by M. S. Parker
If I slept anytime soon, I was going to see it over and over again…a weapon pointed straight toward O, and that stubborn, regal chin lifted in arrogance.
Chapter Three
Olivia
“I think the worst of it is over.”
Joseph Cummings, one of James’s lawyers, stood in the doorway, watching as a team of make-up artists went over me. It felt like my pores were being sealed shut and the crap they’d put in my hair was the same shit they’d used last time. I’d have to wash it three times to get the feel of it out.
I hated interviews.
I hated them with the passion of a thousand fiery suns. And I just needed to suck it up and get over it, because interviews were a part of my life. Sometime soon, that would become even more the case.
That knowledge hit me like a fist, and I blinked rapidly as I thought about James.
The news was out about his illness.
I wasn’t surprised, really.
It had been ten days since the ordeal – that was how I preferred to think of it, the ordeal. So much less traumatic, mentally, than that night where some self-entitled bitch thought she could have me killed so she could get closer to getting her greedy hooks into Clarion.
Both Cherise and Russel were out on bail – the power of money and good lawyers – and both were recovering from their wounds. Both were pointing fingers at the other while looking to the remaining board members for support. They hadn’t gotten any of that. Strangely enough, the ordeal had managed to garner me the support I hadn’t been able to earn in all my years of working with James.
And that support had transferred to his son.
Reaper was currently the media darling, and he hated it as much as I hated the makeup being patted into place and the microphone and camera that awaited me.
He’d been hailed as a hero – and he was. My hero.
It could have gone either way, really, thanks to the uneasy waters he’d left behind not too long ago. But key personnel had reached out to the various media outlets and advised them of how much it would be appreciated if Reaper wasn’t painted as a villain over a few mistakes that he’d already paid for.
The appreciation attached to my boss’s name – and Clarion – carried a fair amount of weight, so I hadn’t been surprised when hardly any mention was made of everything that had happened with Reaper over the past few months.
“Lips!” The makeup tech in front of me sounded way too cheerful as she announced she was ready to do the lipstick.
I’d tried to avoid this the first time I’d done a live interview, and James had calmly assured me that I would come to no harm letting a woman sparkle my face with gunk and then layer my lips with Apple Dapple Red or whatever shade they’d decided would go so well with my pale skin and dark hair – stunning contrasts, I’d been told.
So far, I’d worn nearly every shade of red imaginable, and a few I didn’t even know were real.
And yet…I still looked like the ugly duckling, I mused, staring at my reflection after the tech stepped out from between me and the mirror. Well, perhaps not a duckling.
But I’d never grown into a swan either.
Maybe a Canadian goose.
The thought made me laugh a little, and the tech waved her hands in agitation. “Is something wrong? Should I go with a different shade of lipstick? I have a few other shades–”
“No.” Shaking my head, I reached up and took off the cape, then the cap they’d used to keep my hair away from my face. “I just had an amusing thought, that’s all.”
“Oh. Very good.” She smiled at me, and I wondered if she was new, if this might be her first job. “You look very…regal.”
She looked quite pleased with herself. I imagined why. She’d come up with a way to compliment my looks without claiming I looked beautiful. That was one trait I would never own. But regal was nice.
“Regal…yeah.”
The low voice sent a shiver down my spine, and I looked up to see Reaper standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a light glinting in his eyes. Something had changed between us the night of the ordeal.
I couldn’t put my finger on it, and I didn’t want to, but the something was there nonetheless.
He’d started coming home with me.
Over the weekend, he’d mentioned he needed to get some work done at his mother’s house, and without us even discussing it, I’d packed a bag.
Bit by bit, more of his things were ending up in my place, and I’d cleared some drawer and closet space for him. He didn’t say anything about that either. But I’d noticed the drawers had been filled with socks, underwear, shirts, and the like. He’d walked in on me once, holding one of his shirts to my face. The embarrassment had lasted only long enough for him to come up behind me and wrap his arms around me.
He felt it too.
Whatever this was.
He didn’t want to name it any more than I did, but I knew he felt it.
Now, as I held his eyes, Reaper came toward me with a faint smile. “I’d say regal works. You look like the whole damn city ought to be bowing at your feet.”.
“Oh, please.” Rolling my eyes, I focused back on the mirror and smoothed a hand down my dress. It was a little more casual than I’d normally wear for an interview. Granted, this interview had been sprung on me on my way out the door, and I hadn’t had time to do anything more than grab coffee, much less change.
Meeting Adam’s eyes, I asked, “Are you ready?”
He lifted a shoulder as he came inside, looking around at the equipment being set up with a wary eye. He seemed about as happy to be here as I was, but unlike me, he had no problem letting his displeasure with the whole situation show. Diplomacy was one trait he hadn’t bothered to polish up on. I knew enough military men at this point in my career to know that his lack of tact would probably have hamstringed him had he stayed in the Navy much longer.
Still, I knew it burned him, having to leave the way he had.
He drew closer, and I asked in a low voice, “Will you attempt to behave this time?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “But I behaved last time. It’s not my fault the media seems to enjoy being idiots. I simply pointed out that it was a dumbass question.”
Indeed, he had.
The reporter in question had been present during the first press conference, and she’d asked him if he had any regrets about how things had gone down the night of the ordeal. After all, he’d helped ensure his father’s sister-in-law would be facing the judicial system for her crimes.
He’d asked her if she was sure that was the question she wanted him to answer, and she’d smiled like a fox in a henhouse. It wasn’t until he’d explained all the ways that things could have – likely would have – gone wrong if he and Hawk hadn’t decided to take action that she realized maybe she shouldn’t pull a tiger’s tail.
Each time she’d tried to cut Reaper off and redirect, he’d simply kept on talking in a level, easy tone, like she didn’t exist. When he finished, he’d stared her down. “I hope that answers that, but if not, I can’t help you. I don’t tend to put much thought into foolish questions that are meant to make the bad guys look sympathetic.”
He hadn’t allowed her any more questions during the interview, and she’d steamed, her eyes flicking to me, like she intended on making me pay for his poor exercise in judgment.
I guess she’d had the idea the new CEO-to-be would be easy to mow down. It was always fun, having illusions shattered.
I reached up to smooth down the collar of his shirt. So far, he was fairly resistant to wearing a tie, a fact that made little sense when I thought about it. He was former military. He’d spent enough of his life in a uniform that a suit and tie shouldn’t be an issue. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe he didn’t want the reminder.
“James wants us to join him for dinner at the estate tonight,” I said, backing away before I gave into the urge to do a lot more than just smooth his collar down. I wanted to touch
every part of him – again.
Reaper’s mouth tightened slightly, but he nodded. “Okay. Why are you delivering the message instead of him?”
“He told me he’d texted you and emailed. Apparently, you’re still working on catching up to the pace around here because you haven’t answered him.”
As we started for the seating area by the window, he shot a scowl my way. “I’m constantly getting emails and texts now. I’ve got three hundred ninety…” He stopped and pulled out his phone, then gave a glum sigh. “I shouldn’t have looked. Now it’s over four hundred. Again. How do I keep up with this? How did he?”
“That’s what your administrative assistant will do. We still need to figure that out – James’s admin is ready to retire.” I kept it at that, not wanting to discuss how the sweet, kind-hearted Mariette had all but broken into tears when James and I had spoken with her. We’d only confirmed her suspicions, but it still hadn’t been easy for her to hear.
“She’s still willing to stay on until we find a replacement, right?” Reaper reached up, tugging at his collar like it was going to choke him.
“Yes.” Rolling my eyes, I took his hands and eased them down. “Sit. Quit fidgeting. You look nervous.”
“I’m not. I’m just tired of sitting down and answering the same fifty questions all over again.” He pasted a smile on his face as the newscaster in charge of the interview came rushing in and gave us a quick wave.
“I mean, how many ways can I answer the question, ‘What did you think when you found out you were heir to the vast Clarion dynasty? Are you still overwhelmed?’” He managed the somber expression, the serious tone the various media personnel had used over the past week, nailing it. “You’d think one of them could come up with something new.”
“Hey, at least this way there are no surprises. I don’t like surprises from the media. It never ends well when they manage to trip you up.” We settled down on the couch, leaving the chair for the anchorwoman for one of the larger news stations in the Cincinnati area.
She came our way, her eyes avid and bright.
“Thank you so much for agreeing to this so close to the wire,” she said, settling down onto the edge of the chair. “Are you both ready? I’ve got some exciting questions for you.”
“Absolutely.” Reaper shot me a look, his brow arching incrementally.
I hid a smile as I went to take my seat. Maybe she would surprise us.
But I wasn’t betting on it.
Chapter Four
Reaper
“Mr. Dedman, do you have any comment? Did you, in fact, help murder those men?”
The woman’s voice was like gnats buzzing in my ears. I felt like I’d been sucker-punched.
Staring at the familiar face, I heard screams all over again.
Dog’s. Rake’s.
And her – the woman in the picture.
It was Kylie Wallace, the one and only daughter of Donald Wallace, a senator out of Georgia – the woman my team had helped rescue, only to find out that she and her mother were terrorist sympathizers who had actually been working to help fund an ugly enterprise that existed in the small town where Kylie’s grandmother had been born.
I could hear her screaming…You killed them all.
Then Dog as he went to cut the rope, knowing that Rake was already gone. I heard his scream as he fell.
“Is what she says true, Mr. Dedman?” The newscaster continued to watch me, unblinking, while the camera rolled on. Damn, she was a persistent piece of work. “Did you kill her fiancé and his friends? Innocent men who were simply trying to take care of their village? Is it true?”
You killed them all.
The words trembled on my lips – you’re damned right I killed them all. Damn right. But I didn’t. Locking down everything I felt inside, I met her gaze coldly. “You’re asking me questions about a classified operation, ma’am.” My mouth felt stiff – my whole face did. Forcing anything out was almost impossible, but I had to answer. Couldn’t let her think I couldn’t do my job.
“You’re no longer a part of the United States Navy, Chief…” she gave me a fake apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. You were dishonorably discharged. Mr. Dedman. You’re no longer part of the Navy. Surely you can answer a few questions about this tragic ordeal and this woman’s accusations.”
“Tragic ordeal?” I could have laughed at how pitifully she’d summed up the job that had killed two of my friends. A tragic ordeal. “You want me to tell you something about that tragic ordeal?”
I leaned in, watched as she did the same. “You want to know more about that tragic ordeal, maybe you should take a good long look at your…source’s political leanings and sympathies. If you were any kind of journalist at all, that would have been your first step.” Narrowing my eyes, I looked at the camera. “This is live, right? There’s a line for your competition to chase. The woman in the picture I was just shown is Kylie Wallace. Check out her background…look real hard.” I looked back at the newscaster. “I’m certain her daddy will be damn happy she set you on my ass right before the election.”
“Mr. Dedman–” Her eyes narrowed.
Guess she didn’t like that I wasn’t following her script.
Ignoring her, I rose and began to pull at the microphone I’d been wearing.
“I have just one more–”
“No, you don’t,” O said, cutting her off. “You were granted this exclusive on the grounds that you’d keep your focus on the events from last week and Mr. Dedman’s relationship with his father. Period. Those were the details agreed to. And, for the record, Mr. Dedman was honorably discharged. I advise you get your facts straight before making a fool out of yourself.”
She was still talking when I walked out of the room thirty seconds later, took the stairs immediately to my right and all but ran up the final floor to where James Clarion managed his small empire.
Those offices would be mine soon.
I was already dealing with calls from decorators to help me figure out my style. I wanted them all to just go away and let me put a cooler full of beer in the corner. Of course, having a beer wouldn’t help anything. Because I’d want another and another.
The door opened while I was still staring down at the street. It seemed terribly far away.
When it closed softly behind my intruder, I closed my eyes. “Not a good idea, O.”
“Leaving you in here to brood isn’t a wise choice either.”
She came up behind me and slid her arms around my waist, pressing her cheek to my back. “Who was she?”
“I already told the world her name.” Closing my eyes, I tipped my head back and wondered how much hell might rain down on me for this.
“Her name, yes. But there’s more to who she is, or was, than that.”
Shaking my head, I said softly, “I can’t. Classified. If I were still wearing my uniform, I could be facing a serious ass-kicking just over the little bit I did say. As it is now…shit. There might still be trouble.”
O tightened her arms. “You won’t have to handle it alone. You’ve got more on your side than you think.”
There was a knock at the door, interrupting anything else she might have said.
We broke apart, and I turned to stare at her as the knock came again.
“Am I supposed to hide how I feel about you?” I asked bluntly.
“I…” She blinked, looking caught off-guard. “Um. I haven’t thought about it.”
“Come in,” I called. Then I took a step forward and caught her face in my hands. “Problem solved. No need to think.”
I had her mouth under mine and my tongue stroking over hers while Joseph Cummings stood in the doorway, clearing his throat. “Excuse me. I thought…well.”
I lifted my head and looked over at him. “Is this a problem?”
O pushed me back and muttered under her breath, taking a few steps away.
Joseph took his time answering, giving the question the thought it deserved. “It coul
d prove to be an issue for some. There are those who already think O seduced Mr. Clarion.”
“What?!” I demanded.
“Calm down,” O said, cutting Joseph off before he had a chance to respond. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but anytime you get a woman in a position where she holds some authority, there will be those who assume she slept her way to that position.”
“That’s–”
“Going to be there regardless.” She shrugged and moved away from me with brisk strides, clearly unaffected by the thought. “Getting upset about it changes nothing. And for the record, I’m perfectly capable of telling you what sort of problems this might present us with.”
Joseph cleared his throat. “To be fair, O, you’ve never been in this sort of situation.” He looked thoughtful as he studied her before he looked over at me. “This is a matter that requires discussion, but Mr. Dedman, you have a call.”
His cell phone rang, and he pulled it out, holding up a finger as he answered. A moment later, he lowered it. “Actually, you have several calls – one says he’s a former CO of yours, one is Senator Wallace, and one will not give his name.”
“How about I talk to my CO – excuse me, my former CO.” Fuck, that still burned. “You tell the others to go get fucked?”
“I’ll talk to the senator,” O said, resting a hand on my shoulder. “As to Mr. Anonymous…well, we prefer to have names.”
“I’ll deal with the third caller. I have suspicions on…well, not the exact who, but in general.” He told me which line Hawk was on and while I was going to deal with that one, he connected O to the senator. I was tossing her into the frying pan here. She had no idea what was going on.
I hadn’t even sat down at my desk when a small tornado erupted into the office, four suited minions who seemed to answer O’s every beck and call. She scrawled a note down and passed it off. “I want it yesterday,” she said as she lifted the phone to her ear and took the call from the senator.
“What in the hell were you thinking?” Hawk shouted in my ear.
