Kept (7 page)

“Clients like this need a lot of ass kissing and hand-holding. You know I’m not the right guy for this,” Derek said, grasping at straws. “Put Alex on it. He’s better at making nice with clients, and you know it.”

Danny shook his head. “They want a partner on it. Because loverboy here”—he gestured at Ethan—“is still benched for the time being, that means you. Besides”—he held up his hand when Derek would have protested—“I get the feeling Harold Van Weldt is a real hard-ass. He cuts to the chase, doesn’t put up with a lot of bullshit, and wants someone who won’t be impressed with the fame of certain family members.” He cocked his dark eyebrow. “Something tells me you’ll be perfect.”

A
LYSSA WALKED INTO the boardroom of Van Weldt Jeweler’s San Francisco headquarters, chin up, shoulders thrown back in her best approximation of a confident, in-control woman. She’d chosen her outfit carefully this morning. Nothing said professional like black tailored slacks and a crisp white shirt. Five-inch black boots added height and confidence, and she’d styled her hair in a sleek chignon with a deep side part. She had no idea why her uncle Harold wanted to meet her this morning but hoped it was to discuss the holiday marketing campaign about to hit. If that was the case, she wanted to make sure she dressed the part of savvy executive.

She felt her hopes dwindle as soon as she met Harold’s icy blue glare, his disapproval a near tangible force. Then again, Harold always looked like he smelled something rancid when he looked at her, so why should this morning be any different.

Kimberly, seated at Harold’s left, offered her an encouraging smile. Alyssa locked on that smile as she slipped her hand inside her oversize shoulder bag and made sure her folder of notes and ideas for the campaign was still there. She placed her bag in a seat across from them, next to Richard Blaylock, who was already seated and drinking coffee out
of a heavy mug emblazoned with the silver and blue Van Weldt logo.

She got herself a cup of coffee from the silver service on the mahogany side table, stirring until every last granule of sugar dissolved. Anything to stave off confrontation with Uncle Harold, if only for a few more seconds. As she turned to take a seat, her gaze snagged on a portrait on the wall above the head of the table. Rendered in oil and surrounded by an ornate gold frame, Oscar Van Weldt looked upon them, a benevolent smile in his pale blue eyes. Coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup as her step faltered.

She risked a glance around the room to see if anyone had noticed, but everyone was busy shuffling papers and going over notes. Oscar had been dead only three weeks, yet everyone seemed back to business as usual.

Maybe she should take a tip from them. Now wasn’t the time to wallow in her painful relationship with her father. Nothing could come of dwelling on the fact that just as she had started to have a real relationship with him, just when he’d finally found something in her to be proud of, he’d been taken from the family in the most horrific manner possible.

“How is everyone this morning?” she asked brightly.

“We’re fine, considering it’s been three weeks since your father’s death and we’re still surrounded by this media circus,” Harold said in his clipped Dutch accent. Unlike her father, with his stout build and ruddy cheeks, Harold was thinner, almost slight in his handtailored navy suit. But he radiated leadership despite his small stature, and Alyssa admonished herself not to shrink away from his flinty blue gaze.

Her cheeks burned with heat. In the past few weeks, everyone from the
San Francisco Tribune
to
Star Magazine
had dug into Oscar Van Weldt’s life, including of course his infamous illegitimate daughter. Every story about Alyssa’s wild
partying and unwise choices in men had been rehashed until it seemed like Alyssa couldn’t turn on the TV or open up a Web page without seeing a caricature of herself flashed up on the screen.

The old stories she could block out. She’d dealt with the sting of being called “rich white trash” by venom-spewing bloggers like Charlie Farris. She’d survived the humiliating betrayal of having her former fiancé post private, naked photos of her all over the Web.

But nothing prepared her for the implication that she was responsible for her father’s death. That her growing relationship with her father had pushed her stepmother over the edge into psychosis. That asshole Farris from Celebzone.com had even posted pictures of Alyssa and Grace from the Bancroft gala. It didn’t take an expert in body language to read the tension between herself and Grace, but just in case, Farris had included his own helpful commentary.
It was no secret Alyssa Miles’s involvement in the Van Weldt business put added strain on the Van Weldt marriage. Did Alyssa’s wild ways and intrusion into the family push her stepmother over the edge?

The insinuation wouldn’t have stung had it not perfectly echoed Alyssa’s own fears.

“I’m sorry about everything that’s being said,” Alyssa said, her lips suddenly dry despite their generous coating of gloss.

“Yes, well, in addition to the unwanted attention you’ve brought us, we also have the problem of confidential company information somehow getting out to the press.”

Alyssa sat up straighter in her chair. “You can’t think I have anything—”

Harold held up his hand. “Who knows what you’re capable of? In any case, it’s become clear to me that you are incapable of controlling yourself and your behavior, so I’ve hired someone to do it for you.” He buzzed the intercom. “Susan, you can send Mr. Taggart in now.”

Panic squeezed Alyssa’s stomach and brought a film of cold sweat to her hands.

It’s a coincidence. It has to be. There have to be hundreds, maybe thousands of Taggarts in the state of California.

The door opened, and Alyssa felt like all the air in the room was sucked out into the hallway. Heat rushed through her as every cell reacted to his presence. Her gaze devoured his face, eagerly taking in every detail of the face that had lingered in her dreams and nightmares for the past three weeks.

For the first few days she’d braced herself, forced herself to imagine the worst-case scenario, the most insulting thing he could say about her to the media, as if that would soften the blow when it hit.

Then, to her absolute shock, he said nothing. Not a single peep. Which somehow made him and their night even more special as it became clear he wasn’t going to exploit it for money or his own fifteen minutes of fame.

What was on the surface a meaningless one-night stand had taken on far greater significance, a special secret Alyssa held close, using it to reassure herself that no matter what anyone in her family or the press said about her, somewhere out there was a man who saw the real her, wanted her, maybe even cared for her a little.

Never let it be said she didn’t have a vivid imagination.

“I would like you all to meet Derek Taggart of Gemini Securities.”

Now all she could do was panic again as her special secret collided violently with her real life. Alyssa sat frozen as Derek shook Richard and Kimberly’s hands, both of whom exchanged questioning looks. They hadn’t known about Harold hiring him either.

“And I’m sure you know Alyssa Miles, Oscar’s other daughter.”

Derek gave her a bland smile and regarded her with flat,
unreadable eyes as he took her hand in his. “Is it possible to live in America and not know who Alyssa Miles is?” Though his tone was pleasant, a hard edge appeared in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth pulled down.

Any silly fantasy she’d harbored that Derek Taggart might care about her after the night they’d shared died a swift and painful death. Her blood ran cold, and she slipped her hand from his, unable to stand touching him when he looked at her like that. Gone was the heat, the need that had permeated his expression that night.

In its place were all kinds of judgments and assumptions. He’d read everything about her, seen all the stories, probably the pictures, too.

She didn’t even have to ask whether or not he believed them.

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Miles,” he said, his voice so cold she was surprised ice chips didn’t fall from his mouth. Tears threatened again as she locked eyes with him. Anger lurked behind the judgment.

“You can call me Alyssa,” she said, smiling tentatively as she searched his eyes for any softness, a grain of affection.

Nothing.

“I prefer to keep things formal, Miss Miles.”

Ouch.

She pulled her attention away from Derek and struggled to maintain her composure as she turned back to her uncle. “I don’t understand exactly why you’ve hired Mr. Taggart’s firm,” Alyssa said to her uncle. “We already have plenty of security on staff.”

“I have to agree with Alyssa,” Richard, who had remained silent until then, said. “There are legal matters to consider in bringing in an outside firm—”

“All of which you’re more than capable of dealing with, I’m sure,” Harold said and leveled Alyssa with a cool, almost reptilian stare. “Though your appeal is beyond me, you’ve
managed to charm most of the security staff into indulging your every whim. I’ve decided we need someone from the outside to come in and take a more objective look at things. Mr. Taggart, won’t you sit down.”

Richard looked like he was about to protest but was interrupted by his cell phone ringing. He frowned down at the display. “Will you all excuse me?” he said, already on his way out the door. “I need to take this.”

Alyssa kept her gaze trained forward as Derek sat down in the seat beside her. She didn’t spare him so much as a sideways glance, but that didn’t stop the screaming awareness of every nerve in her body. His scent drifted over her, pine-scented soap and his own male smell. Her mouth flooded with the memory of his taste, warm and salty on her tongue. She focused all her energy on making herself as small as possible, sure that if she brushed against his jacket-clad shoulder she’d go spinning off like a top.

“I’ll focus on finding the leak and put one of our security specialists on Miss Miles’s personal detail.”

The sound of Derek biting out her name snapped her back into focus.

“No, I want you looking after my niece. I hired you because I expect the highest level of service.”

“Mr. Van Weldt, I assure you that all our security specialists at Gemini are very qualified to handle Miss Miles—”

“What do you mean, ‘handle me’?” Alyssa broke in.

“I want to be assured you will behave in a manner that does not bring further disgrace on this family or this business,” Harold replied.

Alyssa drew back as if from a blow. “You don’t need to hire him to keep me in line. I’ve more than proven I can behave myself in public—”

“Oh, really?” Harold threw something on the table—a magazine, opened to a picture of her. Taken last week at a benefit for AIDS research, it showed Alyssa slumped in a corner
of a velvet sofa, eyes nothing but blurry slits in her flushed, shiny face. She looked like hell, like someone messed up to the point of passing out.

“I had the flu,” she sputtered, barely remembering the night, she’d felt so awful. The nausea had hit her without warning. One minute she’d been sipping a glass of champagne and chatting with the lead singer of an up-and-coming local band, and the next thing she knew, she’d been tossing her cookies in the bathroom. Andy, her assistant, had helped her to a quiet corner of the club, but of course someone had seen her and helpfully documented the moment with his or her camera phone.

“The flu? That’s the best excuse you can come up with for acting like a drunken slut when you’re out representing the Van Weldt name?”

“I wasn’t drunk!” Anger boiled to the surface. She struggled to keep her composure as she looked around the room and realized no one believed her. Least of all Derek.

Even Kimberly believed the worst. “I know you’ve been having a hard time with Daddy’s death. We all have.” She delicately wiped under her eyes and sniffed. “But if Mother taught us anything, drinking and drugs aren’t the way to cope.”

“I wasn’t drunk, and I’ve been clean for over three years,” Alyssa said. “And I don’t need some meathead dogging my every move!” Seeing her uncle’s glare narrow, she brought her temper back under control. “If I’m such a blight on the family,” she said, her tone measured, “why don’t you just let me move back to Los Angeles? Then you can wash your hands of me and go back to pretending I don’t exist.”

It was a question that had plagued her since her father’s death. Despite Harold’s obvious dislike of her, he’d expected her to keep all her engagements that related to Van Weldt business and had signed off on the budget for the new advertising campaign starring Alyssa.

And while Kimberly had welcomed her and worked to build a relationship with her, Alyssa knew her half sister wasn’t comfortable with the notoriety Alyssa’s past brought to the company and family. She was just too polite to ever say anything.

For the first time during the meeting Harold looked uncomfortable. “As much as it pains me to admit, since you’ve been directly associated with the company, revenues have increased by fifty percent. Because of the public’s inexplicable fascination with your every move, Van Weldt has become a household name. As much as I detest everything you represent, I’m too smart of a businessman to get rid of you while you still prove useful.”

She felt Derek shift next to her. Alyssa straightened in her chair, determined to not let him see her be so easily cowed. “I’m an adult, Uncle Harold. If I decide to move, there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“That is true,” he replied, lowering his gaze to a stack of papers in front of him. “However, you may miss the generous salary you receive as a spokesmodel for Van Weldt.”

“Uncle Harold,” Kimberly said in a scolding whisper, but he cut her off with his raised palm.

Alyssa knew when she was trumped. Though she got a generous stipend from her trust every month, it wasn’t enough to cover her skyrocketing expenses over the past year. She needed the extra income, and Harold knew it, damn him.

She slumped back in her chair. If it were just her, she would have gone, no question, as the stipend from her trust was more than enough to cover her own expenses. Unfortunately these days it wasn’t all about her.

“As you’re well aware, your father didn’t leave any provision for your mother’s care. So if you want her to continue receiving treatment, you’ll cooperate with me and Mr. Taggart.”

Alyssa swallowed back bitterness and nodded. She hated
to be such a fucking doormat. But not only had her mother let her health insurance lapse before she was diagnosed with cancer, she also had to fly to France every few months for experimental treatments. It was possible Alyssa could earn more money through endorsements and appearances, but it would take a while for her manager to line things up. And she needed steady cash, guaranteed. There was nothing she could do but swallow her pride and prove to her uncle she could be the well-behaved daughter her father had always wanted.