Wilde Heart (Wilde Women Book 2)

by Halliday, Suzanne

  Feeling a little bit like a pimply teenager calling a girl for the first time, he dialed her direct line at Passion and cleared his throat as the call went through.

  A disembodied voice, not Rhiann, muttered, “Communications. How can I help you?”

  Rather than throw his weight around, he didn’t identify himself right away, and simply said, “Rhiann Wilde, please,” fully expecting to be put through to her.

  A long uncomfortable silence ensued that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. About the last thing he ever expected to hear came back at him through the phone.

  “I’m sorry, but Miss Wilde is, uh. . . . that is to say, she’s not available. All of her calls are being directed to Human Resources. Would you like me to connect you?”

  Human Resources? What in the hell was going on?

  At first, the woman who answered the forwarded call was about as curt and rude as a Human Resources employee could possibly be—something that pissed him off royally.

  Annoyed and anxious at the same time, he gave up on the pretense of this being a casual inquiry and identified himself. That was when he was informed that Passion’s Communications Director was currently on suspension.

  “What the hell do you mean, she’s been suspended?” he bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Suspended for what exactly? Doing her job brilliantly and running her team like a professional?”

  “Er, uh . . . ,” the voice mumbled. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t have any details. I only know that she was suspended.”

  “On whose authority?” he barked.

  He heard the sound of fingers frantically tapping a keyboard and then, “Um, well, Mr. Ashforth, it looks like the suspension was authorized through BPG directly and signed off on by a Mrs. Walsh.”

  That fucking bitch. What had she done?

  Not bothering with a good-bye, he slammed the phone down so hard, it was a wonder the damn thing hadn’t pulverized.

  Picking up his cell phone, he dialed Rhiann’s cell and tried to calm down. If he didn’t hear her voice in the next minute and reassure himself that she was all right, he was going to lose it.

  “Hi. Rhiann here. You have reached the no calls and no messages zone. If this is a personal call, you’re shit-out-of-luck. If it’s business related . . . go fuck yourself. Thanks and have a nice day.”

  WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?

  Oh, my god. Pressing his hand against his chest, Liam wondered for a second if he was having a heart attack. Stabbing his finger at the intercom, he pressed the button that would connect him to his secretary. “Gardner! Get the fuck in here. Now!”

  Two seconds later, she came bursting into his office with alarm etched on her face. “What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously.

  Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Leaping from his chair, he raised clenched fists to either side of his head and pushed against his skull. His world was in full crash and burn mode, and he didn’t know what to do.

  “Where the fuck is Kim Walsh? Find her. Now! And then get me the editor for Passion on the phone.”

  Marjorie Gardner looked at him and nodded then surprised them both by asking, “Please calm down, and tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help.”

  At that moment, they weren’t playing their usual roles with Liam as the powerful tycoon and Marjorie as his trusty right hand. This was different. That she cared was obvious—that it mattered to him was the surprise.

  Gathering some flimsy threads of composure, he tried to slow his thundering heart rate before he spoke.

  “Why was Rhiann Wilde suspended from Passion?”

  “Excuse me?” she asked with surprise apparent in her voice. “Suspended? Uh . . .”

  He’d never seen his secretary at a loss for words before and frankly watching as she tried to wrap her mind around his question only made the anxiety tightening his insides spike higher. Nothing happened around BPG that she didn’t know about, and it was clear that Rhiann’s suspension had not made its way to her attention.

  “What the hell is going on?” he growled. “Fuck!”

  She flinched at his language, instantly reminding him that he wasn’t behaving normally. Liam had always been super careful not to show emotion or react outwardly to anything when others were around. Going off the deep end in spectacular fashion wasn’t something either of them expected.

  “Um, I spoke to Miss Wilde, sir. The day you left. Everything seemed fine then.”

  “What do you mean you spoke to her? Why?”

  “She called here—looking for you.”

  “Why didn’t she call my private line? She has the number.”

  “I asked her that, and she indicated that the information was on her cell phone, but she was calling from a landline and didn’t have it handy.”

  He frowned. That was bullshit. Had she been reaching out to him? Oh, god. If someone didn’t tell him what in the hell was going on, and do it soon, shit was going to get ugly.

  “What did she want?”

  Gardner looked at him a second—like she was replaying the conversation in her head—then said, “I’m not sure. I told her you were in the air and asked if the package you’d sent for delivery had arrived. She said it had and everything was fine. Then when I asked if she’d like to leave a message and she assured me that wouldn’t be necessary. Frankly, sir, I assumed you two talked regularly so I didn’t think any more of it. You know I don’t stick my nose in your personal business.”

  Liam thought he might explode. She’d called, but he didn’t know that until now and since then there’d been nothing but silence. Shit.

  The business-hardened tycoon excused himself so the frantic man inside could break free. If anything had happened to her, someone was going to die. Plain and simple.

  And then it hit him again. Kim. She was behind this. Had to be since she was the one who approved the suspension. Why hadn’t Roman told him what was going on? Wasn’t he supposed to be watching that crazy bitch?

  “None of this leaves this office, understood?”

  The older woman shook her head in agreement.

  “And don’t bother finding Mrs. Walsh. I’ll deal with her on my own.”

  She nodded again.

  And then . . . he lost his shit in rather spectacular fashion.

  “Find out what happened and do it quietly. Don’t arouse suspicion. And do not under any circumstances give Kim any information. None! Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll take care of everything, Mr. Ashforth.”

  “If Rhiann Wilde isn’t in this office before the end of today, jobs are on the line.”

  Liam knew he was yelling but didn’t try to dial it back. Gardner blanched as his anger grew.

  “I will personally destroy anyone, ANYONE, who fucked with her,” he growled with such menace that his behavior even shocked himself.

  Roman came crashing through the door while he was in mid-yell. He and Marjorie exchanged worried looks.

  “Boss,” he began as he burst in, “calm down. We need to talk.”

  Liam was in no mood to calm down and let everyone know it.

  “What the fuck, Roman! You were supposed to be on this. Where the hell is she and why is Kim Walsh still breathing?”

  Picking up the first thing that came into his line of vision, he hurled his iPhone and bellowed, “Motherfucker,” so loud the walls probably shook.

  As his phone broke into several pieces, he roared like an animal as pain infused the anger mushrooming inside him. If she was gone, if anything had happened. . . . it’d kill him.

  Frantic and quickly losing control, he turned to the two people staring at him with expressions of utter shock and just . . . fell to pieces.

  “Roman?” he said while clutching at his chest again.

  As he sank to his knees like a condemned man waiting for death, he heard Marjorie mutter, “Oh dear,” and then, “I’m on it,” to Roman. She touched the man’s arm before turning away from the spectacle he was making and exited quiet
ly, closing the door with care on her way out.

  Roman was at his side in a heartbeat and helped him to his feet. Guiding him to the sofa, he pushed Liam to sit then handed him a bottle of water he produced out of thin air.

  “Drink this and calm down. It’s not as bad as you think.”

  He looked at the man skeptically but did as directed and swallowed half the bottle in one desperate gulp.

  “Better?”

  He shook his head, No . . . but didn’t say anything.

  Roman walked to the desk and pressed the intercom. “Marjorie. Find out where Mrs. Walsh is today. Then get Gary on the phone and tell him to get over here ASAP.”

  Liam watched and listened as his heart pounded out a frantic rhythm and his stomach churned. He knew Kim was trouble. Why had he left Rhiann on her own? This was his fault—whatever this was.

  Dropping to a chair across from him, Roman leaned his forearms on his thighs and clasped his hands together—fixing Liam with a serious look.

  “First of all, she’s fine.”

  At Liam’s fierce glare, Roman amended that statement. “Okay, granted. Maybe not fine, but I have eyes on her round-the-clock, so please, Boss, calm yourself. I need you to be present, okay? We’ve got a situation on our hands.”

  “Why am I the last to know this?”

  “Because there was nothing you could do. The London meetings were important and telling you what was happening here was only going to fuck with your head. I knew that and made the decision to say nothing. All of this upset,” he said with a wave of his hand indicating the scene Liam just caused, “would have been avoided if you’d told me when you were coming home instead of just showing up out of the blue.”

  Liam’s mind was careening all over the place. He trusted Roman. Completely. And if he says she’s fine, he had to believe him. Taking a deep breath, he blew it out and closed his eyes for a second.

  Concentrate. Focus. Rhiann . . .

  “Okay. I’m okay,” he assured Roman. “But if you want me to keep being okay, I want all the facts.”

  “There are a lot of layers in this story, Boss, so if you want it all, just sit there and listen. You can ask questions at the end.”

  Liam nodded.

  “And I’ve sent for Gary. He’s been my eyes and ears on Walsh.”

  Hearing that bitch’s name deepened the scowl on Liam’s face.

  “Before you blow a gasket, you should know that her fingerprints are all over this mess. She’s got one alibi after another lined up and even some corroboration for her part of the story that had to have been strong-armed.”

  Liam finished the bottled water then crushed the plastic in his hand. Was better than putting his fist through a wall.

  Roman frowned. “All right. Let’s begin. First of all, are you aware that the press published a photo of you and Kim at the airport together?”

  Jesus. What? The only shot they could have gotten of the two of them was when Kim rubbed all up on him after he got out of the car. Knowing her, she probably tipped off the photographers. Clenching his jaw, he shook his head and waited for Roman to continue.

  “Here’s how it all went down—as best as I can piece together. Miss Wilde left town when you did and shortly thereafter, Walsh boarded a plane for Jackson Hole like she always does for Christmas. She had a round trip ticket and was scheduled to return on the thirty-first. Before leaving she told everyone who would listen that she had plans in the city for New Year’s Eve.”

  Yeah. None of this sounded out of the ordinary so far. She went to Wyoming for the holidays every year.

  “I’m going to throw myself on the fire here because this is where I fucked up.”

  Liam arched an eyebrow at Roman’s unexpected admission and wondered what he meant.

  “Basically, I took the bait and figured she was off the radar for a bit. It was Christmas, and with you in London, Walsh in Wyoming, and Miss Wilde safe in the bosom of her family, I left my guys in charge here and scheduled a quick holiday turn-around so I could visit my parents. With my dad’s health on the decline, I wanted to surprise them. I arranged to return late on the thirtieth. My thought process was simply to be in place when Walsh came back to town.”

  With a tense sigh, Roman stood to remove his suit jacket, flinging it over a chair and rolling back his sleeves. Watching him closely as he also loosened his tie, Liam had the distinct impression that it was time to get down to the dirty.

  “Miss Wilde returned from Pennsylvania on the twenty-seventh. My guys let me know when she was back. Thinking Walsh was still out of town, I told them to keep an eye on things and to let me know if anything changed.”

  He sighed again and muttered, “And change it did, but nobody knew that. Looking at it now, Walsh was brilliant. By flying commercial, she had an established itinerary that was easy to check out. Only thing was—she flew back private, a few days early.”

  Liam grunted and clenched his fists. He wasn’t sure where this was going, but he knew it was no place good.

  “Anyway—Miss Wilde was working a studio shoot for the New Year’s Eve project and as usual, Walsh had her butt buddy Katherine Martin riding roughshod over the whole thing. I’m guessing they were in constant contact. Here’s where the information gets murky so I’ll just summarize the official report and then fill in some holes with what I think really happened.”

  His eye twitched and the scowl deepened until it almost hurt. Laying his head on the back of the sofa, Liam closed his eyes and listened.

  “According to the statement Walsh gave, which was backed up by her little flunky, she dropped by the shoot to check on things. During a conversation with Miss Wilde, things became heated and again, according to Walsh, Miss Wilde got physically confrontational with her. After demanding that Miss Wilde stop touching her, when Walsh demanded she step back, an unbalanced and out of control Miss Wilde stumbled as if under the influence, lost her footing, and tumbled to the floor.”

  Under the influence? Rhiann? A menacing growl rumbled from his throat, but he managed to remain seated, head back, eyes still closed.

  “The paramedics were called to the scene; she was stabilized but had received an injury to her arm. EMS transported her to the emergency room where it was determined that she had fractured her wrist. She was fitted with a cast, and at the insistence of your legal department, Miss Wilde was compelled to submit to a drug test.”

  There was no way to hold back his outraged reaction. Surging forward, he glared at Roman. “What?”

  “Yeah, you heard me. Kim must have had legal on speed dial because they were all over the fiasco from the start.”

  “They didn’t find anything,” Liam grumbled. It was a statement, not a question.

  “By the time I got back, a full twenty-four hours had passed and before I was even finished reading the report, Miss Wilde was suspended from Passion. That bitch flat-footed me so perfectly, there was nothing I could do without making the whole thing worse. It was like she was taunting me. Us. Not a good move, although I’m sure she was pretty pleased with herself.”

  “THERE ARE AN AWFUL LOT of holes in that story,” Liam muttered.

  Roman snickered. “And you’d be right about that.”

  “Please tell me you can fill in the blanks.”

  “Get real. This is me you’re talking to. Once I realized that Walsh had effectively made a fool of me, I started digging.”

  He looked at Liam and frowned. “You’re not going to like what I found out.”

  “Oh . . . as if I like what you’ve told me so far? How much worse does it get?”

  They looked at each other—their communication being of the silent type.

  “I figured Walsh was following my every bowel movement, so I put Gary on working up an in-depth report about what really happened. Along the way, he found out that Miss Wilde had talked to the guy who heads building security where the Passion offices are located.”

  “Security? Why? I don’t understand,” he grumbled.
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  “Here’s where the story veers sharply to the left. What Gary uncovered was that when Miss Wilde returned from Pennsylvania, she had a suspicion that her apartment had been . . . compromised.”

  Liam leaped to his feet as a murderous intent overtook him. “Are you telling me that her apartment was broken into?”

  “Boss,” Roman instructed, “calm down and let me finish. Believe me, you’ll have plenty of cause to freak the fuck out after you hear the rest.”

  “Oh shit. There’s more?”

  “You don’t even know,” Roman ground out.

  Fireworks were going off in Liam’s head. “Before you say anything else, tell me again that she’s all right. That you know she’s all right.”

  This time Roman sneered and the look in his eye turned dangerous. “What messes with you, messes with me, and vice versa. Miss Wilde was my responsibility in your absence. That fucking cunt went too far.”

  “So, you’re sure she’s all right? Like right this very minute? Tell me honestly, Roman, because the message on her phone sounds an awful lot like someone who was ready to start a new life and cut all ties with the old one.”

  “She can’t be faulted for reacting that way—and yes. Right this actual very second, she’s fine,” he said waving his phone for emphasis. “I checked with my guys when I got here. I’m serious, Boss. I have eyes on her twenty-four seven. And I used some personal contacts—people who aren’t in any way connected with BPG so Walsh won’t know.”

  “I want to see her,” Liam snapped.

  “That’s not going to be possible.”

  “Why?”

  “Well . . . she’s not in the city.”

  “Did she go home, then? Is she with her parents? Or her sister?”

  “Not exactly,” Roman murmured. “Let me finish and you’ll understand. After quietly asking around, Gary came up with more. During this so-called physical altercation, Walsh taunted Miss Wilde with the newspaper photo of you two together. Whatever happened after that is still murky, but at least one person nearby, not Walsh’s lying sack of shit stooge, swears that it was Walsh who struck first, grabbing her by the arm as she tried to walk away. When Miss Wilde defended herself, Walsh yelled loud enough to get everyone’s attention and accused her of being the aggressor. Somehow, she fell, and you know the rest.”