What the Paparazzi Didn't See

by Nicola Marsh

  Which reminded him. He needed to sign that WAG to a contract today. He’d up the ante with a massive cash injection from his own pocket, a hefty six-figure sum she couldn’t refuse. From what he’d heard in snippets from memos, her sordid tale would be a blockbuster. Serial WAG, dated an international soccer star and a basketball player, a media darling from magazines to TV, a practised socialite who’d appeared everywhere in Australia from all reports.

  He couldn’t care less if she’d dated the entire Socceroos team and what she’d worn to do it but that kind of gossip drivel made the average reader drool. And sold books.

  Thankfully his company had branched out into the lucrative young adult market and were making a killing but Qu readers expected factual biographies, so no use getting too radical when he’d probably only have a few months tops to save the joint.

  Yeah, he needed to get that WAG to sign ASAP. He’d get straight onto it, once this meeting wound up.

  ‘And now, gentlemen, we come to the last item on the agenda.’ The chairman cleared his throat and glared at Wade as if he’d proposed they collectively run down Bourke Street naked. ‘As you’ve seen from the proposal Mr Urquart Junior emailed us yesterday, he wants to give the company three months to see if it can turn a healthy profit.’

  Wade bristled at the emphasis on junior. He’d paid his dues in this company in his younger days, had done a hell of a lot more in London where his business was booming compared to this languishing one.

  Thoughts of the disparity saddened him and pricked his guilt as nothing else could. If he hadn’t been so pig-headed, so stubborn, so distrustful, he could’ve helped his dad while he had the chance. Could’ve done a lot more, such as mend the gap between them he’d created. A regret he’d have to live with for the rest of his life. A regret that would be eased once he saved Qu.

  ‘To do this, he proposes Qu Publishing will have a New York Times best-seller on its hands within the year, along with accompanying publicity blitz in the form of social media, television and print ads.’

  A titter of unease echoed around the conference table and Wade squared his shoulders, ready for the battle of his life.

  No way would he let Babs win. She’d made a laughing stock out of his dad; damned if he sat back and let her do the same to his dad’s legacy.

  ‘We usually put agenda items like this to a vote.’ The chairman steepled his fingers and rested his elbows on the table like a presiding judge. ‘But I don’t think it’s necessary in this case.’

  Wade clenched his hands under the table. Pompous old fools. ‘Gentlemen, if you’d let me reiterate my proposal—’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Wade.’

  The chairman’s use of his first name surprised him, but not as much as his dour expression easing into a smile. ‘Every member here knew your father and respected what he achieved with this company. But times are tough in the publishing industry. The digital boom has hit our print runs hard and readers aren’t buying paperbacks or hardbacks like they used to. Economically, it makes sense to sell.’

  Wade opened his mouth to respond and the chairman held up his hand. ‘But we admire what you’ve achieved with your company in London. And we like your ambition. Reminds us of your father. So we’re willing to give you three months to turn this company around.’

  Jubilant and relieved, Wade nodded. ‘Thanks for the opportunity.’

  ‘We understand the profits won’t soar until we have that promised best-seller on our hands, but if you can prove to us we’ll have that guaranteed hit with buyers’ pre-orders in three months, we won’t vote with Babs to sell Qu. Got it?’

  ‘Loud and clear.’ Wade stood, ready to hit the ground running. His first task? Get that WAG to sign on the dotted line. ‘Thanks, gentlemen, you won’t be sorry.’

  He’d make sure of it.

  * * *

  The idiots were stonewalling her and Liza wasn’t happy.

  ‘You won’t take no for an answer. Your editors won’t take no for an answer so I’m taking this to the top.’ She leaned over the receptionist, who, to her credit, didn’t flinch. ‘Who’s your boss?’

  The receptionist darted a frantic glance to her right. ‘He can’t see you now.’

  ‘Like hell.’ Liza strode towards the sole double doors where the receptionist had looked.

  ‘You can’t do that,’ the perky blonde yelled and Liza held up her hand.

  ‘Watch me.’

  Liza didn’t stop to knock, twisting the doorknob and flinging open the door before she could second-guess the wisdom of barging into a CEO’s inner sanctum unannounced.

  They were relentlessly harassing her; let them see how they liked getting a taste of their own medicine.

  The editors wouldn’t listen so the only way she’d get this mob to leave her alone was to have the order given from the top.

  However, as she strode into the office her plan to clear up this mess hit a major snag.

  For the guy sitting behind a huge glass-topped desk, the guy barking orders into a phone, the guy clearly in charge of Qu Publishing, was the guy who’d set her body alight last night.

  * * *

  Wade stopped mid-sentence as Liza barged into his office like a glamazon bikie chick.

  She wore tight denim, a clingy long-sleeved T-shirt, a black leather vest and the sexiest knee-high boots he’d ever seen.

  By her grim expression and wild hair, make that an avenging bikie chick.

  He’d expected to never see her again. Had secretly hoped he would.

  After the crappy year he’d endured—learning his dad hadn’t trusted him with the truth about his heart condition, accepting how far their relationship had deteriorated, his dad’s death, Babs’s sell-out plans—maybe the big guy upstairs had finally granted him a break.

  ‘Set up a meeting with the buyers and we’ll discuss covers and digital launch later,’ he said, hanging up on his deputy without waiting for an answer.

  He stood, surprised by Liza’s stunned expression. Wasn’t as if they were strangers. She’d obviously sought him out, though the dramatic entrance was a surprise.

  Most people couldn’t get past Jodi, the receptionist, he’d been told. His dad had raved about her and from what he’d seen of her work ethic in half a day, the woman was a dynamo.

  Maybe Liza had been so desperate to see him she couldn’t wait?

  Yeah, and maybe that WAG would saunter into his office any second and give him her completed biography bound in hardcover.

  ‘Hey, Liza, good to see you again—’

  ‘You’re the CEO of Qu Publishing?’

  She made it sound as if he ran an illegal gambling den, her eyes narrowing as she crossed his office to stand on the opposite side of his desk. ‘Oh, it all makes sense now. That’s why you slept with me.’

  She muttered an expletive and shook her head, leaving him increasingly clueless as he waved away Jodi, who’d stuck her head around the door, and motioned for her to close it. Jodi mouthed an apology before doing as he said, leaving him alone with an irate, irrational woman who stared at him as if she wanted to drive a letter opener through his heart.

  He wished he’d stashed it in his top drawer once he’d done the mail.

  ‘Time out.’ He made a T sign with his hands and gestured towards the grey leather sofas. ‘Why don’t we sit and discuss this?’

  Whatever this was, because he had no idea why she’d gone crazy on him for being CE
O of Qu and what that had to do with having great sex.

  Her lips compressed in a mutinous line as she marched towards the sofas and slumped into one, ensuring she sprawled across it so he had no chance of sitting nearby.

  Ironic, when last night she couldn’t get close enough. And the feeling had been entirely mutual.

  Even now, with confusion clogging his head, he couldn’t switch off the erotic images.

  Liza straddling him. Underneath him. On her hands and knees in front of him.

  The sweet taste of her. The sexy sounds she made. The softness of her skin. The intoxicating rose and vanilla scent that had lingered on his sheets.

  Their night together had been sensational, the most memorable sex he’d had in a long time.

  Hell, he was hard just thinking about it.

  Then he looked into her dark blue eyes and saw something that shocked him.

  Betrayal.

  What had he done to make her look at him as if he’d ripped her world apart?

  ‘You used me,’ she said, jabbing a finger in his direction before curling it into a fist as if she wanted to slug him. ‘Proud of yourself?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He poured a glass of water and edged it across the table. ‘Can we backtrack a little so I have a hope in Hades of following this bizarre conversation?’

  ‘Drop the innocent act. The moment I walked in here and saw you, everything made sense.’

  Her fingers dug into the leather, as if she needed an anchor. ‘Why you asked me to have a drink with you last night, inviting me back to your suite, the sex...’ She trailed off and glanced away, her blush rather cute. ‘Totally freaking low.’

  She thought he’d used her. Why? None of this made sense.

  ‘From what I remember, you approached me on that balcony. And from your participation in the phenomenal sex, you were just as into it as me.’

  Her blush deepened as she dragged her defiant gaze to meet his. ‘What I don’t get is why you’d think I’d sell my story after I discovered your identity?’

  She shook her head. ‘Or are you so full of yourself you thought I’d remember the sex and sign on the dotted line?’

  Pieces of the puzzle shifted, jiggled and finally aligned in a picture that blew his mind.

  ‘You’re the WAG we’re trying to sign?’

  ‘Like you didn’t know.’ She snorted in disgust. ‘Nice touch last night, by the way. “Your name sounds familiar”? Sheesh.’

  Hot damn.

  Liza Lithgow was the WAG he needed to save Qu Publishing.

  And he’d slept with her.

  Way to go with messing up big time.

  ‘Liza, listen to me—’

  ‘Why the hell should I?’ Her chest heaved with indignation and he struggled to avert his eyes. No use fuelling her anger. ‘You lied to me. You used me—’

  ‘Stop right there.’ He held up his hand and, amazingly, her tirade ceased. ‘Yeah, I knew Qu Publishing was pursuing a WAG for a biography but I had no idea that was you.’

  ‘But I told you my name—’

  ‘Which I had vaguely heard but, come on, I’d only landed in Melbourne for the first time in six months a few hours earlier. I’d come into the office briefly before heading to that party. So yeah, I’d probably seen your name on a document or memo or something, that’s how it registered.’

  He leaned closer, hating how she leaned back. ‘But everything that happened between us last night? Nothing to do with us publishing your biography and everything to do with...’

  Damn, wouldn’t do any good blurting out what last night had been about. He didn’t need her feeling sorry for him. He needed her onside, ready to tell her story so the board gave Qu more than a temporary reprieve.

  ‘With what?’

  At least her tone had lost some of its vitriol.

  ‘With you and me and the connection we shared.’

  ‘Connections can be manufactured,’ she said, her steely stare speaking volumes.

  She didn’t believe him.

  When he’d first glimpsed her last night he’d associated feminine and bimbo in the same sentence. Then when she’d spoken to him, he’d re-evaluated the bimbo part pretty damn quick. He never would’ve thought her attractive outer shell hid balls of steel.

  ‘Maybe, but the way we burned up the sheets last night?’ He winked, trying to charm his way out of this godforsaken mess. ‘I wasn’t faking it. Were you?’

  At last, a glimmer of softening as her shoulders relaxed and her glare lost some of its warrior fierceness. ‘Forget last night—’

  ‘Big ask,’ he said, continuing with his plan to use a little honey rather than vinegar to coerce her into giving him a fair hearing. ‘Don’t know about you, but the way we were together last night? Pretty damn rare.’

  She glanced away, but not before he glimpsed a spark of heat in those expressive blue eyes.

  ‘And have to say, I was pretty disappointed this morning to find you gone, because I would’ve really liked to...’

  What? See her again? Pick up where they’d left off? Prove their attraction extended beyond a first-time fluke?

  Best he stop there.

  He needed this woman onside to save his father’s business. A business he should’ve seen was floundering before it was too late. Before his prejudices had irrevocably damaged his relationship with his dad and ended up with him not knowing his dad was dying before he could make amends.

  Saving Qu, saving his dad’s legacy, was the one thing he could do to make this semi-right. He could live with the guilt. He couldn’t live with knowing he hadn’t given this mission his best shot.

  Her gaze swung back, locking on his with unerring precision. ‘Look, I’ll admit we shared something special last night. But I don’t have room in my life for complications.’

  He should drop this topic and move on to more important stuff, like getting her to sign. But he couldn’t help teasing her a little. Maybe if she loosened up he’d have more chance of convincing her Qu Publishing were the only mob in town worth considering for her tell-all tale?

  ‘And that’s what I’d be if I called you for a date? Dinner? A movie?’

  She nodded. ‘You’re a nice guy but—’

  ‘Nice?’ He winced. ‘Ouch.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Your ego’s not that fragile, considering you picked me up at a party after knowing me less than ten minutes.’

  ‘And you’re not as immune to me as you’re pretending considering you agreed to a drink after knowing me less than ten minutes.’

  ‘Touché.’ The corners of her mouth curved upward. ‘Let’s forget last night and move on to more important matters, like why your office is bugging me constantly and won’t take no for an answer.’

  ‘Glad to hear the editors are doing their jobs.’

  Her mouth hardened. Maybe he’d taken the levity a tad far?

  ‘You think this is a joke?’ She shook her head, her ponytail swishing temptingly over one shoulder, reminding him of how her blonde hair had looked spread out on the pillows and draped across his chest. And lower. ‘I can’t count the number of phone calls to my mobile. And now someone in your office has used underhanded tactics to discover my unlisted number and I’m being pestered at home? Poor form.’

  She sighed and a sliver of remorse pierced his resolve to get this deal done today.

  ‘I hate having my private life invaded and it’s time you and your cohorts
backed off.’

  He should feel guilty but he didn’t. While Liza didn’t fit the typical WAG profile, she couldn’t live the life of a famous sportsman’s girlfriend without loving some of the attention. And having her private life open to scrutiny came with the territory.

  All he wanted was to delve a little deeper, give his readers something more and they in turn would give him what he needed most: money to save Qu.

  ‘What if we don’t back off?’

  He threw it out there, expecting her to curse and threaten.

  He wasn’t prepared for the shimmer of tears that disappeared so fast after a few blinks he wondered if he’d imagined them.

  ‘Two words for you.’ She held up two fingers. ‘Harassment charges.’

  Idle threats didn’t scare him.

  But the guilty twist his heart gave at the sight of those tears? Absolutely terrified.

  He didn’t handle waterworks well. Even Babs’s crocodile tears at his dad’s funeral had made him supremely uncomfortable.

  That had to be the reason he’d gone soft for a moment and actually considered backing down after seeing Liza’s tears.

  ‘Maybe if you gave us a chance to explain our offer, you may feel differently?’

  Her expression turned mutinous. ‘There’s nothing you can say or do that will convince me to sell my story.’

  Okay, he was done being cool. He’d tried the truth; she hadn’t believed him. He’d tried charming her; she’d lightened up for a scant minute. Time to go for the jugular. And do his damnedest to forget that his lips had coaxed and nipped her in that very vicinity last night.

  ‘A ghost writer, a mid-six-figure advance, a more than generous royalty percentage, all for a story that most people have probably heard before?’

  Her glacial glare dropped the temperature in the room by five degrees. ‘It’s called private life for a reason. I don’t give a flying Frisbee what people surmise or print or think about me. As of last night I’m done with all the hoopla so you and your cronies can invent a fictional story for all I care.’