Billionaire's Tragedy (Standalone Book) (Billionaire Bad Boy Romance) (13 page)

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

Olivia

I
woke up on Friday
morning feeling out of sorts and wanting to see what Frank had done with my
profile of Linc Redding. I pulled on some sweats and headed down to the corner
store for a cup of coffee and a paper. On the top half of the fold was the
article Carl had written about the shooting as it related to the senators who'd
been shot. He showed the way in which their absence from the Senate would
directly affect a number of issues, but most obviously the gun safety bill
they'd been intending to discuss on Sunday morning when they’d been attacked.
Carl had steered clear of directly stating a political motive for the shooting,
but the article insinuated that there was a bigger force behind it.

My interview with Lincoln
Redding ran below the fold with a strikingly handsome picture of the man above
the byline. He really was incredibly good looking and my pulse raced just
looking at the picture. Lillian had edited the piece well, and as a result, it
leaned toward complimentary, but didn't hold back on the tough questions. I had
to admit that it was better than when I'd turned it in and I made a mental note
to thank Lillian and let Frank know how much I appreciated the opportunity the
next time I saw him, which, I hoped, would be tonight.

I groaned as I walked
into my apartment and realized that in the afternoon I was going to have to
report to the Agape Salon and be subjected to a wide variety of beauty
treatments that would turn me from a pumpkin into a princess. Bix said she'd be
on hand to oversee the process and make sure that no one went too nuts with the
products. I didn't believe that beauty products could be contained, but I was
willing to suspend disbelief and go with the flow for the sake of the dress.
And then there were the jewels. Every time I thought of them, I started to
panic as I wondered who in their right mind would allow me to wear almost a
half a million dollars of jewelry to the gala.

I decided that the only
way to fight the anxiety was with a long run along the Potomac, so I pulled on
my running clothes, hooked myself up to my music player, and laced my shoes. I
grabbed a pair of gloves and headed down to the street. The path I ran was
usually a little crowded, but today it seemed almost empty. I wasn't surprised,
though. It was the week before Christmas and the night of one of the biggest
events of the year. The thought of walking up those stairs and into the museum
all alone made my stomach feel a little queasy, so I shifted my mind to less
anxiety inducing thoughts.

I'd scanned the paper and
saw that the D.C. police still hadn't identified the shooter, even though
they'd had him under lock and key for almost a week. How could they not know
who he was? Wouldn't anyone recognize him? Or miss him? It seemed impossible
that a human being could be completely unidentifiable. I started wondering if
there was some kind of cover-up keeping the man's identity from the public, and
I began compiling a mental list of people who might have a vested interest in
keeping the man's identity secret. On it I put Davis Russo and a number of the
more vocal gun rights supporting senators who openly accepted donations from
the AWN. I wasn't sure how the lack of information would benefit them, but I
had a sneaking suspicion that once I began digging, I'd find plenty of reasons.

That task taken care of,
my mind turned to Lincoln Redding. He was a stubborn man and a pain in my ass,
but there was something about him that I found incredibly attractive. I was
loathe to admit it because it meant that I had to fess up to being attracted to
a man who irritated the hell out of me. I thought ahead to the gala and
wondered if he'd be bringing a date. I hadn't even considered the possibility
that he'd have a girlfriend and my cheeks burned hot with embarrassment when I
realized that I'd been hoping he would be at the gala alone, like me.

"Fine, fine!" I
yelled at the bare trees along the path. "Just fine! I'll be nice tonight!
I'll behave, and I'll say nice things to that awful man!"

"Now, that's the
spirit," a voice behind me called cheerfully. Caught off guard, I stopped
running and turned around. A small woman sitting on a bench near the path
smiled up at me from behind large glasses. She tossed a handful of something
that looked like birdseed out around her feet and the pigeons flocked to her
pecking the ground. She smiled and said, "You're doing the right thing,
dear."

"I am?" I asked
as I bent over and tried to catch my breath.

"Yes, you are,"
she nodded as she watched the birds. "It's always good to be kind to those
who frustrate us. That way you give them an opening to be nice to you and
there's a better chance that they will be kind to you, too."

"That sounds so logical
when you say it that way."

"Oh, most things
are, dear," she smiled. "It's just that we humans make it all so much
more complicated when we pile our emotional baggage on top of everything."

"Good point," I
said. "How did you learn that one?"

"Years and years of
mistakes," she laughed. "I made them all!"

"I see," I
said, and then feeling like I had nothing to lose, I asked, "So, tonight I
should just be nice to a man that drives me insane with his rudeness and arrogance?
To just tell him that even though I can't stand him, we can still work together
to achieve a common goal?"

"You might try
leaving out the second part if you want a positive response, dear," she
said as she threw out another handful of birdseed. She looked up at me with a
very serious expression, and then said, "You need to remember that
everyone in the world is carrying a burden that no one else may know about, so
you need to be kind, dear. Always kind."

"Even when he's
totally annoying and absolutely frustrating?"

"Especially then,
dear," she smiled. "Treat him the way you want him to treat you, and
I think you'll see results very quickly."

"Thank you for
that," I said thoughtfully as I turned to go. "Have a lovely
day!"

"You, too,
dear!" she called. "Good luck with your man friend!"

I laughed the rest of the
run home about the idea of Linc Redding being anything close to a friend, and
when I got there, I found that I felt a lot better than I had when I'd left. Be
kind. Okay, I could do that. I hoped.

#

Several
hours later, I met up with Bix at Agape Salon. She looked put together as
always, while I looked like a drowned rat. I'd messed around on my computer
while drinking coffee after my run, and then at the last minute realized I
hadn't showered, so I showed up at the salon in sweats and with wet hair piled
messily on top of my head. Bix hugged me and pulled me inside to meet the team
she'd assembled.

I spent the next several
hours being manicured, pedicured, massaged, and scrubbed within an inch of my
life so that my skin glowed, and then sat down in a chair where the stylist,
under Bix's watchful eye, began combing, cutting, and styling my hair into
something worthy of the dress I was wearing. He wouldn't let me watch what he
was doing, but Bix watched closely and shook her head when he tried to do
anything that didn't suit me. Or maybe the dress. Either way, she kept a close
eye on things. When he was finished, he turned me over to the makeup crew who,
again, worked with Bix to give me a natural look with just a hint of glamour.
The makeup crew added the last touches and then they spun me around to view the
handiwork.

"Oh my God," I
gasped. I'd never seen myself look like this before. My hair was shiny and had
been swept up off of my face on the sides, but left to hang down around my
shoulders. It was a loose sophisticated hairdo that would show off the necklace
and earrings beautifully. But it was the makeup that left me staring at myself
in awe. The team had left me looking like me, but they'd somehow managed to
make me look prettier than I'd ever looked in my entire life. I turned toward
Bix.

"Do not start
tearing up," she ordered sternly. "They've spent hours making you
look as gorgeous as ever and you cannot afford to mess it up."

I nodded and looked up at
the ceiling to keep the tears of gratitude from falling. Bix handed me a tissue
and said, "Blot them. It's easier than trying to force them back in."

That made me chuckle, and
soon we were laughing like kids as she pulled me to the back dressing room and
ordered me to get into the dress.

"Oh God, that means
that torture underwear, too, doesn't it?" I groaned. Bix raised an eyebrow
and I stomped into the dressing room and grudgingly pulled on the bra. I was
surprised to find a nude g-string in the bag with the bra. I called out,
"Bix, what the hell is this butt floss thing in the bag?"

"You can't have
underwear lines under that dress, but it's inappropriate to go commando at this
function!" she called back. "Put it on, Olivia."

"You're out of your
mind," I grumbled as I pulled on the wisp of fabric and wondered how I was
going to keep from catching cold wearing it. As I was pulling the thin, silky
hose up over my thighs and wondering how I'd keep them up all night, Bix
entered the room followed by one of the shampoo girls and the two of them held
the dress out so I could step into it. Then they slowly worked it up over my
hips until I was completely encased in green layers of silky fabric that clung
to my body like a second skin. Bix held out the silver shoes and I stepped into
one after the other, holding on to her shoulder to maintain my balance.

When I emerged from the
dressing room, a collective gasp went up from the room of customers and
stylists. I lowered my eyes and blushed feeling embarrassed by all the
attention, but eternally grateful to Bix for making it happen. She smiled at me
as she took possession of my regular clothes.

"Here, you'll need
this," she smiled
she
as pressed an emerald green
silk clutch into my hand as she held out a small tube of what looked like
lipstick. "Put your phone, keys, and this lipstick into it. You'll need it
for touch ups."

"Bix, thank
you," I whispered as I dug into my purse trying to be careful not to mess
up my beautiful, cranberry-colored nails. "I don't know what to say."

"Say let's get a
move on and get over to Tullio," she suggested. "Phillip is waiting
for you."

"Oh right,
jewelry," I said unenthusiastically.

"If you don't want
to wear it, you don't have to, Liv," she said gently. "Let's just go
over there and see what it looks like, okay?"

I nodded and she and I
walked out to the car, waving good-bye to the team and all of their remaining
customers. Fifteen minutes later, we were being buzzed into the store.

"Oh yes, this will
be perfect," Phillip smiled and nodded. He introduced me to Jacques, my
security detail for the evening and the one who would collect the jewels at the
end of the night. He told me that Jacques would be virtually invisible while I
was at the gala, and that I didn't have to worry about where I went or who I
mingled with because Jacques was trained to follow me at a discreet distance.
He was only there to protect the jewels, not prevent me from having a good
time.

"He's going to have
a boring night, then," I laughed. "I'm not at all interesting and
nothing exciting ever happens to me."

Phillip returned from the
back room carrying the tray that held the jewelry. He lifted the necklace out
first and then walked behind me and fastened it securely around my neck. My
hand went up to feel it and then I quickly pulled back.

"It's okay, you can
touch these pieces without hurting them," he smiled as he handed me an earring.

"I know, but I don't
want to do anything to smudge them," I said as I fastened the first earring
and then the second one. I looked up at Phillip and he motioned for me to stand
up and walk across the room. As I did, even Bix sighed.

"You look like a
princess, Olivia," she said with a smile so wide I thought her face would
crack.

"I wish you were
going with me," I said.

"Oh God no, you know
how I despise these things," she laughed. "No one ever organizes
things right and the food is always terrible."

Knowing Bix as well as we
both did, Phillip and I burst out laughing. I walked over to the full-length
mirror and stared at myself for a long time. Bix was right; I did look like a
princess.

I knew that I'd have the
upper hand with Linc Redding. My transformation from frumpy news reporter to
woman of international mystery would ensure that. I hoped.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

Linc

I'd
been at the gala for an hour making the rounds and shaking hands and had begun
to accept that Olivia Moore wasn't going to show up. I had been worried that
our skirmish during the interview would seal her decision not to show, but the
favorable article in the
Sentinel
this morning had put enough of my fears to rest that I was fifty-fifty by the
time I climbed the steps to the Gallery. I wasn't sure why I wanted her to show
up so badly; I knew chances were good that we'd end up insulting each other and
arguing. When I'd brought that fact up for the twentieth time over pre-gala
drinks at my apartment, Brant had pointed that this was the grown-up equivalent
of pigtails in ink well.

"You've got it bad,
Linc," he grinned as he raised his glass. "It's kind of nice to see
you thrown off kilter."

"Shut up,
Pace," I grumbled. "I can't stand that woman. She annoys me to no
end."

"C'mon, it's good
for you to have a weakness or two," he teased. "You're always so
perfect and focused, the rest of us have a hard time living up to your standards,
man."

"I'm not interested
in the woman! I have things I need to accomplish and it doesn't do anyone any
good if I dick around."

"But, Linc, you're
rich beyond your wildest dreams and you have a life that most people can only
dream about," he said, taking a sip from his glass. "Yet, you live
like you're a middle manager at some mediocre processing plant."

"I do not!" I
protested. "I have plenty of things! Hell, I've got apartments in nine
cities around the world, a private plane to take me and my staff anywhere we
need to go for business meetings, and I pay everyone who works for me more than
fair wages. What more do I need?"

"You're a piece of
work, you know?" Brant smiled. "Dude, you could be partying on the
French Riviera with supermodels and rock stars or you could be traveling around
the world enjoying the best service in all of the top hotels."

"Why? What good will
that do? Whose family will that save?"

"And that's what I
love about you, man," he said as he gently slugged my shoulder. "You
don't do all of the ridiculously showy stuff because you're so damn focused on
the greater good."

"What else is there,
Brant?" I asked seriously. "If I party my ass off and accomplish
nothing when I have every opportunity and advantage at my fingertips, then
what's the point of my life?"

"Your parents would
have loved you no matter what you did," Brant said quietly. "You know
that you don't have to prove anything, don't you?"

I stood at the counter
gripping my glass for a long time before I looked up and nodded at him. He
nodded back, we tipped our glasses, and downed the last bit of whiskey in them
before I slapped his shoulder and said, "Let's get to the party,
friend!"

"I hope that girl
shows up tonight. I really do, and I really hope that you don't act like an ass
and blow it," he sighed and then as an afterthought he added, "Hey,
do you think Mo will dance with me tonight?"

"I guarantee it,
buddy," I said slapping his back and smiling widely. "I can almost
guarantee it."

It was Mo who brought me
out of my memory as she tapped me on the back and then nodded her head toward
the front of the rotunda. There, as the crowed parted, stood an incredibly
beautiful woman swathed in emerald green silk wearing what looked like a
million dollars worth of diamonds. Mo gave me a little push and I frowned at
her before walking toward Olivia, trying to keep my face from giving anything
away.

"Olivia, I'm glad
you could make it," I said formally holding out my hand. "You look
lovely."

"Thank you, Mr.
Redding. I'm glad I could make it, too," she smiled nervously as she shook
my hand. She looked annoyed as she said, "You clean up pretty well
yourself."

"Thanks, I
think," I said and then searched my brain trying to find a topic that
wouldn't piss her off. The best I could come up with was to ask, "Did you
have any trouble finding the place?"

"No, the driver who
brought me was pretty well versed and didn't seem to have any problem getting
here," she said, but was polite enough not to make fun of my ridiculous
question.

"Welcome to the
Christmas Gala," I said gesturing around the room. "Can I get you
something to drink?"

It was hard to take my
eyes off of her. She looked more beautiful than I'd remembered. Her hair was
pulled up off of her face and had been artfully arranged to look both
sophisticated and casual in the way it fell across her shoulders. Her emerald
green dress hugged her body, drawing attention to her hourglass figure and
making me fight hard to resist the lure of her full breasts that peeked out of
the top of her dress. I chose, instead, to focus on her eyes. They were
mysterious green windows that simultaneously drew me in and kept me out as I
held her gaze and waited for her answer.

"I'd love
that," she exhaled visibly relieved by the offer. I turned and offered her
my arm. She looked down at it as if I'd offered her a dead rat, then sighed and
took it. When she did, I felt an electric shock at the place where her hand
touched my arm. I inhaled deeply, trying to keep from giving myself away, but wondering
if she'd felt it, too. I looked down into her sparkling green eyes and tried to
smile.

"What will you have,
Miss Moore?" I asked. "Champagne or some of this, um, festive
punch?"

"What's in the
punch?" she said as she used her free hand to tug at her neckline. “I'm
not sure how festive I can be in this fancy dress."

I smiled at her honesty,
but did not let my eyes follow her hand. I took two glasses of the light,
bubbling champagne from the bartender and handed her one, keeping the second
one for myself. I offered my arm again, and she took it as she scanned the room
and sipped from the flute in her hand.

"Thank you for the
nice article in the
Sentinel
," I
said. "I was kind of worried after you stormed out."

"You can thank
Frank, he cleaned it up," she said as she scanned the crowd. "I was
going to hang you out to dry."

"But you were the-"
I caught myself and held back. "Then, I guess I owe Frank my thanks, don't
I?"

"That was
good," she said as a small smile played at the corner of her full lips. I
suddenly had the strongest urge to lean down and kiss those deep red lips and
for a moment, and had to fight the urge. I heard Olivia asking, "Linc? You
okay? You look kind of sick."

"I'm fine," I
said shaking my head to clear the image. "Good, fine. Have you met Mo Warren?"

"No, I don't believe
I have," she said as I escorted her over to where Mo stood holding court.

"Maureen Warren,
this is Olivia Moore," I said as I shot Mo a warning look that told her
not to say a word.

"It's so nice to
meet you, Olivia," Mo said, extending her hand and smiling warmly.
"You did a wonderful job with the interview with Lincoln in today's
paper."

"Thank you so much,
Ms. Warren." Olivia smiled then turned and shot me a look as she said,
"He was a challenging subject."

"Mo, please call me
Mo," she replied, then laughed lightly as she said, "Indeed he is, my
dear. He's been that way since he was a child, and I'm afraid he gets more
difficult with each passing year!"

"Alright,
alright," I interjected. "Let's break up the 'beat on Linc' festival
and enjoy the party that you so wonderfully organized, Mo."

"It was lovely to
meet you, Olivia," Mo said as she shook Olivia's hand again. Then, she
leaned in and kissed my cheek as she whispered, "She's wonderful."

I shook my head and
rolled my eyes in exasperation. I looked over at Olivia who was scanning the
room-making note of the people in attendance and who was talking with whom.

"Did you invite
Davis Russo?" she asked.

"It's not my
party," I said. "I didn't have a say in the invitation list, so I
don't know if Russo was invited."

"I see," she
nodded. "Is that Senator Bangor over there with Senator Graham?"

"Yes, I believe it
is," I said trying to steer her in another direction. The last thing I
needed was Olivia Moore grilling Bangor and Graham.

"Do you know them
well? Well enough to know why they'd be hanging out together at a holiday
party? It seems kind of odd, don't you think?"

"No idea," I
said feigning ignorance. I tried to come up with a way to distract her.
"More champagne?"

"If I didn't know
better, I'd say that you're trying to get me drunk, Redding," she observed
as she carefully watched who came and went in the corner with Bangor and
Graham. "Mason just joined them. I wonder what he's up to. He's kind of a
troublemaker."

"So, is that a yes
or a no?" I asked as I tried to draw her attention away from the group in
the corner.

"Fine, I'll take
another glass; why not?" she said as I gestured toward the bar area. She
and I each took another glass as I tried to come up with a distraction.

"Have you seen the
new paintings in the west wing of the gallery?" I asked. "They
brought in some new Italian and Dutch pieces a few weeks ago."

"Can't say that I've
spent a whole lot of time hanging out in art galleries," she said. "I
mean, some of us have to actually work for a living, you know."

"I work-" I
began defensively before turning to see an impish grin spreading across her
face. "You're a real pain in the ass. You know that, don't you?"

"Takes one to know
one," she said as she shot me a side eye look.
The
disconnect
between her princess look and her sarcastic attitude was too
much and I burst out laughing. Her eyes widened, and she asked, "What on
earth is wrong with you?"

"Nothing, you're
just funny as hell, Olivia Moore," I said. "You can take the girl out
of the reporter's clothes and all that."

"Oh, so now you're
going to insult me?" she stopped walking and stood staring daggers at me.
"Will the rudeness never end, Redding?"

"I'm not being
rude!" I protested. "God, you are so overly sensitive and defensive;
it's impossible to have a conversation with you!"

"Me? I'm the
problem?" she said as she narrowed her eyes. "I'd say it's you,
sunshine. You think that just because you gave me the ticket to this fancy
event, it gives you the right to turn me into the butt of your jokes."

"I'm not making a
joke!" I shouted drawing the attention of several party-goers who shot
concerned looks at Olivia before recognizing me and scurrying off. "I'm
simply trying to have a conversation with you!"

"You have a funny
way of conversing," she said quietly.

"Look, can we call a
truce and try to enjoy each other's company this evening?" The look of
surprise that crossed her face suddenly made me wonder what she had been expecting.

"Fine, truce,"
she said holding out her hand for me to shake. "No more insults and no
more arguing. We'll just talk about art and music or something neutral."

"Deal," I said
shaking her hand. "Now, would you like to visit the Dutch gallery with me?"

"Love to!" she
said rather unenthusiastically. I offered her my arm in a dramatic display of
chivalry, but she looked at it and rolled her eyes before walking away. I
inhaled deeply, bit my tongue, and forced a smile as I followed closely behind.
She was infuriatingly stubborn, but that stubbornness aroused me. It wasn't
often that I couldn't charm my way into a woman's confidence; in fact, I
couldn't remember a time I wasn't able to.
 

"So, what have you
been up to since I last saw you?" I asked, trying to find neutral ground
on which to tread.

"Oh, I've been out
in the wilds of the great wide mall," she grinned grimly gesturing toward
the dress with the hand that held the champagne glass. "Hunting down the
elusive 'glamourama ballgownagus' and all of its kin."

I looked at her confused
for a moment until the joke sunk in and then I laughed. She grinned up at me as
she took another sip of her drink. This time her smile looked real and lit up
her face. I cleared my throat and forged ahead.

"What did you do
before you came to the
Sentinel
?"
I asked. I had questioned if she would consider this a neutral topic, but I had
a deep burning need to learn about her, and in order to do that, I was going to
have to take a chance.

"I was a freelance
reporter for the Global News Network and I was stationed in Africa for most of
the past five years," she said without sarcasm.

"What made you leave
and come back here?" I asked. I could feel her tense up and I was
immediately sorry I'd asked. Her hand gripped my arm a little tighter as she
looked straight down the hall.