Masked Read online

  “I’ve been texting you,” Chad snapped. “Is your phone dead? The rich guy sent his car, and the queen and her spawn said it would look bad if we made them wait, so you could find your own way to SGC. I offered to come up to your room, but Andrea gave me talk to the hand faster than Margaux could summon her laser-lizard stare.”

  Since we neared the limo, I flung back my what-the-fuck? glare at him. I received his fast shrug in reply, another silent code between us, generally meant as at least I tried. I couldn’t argue.

  While climbing into the town car after him, my gaze locked with the driver’s. Oblivious to the political tangle that awaited me inside, he gave a friendly nod and murmured, “Nice to see you again so soon, Miss Montgomery.”

  I plastered on my best pageant smile in return, hoping to God nobody else had heard him, before settling next to Chad. “Good morning, everyone. I hope you all slept as well as I did. Damn, the mattresses here are fantastic. How are you this morning, Andrea? I’m so glad I came down when I did. Please let me know if there are any other changes in our usual routine so I can go ahead and make a note of it now.” I stared at her with dewy expectancy. I wouldn’t be caught off guard again.

  Margaux had already primed the princess-zilla glare. “The change was made several hours ago, Claire. Were you really working that hard, got in that late, and weren’t on top of your emails this morning? I mean, where were you? Mother and I enjoyed some wine in the hotel bar for an hour and a half and still didn’t see you come in. What kept you so long?”

  ’Zilla had clearly added bitch-flavored creamer to her coffee. “A lot of my emails couldn’t wait until this morning,” I supplied, “so I hopped right on them last night.” It wasn’t a lie. I had nothing to hide. Not really. It simply wasn’t the whole truth. Technically, there was nothing wrong with that.

  “And then…?” Margaux prompted.

  I grabbed my forearm and started rubbing. “And then what?”

  Her face, made up as flawlessly as a Lancôme ad, took on a suspicious air that turned my nerves to icicles. “It took over an hour to answer a few emails?”

  “I’m sure Claire just got caught up with some of the other SGC staff.” What Chad lacked in physical height, he made up for in commanding presence. His stiffened posture made Margaux back off a little. He tossed a wink back at me. “So did you pick up on any office gossip about our boy Trey?”

  Poor guy. He had no idea that his query threw me on the defensive as equally as Margaux’s. “They…errr…all seem pretty tight-lipped. I tried to appear friendly and open, hoping to convey that we’re available if any of them wish to share ideas with us.”

  Michael smiled. “Sounds like a great approach. Wooten’s press conference was on every channel I flipped to last night. This story is media catnip. Damn. We really could use a natural disaster right about now.”

  He joked, but we all recognized it as truth. A diversion in the news would give us a huge break. Instead, every news broadcast in the country led with the Wooten event, his accusations dissected by a thousand media “specialists” who arrived at the same conclusion. The senator was out for blood. He swore he’d bring charges against Trey, mentioning every nightmare accusation from statutory rape to the corruption of a minor. By tonight, Trey would be the punch line for Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Kimmel, Jon Stewart, and every stand-up comedian from New York to California.

  It was going to get uglier before it got prettier. With that shared knowledge, we greeted the car’s stop with grim stares.

  Chicago had rolled out one of its finest blustery mornings for us. Looking every inch the wimpy Californians that we were, we grabbed our bags and briefcases with frantic haste.

  Five minutes later, we stepped off the elevator at the sixty-seventh floor. Our first sight was a frazzled version of Killian’s assistant, Britta. Her hair, a polished blonde Scandinavian waterfall yesterday, was shoved atop her head and secured with a pencil. Her earrings were yanked off and thrown to the side, her coffee hardly touched. She waved us toward the conference room without a greeting. We weren’t hurt. Her phones played dueling ring tones, and by the number of times she repeated, “No comment,” we all jumped to the same conclusion. The press was so hungry for answers, they were finding ruthless ways to get through SGC’s first-level switchboards. Not good. We had to wrangle this narrative back from Wooten—about five minutes ago.

  I discreetly pulled Andrea to the side, requesting a moment. Margaux followed us. Not a surprise. I attempted a dismissive glance but, when it didn’t work, simply focused on Andrea. There was no time to waste on turf wars.

  “This is just a suggestion, so hear me out,” I began. “We all know why Britta looks cornered. Every one of those callers is a reporter. They’re not letting up. The poor woman looks like she’s already put in an eight-hour day, and it’s barely nine. I think someone from our team should give her a hand.” Like clockwork, Margaux tensed at my suggestion. She was the press wrangler on our team, logically the best person for the job, but she looked at the vacant seat next to Britta like it was a steerage berth on the Titanic. “At the same time, we can coach Britta on how to route and handle press calls.” Hurriedly, I added, “So we don’t walk in on this every morning.”

  Andrea took a long moment to ponder what I said. “I think you have a very valid point, Claire,” she confirmed.

  I smiled with pride, even managing a diplomatic glance at Margaux. “Thank you for listening. I appreciate it.”

  “Well, we are a team, and we all have input on how we handle crises. That’s how I like to do things.” The response doubled my appreciation—until Andrea smiled in return. Her transparent veneer was back in full force. “So, darling, why don’t you grab yourself a cup of coffee first, perhaps freshen up Britta’s while you’re at it? I know you’ll be wonderful with her. I’m sure she will benefit from whatever you can teach her. And don’t worry—we’ll bring you up to speed in the conference room when you join us later.”

  She walked away with Margaux on her heels. The only thing missing from the moment was Margaux turning to stick her tongue out in triumph—though her sashay accomplished the same teardown on my confidence.

  Another sigh from Britta made me push aside my selfishness. I quickly put down my case and bag and then let her in on the plan. She looked so relieved I almost expected her to tackle me with a hug. Margaux and her gloat were officially forgotten.

  I ordered Britta to put the phones on hold while I got us both some fresh coffee. In the warmly decorated lounge, I ran into Chad and gave him the synopsis of what just happened. His reaction was as predictable as Margaux’s, meaning I had to shove him into a chair and tell him to breathe through his instant temper blow.

  “That little bitch,” he muttered. “She’s going to get hers one day.”

  “Stand down, Lerner. She didn’t call this one. Andrea did. Even if she had, she’s not worth the powder and we both know it. Can we just chill about her for one day?”

  He cocked a curious glance. “Well, hel-lo, happy surfer girl. I wasn’t about to ask if you secretly got laid last night, but there is something different about you today. And you haven’t been answering your cell.” His eyes widened. “Woman, do you have a secret Chi-town fuck buddy you haven’t told us about?”

  I headed to the coffeemaker, not about to let him detect my lie. “You say crap like that every time I wear my hair like this.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Chad, I really don’t have time.”

  “Fine, fine. But now I get to play surfer-brah on your ass. The only reason Margaux didn’t step up for the phones is because she wants to be free for rubbing her wet spot all over Killian Stone. That red silk number she’s wearing today? Before you came down, she told Michael that she packed it especially for attracting the man. Apparently, he likes curvy blondes in red.”

  “Thanks for the trivia.” I made my sarcasm win over my jealousy. Was Killian as huge a skirt chaser as Trey? If that was the case, then it was
best I found out—and could be grateful for—having the knowledge now. I could be at peace leaving him for Margaux’s clutches, as well as knowing my judgment about men was just as shitty as ever.

  “Whether it’s true or not, I observed the guy during the briefing yesterday, and I can tell you this—Stone’s about as into the ’zilla as a vegan is a slab of bacon. Karma makes one hell of a center ring, Claire, and I hope today’s the day it dings the full count for Margaux. When it does, I’m going to be in the front row with popcorn.”

  I forced a laugh to my lips, despite what his comment about Margaux and her wet spot did to my stomach. “It’s time to get to work,” I told him. Thank God, I added inwardly.

  While it had been ages since I’d manned a phone, I actually enjoyed the pace of the job. Spending a few hours with Britta was a bonus. The woman was smart, funny, and very open about her experience working for the Killian Stone. I listened to every word—for the good of the team’s effort, of course.

  Through everything Britta said, one message was blindingly clear. The man was exceedingly generous to those he allowed past his shell of self-control. Britta told me about the time he’d waited in the ER with her after her son had fallen off his bike and broken his arm. And the night he’d summoned the corporate jet at midnight so she’d been able to fly to Florida to see her dying father. And the Christmas season they’d both missed due to working day and night on a new merger—for which she’d found a brand-new car in her driveway on Christmas morning, courtesy of her thankful boss.

  Inadvertently, she also opened a window on some of Killian’s personal quirks. He was an avid water polo player, practicing three mornings a week with his team in the pool at his gym up the street. He had a weakness for everything fried but hated ice cream and pizza. And he was an avid geek about his stamp collection. I nearly spewed coffee on my laptop when she imparted that fact, wondering if he’d ever stop astonishing me. And if I really was attracted to a halfway-decent guy.

  No. Attracted, along with any descriptor connected to it, could not be part of my vocabulary for the man again. Once he got an eyeful of Margaux in her red silk man-catcher dress, things would change anyway. She’d have Killian Stone between her thighs, and I’d be able to sleep without stressing about the DEA pounding on my door.

  We slowly wrestled the phones under control once the reporters realized we really meant no comment, no matter how often they got through. Britta was on the phone with an actual client when another line lit up, so I punched the button to handle the call.

  “Stone Global Corporation. Killian Stone’s office. How may I direct your call?”

  “This isn’t Britta.” The man sounded distracted, harried, and a little annoyed. His voice was half-drowned in street noise. Gusting wind, blaring horns, and a passing police siren made it hard to hear him. Still, my pulse raced and my insides lurched—in ways they hadn’t since last night. But Stone was here already. His office door had been closed all morning.

  “No, I’m sorry. She’s on another line. Would you like to hold, or can I direct your call?” I breathed deeply, forcing decorum to my voice.

  “Who the hell is this?” The siren screamed a block closer to my caller. It didn’t constitute an excuse to become a jackass.

  “My name is Claire. To whom am I speaking?” Two can play this game, buddy.

  “This is Killian Stone.”

  Oh, hell.

  That didn’t explain his closed door, though it justified the heartbeat sprint and the flipping stomach. Too bad it couldn’t excuse my attack of haughty and snotty, which he apparently found amusing. The snicker beneath his reply had been unmistakable.

  “I—I apologize, Mr. Stone.”

  Another flash from last night blazed through my mind. The image of him, anger creasing his face as he said goodbye, telling me I could do what he said or go straight to O’Hare. God, how he’d enraged me. Then, damn him, aroused the hell out of me. But now I plunged into dread, remembering what the man could accomplish when he was pushed.

  Thankfully, he preferred chuckling at the moment. “Apologize? For what? Answering the phone? But out of curiosity, where is the woman I pay to do that job?”

  “Ummm…” My hand still shook like a teenager on the phone with the boy she liked from science class. “She’s still on another line. The phones were really busy this morning, so I suggested we help her with some strategies on how to handle the press. The bastards have been relentless and somehow found a way to breach the front switchboard. Hopefully they won’t bother Britta too much longer…”

  I was rambling. Worse yet, I knew it. I wanted to crawl into a hole for at least a week of hiding. What was it about this man that made me act half my age? It was ridiculous. Unprofessional. It had to stop.

  Britta had finished her own call. She stared at me with open alarm, clearly reading my gawk and sensing I had Killian on the line. “I can take that now,” she prompted.

  “Uh, yeah,” I mumbled. “Sure.”

  “What?” Killian asked.

  “Done,” I blurted. “I mean—errr—Britta’s done. With her call, I mean. I’ll hold you now. I mean I’ll put you on hold. Then you can talk to her—”

  “No.” One syllable. Solid steel. “Don’t.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I’d rather talk to you.” His pause was formidable. “About last night.”

  “Not happening.” Pointedly, I amended, “Please. Okay?”

  “Why?”

  “Because now’s not the time. And here’s not the place.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s not.”

  “Are you always so bossy, Miss Montgomery?” His undercurrent of humor had returned. The traffic noise faded.

  “Said the pot to the kettle?”

  I swallowed hard and turned from Britta, not wanting the woman to hear the way I was talking—make that sparring—with her boss on the phone. Great. That put my vision in line with the door to his office. Like I needed any more reminders of the forbidden territory. The sanctum I should’ve never entered to begin with. No matter how magical those minutes had been…

  “Listen, I need to get back to work.” I forced myself to say it. “I—uhhh—assume you’re out at meetings, Mr. Stone?”

  He grunted. “Yes. Couldn’t be helped. Some stockholders need to have their hands held after the last few days. Fortunately, I haven’t been assaulted by any of your reporter friends.” A long moment went by. “But damn, if I were in their shoes, I’d pick pursuing you on the phone instead of me in the rain any day.”

  “I’m sure you’re very interesting in the rain.”

  He let another long moment pass. Thank God. I had a moment to recover from my horror. What the hell was I doing, snipping at him one minute and flirting the next, after I’d ordered myself off from both?

  I was a huge damn mess. An awful, terrible tease. And confused. So freaking confused by what he did to me.

  I listened to his longer breaths…enduring shivers down to my toes because of them. When he spoke again, the words were tight and intimate. “And I like the way you think I’m interesting.”

  “You could be standing next to the president and I’d think you were interesting.”

  I had not just said that.

  “What if I were standing next to Melinda Gates?”

  On the other hand, who cared what I’d just said? His bombshell, making me openly gasp, erased half the thoughts from my head. Few people knew about my fascination with Gates, who used her wealth for some of the most far-reaching humanitarian efforts in the world.

  “How— How did you know—?”

  “You’re not the only one who likes to tap at icebergs, Miss Montgomery.”

  His tone dipped into lower registers. He spoke of ice, but searing smoke wove seductive tendrils through every nerve ending in my body. Killian Stone had Googled me.

  I gulped before stammering, “I—I have to go. Will you be here later for the strategy meeting?”

 
; “Yes. I’ll be in around four for the update from your team.”

  “It’s not my team, Mr. Stone. Regardless, I’ll see you there.”

  He responded at first with another thick pause. On the other side of it, every note of power and confidence had returned to his voice. “Miss Montgomery?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like to think you’ll be seeing more of me than that.”

  Click.

  I hung up the phone and put my face in my hands. And tried to calm my heart. And fought to string two thoughts together.

  What the hell was going on with that man? What was he trying to do to me?

  I didn’t have answers for either but knew two things for certain. First, I needed to get my shit together. Technically, I was on the clock. His clock. Secondly, Killian—Mr. Stone—and I needed to get a few things cleared up or this was going to be the longest, hardest project of my career.

  The rest of the morning and early afternoon dragged on. The conversation with Killian had dunked my thoughts into fog. I continued to assist Britta but couldn’t recount what went on around me.

  At two, Andrea sent Chad to round me up. We would meet as a team before the Stone brothers and their people arrived. Andrea, Michael, and Margaux tossed around strategies about our counterattack to Wooten’s slur campaign. The details were gory. Andrea ordered that the Wootens, along with their friends and staff, be gashed open and dissected from every angle. No ex-lover, bank record, immigration document, or medical file was off-limits.

  I typed notes as fast as I could. Thank God, because I would have to review it all later back in my room. My senses were still a blur, all caused by my conversation with the model-gorgeous flirt who wasn’t even in the building. A man I barely knew. Who had a cute thing for french fries and a sigh-worthy loyalty to his employees. But so do mob bosses. And boyfriends who deal drugs and then knock up your best friend before skipping town.