he emphasized, “it’s possible that we would have been friends.”
Her chin lifted. “I know how important this is. I take Graham’s future very seriously. But just so we’re clear—” she fixed him with sultry hazel eyes, and her voice slid deeper into the accent of a Southern belle who took no prisoners “—under different circumstances, I wouldn’t want to be your friend, Hayden. I’d make one heck of a pass at you.”
She turned and walked off, blond hair glinting in the sunshine, Rosie at her heels, leaving Hayden poleaxed.
Three
At four o’clock the next day, Lucy knocked on the door to Hayden’s suite, then rolled her shoulders one at a time to try and ease the bunching tension in them.
Hayden had called her cell an hour ago and asked if she could come by to answer a few more questions, and she’d jumped at the chance to see him again in his suite, maybe find a few more clues for her story. The only other time she’d been to his hotel was before Graham had handed her the assignment of the exposé, so this time she’d pay more attention to the little things. The clues.
But now that she was here, her knees quivered—in fact her whole body was unsteady. She wiped damp palms down her calf-length skirt. This was the first time she’d seen him after saying that if things were different, she’d make a pass at him. And she had no idea how things had changed between them, or if she’d ruined the fragile rapport she’d been building with the man who was her target.
After she’d turned a corner yesterday at the park and was safely out of his line of sight, she’d called herself every type of crazy. Rosie had looked up, worried, and Lucy had explained to the dog that she’d probably just uttered the most reckless, foolish words of her life.
Even if they were true.
But she had to be careful. It wasn’t just that they were in the midst of a congressional investigation. Hayden Black was the last man on the planet she could afford to be involved with. People already judged her for being the daughter of Jonathon Royall and the stepdaughter of Graham Boyle—two wealthy, high-profile, well-connected men. The common opinion was that she’d been handed everything she wanted on a silver platter. That she hadn’t had to work for her own achievements. If she were to be seen with another wealthy, high-profile, well-connected man like Hayden Black, especially given that he was a few years older than she, people would write her off as a woman who was dependent on strong men. Her achievements would again be discounted as not coming from hard work. At just thirteen she’d realized what people assumed about her and it had made her determined to prove to the world that she could achieve anything she wanted on her own.
No, Hayden Black was not for her. She needed an average guy, maybe one just starting out in his career, like her.
With a heavy whoosh, the door swung open and there stood the far-from-average man himself, as broodingly gorgeous as she remembered. “Thank you for coming,” he said, his voice like gravel, as if he hadn’t used it all day.
And there was something new in his expression—his dark coffee eyes were wary as they assessed her. Seemed she’d thrown the great criminal investigator a curveball yesterday. Her taut shoulders relaxed a little. Perhaps, despite it being a crazy thing to say, it had worked in her favor.
“You’re welcome….” She paused as she stepped into the room. “Do I call you Hayden or Mr. Black, since this is an official interview?”
“Hayden is fine.” He closed the door behind her and led her to the desk and chairs where they’d spoken two days ago.
She glanced around, taking note of details that might be useful later. Besides the papers on the wooden desk and the coffee cup on the kitchenette counter, the room was neat, nothing out of place, as if he’d just moved in. Hotel housekeeping would have had something to do with that, but there was more to it—as if he was keeping a firm line between Hayden the father and widower and Hayden the tough, take-no-prisoners investigator. She also spied the recorder sitting on the desk again and approved. Recordings were less likely to be misinterpreted than notes.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
She took her seat and lifted her bag onto the desk. “I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, and she remembered that last time she’d made him go back for water after they’d sat down, then to throw away her paper coffee cup. Her mouth began to curve at the memory, but as their gazes held, heat shimmered between them. Time seemed to stretch; goose bumps erupted across her skin. Then Hayden looked away and gave his head a quick shake.
“I have a bottle of water in my bag,” she said in a voice that was more of a husky whisper.
He folded himself into his chair, as if nothing had just passed between them, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Of course you do.”
She took out her water, notepad and pen and lined them up beside each other, using the extra moments to find her equilibrium.
“Let me know when you’re ready,” he said, opening the laptop that sat on the desk in front of him.
She picked up her pen, wrote the date at the top of a clean page, then pasted a smile on her face. “Ready.”
He nodded, switched the recording equipment on and gave the date, time and her name. “Do you understand what illegal phone hacking entails?” he asked bluntly.
Seemed they were jumping right in. She straightened her spine. That suited her just fine. “Yes, I do.”
“So you’re confident you’d recognize phone hacking if you came across evidence that it had happened,” he asked without hesitation and looking directly at her as if daring her to lie. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was working from a list of questions on his laptop today. Perhaps this interview was more important than the first?
She leaned forward in her chair, her hands laced together and resting on the desk. “I believe I would.”
“We already have evidence that ANS has been involved in illegal phone hacking. The evidence against former reporters Brandon Ames and Troy Hall is indisputable—they were caught on camera hiring hackers to record the phone and computer activity of Ted Morrow’s and Eleanor Albert’s families and friends. The only questions that remain are who else was involved, and who knew about it.” There was something vaguely intimidating about the intelligence in his eyes, the determined jut of his chin, the perfect Windsor knot of his pale blue tie. This man would be a formidable adversary.
She arched an eyebrow. “Assuming someone else was involved or knew about it.”
Not acknowledging her comment, his eyes flicked back to the laptop. “Do you work much with Angelica Pierce?”
Lucy kept her face neutral despite the distaste that rolled through her. There was a woman who was capable of something immoral, like phone hacking, if her treatment of her underlings was any gauge of her moral character. Angelica was mean, vain and selfish. But she wasn’t here to talk about whom she personally did and didn’t like, so she simply said, “I do a fair bit of background and preparation work for her.”
“What about Mitch Davis?” Hayden flicked his pen over and under his fingers as he watched her. The man had an intensity in his gaze that was mesmerizing.
“Mitch
