“I'm very careful,” Molly said. “You know, there's danger in the big city, too. I could get mugged.”
“Not at the museum, you can't,” Cora said. “You see? I know all about you.” She chuckled. “I'm trying to imagine Skye Elliot at a museum. Or climbing around on an unrestored historical site, for that matter.”
“She did it for Revenge of the Mummy, didn't she?”
“Hardly. They used a stunt double for anything that involved more effort than drinking champagne. I believe that Skye's standard contract entitles her to half a million dollars compensation for every broken nail.”
“You're kidding.”
“Well, yes, but I do know that all of her jungle scenes were filmed on a sound stage in Hollywood. Believe me, my dear, you are very different than the sort of woman that my son used to associate with.”
“Is that good or bad?” Molly asked.
“Good,” Cora said firmly. “But you're causing loyalty problems for me. I'd like to see you get your Mary Morgan museum. How is the research going? Any luck?”
“Some,” Molly said vaguely. Cora was not the only one plagued by loyalty problems. She still hadn't broken the news of her proof to Jake, and she was increasingly unwilling to do so. She never would have expected a conflict between her obligations as an historian and her personal feelings, but despite her commitment to preserving the Morgan site, she was reluctant to hurt Jake in any way. She was delaying, trying not to think about it, hoping that by April, the Berenger stock would recover to a point where the Atlas takeover was no longer a threat and Jake's own position was more secure. In that case, the relocation of the golf course would be a costly inconvenience, but not a serious blow.
“Are you still planning to write a book about Mary?” Cora asked curiously. “Jake said that you wanted to write a novel about her life.”
Molly was surprised by the question, but then remembered saying that to Jake weeks ago, on the beach, during one of her Sandra routines. She had only been ad-libbing, of course, trying to needle him.
“I was actually thinking about doing a nonfiction book,” Molly said. “A biography, but an exciting one. It would be hard to write a boring book about someone as dramatic as Mary.”
“Good idea,” Jake said from the doorway, and they turned to look at him. He was wearing a suit and carrying a black leather garment bag. He walked toward them and draped the bag over the back of a chair. “Write a book that will get made into a movie, and then we'll expand Gold Bay to keep up with the tourist demand to see Bonny Mary's old house. Hell, I'll use the other side of the island to build a pirate theme park. I might be willing to negotiate on this museum after all.”
Cora nodded. “And Molly will become even more famous, of course. Those terrible people at Belden will come crawling to her, begging her to come back to Wisconsin and start a pirate research center…”
Molly laughed. “Or maybe not,” she said. “But that's okay. It'll be an interesting project.”
“Yes, if that son of mine doesn't get in your way,” Cora said. “Jake, it would be terrible if we knocked down the old plantation and then found out later that it really had belonged to Mary.”
He regarded her with mock irritation. “Whose side are you on?”
Cora turned to Molly. “He's stubborn, but I'll do what I can to persuade him to postpone the demolition date, if it comes down to that.”
Jake cleared his throat. “Time to go,” he said abruptly. “Molly, where's your suitcase?”
“I gave it to the butler,” Molly said. She stood up and kissed Cora on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said to the older woman.
Cora squeezed her hand. “Don't worry, dear, I do have some influence.”
“More than I do,” Molly said lightly. “I couldn't get him to budge beyond April first.”
“The first?” Cora looked puzzled. “No, that isn't right. They aren't even scheduled to begin until the middle of April, and I think we might be able to push that date back a few weeks, if you need more time—Oh! My goodness. Are you all right?”
Molly had just stepped backward and knocked over Cora's teacup. It rolled off of the table, spraying both of them with brown droplets, and then shattered on the terrace's stone floor.
“That's going to stain,” Cora said, clucking her tongue at the sight of Molly's shirt. She pressed the wireless button to summon the butler. “No, no, dear, don't worry about the cup. Just leave it, and go and change. I don't want you to be late.”
Molly's face was red. “Wait,” she said, “I think I must be confused. Do you mean—”
Jake took her by the arm. “We need to get going,” he said.
Molly balked, still facing Cora. “You're talking about pushing the start date back a few more weeks, right? Because it's already been pushed back to April.” She glanced at Jake. “Right?”
“No, dear,” Cora said cheerfully, and Molly heard Jake exhale hard. “The April date has been set for months—almost a year. You have to arrange these things far in advance for big commercial projects, especially in remote locations.” She looked curiously at Molly, then at her son. “Oh. Did I say something wrong?”
Jake was rubbing his forehead as if his head had suddenly started to ache. “Look,” he said to Molly, “I can explain…”
“I don't believe this,” Molly said. “Your generous concession to postpone the demolition until April…the one that you used to persuade me to help you with your PR project…it was a lie? You were scheduled to begin in April all along?”
“Jake,” Cora said disapprovingly.
He threw an exasperated glance at her. “Excuse us,” he said, and walked Molly into the living room.
“You have no idea how much this is going to cost me,” Molly quoted, glaring at him. “Does that sound familiar?”
“Vaguely,” he said.
“It should. You were right—I had no idea that it was going to cost you nothing. Nothing! All that talk about the expense of delaying such a huge project for my sake, and how you were willing to take the risk if I would help you in exchange…”
“It didn't cost you anything, either,” Jake pointed out. “The end result is the same. You have until April to locate your proof. What difference do the circumstances make?”
“A lot of difference! I've been helping you in good faith, and all you gave me in return was a false sense of your own willingness to compromise. You tricked me.”
He nodded. “I did. That's true, and I apologize. But I haven't lied to you since the very first day, when I met you at the ruins. I admit to doing it then. I don't lie to my friends or my family, but you were a stranger that day. If I told the truth to every stranger who asked me questions, I wouldn't have made it very far in life. Except maybe as a priest.”
“I don't know how you can face me and say that,” Molly exclaimed. “You lied when you proposed your scheme! You told me that in exchange for my help, you would postpone the demolition of Dyer's Fortune until April—”
“No. That's what you heard, but not what I said. I was very careful. I said that I would give you until April to find your proof. You assumed that I meant that I was postponing the demolition, and I admit that I didn't bother to correct you.”
“Oh, clever you,” Molly said. “And I didn't bother to ask for details. Well, you shouldn't feel too pleased with yourself. One of these days, I might have a little surprise of my own.”
He raised his eyebrows, but she didn't elaborate. Whether he had lied or not wasn't the point. It was another example of his willingness to manipulate her to suit his own ends, and Molly felt a fresh surge of anxiety. She wondered if she had been too hasty in dismissing Carter's assertion that Jake cared more about his own agenda than he did about her. She had begun to believe otherwise, but what if she was wrong? She had fallen in love with him, but what if that had been his intention? No doubt he preferred to have her gazing doe-eyed at him rather than worrying about her stabbing him in the back.
Jake held out his ha
nd to her, and she took it, studying his face. She could see nothing but sincerity in his eyes. “Forgive me,” he said. “I would have told you the truth at some point. I honestly didn't think it mattered that much. We have a history of playing games with each other, don't we? But they've always been harmless.”
“Exposing me as Sandra wasn't harmless,” Molly said. “I lost my job, and even if I don't want it back, it was still a rotten thing to do.”
Jake's mouth tightened, and he seemed about to say something sharp. But then he stopped. “I thought we were beyond that by now,” he said. “Does this mean that you're still looking for a chance to pay me back? You're right, that wouldn't be harmless.”
Molly shook her head. She felt miserable, suddenly. “I just want to forget about the whole thing,” she said.
“That makes two of us,” Jake said. Gathering her into his arms, he held her snugly, and she hugged him, feeling the crisp white cotton of his shirt against her cheek. The smell of cologne and laundry soap and warm male skin surrounded her, and she wished that she could stay forever in the protective circle of his arms.
But she couldn't shake off her apprehension. Abraham Lincoln had said that the only reliable way to get rid of your enemies was to turn them into your friends. What if Jake saw a tactical purpose in going one better than that? It wasn't impossible, but Molly couldn't bear to think about it.
CHAPTER 32
Jake had always liked New York City. It was exciting and dynamic; arguably the most interesting spot on earth. Cracking the Manhattan market had been a longtime goal for him, finally achieved by the acquisition and renovation of the new Berenger Grand. Now that his company had a strong presence in the city, he felt for the first time that he belonged there.
His apartment at the Grand was still so new that he had only used it on two previous trips. He remembered the first time that he had stayed there, alone in the echoing rooms. He had known intellectually that the place was beautiful, but had felt no emotional warmth for it, or any real pleasure in being there.
Molly had changed all that, though. Her presence had turned the apartment from a piece of walk-through sculpture into something that felt like a home. He liked waking up in the morning and seeing her asleep next to him, tangled in the covers, her hair spread out over the pillow. And he liked returning at night, knowing that she would be there. They spent Monday and Tuesday nights lingering over late dinners from room service, talking until the last of Jake's energy began to fade.
They were supposed to be in town until Thursday, but on Wednesday afternoon Jake found that he was in no hurry to leave. Despite the ongoing stress of the potential takeover, and the fact that his schedule was booked from eight to eight every day, he was happier than he had ever been in his life.
Molly seemed happy, too, but he could feel a slight remoteness in her that seemed to be an aftereffect of their argument on Sunday. Several times, he caught her watching him with an intent expression, as if she were trying to read his mind. He didn't know why his mother's disclosure had affected her like that—to him, the semantics of the April date were a minor issue. Molly had perceived their agreement as a win-win situation until Cora had spoken up and changed her perspective. And it was only that: a matter of perspective. None of the facts had changed. Her reaction made no sense to him.
He left work early on Wednesday, with the intention of taking Molly to dinner at Madrigal, one of the newest Manhattan hot spots. She had met with her agent that afternoon, to discuss contract negotiations for the Pirate Gold sequel, and Jake hadn't forgotten his promise to take her out for a night on the town.
When the elevator doors opened and released him into the foyer of the apartment, he heard the telephone ringing. He hurried forward and picked up the extension in the butler's pantry.
“Jake!” It was Tom Amadeo. “Finally. I've been tracking you all over the goddamned town! Didn't you get my messages?”
“No. I had a meeting with our bankers, and now I'm back here. What's going on?”
“Big fucking trouble, that's what,” Tom exclaimed. Jake had never heard him sound so agitated. “You were right, I can't believe it. I didn't think she'd do it, but you were absolutely right.”
“What?” Jake asked sharply.
“Molly. She sold you out. Damn it! I'm sorry to have to tell you this. She went to the media with the story, and I just got a call from Inside Edge. They're breaking the news about the fake engagement tomorrow.”
“Impossible. They're bluffing.”
“No, they—”
“They've got nothing! You know there's been speculation about the engagement being a PR stunt. They're trying to get something out of us—it's a trick. Tell them no comment.”
“Molly talked to them.”
“She wouldn't do that,” Jake said, but he felt a sudden tightening in his throat. “Not anymore. They're lying.”
“That was what I thought, too, until they sent over the tape.”
“Tape?”
“Yeah. It's just a couple of cuts from the interview she gave them, but it was enough to convince me that this is all for real. If she's talking, there's nothing we can do.”
Jake tried to breathe. He felt as if a cold wave was breaking over him, crushing him toward the floor. “I don't believe it,” he said. “Whoever you heard on tape isn't Molly.”
“It's her,” Tom said. “It's unmistakable.”
“No! I know her voice better than you do. You have the tape right there? Good. Play it for me. Put it on the phone. Now.”
“Yeah, okay. Hold on,” Tom said. He put down the receiver. There was silence for a moment, and then a fumbling sound, and then a voice came across the line, slightly muffled, but clear enough.
“I'm tired of lies and deception, for anyone's sake. I'm done with that. I'm going to live on my own terms for a change.”
It was Molly. Jake's stomach clenched. The voice cut off suddenly, and the tape played three seconds of scratchy silence, then:
“I couldn't actually marry Jake. I don't mind pretending to be engaged, but there's only so far I'm willing to go to help raise the Berenger stock price.”
He heard a click as the recorder was switched off.
“That's all they sent,” Tom said, back on the line. “Just a sample. Listen, I've been threatening them. I told them that it wasn't Molly, and that the whole story was an outrageous lie, and that they would never book another one of my clients again if they fuck me like this, but they didn't even hesitate. They're going ahead with it.”
Jake said nothing. He couldn't speak. Molly had betrayed him. She had wanted revenge, and she was about to get it. Not only would her disclosure cost him his job and torpedo the Berenger stock price, but he would also become a target for any ambitious attorney who wanted to try to make a case for the fake engagement as stock fraud. Leaking the story to the Enquirer on the night of the Grand opening would have done the job, but Molly had been smarter than that. By biding her time and exploring her options, she had managed to find a deal that offered both revenge and money.
“Molly's still at Gold Bay?” Tom asked.
“No,” Jake said. “She's here.”
“Here? What, in New York? Okay, I'm getting it, I'm getting it. That might be why the producer sounded so cocksure. He hinted that they had an inside source to put on the air tomorrow—he probably meant her.”
“Sounds likely,” Jake said. He felt numb.
“If she wanted money, she would have approached you before she did this, but maybe we can still reason with her. She might have a price where revenge doesn't seem worth it. If we can get her to back away from this, we might be able to buy some time for the lawyers to stop Inside Edge from breaking the story. It'll be messy, but it's our best shot. Do you know where she is? Can you track her down?”
“Easily. Judging from the sound, she's in the shower.”
There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. “Wait,” Tom Amadeo said. “Your shower? She's right the
re, in your apartment? Jesus, I didn't know she was staying with you. That girl is running a dangerous racket. What does she think she's doing?”
“I don't know,” Jake said. “But I'm about to go and find out.”
“Don't do anything stupid. Be cool. Calm.”
“I am calm.”
“Call me as soon as you have any information.”
“All right.”
“You sound a little too calm,” Tom said suspiciously. “Are you sure you're okay? Do you want me to come over there?”
“I'm fine.”
“Just a thought—if anybody at Fox owes you a favor, now would be the time to use it. And one more thing…”
“What?”
“Please,” Tom said fervently, “if we get through this, don't piss off any more academics, okay? Those people play for keeps.”
Molly peered at herself in the bathroom mirror where she had rubbed a spot clear of steamy fog. She was leaning over the sink and holding a pair of tweezers, trying to extract one stubborn hair from the place where her eyebrow wanted to be. Sandra's tweezed arches had been one of the elements of the character that she had decided to keep, but maintenance was turning out to be a constant struggle.
Jake had putty-colored towels in the bathroom, a novelty for Molly. They were painfully sophisticated, a dull grayish brown, but not really to her taste. She didn't think that they were to Jake's taste, either. Who but an interior decorator would ever choose towels that looked dirty even when they were clean? Nonetheless, they were the only towels available, and she had knotted one around her torso and fashioned another into a turban over her wet hair.
She was so focused on her tweezing that she didn't hear Jake appear in the doorway behind her.
“Getting ready?” he asked.
Molly jumped, startled, and dropped the tweezers into the sink. She had a glimpse of him reflected in the mirror, leaning against the open doorway, his arms folded against his chest.
Man Trouble Page 27
