White Rabbit

by London Miller

Karina didn’t doubt for a second that she didn’t know everyone her mother had ever come into contact with, not when she had spent so much time away from home during her boarding school years and even after when she usually stuck to her own room and rarely ventured out, but after she had come of age—after she understood just why Katherine was always stroking the spine of her favorite black book, she learned to pay attention.

  Even when no one thought she was listening, or if she looked as if something else entirely had distracted her, she noticed everything.

  The names of politicians.

  Positions held by men of seeming unimportance.

  Dates.

  Times.

  Anything of value she tucked away in the back of her mind for use later. Information was power, after all, and it had proven quite beneficial for her once she moved to New York and began her career as a journalist.

  More often than not, if someone was of importance to Katherine, she mentioned them once or twice in passing.

  If there was one thing Karina was absolutely sure of, she had never heard her mother mention Uilleam’s father or any of the Runehart family.

  “Alexander has been dead for years,” Katherine said with an absent wave of her hand, as if that detail was frivolous and unimportant.

  She had figured as much from her conversations with Uilleam, but she was more curious about who the man had been while he was alive. “What was he like?”

  “Arrogant,” Katherine answered immediately. “Capable of wondrous, awful things when he wanted to make a point. Many considered his name synonymous with fear because that was what he inspired.”

  Like Uilleam, Karina thought immediately.

  “A great many people hated him—even his own family,” she tacked on at the end, her tone hinting at something Karina couldn’t let pass.

  “How do you know that?”

  Getting answers out of her was like pulling teeth.

  A constant battle to see how far she was willing to go to get what she wanted—if her will was strong enough to endure the constant bouts of silence …

  “Mother?”

  “Ah, where did I leave off?” she asked as if she didn’t know already.

  A small voice in the back of Karina’s mind told her she should just leave it—that if she were truly curious, there was one greater source she could go to that could provide her with just as many answers, if not more.

  When it came down to it, she didn’t have to play this game. She didn’t have to do this at all.

  “Perhaps it’s a conversation better left for another day,” Karina said, setting her fork down before making it a point to look down at her watch. “I really should be getting back to the office.”

  She lost some of that earlier humor—as if Karina wasn’t going her part by entertaining it. “You’re quite serious about this, aren’t you?”

  “Serious about what?” she asked, reaching into her purse to pull out her wallet.

  “This little hobby of yours. Journalism.”

  “It’s not a hobby, and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m rather good at it.”

  But even as she responded, she knew it didn’t really matter.

  She could have all the awards and accolades in the world with her name printed in high regard for anyone to see, but it would never matter to her mother because she wasn’t impressed by such things.

  It was all trivial to her.

  And it was for that reason alone that she doubted she would ever go home.

  By the time Karina made it back to her apartment that evening, a headache had already started to throb behind her right eye, and the only thing she wanted beyond the comforts of her bed and a glass of wine was Uilleam.

  But she was willing to settle for two out of the three.

  Leaving her heels on the rack by the door and her purse on the table, she pulled the tie from her hair, sighing in relief as she massaged her scalp to ease the tension.

  Ever since she had come home from their winter escape, Karina couldn’t help but think her apartment felt different now—that it felt too small and too big at the same time. Quiet.

  She had always known, in some capacity, that Uilleam had a rather prominent presence that couldn’t be denied, but she hadn’t expected it to linger even when he wasn’t around. She couldn’t even blame it on the fact that he had left something behind after he’d gone that reminded her of him. Not a spare shirt or even a pen, yet she could still feel him in the echoes of the space around her.

  Before heading into her bedroom, she stopped in the kitchen for a glass and the wine bottle she kept chilled in the refrigerator, then carried both and her laptop bag into her room.

  Ten minutes later, after changing out of her clothes and washing her face free of makeup, she climbed onto the queen-sized bed and got comfortable before opening her laptop.

  This part was always what she enjoyed the most—the story behind the story.

  Reading and researching.

  Hunting through countless articles and posts for information to better understand who or what she was writing about.

  And unlike William Paxton—whose life she had only been able to discern from the little information provided in business write-ups—a wealth of information about the McDonalls was at her fingertips.

  They didn’t mind the spotlight and seemed to rarely turn down an interview. They’d done ten so far this year with dozens more over the length of their short marriage.

  Karina found it fascinating to learn about them—interpreting the way they acted around each other through the eyes of the journalists who wrote about them.

  Hugh McDonall was a businessman, professional and poised, willing to answer questions and even laugh at his own expense. From what she could tell, he was a rather nice man, though she’d refrain from passing judgment until she actually met him.

  Claire McDonall, on the other hand, was exceptionally pretty, and though she rarely smiled in the pictures that Karina could find of her, she did seem to smile more when she was around her husband. But even that seemed a bit … forced.

  Time swept by quickly as she read through everything she could find, scribbling down notes, forming her own opinion about who they were and why her editor might have thought something was worth writing about.

  Lost in the early stages of her research, her phone interrupted her musing, drawing her gaze over to it. She contemplated ignoring it, considering she didn’t recognize the number and anyone calling this late couldn’t possibly want anything good, but as quickly as she wanted to dismiss it, she realized who it could be.

  “Uilleam?”

  “Expecting someone else?” he asked, his voice low and deeply amused.

  It certainly shouldn’t have brought a smile to her face and made her forget all about what she had been doing before he called. “Considering you have a tendency to forget how to use a phone, I wasn’t sure I’d hear from you while you were gone.”

  “Once was enough,” he said easily. “I think I’m more interested in keeping you, poppet. As close as possible.”

  “Is that the real reason you’ve asked me to move in with you?”

  And not just because her lease was nearly up …

  But she wanted him to admit as much—to acknowledge the way he felt because while she had confessed to him that she loved him, he hadn’t said the same in return.

  Sure, in the time since, he had shown her, but it still didn’t change the fact that she would like to hear him say it.

  “Do I truly need a reason?” he asked before she heard the rapid beep of horns in the background.

  On his way back to his hotel, if she had to wager a guess. “Curious minds and all.”

  Uilleam’s voice grew muffled as he spoke to someone in the background. While she waited, she closed her laptop and gathered up all the documents she’d printed, setting them aside for tomorrow when she would actually be going to meet with Hugh for the first time.

  A meeting she was more and more interested
in having as she learned more about the man and the rather mysterious woman he was married to.

  A woman, apparently, preparing to divorce him and take everything he owned.

  “You know, you could always call me back,” she suggested, though she couldn’t be sure Uilleam could even hear her.

  But his response was immediate. “No need. I have you now.”

  Smiling to herself, she placed the phone on speaker and set it aside before moving her laptop back to her lap and finishing the article she’d been reading before he called.

  She’d nearly reached the end when Uilleam came back on the line.

  “You were saying?”

  “I think you were saying, actually.”

  “Ah, yes. That it would be in everyone’s best interest if you moved in with me.”

  “Everyone? That’s generous.”

  “I’m in a far better mood when I have you, poppet. The world appreciates it.”

  Considering how they had crossed paths, she was almost inclined to believe him. “I like to think there’s good in you, Uilleam. You just have to let that side out more.”

  “Perhaps it’s better left for you alone. I think you forget, I don’t like people.”

  Now, she laughed. Loud enough that her neighbor pounded his fist against the wall until she tapered off. “How could I possibly forget?”

  But while he might not have been a people person, she loved him anyway.

  And he reminded her why every day.

  6

  Differences

  After nearly two years in New York, Karina thought she was used to traveling to the Upper East Side. She was already familiar with the wealth and privilege of those who called it home, but as she slipped out of the back of the cab, she was a bit surprised by the sight that greeted her.

  Three clowns in colorful wigs—though without the usual white faces, red nose, or long shoes variety—headed toward the front door, oblivious to her coming up behind them.

  Not that she minded. This gave her the opportunity to look around a bit without anyone the wiser. It was clear someone was having a party from the balloons tied to light posts as well as the soft cheers she could hear from the backyard even where she stood.

  The message had said today, she thought, double checking that fact as she awaited whoever came to the door. Hugh McDonall hadn’t mentioned a party as far as she was aware, so hopefully this hadn’t been a wasted trip if he wanted to send her away.

  Either way, she was ready to get on with it.

  “Oh good, you’re here,” a woman wearing a pair of tan pants and a lacy white blouse breathed as she opened the door, gesturing wildly for the clowns to come in. “We’ve been waiting for hours.”

  Karina walked up a bit more slowly, waiting until the woman caught sight of her before she spoke. “Hi, I’m Karina Ashworth. I’m here to see Hugh?”

  The woman’s green eyes widened a fraction, deepening the wrinkles on her forehead for a moment before the expression smoothed away. “Of course, of course. He’s been expecting you. Come in.”

  All too quickly, she swept to the side and waved Karina in, her gaze briefly leaving her to look back out the door—as if she were expecting someone else—before she closed the door again and locked it.

  But she didn’t just give the knob a twist, she also double bolted it and connected the chain.

  Arching a brow, Karina tried not to think too much into that as she hovered in the foyer, her attention stolen by the framed portrait directly opposite her. In it, she could see Hugh who stood with a brilliant smile on his face, his arms around an exceptionally beautiful woman and both a girl and a boy who beamed at the camera as well.

  The only person who didn’t look particularly happy to be taking the picture was the woman, Claire, Karina was pretty sure.

  “He’s out back with the children,” the woman said, her voice soft and pleasant. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to him. I’m Harriet, by the way.”

  “Lovely to meet you,” she returned, reaching into her bag for her phone.

  It would be too telling if she pulled out her notepad and started jotting observations down—that was the quickest way to make a person shut down—but with her phone, they would think she was either checking her email or sending a text.

  And sometimes, when she was lucky, they let their guard down further when they thought she wasn’t paying attention.

  It made her job easier.

  Harriet excused herself, slipping out the back door where Karina could see a party was in full swing. Colorful balloons were everywhere, an assortment of cakes and desserts spread out on a long table where the adults hovered over. There was even a bouncy house, and she could see all the boys and girls inside jumping to their hearts’ content.

  She found herself smiling at the sight of them, happy that they were experiencing it, but also wondering what it was like. She had never been in one, not even when she was a girl—nor had she ever jumped on a trampoline.

  In many ways, though she knew what they were, this was unfamiliar territory for her.

  Harriet hadn’t been gone long before she reappeared with a man in jeans and a sweater. He was older, closer to his early forties, and had the sort of look that reminded her of an old professor she’d had back at finishing school.

  Hugh didn’t seem at all like a man who was worth more than half a billion dollars.

  Instead of penetrating, his eyes were … kind.

  “Miss Ashworth, I presume?” he asked, walking toward her and extending his hand along the way. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “Nice to meet you as well,” she said, taking his proffered hand. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “Not at all,” he said, turning to look back out the glass doors, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Now is the best time for us to meet, actually.”

  Karina couldn’t see how that would be, considering she was pretty sure this was a party of some sort for his children, but he obviously knew something she didn’t, so she didn’t bother to ask.

  “Let’s talk in the other room. Harriet, my nanny, will watch over this until I come back.”

  The room they entered next was split in half—one side being an office, the other side a play area that was clearly meant for children.

  Her second observation. Instead of a private office tucked away with a door that stayed closed more often than not, he seemed to do his business out here where he could also see his children.

  It was becoming clear, despite her earlier thoughts about him, that he was nothing at all like she was expecting.

  “When my secretary called to say you wanted a meeting, I’ll admit that I was a bit surprised,” he said as he made a drink for himself in the corner of the room. “Can I get you anything?”

  “A water is fine, thank you.”

  Usually, she couldn’t wait to start her questions because sometimes the best answers were those that came when a person was caught off guard, but for this one, she wanted Hugh as comfortable as possible.

  Because while she would make him believe she was asking about one thing, she would really be asking about something else.

  Which was why she had told his secretary she wanted to talk to him about how he’d grown his empire—a pop piece that would look good to investors—certainly not what she was going to actually be writing about.

  “Is your wife here?” she asked, more for her own curiosity than anything else. She hadn’t seen her in the backyard when she’d arrived.

  He hesitated a moment, a stumble he quickly tried to recover from. “Not today, I’m afraid. Unavoidable plans.”

  Hugh passed her a tall glass before he sat opposite her on the loveseat. “Ask me anything you want. I’m an open book.”

  She wasn’t so sure about that. “Is it true you built your empire in less than a year?”

  He smiled proudly even as he nodded. “Absolutely. All the hard work that year paid off, but I have to admit I had a lo
t of help in the process. I probably wouldn’t be where I am now without my team.”

  Humble? “A lot of people contribute your success to a business loan from …” She pretended to check her notes. “Your best friend, Ron?”

  “Yeah,” he said again with another smile. “Ron’s a good guy and an even better friend.”

  “It’s safe to say you love what you do, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, absolutely.”

  “Then why would you sell your business?” she asked. “Anyone who loves what they do wouldn’t throw it away, not for any amount of money.”

  She knew, even before the question left her mouth, that it would catch him off guard. For a moment, she had considered waiting a bit or at least easing him into the topic, but she found sometimes it was better to confront someone with the truth of what you knew than to beat around the bush.

  Hugh paused with the glass nearly to his lips, his surprise very clear in the way he hesitated. But anger didn’t follow on the heels of it. “How do you know anything about that?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. McDonall. I can’t name my sources.”

  That answer only managed to make him toss the drink back in its entirety. “I don’t know—”

  “And your wife?” she asked. “How does she feel about you selling? Per your last interview with NYT, you mentioned that she’s integral to your company.”

  Hugh scoffed, though she wasn’t sure if he even meant to do it. An involuntary reaction. “I’m sure she’ll be quite happy,” he said quickly. A little too quickly. “But all the same, to answer your question, I’m glad to be stepping down. It gives me the opportunity to focus on what matters.”

  Despite his assurances, she wasn’t so sure he actually believed that. The pensive and mildly angry expression on his face said the exact opposite.

  Which didn’t make sense to her at all.

  He was the one with the money, the power and prestige, so there was no reason he wouldn’t be getting what he wanted. If anything, the positions should have been reversed. He should have been the man she was looking into in hopes that she could help Claire get out of a precarious situation.