Two hours later, Vance crumpled the newspaper and tossed it aside. Fury rose up inside him but he quickly reined it in. Just as Tracy had promised, the story about a possible affair between Ann Richardson and Dalton Rothschild was on page twenty-six. For a second, Vance told himself that since the so-called story was buried in a small column on a page filled with ads, it might get ignored.
But the chances of that were actually slim to none. There was nothing people liked better than the makings of a good scandal and this one would be talked about for weeks. It wasn’t just the rumors of an affair, but the possibility of collusion that had him worried. He hoped to hell there was nothing to it, because if there was, they were looking at official investigations, charges—possibly even the destruction of Waverly’s.
He snatched up his phone, punched in a number and waited for it to be answered. When it was, he snapped, “Dammit, Tracy.”
“Vance, not my fault,” the woman on the other end said matter-of-factly. “My editor got a tip and we acted on it. At least I gave you a heads-up.”
“Yeah, for all the good that does me.” Tracy had called him late last night. Not much of a warning system, and he had a feeling she had only done it because she wanted to give him a little extra time to stew over it.
He stood up and turned to stare out at the city streets. Manhattan was sweltering under a vicious summer sun. Tourists strolled along Madison Avenue, getting buffeted by the quicker-moving locals who had places to go and didn’t want to linger in the heat.
“Is there any proof of this story?”
“You know I can’t answer that.”
“Fine. But if you have any other ‘tips’ let me know before you go to print, will you?”
“No promises,” she snapped. Then she asked, “Sound familiar?” just before she hung up.
Vance winced, knowing full well she shouldn’t be telling him a damn thing. A year ago, Tracy had been in his bed for a couple of months and when he’d told her it was over, he had reminded her that he’d gone into the affair warning her of “no promises.”
It was the same warning he gave every woman who entered his life. He wasn’t looking for long-term. He’d seen what his mother’s and older sister’s deaths had done to his father. Hell, it had crippled the man, leaving him a broken, empty shell. If love was that powerful, then Vance wanted nothing to do with it. As for having a family of his own? He’d never even been tempted. So, since he had zero interest in finding a wife, for God’s sake, why bother pretending anything different? Wasn’t it better to be honest with a woman up front?
He shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts, since they really had nothing to do with the current situation anyway.
Setting the phone back in its cradle, Vance stuffed his hands into his pockets and shook his head. Waverly’s was all he had and damn if he’d lose it. His family had built this place and, as one of the last Waverlys still standing, he would do whatever was necessary to save it.
Turning, he buzzed the intercom. “Charlie, would you come in here, please?”
A second or two later, his door opened and she was standing in the doorway. Her long blond hair hung over one shoulder and her wide blue eyes were fixed on him. Once again, Vance felt that punch of something hot hit his system and he was forced to deliberately quash it.
“Is there a problem?”
“You could say that,” Vance muttered and waved her inside. He pointed at the couch on the far wall and said, “Have a seat.”
She did and he noticed the wary expression on her face.
“Relax,” he said, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. “I’m not firing you.”
She let out a breath and gave him a smile. “Good to know. What can I do for you, then?”
Bracing his forearms on his knees, Vance looked into her eyes and said, “You can tell me everything you’ve heard lately about Ann Richardson.”
“Excuse me?”
“If there’s been talk, I want to know about it,” he told her flatly. “You must have heard about the article in the paper.”
Her eyes shifted away from him for a second before returning to meet his stare. “The phone’s been ringing for the last half hour with people wanting to talk to you.”
“Perfect,” he muttered. “Who?”
“I’ve got a stack of messages on my desk, but mainly, it’s the other board members and then there were a couple of reporters. Also, a cable business network wants an interview.”
He fell back against the sofa cushion and shook his head again. “This is going to get much worse before it’s over.” He had to talk to Ann. Figure out what was going on and the best way to mount a defense. His gaze speared into Charlie’s.
“I know people are talking about this here in the company. What have you heard?”
She frowned at him. “I don’t listen to gossip.”
“Ordinarily, a good thing. Right now, I need to know what people in the building are saying.”
She took a long, slow breath and looked as if she were having an internal argument with herself on whether or not to answer him. Briefly, Vance considered making that request an order, but discounted that notion. He didn’t want to make her defensive and careful about what she said. He needed as much information as he could get.
She bit into her bottom lip and finally blurted out, “People are worried. They’re afraid Waverly’s will be shut down, that they’re going to lose their jobs. Frankly, I’m a little worried, too. The article mentioned possible collusion—”
“Yeah, I know it did,” he muttered.
“What does Ms. Richardson say?”
Vance scowled. “I haven’t spoken to her about it yet. I got a tip about the article coming out today, but not in time to do anything about it. I expect it will be a topic of conversation during the board meeting, though.”
“What do you think is going on?” she asked and he realized that by asking her opinion on what was happening in Waverly’s, he’d opened a door between them.
A week ago, she would have been too skittish, too nervous to ask him that. Now, though, things had apparently changed. Oddly, he didn’t mind. She was a good listener and it was nice to be able to talk this out with someone who knew what was going on, yet didn’t have a major stake in the outcome.
“I don’t know,” he admitted and that cost him. Vance didn’t like not having the answers. He wasn’t accustomed to being in the dark. He preferred being on top of any given situation. Knowing the answers before the questions were asked. In this case, though, all he had to go on were his gut instincts. “I like Ann. She’s always struck me as a sensible, honest woman. She’s been good for Waverly’s …”
“But?”
One corner of his mouth lifted.
