk. Excuse us.”

Before Molly had a chance to say anything else, he was moving her away, walking her briskly toward the exit doors. Curious stares followed them.

“Where are we going?” she asked, hurrying along with him, trying not to stumble over the hem of her gown. Something about his stride and his silence suggested that all was not well.

He didn't answer, nor did he release her. They passed the marble reception desk with its towering arrangements of flowers, and approached the row of elevators.

“What's happening?” Molly asked. Still, he said nothing. There was a uniformed security guard next to the private elevator, who nodded to Jake and used his key to open the doors. They stepped in, the doors closed, and only then did Jake let go of her. Molly was surprised to see that his face was set into grim lines.

“Your secret is safe with me,”
he said coldly. “Very cute. Too bad I didn't catch the reference earlier.”

“Huh?” Molly said.

“It's what I said on the day that I figured out that you were Sandra. You asked me not to tell, and I told you that your secret was safe with me. You repeated that back to me earlier this evening, before we left the apartment. What was that supposed to be, a warning? A test?”

Molly frowned. “This is so strange,” she said. “I don't
think
I'm drunk, but I'm finding this conversation very hard to follow, so maybe I—”

“Why the hell didn't you talk to me before you decided that I was the villain? I would have told you that I wasn't the one who gave away your secret. I had nothing to do with it.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open into the apartment's entrance foyer. Molly walked out into the hall, her gown making a whisking noise as the hem brushed against the stone floor. Through the archway leading to the living room, she could see the wide glass windows and the lights of the city below.

Jake followed her. “Who was the reporter? And what did you say to her?”

“I don't remember her name,” Molly said. “But she was from the
National Enquirer.”

“Great,” he muttered. He strode past her into the living room and toward the bar, where he pulled a crystal highball glass from the rack on the wall and poured himself a straight shot of whiskey. He turned to face her again.

“Let me remind you that you signed a legally binding confidentiality agreement. Anything you said to the press will be evidence in court when I sue you for every goddamned penny you have. You should have done your homework before you messed with me, Molly. I am not a nice guy when I'm crossed.”

Molly giggled. “You do seem cross,” she said. “And it's true, you aren't being very nice.” Now that she was away from the noise and excitement of the crowd, she could feel the effects of the champagne. The buzz, combined with the heady relief of having successfully handled the press, was making her giddy.

Jake set his glass down on the bar with a thump, and the amber liquid sloshed up to touch the rim. “You're drunk? I don't believe this.”

“No, no.” Molly said quickly. “Just a little light-headed, honestly. I was a very respectable fiancée. Now, what were you saying about suing me for every penny I have? I'm sorry—I'll be serious this time.”

“This is
a joke
to you?” Jake demanded.

“I'm not sure,” Molly said. “If I knew what you were talking about, I might have a better answer.”

“I'm talking about the fact that you
think
you have a reason to want to destroy me. I know what's going on, Molly. There was no jealous professor at Belden who told the press about Sandra. You think I'm the one who told them. And you just paid me back in kind, didn't you? What did you tell the
Enquirer
reporter?”

“Oh,” Molly said. Now she understood. Somehow, Jake had figured out that she knew the truth about what he'd done, and he had panicked, thinking that she would use the night's spotlight as her chance for revenge. It was a reasonable fear—she had considered the idea when it occurred to her earlier that evening. She had been shocked to realize that she actually had the power to hurt him in a way that had made her original plan seem about as painful as a mosquito bite. If she really wanted an eye for an eye, then exposing Jake's scheme to the press would be the way to do it. She had had the perfect opportunity when he had left her alone.

Jake was staring at her, and she was secretly glad to see him looking so tense. In her opinion, he deserved more than a few moments of agony, and she was in no hurry to ease his mind. “You're the one who should have done his homework,” she said. “I spent my whole life working to earn that job at Belden. It was all I ever wanted, and then you came along and ruined everything. What made you think that I would just say, ‘Gosh, that's a shame,’ and then help you? Do I look like a human sacrifice? Maybe so, but I'm not.”

“I didn't have anything to do with the loss of your job,” Jake said. “My mother and I both knew that you were Sandra, but neither of us told anyone else, especially not the press.”

“Oh, please,” Molly scoffed, her temper rising. “Who else would have told them? Carter? Elaine? I don't think so.
They
are my friends.
They
care about me. You just saw an opportunity to use me…”

“Actually,” Jake said, “a lot of people—including your friends—stood to gain from you leaving Belden and helping me. Your friend Carter gets his interview, your friend Elaine is taking credit for the introduction, your publisher gets to sell more books, your agent makes more money…stop me anytime. Why was I the only suspect?”

“This is ridiculous!” Molly exclaimed. “Of course it was you. You already threatened me once. I kept the secret for more than a year without any problem, and then, a week after I told you, it was all over the papers. My friends would never sell me out. You, on the other hand…”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I wouldn't have helped you otherwise. And you said yourself that my notoriety would be useful.”

“Yes, but that doesn't mean—” Jake began angrily, and then stopped himself. He took a breath, and said, “I hope you aren't expecting to walk away from this. You're looking at a lawsuit and public exposure like you never even imagined. You might hate me and want to see me ruined, but it won't be worth the price you'll pay.”

“I don't hate you,” Molly said.

Jake gave a short, humorless laugh. “Then God help me if you ever decide that you do.”

“Oh, good grief. Look, there isn't any scandal. I was talking to the reporter about my next book. That's all.”

He shook his head. “Nope. I don't buy it. She looked too interested in whatever you were telling her.”

“Excuse me, but you aren't the only interesting topic available for discussion. I was telling her about the sequel to
Pirate Gold.”

“You were baiting me before we left the apartment. You can't tell me now that you weren't planning something.”

She sighed. “I admit that I considered exposing the fake engagement. But I didn't do it.”

“Why not? You had the chance. If I'd known what was really going on, I sure as hell wouldn't have sent you downstairs to meet the press. That should prove that I had nothing to do with outing you as Sandra. Why would I put my own neck on the block if I thought you had an ax and a reason to swing it?”

“You didn't know that I knew the truth,” Molly said, but she felt a sudden flicker of doubt. “You thought you were safe.”

“Believe me,” Jake said, “that's not a risk I would have taken. I'll say it again. I did not give away your secret. You're going to have to look elsewhere for your villain.”

He met Molly's eyes squarely, his jaw set. She looked back at him. In the novels she'd read, and even in the book she'd written, characters were always seeing the truth in each other's eyes, as if there were subtitles scrolling across their irises. But as she gazed at Jake, she saw only an unnervingly handsome man with a level stare and a grim look on his face. The truth, whatever it might be, was not going to present itself so easily.

“Why didn't you go through with it?” he asked.

Molly hesitated. The answer was tangled up in a complex mixture of feelings, and she wasn't going to try to explain it to Jake before she had sorted it out for herself. She lifted her chin slightly. “I don't know. I didn't want to.”

“That's not a satisfactory answer,” Jake said. “I want some assurance that I'm not gambling my entire future on your daily mood. You're in a position to do me a lot of harm if you decide that you do
want
to.”

Molly didn't answer. She was troubled by his insistence that he had not told the press about Sandra. It wasn't that she had expected him to admit everything—that would be foolish, and Jake was no fool.

But now she was more confused than ever. There was no way to know if his denial was sincere. His words sounded heartfelt, but maybe she was just gullible. What did she know about Jake Berenger's heart, after all?

CHAPTER 24

Novelist Greets Fans at Berenger Bash

Molly Shaw, also known as novelist Sandra St. Claire and the fiancée of real estate mogul Jake Berenger, signed autographs for fans waiting outside the new Berenger Grand last night. Some had come from as far away as New Jersey in hopes of catching a glimpse of the mysterious author, who was sporting an enormous diamond on her left hand. Ms. Shaw's first novel,
Pirate Gold
, a meaty and meticulously researched historical saga, was a runaway best seller…

“Meaty,” Molly said, thumping the
Post
onto the table in front of Jake. She sounded outraged. “Meticulously researched! Can you believe this?”

Jake stirred sugar into his coffee and glanced down at the article. “Sounds good to me. What's the problem?”

“Six months ago, they called it sleazy! What changed? Not the book, that's for sure.”

“Two words,” Jake said. “Tom Amadeo. He has a finger on every keyboard.”

Molly shook her head in disbelief. “But that's crazy. Isn't there any kind of objective reality?”

“Sure. The people who actually read your book, liked it, and told their friends to buy it. Other than that, it's all hype. But that's the way the world works.”

“Apparently so,” Molly said. “If Napoleon Bonaparte had had a better publicist, he'd probably be known as a visionary who brought codified laws to Europe, instead of as an egocentric dictator.”

Jake grinned. “A nice guy, old Napoleon. Just a family man, underneath it all.”

“Right,” Molly said dryly. “Like you.”

They were having breakfast at a round glass table tucked into the corner of Jake's living room. The two outer walls were made of floor-to-ceiling glass, giving the impression that the table was perched on the edge of a cliff.

Jake was trying to shake off a feeling of vertigo. He wasn't sure whether the sensation was brought on by the view or by Molly's presence. The innocuous tone of the morning news reports had confirmed that she had been telling him the truth last night. She hadn't leaked the story. As a result, Jake was breathing a little easier. Operation Family Man was turning out to be very much like windsurfing on a blustery day—lots of forward momentum and an exciting ride, coupled with the constant threat of capsizing. And he had been sailing in very deep water lately.

“I've got some work to finish this morning,” he said to Molly. “But we'll be leaving for the airport at two. I'm going to Miami, but the plane will take you to Antigua, and the resort helicopter will meet you there. I'll be back at Gold Bay early on Friday.”

Molly nodded. “I'm already packed. I hung that taffeta dress in the closet.”

“You're welcome to take it,” Jake said. “It's yours.”

“Oh,” Molly said. “Is it?” She cast a glance down at the
Post
article, which was accompanied by a photo of her signing books outside the Berenger Grand. With the sprayed hair and the conservative gown, she bore an uncanny resemblance to Ambassador Pamela Harriman—in her later years.

“I think I'll leave it,” she said, and Jake could hardly blame her. She put her napkin on the table and stood up. “I'm going out for a while. I'll be back before two.”

Something about her manner caught Jake's attention. “Where are you going?”

Molly seemed startled by the question, as if she hadn't expected him to ask. “Oh, nowhere,” she said. “Nowhere important, I mean. I just thought I'd do some shopping.”

“Sounds good,” Jake said, looking curiously at her. Her tone was a little too bright and casual.

“On Madison Avenue,” Molly added. “I thought I'd walk over there and look at the stores. And then I'm meeting Elaine for lunch at La Grenouille.”

Jake nodded, but a prickle of alarm moved through him. She was lying. He didn't know why he was so sure, but he would have bet money on it.

“No need to walk,” he said, watching her. “Take a hotel car. We have one on standby for you.”

“The limousine? Oh, no. I can't ride around town in a stretch limo. I'll feel ridiculous. Really, it's fine—”

“We have other cars. Take a sedan. The driver can handle your shopping bags for you.”

“That's not necessary. I wasn't planning on buying much.”

“Even so, La Grenouille is too far to walk.”

She looked dismayed. “I'll just get a cab—”

“Why bother, when we already have a car for you?”
And a driver to keep an eye on you,
he added silently.
Or is that the problem?
He was getting a bad feeling about this. He remembered Molly's animated conversation with the
Enquirer
reporter and wondered if he had been too quick to relax and sound the all-clear.

“Right,” Molly said. She looked frustrated. “Of course. It makes much more sense to take the car. I'll stop by the front desk on my way out and arrange it.”

“No need,” Jake said. “I'll call while you're in the elevator. The driver will meet you in front of the main entrance in five minutes.”

Molly's smile did not reach her eyes. “How thoughtful,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Glad to help,” Jake said pleasantly. “Enjoy your morning.”