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"I see."
Silence stretched over the line and Brooks sat back, tapping his fingers along the leather armrest of his chair.
Natalie had been telling Franco to call?
Was that back when they thought they'd had a deal? Or had it been more recent? Did she think that he'd help her because of their relationship?
And how often did she talk to Franco Del Rossi anyway?
Franco's Italian grumble interrupted his thoughts. "I don't want these women to go public. One date and they could say I did anything just to get in the tabloids. It seems like I'd be asking for trouble."
"We'd handle everything. The girls would sign confidentiality agreements. Your name would be altered in the system so you'd be untraceable."
"And you would work with me personally? I don't want one of your people to run off and talk to the press."
"We could arrange something like that. But to be honest, you do have to admit that this is quite the risk for the company. You don't have the most sterling reputation."
"If it's extra money you want, that can be arranged. Just bring me your options at the gala on Saturday and we'll discuss the details."
"I actually—"
"Please, I can't go into your offices. I'm too high-profile right now and with the email hacking of late...just do this for me, okay?"
For him or for Natalie?
Either way, he knew he couldn't refuse.
"Okay, Franco. I'll see you on Saturday."
"Excellent. Ciao."
The line clicked off and Brooks took a deep breath. Maybe if he told Natalie why he'd decided to go to the Gala, it'd be easier to break off their date. With any luck, he could convince her to join him and ease Franco's concerns.
Then, his door bumped open and Garret prowled inside, Eliza hot on his heels.
"I told him—" she started, but Brooks already knew how that story was bound to end.
"It's fine, Eliza. Will you call Natalie over here? Tell her it's important and insist that it's not a trap."
"Not a—?"
"Just trust me. And get the door on your way out?" She nodded, and when the door was finally closed he turned his attention to his murderous-looking brother. Garret leered at him from the corner of his desk, his mouth set in one tight, long line.
"I'm going to the Gala." Brooks said.
"You're damn right you're going to the gala. You've blown off every social event for practically the last month and now you're telling me—"
"That I'm going to the gala. Calm down."
Garret swallowed hard, and Brooks tiled his head to the side as he surveyed him, waiting for the waves of his rage to crash and mellow.
"Is that all?" Brooks asked.
"What the hell is going on with you? I mean, I don't mind that you're not in the society section every week next to some crying socialite, but people have been calling to ask where you've been. We need to be out in the community. That's part of your job."
"Look, I know, I've just been distracted."
"By Natalie?"
