by J. A. Coffey
"What do you mean, not this kind of reporter?" Casey turned away from Mason and hissed the words into the phone. "You said we'd keep this quiet, and I could have some time away from those vultures."
"Well, sweetie, that was the plan, but you know how these reporters can be. They get just a hint of a story and they're flying off to Timbuktu. Or in your case, the Port of Miami and a cruise ship."
"You mean one of them followed me on board?" Taking a few steps farther away from Mason, Casey said, "Tell me this wasn't part of your plan, Jane."
She heard the muffled sound of papers being rustled in the background.
"I'm not sure I understand what you're saying."
Casey tried to put steel into her voice while still whispering into the phone. "Tell me you didn't set this whole thing up. That you didn't set me up with a paid escort and then leak the whole thing to the press. Tell me you didn't hope a reporter would follow me down here, hoping to catch a picture of Miss Romance's latest fling. Tell me you didn't hope my 'new love' wouldn dim the rumors Nate started."
Silence came over the line. "Jane. Tell me you didn't do this."
Another rustling of papers, and then Jane said, "Well, I had your best interests at heart. You know the motto. All press is good press. I thought you'd relax, have a good time, and by the time you got back everyone would have moved from the break-up to your next book. I didn't leak your whereabouts, Case. Pinkie swear."
Casey dragged a deep breath of air into her lungs. Jane's brilliant plan was backfiring all over the Caribbean. She should have signed up for that twelve-day trek with the dude ranch in Arizona. Turning to Mason, who was still loitering in the passage a few feet away, Casey pulled the cell phone from her ear and covered the mouthpiece. "This is going to take a few minutes. Can I meet you up on deck?"
He tapped his watch and smiled.
"Six o'clock. We have a date." Then he disappeared into the elevator and she was alone. She huffed out a breath and put the phone back to her ear.
"If you set this whole thing up, why all the dramatics? Why tell me there's horrible news, that a reporter followed me if they're just going to tell the story of my new and fake rebound relationship?"
More silence greeted her question and she rubbed her free hand hard against her forehead. Just what was she missing?
Finally, Jane said, "My sources tell me the paper isn't just after your rebound guy. They don't want your happy new romance. Ever since that headline from News Daily hit the stands, my phone has been ringing off the hook. Everyone wants the dirt on your break up with Nate. They sent a real ace down there, some guy who busts politicians all the time. I couldn't get his name, but he's on board. You have to make this thing with the escort look really good."
Casey wanted to bang her head against the wall. Wanted to jump into one of the lifeboats and begin drifting aimlessly at sea. Pressing her right thumb and fingers to her temples she sighed at the last vestiges of control over her life slipping into the ocean.
Damn Nate anyway.
"Why can't I just tell this reporter my side of the story? That Nate is leaking these stupid rumors out there and there's no truth to them?"
"Because this guy busts people on the front page for kicks. You can't prove Nate is either leaking the rumors or that he's lying about them. Your side of the story will sound like a pitiful attempt to bolster your own confidence. Add the escort to that, and you'll look like a desperate woman. Your readers want a confident, sexy, give-lifeeverything woman to give them advice. Not a woman who has to hire her lovers."
Casey wanted to scream. She hadn't hired the escort. This was all Jane's stupid idea. Why couldn't she just stop the whole thing? Call it off with the escort? He'd still get a free cruise. Hell, she would make sure he still got paid. If she could just figure out who he was. Tyler or Mason. It had to be one of the men.
The reporter could be anyone.
She'd just watch her step and stay in her room as much as possible. Maybe she could even get Tyler and Mason to share her suite, and she could take Mason's room. The reporter wouldn't know to look for her there.
"Tell me who the escort is." She sighed. "I'll take care of it. Stay in my room alone or something for the next week."
"That's another problem," Jane's voice came weakly over the connection. "All I have is his Instant Messenger handle. The service is anonymous. Before you ask, he's not responding to my messages at all."
"Look on the check you wrote. His name has to be somewhere." She couldn't take this drama. She wanted to go back to the suite and hide out for the next week. Only, Tyler was there. He'd want to talk about the situation. She couldn't take any more talking. Not right now.
"It was an electronic transfer. My account to his, and I only have the account numbers. No name. Probably for his protection."
"Do you at least know what he looks like? If he's young, he should be easy to spot. Most everyone on board is over sixty."
"Sure." Jane's voice brightened at the prospect of helping her. "He's your perfect man, just like in your books. Longish dark hair, green eyes. Strong jaw. Nice body."
Great. She just described Tyler.
And Mason. Neither of whom had been forthcoming about their jobs. They talked in riddles. Either of them could be the escort. Her skin went clammy. Either of them could be the reporter.
"And...well." Jane's voice was quiet over the cellular line. "He's in your room. I, um, changed your booking."
Well, one question was answered. Tyler was the escort.
Somehow that fact wasn't as reassuring as she had hoped.
A dull throbbing started at the base of her neck. A week on a cruise should not have this much drama. Ever. "Jane, you couldn't." Her voice rose with each word.
"I just wanted to make sure you had a good time, and--"
"You could have booked a serial killer into my room--"
Jane talked over her. "I knew if you were left alone, you'd stay holed up in that stateroom and work. You needed a break. Still need a break. And he's not a serial killer. He comes very highly recommended."
As if that made a difference.
Casey leaned against the passageway wall, and then slid to the floor. She had made a fool of herself in front of the Cruise Director. No wonder they had no clue about how a strange man got into her room. It all made perfect sense, in a Jane sort of way.
But if Tyler was the escort, that meant Mason was...what?
"Do you know who the reporter is?"
"Couldn't get my source to tell me," Jane said. The sound of shuffling papers was loud in the silence that followed. "I'm not even sure which paper sent him. All I got was the parent company name, and that group owns a handful of papers. And gossip rags." The words were whispered into the phone.
So Mason could be the reporter.
Or he could just be some random guy on a love cruise. He didn't seem like the reporter type. But then, Nate had never seemed like the gay type either.
Holing up in her room was sounding better and better. If she could just get Tyler off her couch, and that wasn't going to happen. Now that she knew Jane set this whole thing up, she couldn't very well demand that he be moved.
"I'm sorry, Casey. I've ruined this whole thing for you. You won't be able to rest or work now."
Casey shook her head. Jane was well-meaning, but her delivery left a lot to be desired. If they hadn't been friends since college, she would fire her. "I'll deal with it. Who knows, maybe there's a book in this whole fiasco after all. But Jane, if you ever do anything like this again, you're fired. As my agent and my friend." She disconnected before Jane could reply.
First step, deal with Tyler.
Casey opened the stateroom door to find the room empty. Tyler's brown leather bag sat beside the couch, opened, but still packed. The door to the bathroom was open and she could see it was empty.
Huh.
He hadn't passed her getting to the elevator, so he must have gone the opposite way and taken the stairs. Had he seen
her with Mason?
Didn't matter. Paid escorts weren't the jealous type. Besides, after the way she had acted, she doubted Tyler would care if he ever saw her again. Much less saw her with another man. She sank down on the edge of the bed, put her head in her hands and sighed.
Tyler was probably a perfectly nice man, a great escort, but he didn't push the same buttons that Mason did. Not that it mattered either. Knowing her luck, and with Mason's I'm-Here-For-Work speech, he was probably the reporter. Her best bet was to stay in the room, wait for Tyler and figure out some way to get through the next week without giving that reporter the story of his life. The small clock on the dressing table bonged. Six o'clock. Mason.
If she couldn't deal with Tyler, she could at least deal with Mason. Glancing out the window, Casey saw the sun sinking toward the horizon. There would still be people on deck, but most should be in the dining rooms or bars.
Less chance of someone seeing them and getting the wrong idea.
Grabbing her bag, she reached inside and pulled out the cell phone. No interruptions this time. She needed to explain to Mason why she was making herself scarce the rest of the trip. Why this drink was the only drink they'd have. She put her cell phone on the table, made sure her key card was still in her wallet and walked out the door before she could change her mind.
*****
Mason felt like a fool. He was going about this all wrong. Beating around the bush was never his strong suit; he usually saw a path and followed it.
Telling Casey who he was, that he needed an interview, but still wanted to see her personally wasn't going to be easy. Still, he didn't have to stumble all over himself like he was twelve.
God.
He hurried back down the staircase and saw Casey open the suite door to go inside. He would just come out with it.
She wouldn't like it, but then he wouldn't tell her it was supposed to be a hatchet piece. He wouldn't let it be. Whether the gossips wanted to know more about Casey's break up or it was just his boss's stupid idea, he wasn't going along with it. He'd been hired to write about her new book deal. What it meant to go from unknown to celebrity for nothing more than dating the wrong guy wasn't on his agenda. Especially since that would mean more stories on rehab stints and celebrity baby drama. If the paper didn't like it, they could fire him. He should get his Blackberry and post a few online resumes before he lost cell service and had to pay international roaming rates.
His phone bleeped and Randall Haynes's image, complete with photoshopped horns and a smoking cigar, appeared. Mason rolled his eyes, gave the cell a dirty look and put it to his ear.
Haynes got right to the point. "You're not answering your texts. What's up with the sneaky guru, anyway?"
No time like the present to stand up for his principles. "Just because she doesn't like to talk about her past doesn't mean she's sneaky. She's one of the youngest self-help gurus ever--that is the story."
"People only care about the millions she'll make if she helps them improve their lives. If she's living a lie, the public deserves to know. And she's not going to just give up the details. You're going to have to be wearing that reporter hat from the get-go. Cassandra Cash is sneaky."
"With the next two books, she's guaranteed to make more than you and I put together will make in our lifetime. What makes her books different, what makes them worth millions, is the story."
"The lies she's shoveling are the story. Get them or get a new job."
He was banging his head against a wall and he knew it. Haynes wasn't going to go for the nice blurb about Miss Romance's book deal. He wanted the expose on Miss Romance's sex life. Great.
Between this story and his snitch caving a few weeks back, his reputation was over. He'd be lucky to get a job in Boise.
Cut your losses. If he quit now, he could enjoy the rest of the cruise with Casey Cash and job hunt at the same time.
The phone crackled in his ear.
"You're breaking up, Drury, must be passing the Keys. You'll be out of range until you're closer to Jamaica. Don't screw this up." Haynes barked the words into the phone. "Get the dirt, get it written and message it up here when you hit a hot spot." The phone crackled once more and Haynes was gone.
Crap. Haynes didn't give him the chance to quit. No, Mason hadn't had the balls to say those two little words. What a chicken he had become since the mayoral scandal hit. He was letting Haynes walk all over him. So what if the man was the editor at the second largest daily paper in the US? Mason didn't need this. Snapping the phone closed, he returned up the steps to the deck, stuffing the phone in his pocket.
Two older couples passed by him, talking about dinner. Glancing around, he saw the deck was mostly empty and leaned against the rail. The bartender in the grass hut looked like he was ready to close up shop, and his last few customers were gathering their things and heading inside. Probably closing up so they could re-stock before the stargazing party crowd showed up in a few hours.
Casey obviously wasn't coming up. His watch read a quarter past six. He'd come on too strong. Or looked too desperate showing up at her door. If she really was coming out of a bad break up, the last thing she would want was a clingy man.
"Hey, stranger." A tap on his shoulder made him turn his head. Casey. She was wearing the same outfit as before--fitted white t-shirt, blue and white checked mini-skirt. Pink toenails flirted with the edges of high-heeled sandals laced around her tiny ankles. "Did you think I was standing you up?" And just like that, he was back in the game.
He grinned and took up position leaning his back against the railing. "The thought crossed my mind. And you were going to be tough to replace. Next to you, she seems to be the youngest unattached woman on board." He pointed across the deck at a middle-aged woman just leaving the bar hut.
She had a pretty face, recently colored white-blond hair, a heavily made-up face and sad expression. Wearing flashy turquoise and silver jewelry, a red cowboy hat, tight denim jeans and a white-fringed Western shirt, the woman looked like she took a wrong turn on the way to Santa Fe. He'd talked to her for a while before landing on Casey's doorstep, listening to her sad story while a man down the bar hung on every word. The man looked like an accountant with his Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirt, black socks and brown sandals. Safe. Mason had introduced them, and now the two were leaving together.
"I overheard her talking," Mason said. There was no need to let Casey know what a soft touch he was. "Her name's Tilly. Forty-three, recently divorced from Tire Salesman Herb, who apparently never sold the one around his waist until Healthy Heather came along." He watched carefully as Casey's face turned from amused to sympathetic. Yep, she'd been dumped. Haynes was right. There was probably a story here. One Mason didn't want to tell, but would have to. "This cruise is her first outing without Herb, their five kids--age five to seventeen--or the family dog. I understand the dog also threw her over for the bitch."
Casey's sympathy turned to a chuckle at his analogy. "She deserves better. And the dog probably deserves the bitch."
Mason pulled a wry face. "Probably. I'm just not sure I've got the stamina to keep up with Tilly. And if you hadn't shown up when you did, I probably would have had to at least try. Luckily she's leaving with Wally."
"Wally had better be nice to her. You sound a little possessive." At his astonished expression, the chuckle turned to a laugh that transformed Casey. The smile stretched across her face, creating a dimple in her left cheek. Deep red lips contrasted with sparkling white teeth and her eyes closed.
"I wouldn't say 'possessive', exactly."
"Face it, you're a nice guy, Mason Drury." Casey looked up through her lashes, a flirting light to her eyes. She reached out her hand, grasping Mason's forearm, then squeezing lightly. Mason's jeans tightened with the simple contact. "Tilly looks like she could hold her own, and you know with five kids she has to at least like sex. You could have your own private geisha girl. Even if she is blond."
And then Mason knew. He wanted to kno
w Casey Cash. Not get the dirt on Cassandra Cash, Miss Romance.
He wanted to know what her favorite food was, her favorite place in New York. To feel her lips on his again. To know whether she liked breakfast or brunch.
"I've always been partial to brunettes," he said, straightening from the railing. He reached a hand around Casey's wrist, pulled her body hard against his. "Brunettes with blue eyes that sparkle in starlight." His chest brushed against hers and he felt her stomach muscles tighten through the thin cotton of her shirt.
Okay, the line was corny, and the stars weren't out yet, but with the darkening sky lit only by a few tiki lights, he could easily imagine it. Casey expelled a short breath, the smile never leaving her face. "Blue eyes and brown hair, huh?" Her tongue sneaked out of her mouth and slid across her full lips. "I guess it's a good thing Tilly and Wally found one another. You just keep surprising me."
"That's the plan," he said, pulling her more fully into his arms. She fitted her arms around his neck and a hint of jasmine wafted in the air. Her perfume? Shampoo? He didn't know, but he sure as hell wanted to find out.
Oh, but it wasn't the plan. This was so wrong. He should pull back. Go with the original plan. Have a drink, get the interview over with and get on with getting to know Casey.
*****
Casey needed things to slow down. And she desperately wanted whatever was happening to speed up. She didn't know who Mason was. Didn't know if he was the reporter or just some random guy. Her head said he was the reporter. Why else would he have hit on her so hard from the time she came on board? It had to be part of his plan.
But then, why would a reporter waste time talking to a random woman about her life? Setting her up with another harmless guy who would bolster her self-confidence and help her bounce back from rejection. That was something a nice guy would do. Casey wanted badly for Mason to be a nice guy. Just for a little bit. Then she'd go back to the craziness of Tyler and figuring out who the reporter was. How to avoid him and save what was left of her reputation. Surely her future could spare her a few more minutes with Mason Drury.
