by Marie Carnay
“Okay.” Jess frowned. She didn’t even know which MacIntosh the driver meant. “Any chance you’ll tell me where?”
The chauffeur’s teeth gleamed white in the rear view as he smiled. “I’m sorry, but Gage asked me to refrain. I’m sure you understand.”
She crossed her arms in annoyance. “Not really.”
The car sped down the highway headed west. Did they own a place west of town? Were they going to some obscure dinner hot spot?
The limo driver should have some answers. She just needed to act like a reporter and ferret them out.
Jess scooted forward in the seat and focused on the driver’s reflection in the mirror. “Have you worked for the MacIntoshes before?”
He nodded. “Every time they come to town.”
“What are they like?”
The man considered the question for a moment. “Generally on time, friendly, good tippers. The kind of client I like to have.”
Huh. Not what she had expected at all. “So the rumors about all those wild parties and groupies who follow them wherever the go are what? Lies?”
He chuckled. “I don’t want to get in trouble, miss.”
Jess batted her lashes. “Come on, I wouldn’t tattle on you. There has to be something you can tell me. I’m staying with them for a while and I’d love to find out what I’ve gotten myself into.”
God, what she’d give for that little black number Wendy had shoved in her handbag. She could flash some cleavage and get all the answers.
The driver glanced at the road. He had to be close to her age with slicked back hair and taut neck muscles that said gym rat. Given the MacIntosh brothers’ reputations, their drivers probably got plenty of cast-offs thrown their way.
The thought made Jess frown. Agreeing to this assignment was a huge mistake.
“You really want to know?”
The driver’s voice startled her and she nodded.
“Most of it’s not true. At least not when they’re here in Atlanta. I mean, yeah, they go to parties and women throw themselves all over them, but at the end of the night they head home alone. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
He nodded. “They had that one girlfriend for a while… Bianca, I think? But she was… different.”
Jess squinted at the mirror. “How so?”
“They loved her.”
Oh. Jess fell back onto the seat. “Both of them?”
“Mm-hmm. Super sweet to her, too. It’s not your ordinary kind of thing, but it worked for them. When she was around they paid double to avoid the press. I was sad to see her go.”
“What happened?”
“I’m just the driver, miss.” The man focused on the road and Jess knew he was done talking. She could needle him all she wanted, but it wouldn’t do any good. People always got this look about them when they’d said too much.
As she turned to peer out the window, the car exited the interstate. They were in a part of town she’d never been.
They whizzed by rows of nondescript warehouses and tractor-trailers parked at loading docks. She couldn’t imagine billionaires having a place out there. At last, they turned into a gated facility.
A guard stopped the town car and the driver flashed a badge before they rolled into what looked like a shipping hub. Were they interested in buying it? Were they secretly a pair of serial killers preparing to carve her up and dump her body in the back?
Jess hugged her cardigan closer around her shoulders as the town car meandered past a building and onto a… runway.
Oh my God.
Jess pressed her fingers against the glass window as she gawked at the private plane sitting alone on the asphalt. “You can’t be serious.”
She said the words more to herself than the driver, but he answered all the same. “One thing I’ve learned, miss, the MacIntoshes never joke about business. The plane looks ready to go. You should hurry.”
He stopped the car a few yards from the metal stairs leading into the plane’s cabin. This can’t be real. Jess stepped out into the evening sun after the driver opened her door.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime. I’ll see to your bags.”
She nodded and stepped toward the uniformed man waiting beside the stairs.
“Ms. Woodson?”
“Yes.”
“Good evening, I’ll be your pilot this flight. Are you ready to depart?”
Am I? Jess glanced up at the plane with its row of round windows and gleaming white paint. Once she climbed inside, her life would take a turn she had never imagined. Gone would be her boring, predictable routine in Atlanta.
In its place, a few weeks with two of the richest men in the world. Men who wanted her to chronicle their whole lives and lay it out for everyone to see. She swallowed and looked the pilot in the eye. “Yes, I’m ready.”
Chapter 6
HOLT
Jessica Woodson was one sexy news researcher. From the minute she walked onto the plane, Holt's thoughts kept returning to the bedroom. Try to hide it all she wanted under jeans and an ordinary T-shirt, but the woman had a body to die for.
The arched eyebrow and plump pout didn’t hurt either. Holt smiled and poured himself a drink. “Can I get you anything? We’ve got a full bar.”
“Vodka and soda. Thanks.”
Mmm. A liquor woman. Either she was nervous as hell or she had balls. He made her drink and handed it over. “Please, have a seat.”
Holt motioned at the leather armchair opposite his as he sat down. Two hours to get to know each other without his overbearing older brother around to gum up the works. He couldn’t wait to find out more about her.
“Is Gage not joining us?”
Holt let the comment go. “He left a few hours ago. So tell me about yourself.” The bourbon slipped down his throat and he relaxed into the vintage leather.
“What would you like to know?” She sipped the drink and gave him a bland smile.
Oh, no. The facade didn't work on him. “Anything. How about how you got into your line of work? A pretty woman like yourself could do anything. Why sit behind a desk and do background checks all day?”
She took a gulp before answering and Holt bit back a grin. He enjoyed making her uncomfortable. At least until the gloves came off.
“Am I supposed to be flattered or offended?”
“How about both?” Holt straightened up and slid forward until their knees almost touched. She didn’t flinch. “Harvey told us you have no interest in becoming a reporter. Why is that?”
“I don’t need to be the center of attention.”
“Never?”
Her lips twitched. “No.”
“If you tried it, you might change your mind.”
“I doubt it.”
Feisty, too. Jessica Woodson kept getting better and better. “Why this job? Why not work for a think tank or a research institution instead of a news network?”
“My decisions have nothing to do with this assignment.”
Holt raised an eyebrow. “You’re not intimidated by me, are you?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“How about just a pinch? A dab? There must be some lurking in there. Everyone’s intimidated by billionaires.”
“Guess I’m not everyone, then.”
Impressive. She held steady even when pushed. Maybe she’d sing a different tune if he changed his line of attack. “If you won’t talk to me about yourself, then tell me what you know about us.”
She stiffened. “Not much.”
“Come now, there has to be something that comes to mind.” He swirled the rest of his drink and stared at the v of her T-shirt. “Our parties and business holdings. The women.”
“Like I said before, I’m not in the habit of believing everything I read.”
“No?”
She shook her head.
“What if I told you that what you’ve read is true? Would that change your opinion?”
Holt leaned closer, brushing hi
s knee against her leg. He kept it there, grazing the side of her thigh as he looked her over. Intimidation didn’t open her up. Sex might.
Her voice took on a gritty undertone. “I’m here to do an impartial job. My opinion is irrelevant.”
He reached out and traced a pattern around her kneecap with his index finger. She didn’t even blink.
Damn. By now, any woman he’d run into lately would have been begging for it. A chance to bag a hot billionaire would have sent them into a tailspin of fake giggles and hair tosses. But not Ms. Woodson.
When he had come up with this idea, he thought it would be easy. Find some reporter with stars in his eyes, tell him how high to jump and the man would do it with bells on his toes.
When Harvey said it was a woman, he figured seduction would work. Play around for a few weeks, give her a taste of the good life, and then she’d write gushing prose about their sexy grins and business acumen.
But this woman…
He touched her knee again and she grabbed his hand. “Let’s get something straight, Mr. MacIntosh. You are my employer. I am your employee. You’ve requested me to complete an assignment and that’s what I’m going to do. Sleeping with you isn’t part of the deal.”
Her fingers dug into his skin and Holt tried one last smile. “That will change.”
She released him with an eye roll. “What is it you hope to get out of this, anyway?”
Shit. So much for an entertaining plane ride. His instincts had been right. Hiring a female researcher was the worst possible thing to do. How could they sway a woman who didn’t even quiver when he came onto her?
He exhaled and admitted the truth. “Positive publicity is what we need.”
“Seducing me isn’t the best way to get it.”
“Apparently not.” God this would be a train wreck. They could kiss the Hotel buyout goodbye and Gage would probably never speak to him again. It would be a disaster. Holt downed the last of his drink. “So sex doesn’t push your buttons. What does?”
She cocked her head and regarded him for a moment. “Being honest and open. Let me do my job. The more I learn about you and your brother and how you two operate, the better work I can do.”
“What if you don’t like what you see?”
Her gaze traveled from his eyes to his crotch and back up. “So far you’re doing just fine.”
If he hadn’t been paying attention, he’d have missed it. The woman was a damn minx. “You are unique, Ms. Woodson.”
“Call me Jess.”
“How I can help you, Jess?”
“How long do we have?”
Holt checked his watch. “An hour.”
She scooted forward on her seat and dug a notepad and pen from her bag. “Tell me everything about your current business holdings. That’ll be a good start.”
JESS
Holt spent most of the hour explaining the numerous MacIntosh family assets. Turned out they owned everything from commercial real estate to restaurants to night clubs. They even had plans to open a casino with a pair of businessmen in Las Vegas. The family fortune wasn’t just Hotels anymore.
The more Holt talked, the more Jess softened to him. Despite his first attempts to rile her up, once he got down to business, the man was direct and bullshit-free. Just the way she liked them.
It didn’t hurt that he had those oh, my brown eyes that made her head swim with very unprofessional things.
Stolen kisses. Crisp sheets. Fevered skin.
She cleared her throat and glanced at her notepad. “So when did your father sell the Hotel chain?”
Holt frowned. “A year before he died.”
“The name went with the sale?”
“It shouldn’t have.” Holt’s hand balled into a fist and he focused on the floor.
Jess knew holding back when she saw it. She might not want to be a front-line reporter, but she still had the instinct. “Are you saying—” A crackling noise cut her off.
“Mr. MacIntosh, sir, we’re making our initial descent into La Guardia. The plane should be landing soon.”
Jess stared at the wall speaker where the pilot’s voice had come from. That had to be a hallucination. “We flew to New York?”
Holt looked at her like she’d spoken in a foreign language.
“We have work to do this week. You didn’t think we’d be staying in Atlanta, did you?”
Jess blinked. “Of course not.” If she were being honest with herself, she hadn’t thought about it at all. She had been swept up into a crazy whirlwind the minute she stepped into work that morning and hadn’t had a chance to slow down.
When she had first seen the plane, shock had taken over. Then she’d tried to focus on the assignment. Where they were going hadn’t even crossed her mind. What a bang-up reporting job she managed so far.
I shouldn’t have had that drink.
“Something wrong?” Holt reached for her, but she waved him off. Seem vulnerable? No way.
“Not at all. Do you mind if I ask where we’re going?”
“You just did.” Holt glanced at the time. “Dinner, most likely. We’re supposed to meet Gage at the Tristfall by eight.”
Her stomach growled at the mention of food.
“I take it that works for you.”
She shrugged. “I am a bit hungry.”
“Good. They have the best lobster in the city.”
Jess looked down at her drab T-shirt and jeans. “So is it cocktail party chic or business suit classy?”
Holt’s jaw ticked. “It’s New York. Anything goes as long as it’s expensive.”
Great. He might as well have said not her style. “All right. I’ve got a change of clothes in my bag. Just give me a few minutes?”
“Take all the time you need.”
Jess grabbed her bag and headed into the bathroom at the rear of the plane. It was shoebox-sized, but better than most bathrooms on commercial airliners.
She had to say, traveling with the MacIntoshes was one hell of a step up from her usual subway ride, Greyhound bus living. The only time the network fronted an airline ticket for a research project, she’d been stuck in the last row of coach in the middle seat between a married couple who insisted on playing rummy on her tray.
It hadn’t been a good day.
This was almost nice. Jess tugged the little black dress out of the bag and sent a silent thanks out to Wendy. It really was the perfect emergency travel dress. Bouncy, wrinkle-free fabric. Tight, but not tacky. Short but not mini. It was suitable for anywhere they wanted to go.
Add in the all-day heels she’d thrown in and some fresh makeup, and she was at least presentable.
Flying a private jet might not be her usual cup of tea, but Holt had surpassed her expectations so far. She’d anticipated an asshole in a suit who told her what to say and how to write it. But he was the exact opposite.
The sexy hair falling across his forehead. The way he used his charm and good looks to get under her skin. All the while he’d been coming onto her, she forced herself to think about anything else.
The rotten spaghetti she’d forgotten about in the back of her fridge. That time she got food poisoning and threw up for three days straight. Her butt in yoga pants.
She shouldn’t even consider him as anything more than her ultimate boss. She needed to stay focused on the job. It was a temporary assignment. Even if he did flirt with her on the plane, it didn’t mean anything. The man could have any woman he wanted.
Reading any more into it was ridiculous. Jess zipped up her bag and tugged open the door. Holt’s expression was the first thing she saw. It didn’t say business at all.
“Well, well, Ms. Woodson. I can tell you’re an expert at hiding your best assets. What else do you have tucked away in that stunning dress of yours?”
Jess swallowed. Keep it professional whatever you do. “I’m a black belt in taekwondo. Does that count?”
Holt laughed. “It’s a damn good start.”
Chapter 7
JESS
Fancy New York dinner spot didn’t do Tristfall justice. Part nightclub, part upscale lounge, people came for the scene, not the amazing food.
Women in slinky party dresses and sky-high heels giggled next to men flashing watches that cost more than Jess made in her whole life. And the cars queued up in valet? Half of them she'd never seen before.
Catching herself picking at a nail, Jess cursed under her breath. Learn what being a MacIntosh was all about, meant blending in, not sticking out.
Holt leaned close while they walked up to the front door. His hand hovered over the small of her back and Jess tensed. “Relax. Everyone knows us here.”
She half-whispered. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
His low laugh sent a tingle through all the wrong places. Damn.
The plane was hard enough. Pretending not to notice when Holt's eye wandered from her face to her boobs and back again was doable with a notebook propped on her lap and scribbled questions to ask later.
Dressed for a night out with Holt’s fingers splayed across her back was a whole other story. How had she ended up in the middle of this?
Holt spoke a few hushed words to the man at the front door and before Jess got her bearings, they were whisked away to a secluded room on the second floor. Dark walls. Lush carpet. Intimate table setting. No one took a quasi-biographer to a spot like this.
She turned to Holt as the restaurant employee left. “Is this really the best arrangement? It seems…”
“Private?” Gage’s voice billowed around her like smoke.
He stepped out of the shadows and her tongue tripped over itself. “I didn’t know you were here.”
His eyes lit up. “Most women spot me from a hundred feet away.”
“I’m not most women.”
“Obviously.”
Oh, God. He stared at her like an ice cream cone: something to devour one lick at a time. Somehow she’d gone from tiptoeing into the kiddy pool to wading through the MacIntosh brothers’ dark waters. The depths teemed with sharks and eels. “I’m supposed to be doing a job.”
Gage eased closer. The black of his suit gave way to a subtle stripe and his pocket square turned from vague gray to paisley. The nearer Gage slid, the more dashing he became.
