What a Girl Wants (8 page)

“Look, Lady, three Gs is a bargain for what you’re asking me to find out,” Bernie said. “You get what you pay for.”

“You think?” He was right, and he
was
a hell of a lot cheaper than the others she had interviewed. However, she was sure the others hadn’t received their certification on the Internet, where a single click got you enrolled and certified in three weeks.

 “You still there?” he asked.

“Hang on.” She grabbed her purse, dug out her last bank statement and checked her savings.
Shit,
she’d have to cut a few corners when she got back home. “I’ll give you one thousand now and one thousand when you hand me viable information.”

He was silent.

“That’s the best I can do. Take it or leave it.” She hoped there was a recession in the spy business and he accepted her offer
.
“I’ll give you my Visa number— ”

“Okay. Okay. But no credit card. Cash only. You know where to wire it.” He hung up.

She shut her cell phone. A few minutes later, its ring tone sang the
Mary Tyler Moore
theme song. She’d caught the reruns on
Nick at Night
when she was a tween. She used to throw a hat in the air and sing the show’s song. She also used to wish Mary Richards were a mother. Hers. Hip. Smart. Funny. Career oriented. If she was fated to be raised by a single mother, who better than Mary Richards?

She sighed and answered her phone. “Maddie Saunders.”

The call from California couldn’t have come at a better time.

She couldn’t wait to share her elation with Alex. After eating a light dinner, she showered, dressed and waited for him to pick her up. As she was slipping on her heels, she heard a light tap and opened the door, ready to explode with her news.

Alex’s sexual magnetism froze her right down to her toes. His arm was braced against the doorframe, and his dark and unfathomable eyes cast a soft, hazy gaze.

His stance emphasized his physique. His slim hips were encased in tanned Dockers. The dark chocolate-colored button-down shirt that barely held his ripped chest, matched the brown in his eyes. All that collided with her exciting news and shot her pulse into a different time zone.

She swallowed hard and stepped aside as he walked into the room.

“Hey.” He took hold of her hand. “Sorry for losing my cool today.”

His touch unhinged her. She backed away and paced.

He shot an arm out and clutched her wrist. “Slow down. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing wrong. It’s all good.” She smiled. “I just found out that my article, ‘Roller Coaster Vacations: America’s Scream Machines’ won first prize in the Thomas Cook Competition.” The two-thousand-dollar prize would boost her savings account. “They also want to use my video footage on the Great Escape Travel show.”

“Would it sound sappy if I told you I was proud of you?”

She giggled. “Sappy’s cool.”

“Then come here.”

She stepped into his outstretched arms and savored his freshly showered and musky essence while he hugged her. “I’m proud of you,” he said and released her.

“This is my first international win. The nausea on those roller coasters was worth it.”

“You deserve it. I know how hard you worked on that piece.”

The pride in his face brought a smile to her heart.

His gorgeous looks had never been lost on her, but ever since they’d arrived, his nearness had upset her balance and left her speechless
¾
not an easy feat, some would say.

“Tim and I will take you out to celebrate this week. Now, are you ready to go?”

His gaze held on her face for a minute, then slid over her body slowly. Her instinctive response to him was so powerful, she was hot and bothered in a span of a few seconds. Oh gawd, if he kept it up she was going to have to jump in the shower and change into another pair of panties. Was it even possible to have an orgasm just staring at him?

“Maddie? You coming?”

Shit.
She hadn’t voiced that aloud, had she?

The heat in her face matched the flame between her legs. He looked concerned. He must have referred to something else and not, thankfully, her thoughts of orgasms.

He lifted her chin. “You okay?”

“Yes, but…” She fanned her face with her hands. “After this win, won’t the pressure for an award-winning travel piece about Makana be even higher? What if I don’t meet Uncle George’s expectations? My uncle seemed concerned about me taking this assignment.” She put a hand to her dizzying head. “I’m becoming neurotic, obsessive and out of control about work. Like you. I can’t let that happen.”

He grinned. “You’ll be fine. How many times have I said that you’re an excellent travel writer? I enjoy all your work.”

“You read
all
my articles?” She was surprised at his admission.

“Every single one.” He quirked his brows. “Wait a minute, don’t you read all of mine?”

“Mostly. Except, when you get on your soap box
¾
”

“Okay. You’re back to your old self. Let’s hit the road.”

His hand rested on the small of her back. A fresh batch of goosebumps erupted.

They left her suite and headed to the Hollister mansion.

Maxwell Hollister held a firm grip on the telephone as he listened to her pleas.

“I can’t believe you’re going to do this,” she shouted over the phone.

Her sultry voice, though fuming, projected her image into his mind. A picture of her sprawled in bed with her mass of chestnut hair and a body that should be labeled “flammable.”

“Believe it, darling,” he drawled. “Because it is going down.”

“What about everything I did for you? I was loyal to you. How could you do this to me?”

“You? Loyal?” He let out a raucous laugh. “You did this to yourself. You and the others who conspired against me.”

“I had no choice. Why can’t you understand that?” a tear-smothered voice whispered in response. “All you’ve ever done is ruin my life.”

At one time, the thought of her exotic brown eyes filled with tears would have crushed him, and he would have punished the person who had dared caused her distress.

At one time, she was the only woman who had thawed his stone-cold heart.

At one time.

But not anymore.

“Ruined your life?” He injected a heavy dose of scorn. “You were one step from turning tricks on the street before I came along.”

“Oh my God. You’d use that against me?” Her voice lowered. “Please, I’m vulnerable—”

“You’re about as defenseless as a cruise missile.”

“You cruel bastard. What’s next, ordering a hit on me?”

“If I was going to kill you, I’d be stepping over your body right now.”

“I hate you.”

“So far you’ve made that work for you.” He stood and looked out the window. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I’ll tell you what. Go to hell.”

“Is that the best you can do?” Bored with the conversation, he pressed his thumb on the “End” button and disconnected.

Curses fell from his lips at the thought of how her mouth had formed the vile lies and contrived the hideous plan.

How dare she betray him? How dare they all betray him?

The need for revenge was now his priority.

At the sound of voices out in the foyer, Maxwell buttoned his suit jacket, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, curving his mouth into a cynical grin that he was sure rivaled that of any villain, real or fictional.

Not only was he going to reclaim what was rightfully his, he’d also take pleasure in ruining a few lives along the way.

“Mr. Donovan. Miss Saunders.” Hollister’s valet had a subtle Gaelic accent. “Welcome.”

Alex nodded and returned his press pass to his wallet. He noticed the valet’s ruddy face melted like butter when he smiled at Maddie.

“Mr. Hollister has requested the pleasure of your company in his study.” The valet led them through a green marbled floor hallway with two Jackson Pollock paintings adorning the walls.

They entered the austere study. A carved oak roll-top desk occupied the center of the room. Two black onyx leather chairs were placed beside glass-topped pewter tables.

Everything in the room was large and expensive: the floor-to-ceiling oak bookcase, the furniture, the man.

Maxwell Hollister strutted with authority and held his head high with pride. Alex thought the tall and broad-shouldered man looked to be in exceptional shape for a sixty-eight-year old. He had a shock of silver hair and dark green eyes. Their coldness matched the marble in the foyer.

Maxwell Hollister shook Alex’s hand with a firm grip. “Mr. Donovan.”

Hollister’s eyes bore into him like a hunter searching for signs of weakness in his prey. Odd, Alex thought. Why so intense for a casual meet and greet?

He returned Hollister’s hard stare and nodded. “Mr. Hollister.”

Hollister turned his back, apparently dismissing him, and focused his attention on Maddie. He cupped her hand with both of his and smiled. His adversarial manner vanished.

Alex stood behind her and studied the billionaire’s reaction.

“You’ve blossomed into a lovely young lady.” Hollister stared at Maddie as if he were photographing her with his eyes. “Your eyes are like exquisite emeralds.”

A feeling of distrust heightened Alex’s awareness, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. He gauged Maddie’s reaction. Her eyes widened and a pink tinge crept up from her neck to settle on her cheeks. He inched his way closer to her and placed a possessive hand on her shoulder.

Hollister kept his gaze transfixed on her. “Madison Elizabeth Saunders.” He paused and took a deep breath. “At last we meet.”

“What the hell does he mean by that?” Alex didn’t realize he’d voiced his concern aloud until both Maddie and Hollister turned and gaped at him.

Chapter Eight

“He looked about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food cake.”

—Raymond Chandler

Suspicion hit Alex harder than a slap shot between a goal post. “What’s going on here?”

“I’m welcoming my guest,” Hollister answered with cool ease.

“How do you know Maddie’s full name?”

“I’m a fan of Madison’s work.” He pierced Alex with a cutting expression. “It’s informative, and her commentary is amusing.” He nodded toward Maddie. “Her name is written in the magazine.”

Alex’s bullshit detector was on high alert. “She signs her column as Maddie.”

“My full name is listed in the masthead,” Maddie whispered next to his ear. “Now stop embarrassing me.” She smiled at the billionaire. “Please excuse him, Mr. Hollister. He still has jet lag, and he’s…Alex.”

The old guy stepped to Maddie’s side and extended his arm. “Shall we? My chef has prepared éclairs, fresh strawberries dipped in Belgian chocolate and hazelnut biscotti.”

“You
do
read my column. I probably mention chocolate and my favorite desserts more times than I realize.” Her smile broadened and she crooked her arm in Maxwell’s. She turned and whispered to Alex, “Follow us and try to behave.”

Alex studied Maxwell and Maddie for the next couple of hours. Hollister rarely left her side and when he did, it was for short intervals. Maxwell introduced Maddie to numerous men. Bachelors who were dot-com millionaires or born with a silver spoon. From the sounds of it, Hollister had flown them in for a cocktail party. That alone sent alarm bells ringing.

At one point, Maxwell extricated himself from Maddie and headed to his study.

Alex followed him, leaving a happy Maddie by the dessert table.

Alex knocked on the open door. “I’d like a few minutes alone with you.”

“Come in.” Maxwell poured brandy into a crystal glass. “Drink?”

“No thanks.” Alex shook his head. “I have a few questions.”

“I’m flying to New York City on business in the morning. I’ll be back in a couple of days. You can set up an interview then.” Maxwell threw a folder on the desk, rolled the top down, leaned against it and pinned Alex with a glare. “I informed Madison you’re both more than welcome to use my personal spa and grounds. I could arrange female company for you and your photographer.”

“What are you running here?” Alex asked. “First you try to pawn off Maddie to the stable of high-class studs you invited tonight and now you want to distract me with women.”

Maxwell’s gray brows drew together in an affronted frown. “I resent your insinuation. I am merely extending my hospitality. It would do Madison good to network with eligible, young millionaires. She deserves the opportunity to meet the best of society’s
¾
”

“What she does or doesn’t deserve is not your concern. And call off your sad excuses for security men. I’ve spotted them in hallways, restaurants and nightclubs. I don’t want them tailing us.”

“It’s routine.” Maxwell’s hand trembled slightly as he held his brandy snifter. “I have enemies in the business world. I have to be careful.”

“I don’t like being treated like a suspect. Call them off, or we leave.”

 “There’s no need for you to leave. I’ve already informed security that your small group is of no threat to my safety.”

On the outside, Maxwell appeared to be a confident executive, someone who would never be intimidated by anyone, least of all a reporter. However, the way he poured another brandy and knocked it back—this was a man in need of a drink.

“Are your business interests only in the financial industry?”

“Didn’t you do your homework, Donovan? The Hollister Corporation is an international conglomerate.”

Alex leaned casually against the arm of the leather chair. “My
homework
led me to a gap about twenty some years ago. Why did you suddenly leave for Milan? You had irons in several fires, but then you up and left. It seems odd you would take off for five years to a place where you have no business interests.”

“I have relatives in Italy. My mother’s side. Like yours.”

Touché for the billionaire.
He obviously did his own homework on Alex’s background. That wasn’t going to faze Alex.

Maxwell skewered him with an icy glare. “Why all these questions?”

“Isn’t that why you summoned us to the island? So I can ask the questions and you can answer?” Alex purposely dripped his words with sarcasm before he added, “I want to know why you specifically requested Maddie Saunders for this assignment.”

“Makana has been my home for some time. I’d like Madison’s column to raise the island’s profile and boost tourism.”

“Let’s see if I have this straight. You’ve been a recluse for the past twenty-nine years or so, and now, you not only want to expose your secluded life in an interview, but you want to draw attention to this island?”

“It will help Makana’s economy,” Maxwell responded with an air of indifference. “Especially since the travel industry has been suffering for the past few years.”

“You could have hired a public relations firm and financed a guerilla-style advertising campaign. What’s really going on here?”

A muscle twitched in the older man’s jaw. He rose and prowled around the desk to face Alex. “I do not tolerate this type of invasive questioning.”

“What did you expect? I’m a reporter
¾
”

“Ah, yes.” Maxwell sneered. “The Pulitzer Prize winner.”

Alex took a step closer and stared him down. “I know when something is out of place. And your interest in Maddie is out of place.”

“What is your interest in Madison?”

“What do you think?” Alex grinned with satisfaction when Maxwell’s black-clad figure stiffened ramrod straight. Alex’s arrogance faded when he wondered what nerve he’d hit.

Maxwell opened his mouth to respond, but he turned when the valet’s presence interrupted further conversation. “What is it, Carl?”

“You have a business call in your private living room, sir.”

“Help yourself to the bar, Donovan. Perhaps a few drinks would help you…unwind. Carl will see you out.” Maxwell finished his brandy in one quick swallow and left.

Alex picked up the brandy bottle and read the label. “Good year,” he said to Carl. “Think I’ll have that drink after all.” He checked out the wet bar and was glad to see there wasn’t any ice in the silver ice bucket. “Do you mind getting me some ice?”

It looked like Carl was about to say something. Instead, he took the ice bucket and left the room.

Left alone in the study, Alex took advantage and scanned the room for any hint of the truth behind Hollister’s request for their presence on Makana. He lifted the top of the roll-top desk and noticed a manila folder. He wondered if it was the same folder Hollister had been studying when he’d entered the room.

He opened the file and stared at a color photograph of a young girl dressed in a school uniform. She looked about seven years old. She had reddish-brown hair, a freckled nose and green eyes behind silver framed glasses.

Scanning the yellowed newspaper clipping attached to the top of the folder, he picked up a few key words.
Infamy. Manhattan Private Chamber. Expulsion.

At the sound of footsteps outside the door, Alex quickly read a few paragraphs. The last sentence sent a chill up his spine.
Rumor of connection to the mob
… The footsteps sounded closer. He replaced the picture and clipping in the folder, set it in the middle of the desk and slid the roll top down.

The valet entered the room and cut his stare from the desk to Alex. “Mr. Hollister will be occupied for the rest of the evening. I suggest you have your drink out there with the other guests,” he stated with a dour expression and waved Alex toward the door.

“Thanks for the ice. I’ve changed my mind. Not a good year for brandy, after all.” Alex headed into the party room.

His mind took a detour from his suspicions when he spotted Maddie by the buffet table, devouring desserts. Her face glowed, likely from a combination of her recent journalism award and sugar shock.

All his blood had rushed south when she had opened the door to her suite tonight. He had barely been able to put together a coherent sentence as he took in her hotness.

Spectacular
.

The black dress had caused hard wood; this red, off-the-shoulder number
¾
both seductive and elegant
¾
would probably kill him. He was sure sleep would elude him again tonight. Last night had been torturous; he’d dreamed of nothing but her mouthwatering legs wrapped around his waist.

However, there were more pressing matters to focus on. He would arrange to have Tim tour the island with her for the next couple of days while he carried out an investigation to confirm his suspicions.

He forced a smile, headed toward her and cupped her elbow. “You keep that up and you’re going to need Chocoholics Anonymous.”

“Mmmm. Good idea. Never be twelve steps away from chocolate.” She grabbed another éclair and took a healthy bite of the pastry. “I’ll be ready to go in five.”

He grinned, even though his mind was filled with reservations and distrust.

Hollister Empire: Hidden Secrets,
the headline screamed.

Maxwell Hollister finished reading the tabloid
Reckless Times
in his private living room.

Most of his guests had left the party, which enabled him to concentrate on the situation that could shatter his carefully guarded privacy before he was ready for the world to know the truth. Not to mention get one of his closest friends and confidante into serious trouble.

He slammed the tabloid on the mahogany coffee table and glowered at private investigator Victor Grant, who sat in the suede armchair. “How the hell did this happen?”

“Mr. Hollister,” Victor said. “We think one of the maids you fired spoke to a reporter. I’ve instructed my contacts to get in touch with the editors to squash
¾
”

“The hell with your so-called contacts. I want you to personally find and smother the leaks before those damn rags start naming names. While you’re at it, get them off my ex-wife’s trail. Jesus Christ. I don’t need anyone to dig that up after all these years.”

“I’ll start on it right away, sir. I wouldn’t put too much stock in those papers. They’ve only printed veiled innuendos. The headline’s only there to sell their rag.”

Maxwell poured two fingers of brandy into a crystal glass. He shot the fiery liquid down his throat. “If one of those paparazzi assholes goes within a hundred feet of that little girl, or if they hint at my association with Galvin, I’ll personally see to it that you never work again.”

“I understand your concern, sir, but Ms. Saunders is hardly a little girl—”

“She is to me.”

Victor nodded. “There has never been a connection leading Mr. Galvin to you. What is his story?”

“You know better than to ask me anything about that.”

“Understood. I’ll notify the hotel staff and ask them to keep an eye out for anyone asking questions.”

Maxwell drained the brandy and set the glass down. He turned when he heard Carl enter the room. “Did you connect George Saunders on the phone?”

“Mr. Saunders is on hold.” Carl refilled Maxwell’s glass and left the room.

Maxwell pressed the speakerphone button. “Saunders, answers. Now.”

“What are you talking about? Didn’t you meet her?” George asked.

“I met Madison.” Maxwell’s voice softened when he mentioned her name. “Listen carefully. If you want me to bail your sorry ass out of bankruptcy, you’d better have a good explanation as to why Donovan is on my case.”

“On your case? Look, I did everything you requested,” George said. “I arranged for Maddie and Donovan to travel to the island. I said I’d make sure Donovan’s interview and article would be light, focusing mainly on the island. What’s the problem?”

Maxwell prowled the length of the room. “You told me Donovan and Madison were platonic friends.”

“Correct. They’ve been friends for over five years.”

“Bullshit.” Maxwell undid his tie and tossed it on to a nearby chair. “No sooner were they on the island than they were in each other’s arms in that damn bar. Didn’t you get the PI’s report the other night?”

“I did.” George sighed aloud. “I can’t control her every move. She’s a strong-willed adult now, Maxwell. Look, he won’t take advantage of her. Alex is a good man.”

“He’s not good enough for Madison. He’s a felon
¾
”

“Jesus, he was fifteen years old and he more than paid for his juvenile mistakes. You gave me your word you would keep that confidential. Right?”

Maxwell ignored George’s question. “Madison should be introduced to suitable young men from society’s finest families. Not an arrogant reporter.”

“Donovan isn’t exactly a pauper.”

“He’s right, Mr. Hollister,” Victor interrupted. “Our thorough background check indicated that Alex Donovan has a lucrative portfolio and owns two apartments in New York City
¾
”

“Your supposed expertise is well noted.” Maxwell turned to Victor, grinding the words out between his teeth. “It took Donovan five minutes to figure out your minions were following them.”

“I told you he was sharp,” George said. “Now, let’s all calm down. Alex may be leaving in a few weeks. He’s a top candidate for England.”

“Then offer the position to him. Now. We can get another reporter to write my story.”

“I can’t do that.” George sounded stressed. “There’s a complication, but I’m sure it will sort itself out.”

“Fix this complication.”

 After a slight pause, George said, “I’ll see what I can do. Why do you dislike Donovan so much?”

“He’s cocky and pushy with his damn questions. I don’t have to explain myself to anybody.” He jammed his hand through his hair. “It was a reporter like him who forced me into exile and ruined my life.”

“I know. That’s why I recommended Alex,” George said. “He’s nowhere near the type of sleazy ambulance chasers you’ve experienced. Donovan is considered a god among journalists everywhere. You’ve read his bio. You must have gathered that he’s a highly acclaimed reporter. He also contracts out for CNN. He has ink running through his veins and could probably extract secrets from Al Qaeda, given the chance.”