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“I know,” Zane said. “In my head, I totally know.”
To prove it, he kissed Trey softly on the lips—though Rebecca’s brothers still sprawled sleepily nearby.
Trey pulled back from him and smiled. “Don’t let Mrs. P resign.”
“I won’t,” Zane promised, knowing as well as Trey did that she’d try.
His patience wasn’t completely up to soothing the guilt-stricken woman. She should have mentioned her nephew was the family troublemaker before suggesting him for a job. Zane was sure she’d convinced herself the position would help Owens straighten up, and no doubt her sister had put pressure on her to put in a word for him. People lied to themselves all the time about relatives.
Though Zane didn’t ask, she swore she hadn’t gossiped to her nephew about her bosses’ relationship. She probably hadn’t had to. Once Owens was on the staff and around them everyday, he’d have sniffed it out by himself. A single glance exchanged in the car could have given them away. Lately, Zane hadn’t kept up his guard as carefully.
“Trey and I didn’t have to take your recommendation,” he pointed out to Mrs. P and himself. “Ultimately, the buck stops with the bosses.”
It took ten more minutes, but he convinced her she wouldn’t improve matters by quitting. That was one load off his mind. Mrs. Penworth ran their house really efficiently.
He detoured to the terrace afterwards. He needed a few deep breaths and to remind himself that the sun had come up regardless. The birds were singing, the squirrels still scampering on the lawn. An unexpected peace settled over him. The truth was out, and the world hadn’t ended. He had Trey, and Rebecca hadn’t left. It was hard to imagine, considering all that remained to face, but maybe they’d come out of this stronger.
He’d set his cell to vibrate, and it buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw the caller’s ID was blocked. This was his private number. He hoped to hell the press hadn’t got hold of it.
He drew one more clear breath and answered it.
“There you are,” purred Missy’s most seductive voice. “I’m so glad I caught you.”
Zane’s heart thumped so hard she should have heard it on her end. “What do you want?” he asked tightly.
“Just to congratulate you. Coming out like that was clever. I’d almost think you didn’t mind.”
Zane gripped the phone and tried to project calm. “Missy, what I did to you doesn’t warrant this reaction.”
“Doesn’t it? You wasted my time, Zane, when all along you were in love with your CFO. I can have any man I want. I won’t be humiliated by some bastard billionaire using me as his beard. Does your new whore know that’s all she is to you? Does she realize you and your precious Trey count the minutes until you can be alone? Will she tell her friends she’s certain you’ll be popping the question any day?”
Was that what Missy had told people?
“Look,” he said, “I’m sorry you misunderstood my intentions, though—frankly—I can’t fathom how you could. You knew you weren’t the only woman I was seeing.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” she said, her voice crisp and hard with anger. “You don’t get to turn this around on me. I’m the victim, and you are going to pay—you and your precious gay boyfriend.”
“Missy—”
“Turn on Boston AM,” she advised, naming a local daytime talk show. “You’ve got—oh—about ten minutes until it starts. We’ll call this ‘Revenge, part deux.’”
She ended the call, leaving him to curse at no one. He glanced up the rear of the mansion to the quiet third-floor windows where he and Trey had shared so many nights. Rebecca joining them had felt natural—inevitable, even. She fit them both, and they fit her. He saw that now, as clearly as the sun beaming down on him. What he didn’t see was why people like Missy needed to twist their happiness into a different shape. Couldn’t they ignore it and go be happy themselves?
Because he guessed they couldn’t, he went inside to find the others.
They weren’t in the library. He found them in the twins’ guest room, standing in a loose cluster in front of the wall TV.
“My friend Caroline called,” Charlie said as he came in. “She said Boston AM was promo-ing an interview with Mystique.”
He’d barely finished speaking when the smartly dressed female host of the show appeared onscreen. Frieda Finch, a forty-something auburn-haired woman, was as birdlike as her name. To the swells of show’s theme music, she introduced her guest as the world famous swimsuit model, Mystique. Missy sat in the opposite chair, seeming to like the description. She’d dropped her recent Marilyn Monroe kick and was looking more Kim Novak in a primly buttoned but very curve-hugging light gray suit.
Finch leaned toward her sympathetically. “Mystique, you and billionaire Zane Alexander have been viewed as an item for a few years. What’s your take on these recent shocking developments?”
“First of all, Frieda,” Missy said, establishing their rapport and her own composure, “other people built more on that relationship than I did. You know how it is when someone’s famous. Everyone they blink at must be their boyfriend. I’d say Zane and I dated casually. On the other hand, I don’t deny that today I’m feeling a bit misled.”
Treys snorted as Missy smoothed her snug skirt primly, not coincidentally drawing attention to her legs.
“So you don’t believe Zane Alexander’s claim that he’s bisexual? Don’t you think the tape supports that?”
“Well, I’m no expert on these things, but some might say if he really did like women, he’d have tried harder to hold onto me.” Missy attempted to look modest, but wasn’t selling that.
Whatever Finch believed, she maintained her poker face. “You must feel like you dodged a bullet. If Zane Alexander had pursued you harder, that could have been you in that tape.”
This question was a bit sharper than Missy expected. She drew herself straighter and pursed her mouth. “I assure you, the . . . sort of activities in that recording aren’t what I go in for. I have more self-esteem than that. My concern is that other vulnerable women don’t get taken in by Zane or Trey Hayworth. Behind that rich bad boy glamour, the truth is unsavory.”
“You’re saying Trey Hayworth, CFO of TBBC, is also to blame for this?”
Missy turned her million-dollar fake-lashed eyes toward the camera, her expression oozing sincerity.
“Fuck,” Zane muttered even before she spoke.
“I’m saying Trey Hayworth has his own shameful secrets. I’m saying neither of TBBC’s chief officers can be trusted.”
The camera cut back to Finch, who announced they had an exclusive pre-taped interview with a close relative of TBBC’s CFO.
“No,” Trey said, startled into it. Zane grasped his arm in support, but couldn’t stop Trey’s crazy aunt from appearing on the screen. Constance Sharp was better dressed than he’d last seen her—her make up professionally applied, her silver hair freshly coiffed. Despite the buff and polish, the crazy glitter in her eyes was impossible to disguise. She was posed in a high-backed chair in what looked like a nice hotel room.
“I’m not surprised by anything Trey Hayworth does,” she huffed. “He ignores his family, and spreads horrid lies about my father. My father was ten times the man those limp wrists are, but my brother was just as bad as Trey. He lied too, and hit people with his toys. It’s no wonder my nephew turned out the way he did.”
“And there you have it,” Frieda Finch concluded, her face in the frame again. “Does Trey Hayworth have a reason to be estranged from his family? Is he the victim of ill treatment or the boy who cried wolf? More mystery and scandal surrounding two of Boston’s best known businessmen.”
“Oh come on,” Pete burst out as the station went to commercial. “This is bogus. Anyone can see that old lady is off the rails. Just like anyone can see Mystique set this whole thing up when she couldn’t bag her man. She’s lashing out like a jilted cheerleader in high school. It’s so obvious it’s sad.”
“It’ll only be obvious to people who want to see it that way.” Trey spoke quietly, but his face had gone white with stress. Even more than Missy, Finch had put her finger on his personal angst button. Zane moved his hand from Trey’s arm to his shoulder, which caused Trey to shift his gaze to him.
“I guess we know where my aunt disappeared to,” he said. “Missy was hiding her.”
Missy must have tracked Constance down after seeing her break into TBBC’s headquarters. He gave her points for paying attention, but God what a mess this was. He supposed it helped that Trey’s aunt wasn’t reading from the same revenge playbook as the model—though that didn’t spare Trey of course.
