a billion-dollar corporation started to show.
He contracted his abs against the sick feeling in his stomach. He’d just as soon not bump into her tonight.
Peter worked his way to Alex’s side and leaned toward him. “Marcus would have been pleased.”
By the huge, gaudy birthday party with everybody who was anybody in attendance, yes. By the fact that Joseph was using his seventy-fifth birthday to publicly welcome three of Marcus’s previously secret illegitimate sons into the family, probably not.
Alex simply nodded in response.
Despite the risk of being jostled, Peter took a drink of his punch. Alex could tell Peter wasn’t sure what to say or do for him when it came to the subject of Marcus’s death.
Those within the upper ranks of the company were aware that Alex and Marcus hadn’t been particularly close as brothers, age difference aside. Alex enjoyed focusing on business; Marcus had focused on the business of enjoyment.
But because of their age difference, Alex couldn’t believe there wasn’t some speculation going on, now that the existence of Marcus’s other sons had quietly been made public.
To counter the speculation and hopefully put an end to it, Alex had been trying to act normally for the past month. Maybe he should have appeared to be grieving more.
He was grieving. For a lot of things.
When they reached the wall of French doors, which had been thrown wide, Alex said to Peter, “The north end of the veranda is the best place to view the fireworks.” He pointed in the direction he meant.
Peter smiled. “Thanks.” Certainly he already knew as much. Peter had worked for them for years, hired by Sara Barnes’s father back when he was VP of operations before his deadly heart attack.
Alex waved lamely and headed in the opposite direction, sticking to the shadows near the house to avoid the crowd and notice. God, he really needed to be alone.
Because the one thing he was grieving most for was the death of his ability to trust.
DESPITE THE FACT that she was conducting an interview, Madeline Monroe thought she’d caught a glimpse of a midnight-black McCoy head above the crowd in the hall, emerging from the door she just happened to know led to the study.
Keeping her microphone steady in front of the mouth of Dependable’s mayor as he yammered on as though he’d actually had a hand in the prosperity of the town’s ten thousand or so inhabitants, Madeline faked a flip of her shoulder-length blond hair. She leaned slightly toward the carved balustrade of the staircase to confirm what she’d seen—a risky move, considering the mayor wasn’t tall and she’d had him stand on the stair above her so she didn’t tower over him in the strappy heels that matched her long red dress.
For professional purposes, which McCoy she might have seen didn’t matter—her producers wanted any of them on camera as much as possible. But the little burp her pulse gave forced her to admit that she hoped it was Alexander McCoy. She steadied herself on her spot a few steps up on one of the grand, sweeping staircases that framed the cavernous foyer of the mansion named the Big House. The McCoys seriously needed to get over themselves.
Just as she needed to get over Alex. They’d barely dated, for cripes’ sake, and seven years ago at that. Pestering him daily for an interview since the news first broke of “The Lost Millionaires” had apparently reawakened whatever she might have felt for him earlier.
Which was stupid, because she didn’t intend to be some rich guy’s eye candy any more now than she had then.
Dan, her cameraman, made a noise from behind his camera and jerked her attention back to the mayor. Not that her producers would choose to include any of this interview with His Honor in her segment. They wouldn’t think the viewers of Entertainment This Evening cared about the civic leaders of a quaint northwest Missouri town. All the viewers cared about was the town’s most famous and powerful residents, the billionaire McCoys.
Especially now that their previously spotless reputation as bastions of morality sported three very big stains. Illegitimate heirs to millions popping out of the mahogany were journalistic platinum to shows such as ETE. And if she could dig beyond the official family press release and find some real dirt, she might finally be taken seriously by the hard-news shows she’d been trying to break into for years.
The journalistic sixth sense she was beginning to trust screamed that a fourth stain on their spotless reputation lurked beneath the surface here at the Big House.
A cryptic phone call yesterday before dawn to her voice mail from the first illegitimate heir brought into the fold, Cooper Anders, had raised the hairs on her arm. When she’d met with him, though, he’d claimed only to want to inform her of yet another good deed his new grandfather had done. But his call had got her thinking.
And doing some math.
Worried that Alexander might slip away from her yet again, Madeline praised the mayor for being a shining example of local government, thanked him for his insightful comments and sent him on his way back down the stairs.
Dan lowered his camera and stepped toward her, stopping her from following the mayor. “Maddy, you do realize, don’t you, that he talked almost exclusively about the giant flowerpots hanging all over town, which Joseph McCoy provided? Not exactly insightful stuff.”
Madeline cringed. “Really?”
He gave an exaggerated nod.
“Oops.”
He put a foot on the step above them, his all-terrain boots undoubtedly leaving something on the chenille-like carpet, and balanced the heavy camera on his black jean-clad thigh. Black jeans and a black T-shirt were the closest Dan Gurtings would ever get to a tuxedo. He left the dress-up stuff to the talent assigned to him. Which for the past four years had been her.
His look was speculative. “Not like you at all, Monroe. You’re normally spot-on. What gives?”
“A black-haired, blue-eyed, uptight god by the name of Alexander McCoy, that’s what. Make that who.” Then, realizing what else Dan had said, she drew her chin back. “Spot-on? You really need to stop hanging around with those BBC cameramen, Danny boy.”
Madeline eased down a step. With the crush of people in the hall, she doubted that Alex had managed to get far. If she had indeed seen Alex.
The black head could have belonged to Cooper Anders, who was tall, dark and gorgeous, as well. At some point she had to get a decent interview out of him, also.
Dan dismissed her recommendation with a wave. “I watched the latest Harry Potter movie with my kid last night because he wasn’t feeling all that great. Residual Brit influence.”
“How did you manage that, considering little Dan is in L.A. and you were at the Super 8 in flowerpot-festooned Dependable?”
“Pay-per-view and a cell phone. He mostly just wanted to hear me laugh and gasp in all the right places.”
“I hope you have unlimited minutes. Those are long movies.”
He grinned in the way that softened his rugged, not-quite-handsome face and made him utterly appealing. “No kidding. But at least it made
