That Dating Thing (17 page)

Rylee laughed, but sobered quickly. They’d exceeded their goal, with promises of a fresh infusion of cash totaling just under eight hundred thousand. But what would happen to those pledges once the press outside her condo wrote their stories and the articles hit the newsstands?

“I should never have come back here, Sil. I could have hired someone to work with Brian on Agnes’s buildings, and you and I could have looked for projects out of Jackson.”

“Sweetheart, the two of us were growing old before our times in Jackson. My memories of Adam were killing me, and you were in danger of becoming an eccentric, southern spinster.”

“I was born in New York, remember?” Rylee pointed out. “And I don’t think I’d make a very good eccentric.” She didn’t mention spinster, a fate worse than death in Sil’s book. Unfortunately, it looked like
A Spinster’s Life
would be the title of Rylee’s memoirs.

“You’re missing my point, Rylee. You did the right thing coming back here, and I’m glad you talked me into coming with you. Why, I never would have met Elliott if you hadn’t, and some very deserving families are tickled pink you came back to town.”

“Deserving families who will now have the press hounding them, thanks to me.”

“Honey, your vets are used to facing enemies a whole lot tougher than the New York press corps. They’ll be fine. Now, tell me. What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea, but I’ll tell you what I’m
not
doing. I’m not running. Not this time.” She scowled across the room at the multiple Prince Charmings. “I haven’t done a damned thing wrong.”

“That’s my girl. Remember, sugar, you’re not alone. I’m here for you, and so is Elliott. Brian too, not to mention Tony and the boys.”

Sil was right. She wasn’t alone. Plenty of people loved her and believed in her. Peter Morris may have given her life, but she was her own woman, forged under the shadow of deceit and greed. Her record in the charitable world stood on its own merits, and starting tomorrow, she would make sure everyone knew it.

As for Cooper Reed, he could go to hell.

Chapter Eighteen

Rylee’s face was everywhere. Several angles of the same shot, her features blurred slightly by the cab’s dirty window, graced the front pages of the morning papers. Expecting mug shot quality results from yesterday’s flash mob, she was surprised to find that other than the panic in her eyes, the shots weren’t so bad.

The articles were something else. Details were slim and facts were even rarer. Innuendo and speculation made up for the lack of information. Several publications quoted the same anonymous source, questioning the connection between The Adam’s House Foundation and the daughter of Wall Street’s most infamous schemer, Ponzi Pete Morris. In addition, the same source wanted to know why Cooper Reed, the man expected to succeed the city’s current district attorney, would help conceal that connection.

If Coop
had
been the one to rat her out to the press, he caught himself in his own trap. His handsome face appeared right beside hers in the morning editions. He’d yet to make a statement, probably because he’d been too busy leaving messages on her cell—thirty-two at last count. One would think he’d get the hint and give up.

Eyeing the crowd on the sidewalk in front of River View, her resolve to set the record straight wavered. Yesterday’s feeding frenzy had shrunk, or maybe the decreased number of journalists had more to do with the fact that the sun had barely begun to rise. A mere handful of determined sharks remained, but the idea of facing even one member of the press made her heart pound with trepidation.

Though she wanted to, she didn’t request the cabbie drop her off around back. The foundation’s reputation was her main concern, and the sooner she made herself available, proving she had nothing to hide, the sooner the speculation would wane.

Her knees knocked as she climbed from the cab. The half-dozen reporters rushed her before she could take two steps, thrusting microphones and tape recorders in her face.

“Alison Morris?” a cultured voice demanded.

“My birth certificate says Alison Rylee Pierce Morris. I legally changed my name to Rylee Pierce when I turned eighteen.”

“Richard Wallis, WCBJ. Why did you change your name? Were you hoping to conceal your identity?”

The model-handsome Wallis had the kind of looks that would carry him straight to an anchor’s chair, if that were his ambition. The idiocy of his question qualified him as the perfect candidate in Rylee’s opinion. She disliked him on sight.

“Is that a rhetorical question or do you really not know the answer?” The sarcastic remark popped out of her mouth before she could stop. She gulped a bracing breath. “Ponzi Pete Morris is my father.” She smiled thinly. “Of course I wanted to conceal my identity.”

“So you could follow in his footsteps without notice?”

His green eyes were bright with excitement, as though he were calculating the career boost gained by climbing onto the back of Ponzi Pete’s daughter. Rylee didn’t understand the appeal of piggyback rides, never had, especially when she was the one expected to do the carrying.

“His footsteps took him to maximum security. If he was your father, would
you
want to follow him?”

Several folks in the crowd chuckled.

“That doesn’t answer the question of why you changed your name.”

“I changed my name in order to avoid people like you. I faced my first
press conference
the day they dragged my father away in handcuffs. I was eleven.” She glanced around pointedly. “It looked a lot like this.”

“I don’t make the news, Ms. Morris,” Wallis pointed out with a lofty tilt of his chin. “I report it.”

“Then it must be a slow news day.”

“What is your association with The Adam’s House Foundation?” someone else asked.

“Adam Burke wasn’t just a hero, he was my best friend. I contributed the founding donation to Adam’s House, to honor his ultimate sacrifice and the sacrifices of many other brave men and women.” She spoke over the multiple follow-up questions. “And before you ask, my maternal grandmother left the money to me in trust. The Justice Department has verified the legitimacy of the inheritance. If any of you are interested, the report is available online.”

“So your association is that of a donor?”

“I’ve been known to swing a hammer on occasion. As a volunteer, I help wherever I can, but I’m not on the board and I don’t have access to the foundation’s funds.”

“You are listed as a resident of River View,” Mr. Piggyback pushed. “Adam’s House claims to provide housing for military vets. In what branch of the service did you serve, Ms. Morris?”

“Bless your heart,” she cooed, bumping up the southern drawl and curling her lips in the sweet smile Sil employed when going in for the kill. “You should demand a rebate on that expensive journalism degree you purchased. They forgot to teach you to verify your facts before you make an accusation. By the way,” she added when his handsome face flooded with angry color, “you can call me Ms.
Pierce
.”

She turned back to the snickering crowd. “For the record, my grandmother’s estate included three warehouses here in Long Island City, two of which I signed over to the foundation as part of my donation. River View wasn’t one of them. It’s my home.”

“Melody Brighton with the Village Ledger, Ms. Pierce.” The lone female in the group jumped in. “What can you tell us about Cooper Reed?”

“I can tell you he’s gorgeous,” Rylee drawled, earning a few more chuckles.

“You’ll get no argument from me.” Melody grinned before getting back to business. “The two of you have been seen together on several occasions over the past few weeks. What is the nature of your relationship?”

Rylee arched a brow. “I’m a girl, he’s a boy.”

“You’re dating?”

Rylee shrugged and offered the same response she’d given Sil all those weeks ago. “We’ve shared a few meals.”

“What else have you shared?” Wallis interjected.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s a law enforcement official and a public figure, Ms.
Pierce
,” Wallis clarified. “One who should know better than to become involved with someone with such dubious, familial ties.”

“You’ll have to excuse me, Richard.” She batted her eyelids and cocked her head. “Or is it Dick? I don’t share your nuanced language skills. Did you have an actual question or were you making a speech?”

“Did the two of you ever discuss the missing funds from your father’s nefarious enterprise?” he demanded.

Clearly, Rylee’s back wasn’t the only one Wallis planned to exploit. In the scheme of things, Cooper Reed represented the bigger prize. From Coop’s wide shoulders, it would be a short climb to the top of the journalism ladder.

The self-important reporter had just handed her the opportunity to deflect attention away from her and the foundation, while gaining a measure of revenge for her battered heart. All she had to do was keep her big mouth shut. The ensuing speculation would be the death of Coop’s political dreams.

But her sense of fair play wouldn’t let her take advantage of the opportunity. She was as much to blame for her broken heart as Coop. Telling him the truth from the beginning, he would have walked away and none of this would have happened. She gave Coop the cover she wished she could provide for herself.

“Since he knew me only as Rylee Pierce,” she answered, “the subject didn’t come up.”

“And now that your identity has been revealed?”

“Now that it has, we no longer share meals. He’s an officer of the law.” She bared her teeth in a humorless smile. “And I’m the daughter of a thief. We’ve moved on.”

Melody’s disapproving eyes jerked up from her notepad. “He dumped you when he discovered who your father is?”

Pretty much.

But Rylee would be keeping that to herself, and whether Coop realized it or not he owed her a boon. Time to collect.

“His future is bound to include far too many of these impromptu gatherings for my taste.” She smirked, satisfaction leaching into her voice. “I dumped
him
.”

The reporter’s lips twisted in a smile full of feminine approval before rounding in a startled “Oh”. As one, the cameras swung to a spot over Rylee’s left shoulder.

“Is that a fact?”

Shoulders stiffening, she completed a slow turn to meet Coop’s raised brow.

****

“What are you doing here?” Rylee’s voice held a bland note of boredom, but Coop wasn’t fooled. The wariness in her big, wounded eyes telegraphed her anxiety. At facing him or dealing with the press, he wasn’t sure. Being Rylee, she covered her distress with a smartass quip. “Isn’t there a deviant jaywalker somewhere you should be investigating?”

Despite the flashing cameras, Coop’s grin was genuine. Damn, she was something else. She would make the perfect district attorney’s wife. As he’d listened to her, working the press with her typical mix of sarcasm and wit, disbelief warred with respect. Underlying both was relief she hadn’t skipped town after all, along with an urgent need to hustle her away, sit her down and coach her through the minefield of media interest—
after
he kissed her senseless.

Though she’d been holding her own with the others, handling their questions with exactly the right lack of concern, she’d made an enemy of Wallis. Coop knew from experience, the network hopeful didn’t take kindly to being made the fool. And Rylee managed the feat while the competitor’s cameras were rolling. Wallis wouldn’t let the hit to his colossal ego go unanswered.

Because of Coop’s clumsy handling of Tim’s report, the press, led by Wallis, was in full-out attack mode, with both Rylee and he caught in the crosshairs. It would take some fancy footwork to turn the attention to their advantage. Professionally, he’d done what he could to minimize the fallout, officially submitting Tim’s investigation to District Attorney Burns. Personally, he still had his work cut out for him. Sizing up the situation, he saw an opportunity to repair the damage with Rylee, while serving up a twist to the story the press wouldn’t be able to resist. All he needed was a little bit of luck.

“Now, baby,” he crooned. “These people don’t know your sense of humor the way I do. They’re going to think you don’t like me.”

To his utter surprise, he witnessed the rare sight of a speechless Rylee Pierce. Her mouth gaped open, but no sound emerged. His grin widened as he enjoyed the novelty of an experience he wasn’t bound to face again anytime soon.

Draping an arm across her shoulders, he addressed the press. “I see you’ve met my fiancée.”

All eyes settled on Rylee, who stilled after her attempt to dislodge his arm had failed.

“I’m not… He’s not…” She clenched her jaw and gritted her response to their avid audience. “We are
not
engaged!”

“She’s stubborn,” he said, winking at Melody. “She won’t say yes until she sees the ring.”

“I haven’t said yes because I was never asked a question,” Rylee growled. “He’s an idiot,” she told the crowd, turning to glare up at him. “You’re an idiot.”

“The last I knew,” Wallis interrupted, “you and Ashley Connor were an item, Mr. Reed. According to my sources, you escorted her home from the foundation’s fundraiser two days ago. When exactly did your supposed engagement to Ms. Pierce come about?”

Coop ignored Rylee’s accusatory sneer, meeting Wallis’ sly smile. Like a murky puzzle finally solved, the scattered pieces shifted into place. Fingers of fury clenched around Coop’s stiffened spine.

Tim had spoken to his contacts, attempting to discover who gave the information in his report to the press. Coop never considered he, himself, might have contributed to the leak. The memory of Ashley, holding the file when he brought her the blanket the night of the fundraiser, had been lost in his frantic search for Rylee. And later, after the story broke, he’d been too busy with spin control. He’d only left Ashley alone for a moment, while he went to the trunk, but a moment was long enough for her to have scanned the damning top page.