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“What’s up, big-shot? How wa
s the first day at work? I just know you nailed that interview and they asked you to start immediately!”
“I thought I did too, but it didn’t work out. But you know what mama says—when one door closes, one opens, and an opportunity of a lifetime walked right into me last night. Or I walked up to it. Or…”
“Well, do tell!”
Mari quickly filled her in, leaving out a few details.
“Dang! When I said it’ll all fall into your lap, I didn’t think it would almost be literal! So let me get this straight—some billionaire jilts his bride and you gave him your apartment to hide out in, your shoulder to cry on, and you’re going to use everything he shares with you to write an article.”
“Yup! Can you believe it? I thought I just knew how things were going to go, what job was right for me, the path I’d take. I had stuff all planned out, and life went ahead presented something far better than I could have come up with myself. It’s not the way I imagined it would happen, but it’s a helluva lot better!”
“Nuh-uh, girl.”
Mari thought she’d heard things for a moment.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not gonna use that man to start your career.”
Mari felt taken aback.
“I don’t see the problem here. He’s a high-profile figure, this is a major scandal, it has so many sexy elements to it—the rich, the pretty, the petty…”
“Yeah, but have you told him you’re a reporter? Does he know everything he says can and will be used against him?”
“This isn’t a court of law—it’s entertainment, and anything goes. The guy is filthy rich and I can almost guarantee he’ll be none the worse for wear. He’ll be just fine in the end—we both will. Dang, I thought you’d be more supportive!”
“I’m supportive of your career choices, sure. It’s your life, not mine. I’m supportive of your love life choices, long as it’s not some douche who’s likely to hurt you. I am not supportive of outright deception. You’re telling me your betrayal won’t hurt him?”
“You do understand the world of reporting, right? This is part and parcel…”
“Shit, are you recording this right now? Are you planning to do some story on old best friends left behind and how quickly things change or something?”
“Wait, what? I would never do that!”
“I don’t know about that now, Mari—looks to me like if a story calls for it, all previous morals go out the window. I give up my right to expect confidence from you…”
“It’s different with you—you’re my best friend!”
“So I thought! But I don’t know how to be best friends with someone I can no longer trust.”
Mari couldn’t believe it.
“I really don’t understand why you’re being so hard on me—there’s a clear difference here, and that man is not my friend. He is a stranger. A very rich stranger. No matter what happens, he’ll be fine in life. He’s got cushions galore, Annie—he’s got the trifecta of privilege. Why the hell should I give some silver-spoon any consideration? You know if the tables had been turned, he’d throw me under the bus in a jiffy.”
Annie’s voice seemed to soften.
“Look, I get what you’re saying, but as a person, that man is vulnerable and trusting you with a part of his life at a time when he’s having trouble talking to anyone else. You don’t think that deserves some respect?”
“I must respect a man who left his fiancée at the altar?”
Annie whistled.
“Dang, touché! Okay, Mari, do what you have to do, but let the record show I discourage betraying the guy. Get all the info you need, but please think twice about sharing it; think about what this could do to him beyond making part of his life public entertainment. From what you’ve told me about him, all I hear is a person going through it, and one of the worst things that can happen while going through it is having some flashlight shined on it for everyone and their shitty opinions to impose themselves on.
“You remember Raquel—that poor girl couldn’t handle everyone suddenly knowing about her freaky side and having that sex tape get out. Sure, she wasn’t as protected as this guy; she didn’t have people to shield her from it one way or another, but some people can’t take the added burden of public judgment and venom. Stuff like this tends to bring the worst out in people. Let me put it this way—how would exposing his deepest secrets help him? Who would it be helping but yourself? What would Erin Brockovich do?”
Mari burst into a giggle.
“Laugh, but isn’t that what you told me? Isn’t that the kind of stuff you want to do? Expose corruption and neglect and whatnot? Wasn’t your goal to help people? Inform the public about important things? Since when is betraying a rich guy’s confidence in his most vulnerable of times important? Besides, I hear a little more in your voice than excitement over a story. This whole thing could be far greater than just some exclusive, Mari; you like him, and maybe he likes you. It might not be the right time, but betraying him like you plan to do is sure to mess up whatever potential you guys might have.”
Mari let her best friend’s words sink in.
Then she said, “You really think I have a chance with a guy like him? Spare me. He’s destined for someone more like his equal.”
“Well, like you recently said your damned self, destiny has other plans than what makes the most sense to us at the time and sees possibilities far beyond our puny calculated choices. And didn’t he run from his supposed equal? Be careful, Mari; the story and access to it might be a once in a lifetime opportunity, but isn’t the guy himself?”
Mari shook her head though she knew Annie couldn’t see her.
“I have to go—I’m headed to drop off some more resumés.”
“Glad to hear it. And if things work out between you and the billionaire, you won’t have to worry about that anymore!”
Mari chuckled and decided not to fight Annie on her fanciful notions anymore.
She knew the most she could hope for at the moment was a chance to address the sexual tension between her and the unhappy tycoon, and they could maybe get a night or two of carnal satisfaction—after he was officially available again, of course.
Guys like him didn’t use girls like her for more than a few nights, she was sure of it.
And in this case, she didn’t mind being used for a night or two at all—especially since, despite Annie’s concerns, she knew she had to go through with the story.
Part II
SECOND THOUGHTS
Chapter 7
Jim
Jim stared at his phone.
He’d turned it off at some point, avoiding both attempts to contact him and attempts to track him down via the phone’s GPS; he wouldn’t put it past his dad to get someone to try to pin down his general location through the phone—especially as a father unaware of what had happened to his son. Not to mention the businessman who’d lost control of one of his employees.
Twenty missed calls, it informed him after booting up.
He imagined at least half of those calls were from Lucy. Five were probably from his dad, and the others a mix of his sister and Scott; not many people had his personal number.
He realized his voice mailbox was full.
He didn’t even want to bother guessing who had taken up the most space there, and he certainly didn’t care to acknowledge the number of texts he’d received.
He let out a deep breath.
He couldn’t hide forever.
It surprised him to discover that, although Lucy had called many times, she didn’t leave a single voice mail; most of the messages were from his dad.
“Son, I know it’s a bit much to take in. We’re pausing the ceremony while you come to your senses. Take a breath. See you in a few minutes.”
Jim felt sick as the image of a hundred people waiting for him to return formed.
What he’d done, far beyond ditching Lucy at the altar, started to sink in.
He had not only emba
rrassed Lucy and her parents tremendously but his own father.
He imagined his dad confidently informing the crowd that he’d return, smiling wide as he assured everyone the show would go on.
Shit.
Jim would have to come up with one heck of a face-saving story.
Blood raced in his temples as he selected the next message.
“Son, where are you? Give me an ETA. Or something.”
Jim groaned.
He knew exactly what his dad meant by that something—a damned good excuse. A made-up medical ailment, most likely—something everyone could immediately understand. A ruptured appendix. An aneurism.
He felt light-headed then immediately lost consciousness and was hospitalized overnight? Oh, poor thing! Well, we’ll certainly try to be there for the ceremony once he’s well again!
Jim knew his dad didn’t necessarily mean for him to call right then, but his father was right—he needed a proper excuse for his departure, and it sure as hell couldn’t be that he just didn’t want to go through with the wedding; that wasn’t an option.
While he half-listened to the next few messages, he tried to come up with an acceptable reason to give his father.
Lucy was another matter, but he’d deal with that later.
His dad’s messages got even angrier, his voice getting lower, the messages shorter and more threatening until a final “Call me immediately!” with no concern in the raised voice, only barely-restrained rage.
But his dad was too smart a man to actually threaten him in a voice mail, something that would be recorded, kept, and possibly replayed for other ears.
His anger at his son would be understandable to anyone else who might have heard it, but a man as careful as his dad left little room for error.
Jim shook his head as he processed his dad’s messages.
How did he do it? How did his father manage to just take over the reins from the last Craig patriarch and ease into the business so easily?
Not once did Jim detect his dad might be happy elsewhere—somehow, what his great-grandfather had founded decades and decades ago stayed in the hands of each successive Craig generation, and each man accepted everything without complaint.
