Evernight Publishing ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2014 Noelle Keaton
ISBN: 978-1-77233-042-7
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor: Tricia Kristufek
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To O, you're still with me.
SECRETS WITH THE BILLIONAIRE
Noelle Keaton
Copyright © 2014
Chapter One
From his foldaway chair underneath the large red-and-white-striped umbrella, Tim McInerny watched the clear blue water lap against the white sands of Cedros Island’s shores. So pretty. So boring.
“To look at you, one would think you’re under house arrest instead of relaxing on an all-expense-paid vacation.”
Tim looked to his left, where his brother, Caleb, sat with a smug grin. “You can’t keep rubbing my face in the fact that you paid my way, since I didn’t want to come here in the first place.”
“It’s our parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary, and both Jill and I brought our families,” Caleb said, referring to their sister. “Mom would have had a fit if you weren’t here too.”
“Mom and Dad are the only reason I came along.” Time hated the petulant whine in his voice, but Caleb had a way of bringing the baby-of-the-family syndrome out of him. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
Caleb let out a disbelieving snort. “With what? Since you drop in on Mom and Dad three to four times a week for dinner, I’m assuming you’re not exactly rolling in it at that paper of yours.”
Tim felt his face grow hot, and it had nothing to do with the brutal Caribbean sun bearing down on them. “Things have been tight these last couple of months. Since Peter moved out, I haven’t been able to line up another roommate. Then I didn’t get the raise I was expecting, and my car needed that new transmission….”
Caleb held up his hand, gesturing for Tim to stop. “Man, whatever. You’re strapped, I get it. I’m just glad you haven’t been reduced to moving back in with Mom and Dad. That’s a step backward you didn’t need to take.”
Tim bit his tongue. If his prospects didn’t improve in the next few months, then moving back home was exactly what would happen.
“There’s a guy at MMT about your age who said he was only moving back in with his parents for a couple of months until he could save some money and get back on his feet. A year and a half later, he’s still there, crashing in their basement.” Caleb shook his head and took a huge gulp of his icy mojito. “I’d rather see you come and work with me and Dad than fall into a slump like that.”
McInerny Medical Technologies was the medical supply company founded by their grandfather. Summers spent working there during high school and college showed Tim he had little aptitude or interest in the family business. Caleb was the vice president and the clear heir apparent to take over when their father retired. But Tim knew if he worked at MMT, the sibling-rivalry tension between them would only increase.
Eager to change the subject, Tim said, “Things are really looking up for me at The Philadelphia Chronicle. I have an established readership now, and I’ve been quoted three times by the Inquirer and twice by the Daily News.
“That’s nice. Does that mean you’ll get that raise you were expecting?”
“Probably not.” Tim slumped in his chair. “Ad revenues aren’t meeting expectations, so I’ll be lucky if I don’t get a salary cut, much less a raise.”
Caleb raised a skeptical eyebrow, and Tim heard his unasked question: Why did you want to become journalist again? Tim refused to be baited into yet another discussion on the wisdom of his career choices since graduating summa cum laude from Drexel University.
But Caleb apparently felt the need to go there. “If you just have to be a writer, there’s still a place for you at MMT. We have new products that need descriptions for our customers, and the labels for our older items could probably use some sprucing up too.”
Oh, kill me now. Tim stood and pointed at his empty glass. “I need a refill. Want me to bring you another mojito?”
“Sure.” Caleb gave him a knowing smile. “We’ll continue this when you get back.”
“Yeah, okay,” Tim muttered while rolling his eyes. He wound his way to the hotel’s outdoor bar, careful not to step on any of the reclining sunbathers or sandcastles littered along the way. For a moment he regretted not going into town to sightsee with the rest of the family. Although his parents and sister were just as concerned as Caleb about his future, Tim knew they wouldn’t be as dead set on answers as Caleb seemed to be.
The irony in his being a journalist, yet ducking family inquiries into his career prospects, caused Tim to let out a bitter laugh. When he first started at the Chronicle, he thought he’d be there for only a year—maybe two, max—before moving on to the more prestigious Philadelphia Inquirer. After paying his dues there, then it would be on to The New York Times. Yet five years later, he was still at the Chronicle, with his employment becoming ever more tenuous as the paper’s ad revenues continued to decline.
I need a break, one lousy break, Tim grumbled to himself as he approached the bar. Clearly he had talent, or else he wouldn’t have survived the rounds of layoffs at the Chronicle, which were taking place more often than anyone liked. But talent alone wasn’t enough to make him stand out in the cutthroat media world. He needed a get, a scoop that everyone wanted but no one could land. Only a high-profile, exclusive interview would get Tim the kind of spotlight and credibility he needed to take his career to the next level.
Tim gave the bartender his drink order and continued to muse over what kind of story he needed to pursue to make a name for himself. While a major East Coast city, Philadelphia was small enough that avenues to the wealthy and powerful were all but closed to only established journalists. He could do a story on the plight of some of the city’s lesser-known citizens. However, Tim knew it wouldn’t have the same impact or momentum as if he landed an interview with someone famous.
“Famous,” Tim muttered as a man settling down on a stool on the other side of the bar caught his eye. Though the man looked like any other tourist, in his faded navy polo shirt and khaki cut-offs, something about his stiff, almost regal bearing set him apart. He looked like he should be chairing a meeting or giving a lecture instead of hanging out in a palm-hutted tourist trap.
Who is he, who is he, who is he echoed over and over in Tim’s head as he signed for the drinks. He cursed the fact that he wasn’t better at facial recognition. Colleagues at work had teased him that one day a VIP would be right under his nose and Tim would miss out because he couldn’t identify the person.
But Tim was not about to let this opportunity pass him by, even if he didn’t exactly know who he was pursuing. He picked up the drinks and sauntered over to the other side of the bar, as if he wanted to change seats for a better view. He chose a stool several feet away from the man, close enough to get a better look, but far enough away that the man wouldn’t realize he’d attracted anyone’s interest, especially that of a reporter.
Time reached into the pocket of his cargo shorts, grateful he’d brought his phone along, even though Caleb had urged him to leave the “electronic leash” in his room. He checked the settings to make su
re the telltale click of the camera was turned off. He’d take several pictures from different angles and then e-mail them to his editor at the Chronicle, who might be able to tell him the identity of the mystery man.
Tim took the pictures, pretending the sun’s glare caused him to have to move around and hold the phone in different positions. The man didn’t appear to notice—his gaze remained on the newspaper in front of him. Satisfied he had enough to lead to a positive identification, Tim slid his phone back into his pocket and picked up the drinks to leave.
At that moment, the man lifted his gaze and looked Tim dead in the eye. Oh, shit, I’m caught. Tim’s heart raced. But just as he scrambled for a reason he’d be staring at a man he didn’t know―Bob, is that you? Oh, sorry, thought you were an old high school classmate―he finally recognized the guy.
The man was none other than Connor Albright, media software giant and reclusive billionaire. One of Philadelphia’s most elite and least known citizens sat not more than fifteen feet away from him.
However, the Connor Albright before Tim now had longer hair, was at least forty pounds lighter, and appeared ten years older than the photograph in last year’s Vanity Fair profile. Maybe it’s not him, Tim considered. But the intimidating, steely blue gaze in the magazine’s portrait remained the same, as did the strong, chiseled jaw.
With slow, precise movements, Tim set the drinks on the counters and wiped his hands on his shorts. He swallowed his nerves and approached Connor with his hand outstretched. “Hi, Mr. Albright, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m Tim McInerny with The Philadelphia Chronicle. Would you mind if I asked you a couple of quick questions?”
Chapter Two
Motherfucker.
It took every bit of Connor’s control to remain calm, cool, and collected. He could hear his doctor warning him as if he was there by his side. “By no means get overly excited, don’t exert yourself. Absolutely no stress.”
Fine. Connor could follow orders, and coming to this supposedly secluded island proved that. But almost from the start, this trip had been one fiasco after another. First, the private, quiet island of Cedros he remembered from his childhood had become an overpopulated tourist mecca. Then he’d arrived to find the home he’d rented had sustained hurricane damage the previous year and had not yet been repaired, thus rendering the place uninhabitable. On such short notice, he’d been unable to find any other rooms available, except at this chain hotel. While the suite he’d settled for wasn’t horrible, it was still a lot lower quality than what he’d grown accustomed.
Connor comforted himself with the fact that it was highly unlikely he would run into anyone from his business and social circles here. People of his wealth usually stayed on privately owned islands, or barring that, booked themselves into an exclusive resort that placed a premium on privacy and discretion.
Yet here he was, almost a thousand miles away from Philadelphia, confronting what he dreaded most: someone who recognized him. Actually, it was worse than that… a reporter recognized him. This had all the makings of a first-class disaster.
Connor felt his heartbeat escalate and pound in his chest. He forced himself to take a deep breath and reluctantly shook the man’s hand. “Is this an accidental meeting, or did you track me here?”
A brief look of confusion crossed the man’s face, and for some odd reason, the vulnerability touched Connor. The guy looked at least a decade younger than his own thirty-seven years, with the freckles on his nose making him look younger still. If he hadn’t said he was from the Chronicle, Connor might have guessed he was a model, with his thick, dark, wavy hair and full, lush lips.
From where he sat, Connor could tell the reporter was tall, maybe only an inch or so below his own six-foot-three stature. But he had well-developed biceps and pecs, not to mention strong, toned thighs, where Connor’s own body had grown thin and pale over the last few months since his surgery. Before it, he’d have been a match for the reporter. Now, Connor felt like an inadequate imitation.
He didn’t realize just how lost in thought he’d become until he heard the man say, “…and I’d really appreciate the chance to interview you. At your convenience, of course, whether here or back in Philadelphia.”
Connor snapped out of it with a shake of his head. “I don’t do interviews. The public relations staff at Albright Software Media can answer any questions you have.”
He thought his terse tone might dissuade the reporter, but the other man stood his ground. “If I have questions related to your products, I’ll be sure to contact them. However, what I’m asking for is an interview with you. I know it is something you rarely do―”
“With good reason.”
“―but you’re a public figure that people in Philadelphia, not to mention the entire country, want to know more about. Your software has revolutionized the way people not only download and stream content, but create it themselves. Readers would like to know more about what inspires you, what drives you, as well as what you have developing in the pipeline.”
Connor felt a chill run through him, although the outside temperature hovered in the eighties. Talking and thinking about the long-term future had that effect on him. “You overestimate my importance, Mr…., uh….”
“McInerny. But you can call me Tim.”
Connor found himself returning the man’s winsome grin despite his usual loathing of the press. “Albright Software Media customers care about the products, not the man behind them. I’m sure you have many good questions, but I’m confident they can be answered to your satisfaction by my public relations staff or my marketing department.”
“Can the PR or marketing departments tell me why your appearance has changed so drastically in the last year?”
Connor’s smile vanished and his lips thinned. “It’s none of their business, nor is it yours.”
“Like I said, Mr. Albright, you’re a public figure. That kind of question is my business, especially when your appearance might indicate compromised health—which, of course, would be the business of Albright Software Media shareholders.”
“Son of a bitch.” Connor leveled Tim with a harsh gaze, who returned it unblinking. He gestured to Tim’s pocket. “I think I saw you waving around your phone earlier. Am I correct in assuming you took my picture?”
For the first time, Tim looked slightly embarrassed, and he cast his eyes to the ground. “I didn’t know who you were at first. I took your picture and intended to forward it back to my editor to see if he could make the ID.”
“And what would it take for you to delete those pictures of me from your phone?”
Tim lifted his chin back up, a wary expression on his face. “They aren’t for sale. However, if you do an interview with me and agree to let one of our staff photographers do a portrait, then these pics of mine won’t really be of much use.”
Connor shook his head, knowing he’d been backed into a corner, at least for now. “I guess you all at the Chronicle play hardball, huh? Blackmailing me for an interview.” For a moment Connor thought he actually saw a pang of regret on Tim’s handsome face, but a professional, detached expression soon took its place.
“I’m not blackmailing you, Mr. Albright. We are just finalizing a business deal, something you’ve done hundreds of times in the past. It’s not my wish to turn these candid shots of you into the basis of my story. However, if you decline to do an interview with me, that’s what you’ll force me to do.”
“Fine.” Connor folded his newspaper and stood. “Meet me at eight o’clock tonight and I’ll give you forty-five minutes. Afterward, you’re going to delete every single picture you took of me.”
Connor had hoped the suddenness of the appointment would cause Tim to change his mind, but he nodded like the time and place had been his idea all along. “I’ll be there.”
“Good.” Connor turned and headed toward the hotel’s main entrance, wondering what exactly he’d gotten himself into.
****
“Okay, stay ca
lm. This doesn’t have to be the catastrophe you’re making it out to be.”
Back in his hotel room, Connor gripped his cell phone tighter, even though his general counsel’s words were reassuring him a little. “Fine, Dan. What should I do?”
“For now, go ahead and do the interview. I have contacts at the Chronicle. We can undo anything that could harm you or the company.”
“That reporter’s seen me and taken my picture. I think the harm’s already been done.”
“A no-name reporter for a third-rate paper taking your picture while you’re on a private vacation would say more about him than you if he dared publish those photos.”
“I know we can destroy his career, but it still won’t solve the problem of the shareholders seeing what kind of shape I’m in. They can’t see me until I’m one hundred percent back to where I once was.”
A long pause followed before Dan said, “For a man who has undergone a quadruple bypass, you look terrific. The shareholders will understand after they realize what all you’ve gone through.”
“The better I look, the more shareholders will be reassured. The more reassured they are, the more stable our stock prices will be once we go public with the news.”
“I realize that, Connor, and so do the board members. First and foremost on our minds is your health. You went to Cedros to relax and finish recovering, not to worry about this sort of thing. The last thing we need right now is for you to have a medical setback.”
Connor recognized the wisdom in Dan’s advice. He forced himself to take a deep breath to control his increased heartbeat. “I’m being careful. I won’t have a setback. I just wish I’d taken more care in choosing a spot to vacation where I wouldn’t be recognized.”
Secrets With the Billionaire Page 1
