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Nic flipped him off on his way out of the office. And though he wanted to celebrate with Marc and Isa and everyone else who had helped clear Bijoux of any wrongdoing,
his job wasn’t done yet. He needed to make sure the Los Angeles Times—and one particular reporter—got this information. And while he could, and would, have it emailed over, there was no way he was leaving this to the whims of someone’s email habits. He was hand delivering this baby himself.
Besides, he really wanted to see D. E. Maddox’s face when he plopped the report on her desk.
Since it was midmorning, the drive from their offices in north Carlsbad to the headquarters of the Los Angeles Times was less than an hour and a half. On the way, he plotted what he would say to Maddox and her managing editor. About a million expletives came to mind, but since he was a gentleman and not in the habit of cursing at women—even women who had nearly destroyed his family’s business—he worked out a little speech instead. Short, pithy, to the point and—yes, he admitted it—more than a little smug. He might be a gentleman, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t gloat a little. Especially about something like this.
He pulled into the parking lot exactly one hour and fourteen minutes after he left his office in Carlsbad—okay, maybe he’d sped a little, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t anxious to get this whole thing over with and behind him. Behind Bijoux.
He figured he’d have to talk his way around a few security guards, maybe a receptionist or two, before he’d be able to get to either Maddox or Bloomburg. But it turned out that the huge compound that had once belonged exclusively to the Los Angeles Times now housed some kind of call center and a few other businesses that had nothing to do with the news. Which meant Nic waltzed right through the central lobby, where he checked the building’s directory and got onto an elevator that took him straight to the newspaper’s main floor.
He stepped off the elevator into a huge newsroom packed with desks. It was almost empty, which wasn’t a surprise considering he’d arrived in the middle of the lunch hour. Except for a couple of stragglers, the few people who were there were huddled around a table at the front of the room, talking animatedly—probably about how to ruin the reputations of other businesses in the area. Which, okay, might be an unfair assessment, but he wasn’t exactly feeling kindly toward the paper at the moment, or anyone who worked there.
There was still no receptionist to check in with, nobody to even give his name to. And while he knew security at Bijoux was over the top because of the nature of their business—and because they housed diamonds in their state-of-the-art vault—he admitted to being a little shocked at just how laissez-faire this place was about security.
Still, it worked in his favor, so he wasn’t complaining. The paper had certainly had the element of surprise when it had contacted him less than a week ago. Now he was returning the favor. Neither Maddox nor Bloomburg would ever expect him to show up here. He’d find Maddox’s desk and be waiting for her when she got back from lunch.
A big guy with a camera hanging around his neck finally stopped him when he was halfway through the room. But when Nic told him he had something to deliver to D. E. Maddox, the guy waved him toward a desk in the back corner. It was, surprisingly, one of only three desks in the cavernous space that actually had someone sitting at it.
Which was even more perfect. He’d prefer to confront Maddox and get this over with as quickly as possible.
As he approached, she had her back to him, which gave him a perfect view of what looked like miles of platinum blond hair. The sight tugged something inside of him, making him think of Desi and the night he’d spent with her hair fanned out on his pillow. He shoved the memory down—the last thing he needed right now was to be distracted by thoughts of her—but for some reason she just wouldn’t leave his head. It was only when he got closer to the woman that he understood why that was.
As he approached her at an angle, he could see her profile clearly. Could see her high cheekbones and lush full lips. Could see her sun-kissed skin and the dimple low on her right cheek. Suddenly it didn’t seem so far-fetched that she reminded him of the woman he had spent the past eighteen weeks trying to forget.
“Desi?” He hadn’t meant to say her name out loud, hadn’t meant to attract her attention until he’d had a second to deal with the shock of finding out that D. E. Maddox, hated reporter and company annihilator, was none other than the woman he’d taken home for one unforgettable night.
But she turned toward him as soon as he said her name, her eyes widening as she realized who it was standing only a few feet from her desk. He expected her to look guilty, or at the very least, apologetic. Instead, her eyes burned with a fury that made the anger in his own gut look like nothing.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded as she pushed to her feet. “Slumming it?”
Slumming it? He couldn’t even figure out what she meant, let alone how he was supposed to respond to the bizarre accusation. How could he understand when he was still reeling from the realization that Desi had been investigating him for weeks? That she’d been right under his nose for the past few days and he hadn’t had a clue?
“Well?” she asked, and it was the impatience in her voice that finally kick-started his brain into gear.
“I’m here to deliver this to D. E. Maddox,” he said, brandishing the folder like the weapon it was. “But I have to admit I’m a little surprised to see you sitting at her desk.”
“I don’t know why you would be.” She had the audacity to shrug. “It’s not like you know anything about me.”
“So you’re really going to do this?” he demanded as the fury inside him kindled into ugly rage. “Pretend that nothing happened between us.”
“Nothing did happen between us,” she answered coolly. “At least, nothing important.”
“So that night was what? A setup for this, then? A way for you to get to know your assignment before you ruined his business and his life?”
“I didn’t ruin your life or your business. You did that all on your own when you decided to trade in conflict diamonds.”
“I told your managing editor the other day and now I’m telling you. Bijoux does not deal in conflict diamonds.” He dropped the folder on her desk. “I’ve got the proof that we don’t right here.”
She didn’t even bother to glance down at the file. “And I have proof that you do.”
“So show it to me.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Of course not. Who cares if you run a fake story as long as you get the attention you need, right?”
“I don’t fake evidence,” she said as she stood up and started around the desk. “And I didn’t fake this story.”
