Fifth Avenue Box Set: Take MeAvenge MeScandalize MeExpose Me

by Maisey Yates

  A Family Fun Evening? She read the description in bemusement: a trip around the city in a private double decker bus, VIP tickets to the Big Apple Circus, the works.

  What on earth was he going to do with that?

  Quickly she realized that while she might have no one to go to the circus with, Alex most assuredly did. Maybe he had siblings with kids, was a doting uncle to his nieces and nephews. Or maybe he’d gift it to someone he knew with children. Maybe he’d go himself with some ditzy bombshell from work. A sharp pang, like a blow to the solar plexus, suddenly made her breathless.

  That couldn’t be jealousy she was feeling. She never cared enough about a man even to concern herself with other women, much less be jealous of them.

  “Sold to number 17!”

  Her gaze jerked back to Alex, and with a ripple of surprise she saw him turn and smile right at her. Now what was that about?

  She found out as soon as the auction was over. He made straight for her, and Chelsea watched him with a mounting anticipation, even excitement she didn’t even try to suppress.

  “You know we shouldn’t be seen together,” she murmured when he stood in front of her, all rangy muscle and restless power. She felt her heart rate kick up a notch just at the sight of him, that golden blaze of intent firing his eyes.

  “You mean because of Treffen?”

  “I don’t want him getting suspicious. And in any case, I’m not sure I believe—”

  “He left before the auction ended.”

  “Oh.” She frowned. “Why would he do that?”

  “He’s limiting his public exposure at the moment. Wants to avoid anything unpleasant.” He took a step closer to her. “So what made you change your mind?”

  “I haven’t actually changed my mind, Alex. Not yet.” She eyed him warningly. “But I spoke to him. I could tell he was hiding something. I still need proof.”

  “I know you do. But I didn’t come over here to talk about Treffen.”

  Surprise warred with pleasure, and even though she knew she shouldn’t believe him, she did, because she wanted to. She wanted there to be more than just Treffen between them. “You didn’t?”

  He shook his head, his mouth quirking up at one corner, a crooked smile that felt like a fist to the heart. “Nope. I came over to ask if you’d go to the circus with me.”

  She stood still, silent, shock blazing through her. Was he actually asking her out on a date? “The circus?” she repeated, her mind spinning. “Why?”

  He arched one dark eyebrow. “Because it’s fun? Because I have great tickets?” He stepped closer, so she could feel his heat, and it made her dizzy. It made her remember. “Because I want to go with you?”

  “Why?” she said again, stupidly, her mind still spinning.

  Alex gazed at her for a long moment, his golden gaze trapping her. “I want to see you again, Chelsea,” he said in a husky murmur. “Properly.”

  But she didn’t date. Ever. And neither did he. She shook her head, the need to deny instinctive despite the desire already coursing through her. The desire not just for him, although she certainly felt that, but for time with him. For a date. “I don’t do dates.”

  “Always a first time.”

  “I didn’t think you did either.”

  “Like I said, always a first time.”

  “And neither of us do repeats.”

  “Once in a while I’m willing to make an exception.” He cocked his head. “But maybe you’re afraid to?”

  She shook her head fiercely. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Then prove it by going to the circus with me.”

  She shook her head, harder now. “No, that tactic might have worked once, Alex, but not this time. I don’t need to prove anything to you.”

  “All right, then tell me the real reason you won’t go with me. Are you afraid of clowns?”

  Her lips twitched in a smile that felt so good and yet she still tried to suppress it. Why, she wondered, did every emotion feel like weakness?

  Because you know where it leads.

  “Actually, I do find clowns a little bit creepy,” she said lightly. “But I’m not phobic or anything.”

  “So it’s not the clowns. What, then?”

  And what could she say? She’d never had a man be so impervious to her put-downs and brush-offs, so determined not just to get her into bed, but to be with her.

  Did Alex Diaz really want to be with her? At the circus?

  “Is this about Treffen?” she asked. “A cover so we can talk?”

  “No.” So flat, so absolute. So wonderful and thrilling and yes, terrifying.

  “Why are you making an exception?”

  “Because of you.” His eyes blazed and his smile was slow. “You’re worth it.”

  This simple statement, so matter-of-fact, made her feel like shivering. Or maybe bursting into tears. What was wrong with her? Why did Alex Diaz seem to push every button she had, flip a switch inside her so she turned from ice queen to emotional wreck?

  “Were you using me?” she blurted. “I mean, to convince me about Treffen? Did you sleep with me just to gain my trust?” She hated that she’d asked all that, but she needed to know. She just hoped Alex would tell her the truth.

  He arched an eyebrow. “You’re not radiating trust at the moment, Chelsea, so if that was my ploy it didn’t work.”

  “Even so...”

  “This isn’t about Treffen. Maybe it once was, but it’s not now. It’s about—about us.” The words didn’t come easily, and that made her believe him. Us. What a novel concept.

  His gaze was steady on her, a golden beam that seared right through her. “Look, I’m not jumping the gun here. I’m not asking for anything but a single date.” He held his hands up, his smile crooked. “Trust me.”

  Relief and disappointment fought within her, and she didn’t know which one came out on top. What had she wanted, a declaration of love?

  No way.

  “One date,” he repeated. “Because I’m not done, and neither are you, even if you keep trying to convince yourself that you are.”

  “How attractive,” she retorted because his honesty was stripping her bare and wisecracks were her only defense. “A man who thinks he knows what I want better than I do.”

  “I think you know what you want. You just don’t want to admit it.”

  She took a deep breath. Say no, she told herself. You don’t do dates. Not even one.

  “Please, Chelsea.”

  I like it when you say please. But this wasn’t about control anymore, at least not that kind of control. No scoring points here, just trying to stay safe.

  Say no. Save yourself.

  “Okay,” she said, and she felt as if she’d just taken a swan dive into the utter—and dangerous—unknown.

  Chapter Seven

  Four days later Chelsea walked into one of AMI’s conference rooms, where Jason Treffen and his shark of a lawyer waited. A lawyer needing a lawyer, Chelsea thought cynically, and wondered just how much Treffen had to hide.

  She still didn’t want to believe he was a pimp and a blackmailer. She half hoped, or more, that Alex was wrong. Mistaken, somehow.

  Pretty big mistake.

  Jason stood up as she approached, smiling easily as he stretched out one manicured hand. For a man hovering around sixty, he was, Chelsea acknowledged, very attractive, with his full head of silvery-white hair and pale blue eyes in a face whose creases only drew attention to an admirably hard jaw. His lawyer was about what she’d expected. Sharply dressed, pointed face, too much aftershave.

  “So nice to see you again, Jason,” she said, and returned his handshake with a firmness that made his eyes narrow slightly. Was he suspicious? Or simply used to women like the ones he helped through his charities, women who were weak, who were victims.

  Not her.

  She sat across the table from him along with Michael, who had murmured his own pleasantries as an assistant fetched coffee and a tray of bagels and
pastries none of them would touch.

  “So.” Chelsea folded her hands on the table and gave Jason Treffen a professional smile. “You have some questions you’d like me to look at.”

  With a loud snap the lawyer opened his briefcase and took out a sheet of paper that he slid across the table toward Chelsea.

  She picked it up, scanned it briefly as annoyance flickered. These questions were the interviewing equivalent of cold porridge. Totally boring. Utterly unappetizing. And they gave all the control to Treffen.

  What do you think is the highlight of your career? What made you decide to champion the cause of women?

  Nothing controversial or even interesting, just a platform for Treffen to wank off on all his good works. For an hour on prime time.

  When she’d first thought of this interview, she’d wanted to explore some of Treffen’s more controversial choices, such as offering pro bono counsel to a convicted criminal; in that case, a woman who’d been charged with manslaughter. Digging deeper into the case had shown the woman had been physically abused by her boyfriend for years. Treffen had won the case.

  None of the questions on his list touched on any of his controversial cases.

  She handed the sheet to Michael as she smiled at Treffen. “This is certainly a starting point.”

  “It’s also an ending point, Miss Maxwell.” Chelsea tensed at the slight sneer in the lawyer’s tone. Nice, choice, Treffen, she thought cynically. Great representation.

  She directed her gaze at Treffen. “An interview where we just talk about the highlights of your career won’t attract viewers.”

  “Mr. Treffen isn’t interested in being part of your soap opera,” the lawyer snapped. “He’s not going to sob on your sofa.”

  “Eric.” Treffen spoke gently, but there was steel behind his words. He smiled at Chelsea, and even though it was easy and open, she felt her skin crawl and was surprised by her own response. Was she really starting to believe Alex?

  This man, this champion of women’s rights, was actually a pimp?

  She used to think that if Treffen had been her boss ten years ago instead of Brian Taylor, she might not have had to have plastic surgery on her face, or have a huge scar on her left boob.

  A scar Alex had seen.

  But maybe Treffen would have been worse than Taylor. Maybe she would have ended up pimping herself for many men instead of just one.

  “You must appreciate my position, Miss Maxwell,” Treffen said, all honeyed sincerity. “I’m a respected lawyer and human rights advocate. I agreed to do an interview with you because I’d like to have a wider platform for the causes I’ve supported for many years now.” His smile widened, inviting her into it. “And of course, it’s a wonderful opportunity for you.”

  Chelsea felt a leap of fury, and she kept her gaze level with effort. The implication was clear. Agreeing to her interview was another act of charity.

  “And I’m sure you can appreciate my position, Jason. I’m not anyone’s soapbox.”

  “Chelsea...” Michael murmured and she took a quick, steadying breath. Never mind what Alex wanted, this was her career she was talking about. Why was she jeopardizing this? The Treffen interview was her chance to finally be seen as something other than Michael’s mistress who didn’t deserve her own show.

  But she still wouldn’t be used by any man, even Jason Treffen.

  What about Alex?

  No, he hadn’t used her. He’d taken her, yes, and he’d brought to a shattering climax, but she hadn’t actually felt used. Just terribly, painfully exposed.

  “Point taken, Miss Maxwell.” Treffen was still smiling, but his eyes were cold. “I’d hardly expect anything less from you. But these are the only questions I’m willing to answer if you want me on your show, and I’ll need you to sign a legal agreement that you’ll stick to the script.”

  “My interviews are never scripted.”

  “A poor choice of words,” Treffen acknowledged with a graceful nod. “But I’d still like to keep to these questions.”

  “Part of the appeal of a candid interview is to see where the conversation goes,” Chelsea said. She kept her voice mild, managed a smile. No point annoying this man unnecessarily, although she could already tell she was pissing him off. “To engage in a genuine conversation, not just a predetermined question-and-answer.”

  The lawyer, Eric, leaned forward, his mouth twisted into a sneer, but Treffen stayed him with one hand, his narrowed gaze on Chelsea.

  “Do you think your interview method is really that candid, Miss Maxwell? Because I’ve watched you and I’ve admired how you handle your interviewees. How you wrap them around your little finger and they don’t even realize it. But then you have a certain charm on camera, don’t you? Even when you were a weather girl in Alabama.” His voice stayed friendly, even light, but Chelsea felt herself go ice-cold. Her palms tingled, and spots danced before her eyes.

  She could not get a panic attack here. Now. Yet the realization that Treffen knew about her, knew her past, made a wave of nausea wash over her.

  “It really is an admirable skill,” he continued, his voice soft now. “To manipulate people without them even realizing it. But I’m afraid that’s not on my agenda.”

  And what was on his agenda? She wondered sickly. To expose her? Was he actually threatening to reveal her past if she didn’t stick to his wretched script?

  A man capable of that kind of subtle blackmail could be capable of a whole lot more, Chelsea realized. Like everything Alex had said.

  “What is on your agenda, Jason?” she asked when she trusted her voice to sound pleasant and relaxed. His eyes sparked anger briefly before he smiled and spread his hands.

  “Again, a poor choice of words. I have no agenda, Miss Maxwell. But my reputation is important to me, not to mention the many women I’ve helped and the charities I’ve supported, so if you want me to do this interview, you’ll keep to those questions.”

  And keeping her gaze on his narrowed blue one, she knew he meant it.

  “Damn, Chelsea,” Michael said when Treffen and his lawyer had left. “Why did you have to piss him off?”

  She tossed the sheet of questions in the trash. “It didn’t take much.”

  “I thought you wanted this interview. You’ve worked hard enough for it.”

  “I know I have.” Chelsea let out her breath in a rush. She still felt shaky, especially when she thought about Treffen knowing where she’d come from. What she’d done. How had he found it out? And why?

  Was her own sordid past going to serve as Jason Treffen’s insurance policy?

  Willing her heart rate to slow, she turned to Michael. “I won’t be used, Michael, not by anyone, not even Treffen.”

  “He’s done some research on you,” Michael said after a moment. “Don’t piss him off too much.”

  “Or the great human rights activist will take me down?” She tried to sound light, mocking, but everything inside her shuddered.

  “He has the power to ruin careers,” Michael said mildly, “just as he has the power to make them.”

  “I know that.” And he could do either with hers. And yet it seemed so ludicrous, so impossible. Jason Treffen. Champion of women.

  Or not.

  “What questions do you want to ask him,” Michael asked, “that weren’t on his list?”

  “I just don’t want to be controlled.” She wasn’t about to tell Michael about Alex’s suspicions. Not until she had more proof, and maybe not ever. Michael was her friend, but he was also her boss, and she doubted he’d want to put the network in such a vulnerable position.

  Which would happen if she did as Alex suggested and confronted Jason Treffen on live television.

  Just the thought made her palms sweat. Madness. Her career would be wrecked, her show taken away. She could be blacklisted from working on television ever again.

  And all for what?

  “You are going to sign that thing, though, right?” Michael, asked and Chelse
a glanced at the sheet of questions crumpled in the bin.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “He won’t do the interview if you don’t sign that agreement.”

  She shrugged, tried to keep it light. “Maybe we can come to an understanding.”

  “You think?”

  Chelsea smiled at the skepticism in Michael’s tone even though she still felt queasy inside. “Probably not, but I can try. We still have five weeks.”

  “If anyone can do it, you can.”

  Coming from someone else, the words might have been so much hot air, but Chelsea knew Michael meant it. He’d taken a chance on her before. When he’d discovered her she’d been an unpaid intern at AMI, twenty-two years old, working night shifts at a seedy diner in Hell’s Kitchen to pay her way. One evening when the regular anchormen of the nightly news had left, she’d sneaked in front of the cameras, practiced her own delivery. And Michael, strolling through the empty studio, had seen her.

  He’d watched her for a good while without saying anything, and when he’d finally stepped out of the shadows Chelsea hadn’t apologized for her little show. She’d just stared him down, and he’d laughed and offered her a bit piece on the morning news.

  It had been her start, and six years later she’d started Chat with Chelsea; within a year it had been an outrageous success.

  And everyone assumed it was all because she’d slept with Michael. She’d joked with him once that she wasn’t that good of a lay, but he’d just shaken his head sadly. Sometimes Michael was too much of a softie; he thought more of her than he should. But then he didn’t know her whole story; no one did.

  A few people knew bits and pieces. Louise knew about her childhood; Brian Taylor knew about—and had orchestrated—her downfall at the local news station in Huntsville, Alabama, where she’d started as a weather girl at just nineteen years old. Michael knew she’d been desperate and driven and that there had been a man she was trying to forget. The surgeons at the Huntsville Hospital knew how badly broken her nose had been, and how she’d almost died of blood loss from the stab wound that had nearly severed her breast.

  But no one, no one but her, knew the whole, sordid story.