For the Love of Family (9 page)

For a minute he just looked at her. Then he shook his head. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“I know.” She smiled. “It surprises the heck out of me, too. But surely it’s okay to learn new things. To open your eyes? To broaden your outlook?”

He shrugged. “As long as
broadening
isn’t brainwashing in disguise.”

“It’s not.”

“Okay.” He shifted his gaze to the bay, which glittered like a piece of sequined gray silk under the summer sunlight. “But…I do hear Matt Malone is quite charming.”

She had been trying not to get defensive, but this was too much. It had been bad enough for David to hint that she might have been a sucker, falling hard for the PR department’s in-house hype. Was he now accusing her of selling out her principles to the sexiest bidder?

Did he really believe that, or was this just emotional payback?

“David,” she said, turning to face him squarely. “You didn’t come all the way out here just to talk to me about Diamante Pizza, did you?”

“Yes,” he said calmly. “Actually, I did.”

She subsided, too surprised to have a ready comeback.

“Oh,” was the best she could do. “Why?”

“I have a client who used to work for them.”

She waited. David had two kinds of clients. The very, very rich who wanted to protect their business assets, and the very, very poor who had been abused by their employers and needed free representation. But they both deserved confidentiality, and got it. It was rare to hear him mention a client at all.

“I can’t tell you his name, but he’s given me permission to talk to you about his brief. The bottom line is, he wants to sue Diamante.”

“For what?”

“Apparently they have a charity fund, to be dis
bursed to employees who are facing personal emergencies. They call it the Drivers Fund. Have you heard of it?”

“Yes. No detail, though. Just its existence.” Since it didn’t intersect with her duties, she hadn’t ever really paid attention. She only knew that Todd Kirkland administered it from a nice window office at the far end of the corporate building.

“Well, my client, who was turned down when he applied for assistance, believes that the money is being mishandled.”

“By whom?”

“My client suspects that a Todd Kirkland must be acting on behalf of or at least in collaboration with Matt Malone. Apparently it’s a great deal of money, most of it contributed by the company and therefore tax deductible, but also quite a bit coming from the paychecks of the employees.”

Belle could confirm that. Human Resources had explained it to her in general terms during her orientation. Liking the concept, she’d gladly signed the little box that donated an hour of wages per pay period.

“It’s supposed to go to the needy employees.” David scratched his cheek as he always did when he was deeply interested in a case. “But my client’s feeling is that it’s more or less a slush fund for the management.”

The rush of instinctive resistance that flooded her was a shock. She had been with Diamante Pizza only two weeks now. Why should she feel personally assaulted by this allegation?

And why should she be so sure it couldn’t be true?

“I hope your client has more than ‘feelings’ if you’re planning to bring this to a lawsuit. That kind of publicity can seriously damage a company’s reputation.”

“God, Belle.” David frowned. “Can you hear yourself? You already sound like a PR person. I’m telling you this because I think you might be able to help me.”

She shifted her pastry on its paper plate. “How?”

“You’re on scene. You know these people, and you know the setup. You’re a damn talented investigative journalist. I want you to investigate. Find out whether there’s anything to it.”

She took a deep breath, inhaling the mix of food scents and sea salt that was the Ferry Building. Suddenly, it just smelled confused and mildly dirty.

“You want me to spy on the company I work for?”

“I want you to look for the facts. If the little guys are getting screwed here, I want you to help me prove that. This is the kind of exposé you used to drool over, remember?”

“Of course, but—”

“But if the company is clean, if my guy is wrong, maybe the facts you find can make him see reason. Maybe we can talk him out of…what did you call it? Damaging Diamante’s reputation?”

David was intense. Not angry—he rarely got angry about anything. But hyperfocused, like a dog gnawing a bone. He never took his eyes off Belle’s face.

She looked away, needing a respite from that piercing gaze. A curvaceous street performer was walking by, covered completely in silver paint, wearing silver clothes, even silver sneakers and gloves. Everyone
around them was staring at the woman, who was clearly intrigued by David.

As she came abreast, she tossed him a white-toothed smile that looked eerie in her silver face.

But he didn’t even seem to notice.

Belle had always liked that about him. He had eyes only for her. But right now that gaze was too probing, too disapproving.

“Well?” He still watched her. “What do you say?”

“I don’t know.” She took a bite of Danish, though it was cold now, and she was no longer hungry. She wiped strawberry from the corner of her lips. “Heck, I don’t even know that I
could
dig up anything relevant. I’m the newbie, remember? They have me essentially sharpening pencils so far. I don’t have the secret codes to the lockbox or anything.”

“I’m not talking about creeping around Malone’s office with a camera you hide in your lip gloss.” He shook his head. “Come on, Belle. This is what you do. What you
used
to do. And you’re good at it. Remember the story you did on the councilman who let the lobbyists remodel his beach house for nearly nothing? You uncovered that with public records and phone calls. With analytical skills and common sense.”

She felt a small melting sensation in her chest. Yes, she had been good at that. And she had loved it.

“But…don’t you have real investigators you can hire this out to?”

“That would take money. This guy isn’t able to pay me, much less a P.I.”

As if he could sense that she was wavering, David
leaned back in his chair with a sigh. He lowered his chin and gave her the look that had shamed a hundred juries into finding for his clients.

“I’m asking for a favor here. Just one favor. It’s not illegal, unethical or wrong in any way. Don’t you owe me that much?”

For breaking up with him, he meant. Didn’t she owe him one favor, in return for the way she’d handed his diamond ring back to him, stamped Rejected, and garnished with little slivers of his heart?

For the first time since the conversation had begun, she wondered whether he might have brought this idea to her merely so that he’d have an excuse to see her again.

It didn’t really matter, though. Whatever his reason for extending the bait, she’d bitten. Hard. She was hooked.

“I can’t promise anything,” she said, already mulling over which databases she’d search first. “But I’ll…I’ll look into it.”

B
ELLE WAS A LITTLE
late to the party. She’d been ready an hour early, right down to the contacts she’d chosen instead of her glasses. But at the last minute she’d decided her dress wasn’t right, and knocked on Pandora’s door, hoping to borrow something fantastic.

She recognized the irony. The last time she’d attended a party where she would see Matt Malone, she’d allowed Pandora to choose her outfit. And look how that had turned out.

This time, she insisted on pure professionalism, even though Pandora, who always thought in terms of dramatic effect, decided that this would be the perfect occasion to remind Matt Malone where he had met his new PR employee before.

“Come on, let’s do it,” she’d said, laughing and holding out her belly-dancing bra and skirt, which was similar enough to the old Cleopatra costume to ring a bell in even the dullest brain. “Let’s see if he was hammered completely blind that night or not.”

“No.” Belle had strong-armed the gauzy material away and made herself at home in Pandora’s closet. She flicked through the velvets, sequined-satins and
purple poodle skirts. “Don’t you have anything sensible? No wonder you can’t ever persuade anyone to give you a loan.”

Pandora laughed. “I got a loan just today, thank you very much,” she said, sniffing indignantly. “Well, not a loan, but more like a…donation.”

She looked dreamy-eyed for a minute, and Belle wondered whether there was a new guy in the picture. The last time she’d seen Pandora look like that, the result, nine months later, had been little Mary Isabella.

Pandora seemed to pull herself together with a toss of her dark hair. “But that’s a story for another day. I’m serious, Belle. Why don’t we just drag this silly skeleton out of the closet? Tell him. What’s the big deal? He’s not going to fire you because once upon a time you kissed him in the starlight.”

Belle had refused to be drawn in, and eventually Pandora had produced a fabulous steel-blue cocktail dress with a ballerina neckline and a sprinkling of sequins. It fit almost perfectly, though ordinarily Pandora’s clothes had an extra inch or two in the bust. Pandora had the world’s sexiest collection of shoes, so she added strappy silver sandals with heels so high Belle prayed she wouldn’t have to handle stairs.

But at least when she arrived at the museum’s Patrons Room, which sparkled with crystal flutes, gold-filtered accent lighting and sterling silver trays floating around on the gloved hands of white-coated waiters, she fit in with the rest of the self-assured professionals.

She’d covered a couple of these elegant events in her short stint as a reporter, so she knew that the guests
would be spread out in half a dozen areas—here by the bar, the dance floor in the old planetarium space, the buffet area off in an octagonal side room, and even the courtyard, where a mini-botanical garden was a lovely excuse to steal a private flirtation. It would be possible to stay at the party all night and not see everyone.

Still, naively, she searched the place, looking for Matt. George must have been waiting for her, because within sixty seconds he came rushing over, bringing a middle-aged man by the arm.

“Andy, I’d like you to meet my new assistant, Belle Carson. The Cinnamon Diamond Treasure Hunt was her idea. Belle, Andy Carlito makes the boxes Diamante pizzas are delivered in. Cinnamon Diamonds, too, starting next month.”

The man shook her hand with an enthusiasm that was obviously genuine. “I love the idea,” he said. “Women hunting for diamond rings in their sweets. It’s perfect. Matt will sell a million of these to hopeful females, and everyone will need a box!” He laughed. “The pastries, that is. Not the women.”

She laughed, ridiculously pleased by his approval. He was fat, red-faced and fifty, but the look in his eye was intelligent. And he wasn’t a chauvinist. He noticed her dress, of course—it was a wonderful dress—but the real spark in his eyes had been lit by her idea.

They talked awhile, and then George excused them both so that he could, as he put it, show her off to everyone else. By the time she’d been introduced to half a dozen of Diamante’s most important associates, they’d made their way into the round, dome-ceilinged ballroom.

And she had overcome most of her jitters.

PR wasn’t so hard. She could do this.

“I know you must be breaking me in easy,” she said under her breath in one of the few moments when she and George were alone. “These people are all allies. When do I get to meet an enemy or two?”

George laughed. “Diamante doesn’t have enemies, Belle.”

She thought of David’s client and his accusations. “Everyone has enemies.”

George didn’t seem to be listening. He was in full-throttle PR gear, scanning the room continuously, checking to see where he might be needed.

Suddenly she felt his hand tighten on her elbow.

“Okay, you want something tough? How about Matt’s brothers and grandmother? Redmond and Colby Malone, flanking Angelina. Just off to your right, at eleven-thirty.”

She kept a neutral smile on her face as she glanced smoothly to her right. But her mouth went dry.

Colby and Red Malone. Tall, graceful, smiling. Dark-haired, like Matt, but with fair skin instead of the olive-gold complexion that made their brother so exotic.

Still…clearly related, clearly endowed with the same incredible sex appeal. And between them stood a slim, elegantly upright woman with a cloud of white hair and delicate, olive-toned features that would forever label her a beauty.

A daunting trio. But it was Colby who made Belle’s heart tighten uncomfortably. She definitely remembered him. He’d been the brother standing in the ballroom eight
years ago, the one Matt had checked with before leaving. The one who had eyed her coolly, then whispered something to Matt about the dangers of driving drunk.

Colby Malone hadn’t been plastered that night. Suddenly Belle wasn’t willing to take the chance that he might recognize her.

“No,” she said quietly but urgently. “Not quite ready for that gauntlet, I’m afraid. Got anything less daunting?”

George chuckled sympathetically. “Don’t blame you. An audience with the queen isn’t an entry-level assignment. Let’s see…how about—” He smiled. “Oh, perfect timing. Here comes Matt. He must have marching orders for us.”

That was when Belle realized what a fool she really was.
Marching orders.
That was why Matt would seek them out. Not to socialize, not to tell her how pretty her dress was. To deploy them on some public relations mission.

And why shouldn’t he? She and George were his employees. His hired joy machines, paid to rotate around the room like robots, strategically spraying smiles and compliments wherever they would bear the most fruit.

Had she let herself forget that, even for a split second? Had some weak, ridiculous part of her mind imagined that she was dressing up for a date?

She watched, feeling her smile go stiff and numb on her face, as Matt stopped to kiss his grandmother and whisper something in her ear.

Angelina tilted her head and gave him a glance that was equal parts affection and exasperation. Then Colby
intervened, sweeping Angelina into his arms and whisking her onto the dance floor.

The woman danced as if she were twenty. She floated by, catching Belle’s gaze for a split second with her intelligent, twinkling eyes. Belle’s mouth went dry.

Yesterday afternoon, before breaking for the weekend, Belle had written a draft of a speech for Mrs. Malone to deliver at the product launch press conference.

She wondered uncomfortably if it was too late to get the draft back. If only she’d met the woman before she wrote it. The words had been crafted with an older, softer, more matronly grandmother in mind.

The speech she’d written was too cute, Belle recognized with growing dissatisfaction. Too cliché. This sharp-eyed, regal matriarch would hate it.

God, would Belle never stop overestimating herself—and underestimating this job? She had been so smug just five minutes ago. Now she saw that she wasn’t through screwing up. Not by a long shot.

“Hey, George,” Matt said as he finally made it to their little corner. He shook his hand, then turned to Belle with a smile. “Has George been introducing you to everyone you need to meet?”

“Yes,” she said, refusing to be disappointed that he hadn’t complimented the dress. How perverse would that be? She knew darn well that if he had, she would have thought him sexist. After all, he looked terrific in that tuxedo, but she wasn’t likely to tell him so.

There were rules about that in the workplace, anyhow.

“George has been very conscientious. I’ve met at least a hundred people in the past hour alone.”

George nodded. “I got her face time with most of the suppliers, and a couple of the TV types. I haven’t seen many of the government group here yet, but we’ll hit those when they arrive.”

“Fine. Anyone you need me to set up for you?”

George let his gaze circle the room once. “No, I think I can handle most of this crowd, but check with me when the second wave comes through, just in case?” George let his gaze circle the room once. “Belle’s met half the room already. She’s made quite a splash.”

“I don’t doubt it for a minute,” Matt said, and his smile was warm enough to give her a slight sizzle.

He didn’t overdo it, though, almost immediately turning back to George. “I’ve just heard that Overholzer is going to be filming at Flint Park next week. A couple of big name stars, according to the rumors. The blonde…you know the one? Anyhow, they’ve already got catering lined up, of course, but I was wondering if we could make some friendly, neighborhood gesture. You know, get a pizza or two in there somehow.”

“Absolutely.” George looked excited. “Local TV will be all over it. Yeah, we need that Diamante box in the background. Cinnamon Diamonds, too. Can’t beat that for product placement.”

“Ken Castle is the one who told me about it. He’s outside with Mayor Rhoeban. See what you can find out, okay?” Matt touched Belle’s shoulder. “I’ve got a few people I’d like to introduce Belle to, anyhow.”

Oh, no, no
…

His fingers felt cool, and the skin between her shoulder blades began to prickle. She didn’t want to be alone
with him, not when she was all dressed up in borrowed sequins, and he was looking like every woman’s sweetest dream in that tuxedo.

“You don’t think I should go with George?” She was glad she didn’t sound as tense as she felt. “I haven’t met Mayor Rhoeban, and—”

“No, he’s not important.” Matt’s cheek dimpled subtly. “Though, just for the record, I never said that.”

George was already gone, anyhow. She looked at the back of his departing tuxedo with a sinking heart. She resisted the urge to fiddle with the curls she knew had started to spring out of their careful upsweep. She had very determined hair, and bobbie pins and styling mousse could only do so much.

Finally, taking a deep breath, she turned back and faced Matt.

He was staring at her, his head tilted in that way she found so impossibly endearing. She squared her shoulders, determined not to melt.

“You don’t look very happy, Belle. Aren’t you having any fun tonight?”

She smiled politely, ignoring how sexy her name sounded on his lips. Ignoring the fact that he shouldn’t care whether she was happy.

“I’m learning a lot,” she said carefully. “That’s what I’m here for. I’m here to do the best job I can representing Diamante.”

“Yes,” he said. “But that’s easier to do if you’re also having fun.”

He didn’t wait for a response, which was lucky, because she didn’t have one.

Instead, to her surprise he simply extended a hand. “I’ll tell you how you can really make Diamante Pizza look good. Let the company CEO be seen dancing with the prettiest woman in the room.”

She stared at his hand. She knew how it would feel, sliding around her waist. She knew, as if it had happened to her yesterday instead of eight years ago. It was a tactile memory that held ten times the power of sight or sound.

But what if it held the same power for him?

What if, when she drifted into his arms, he remembered?

Maybe Pandora was right. Maybe it didn’t really matter. He was a man of the world, and he’d danced with a thousand women. Kissed a hundred. And done more than that with most of them.

Far more than he’d ever done with her.

If he remembered, they’d probably just have a mutual laugh about it. He’d think back, remembering the wig and the lipstick, the jingling gold coins and the absurdly padded bra. He’d mock himself for passing out. It would become their joke. The office joke, perhaps.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, thinking as fast as she could. “But I’m really a terrible dancer. Just awful. Believe me, it will only destroy your reputation to be seen out there with me.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Somehow I can’t believe that—”

He broke off as someone jostled him roughly from behind. He had to step toward her, just to keep his balance. At first she thought it was one of the dancers.
Though they were standing safely in an alcove, the band had begun playing a fast song, and the floor was getting crowded.

“Matt, there you are.”

It wasn’t a dancer. It was Todd Kirkland. Belle would have known he was drunk from the unfocused glaze in his eye, even if she hadn’t smelled the liquor emanating from his body. He smelled of liquor the way she had smelled of coffee on her first morning at work.

Except she was pretty sure he hadn’t spilled it. Every drop had made its way down his throat, and from there straight to his brain. He could hardly remain upright. His feet were stationary, but his upper body was weaving slightly, like a buoy at sea.

His eyes were red, damp in the creases.

“Matt, Matt, son, I’ve been looking for you.”

“And you found me. It’s okay, Todd. I’m here.” Matt put his hand on the older man’s shoulder, either to reassure him or to keep him from falling over. Then he tossed Belle a tight smile over his shoulder. “See if you can find George?”

She nodded, turning immediately, trying to remember the quickest way to the courtyard. She knew it would be a public-relations nightmare if Todd Kirkland made a conspicuous scene.