that’s what I should do next time.” Shane was only half joking. “Have my dates sign a nondisclosure agreement before the appetizers.”
“It might be better if you don’t date for a while.”
“That doesn’t sound like much fun.”
“Read a book. Take up a hobby.”
“Like golf or fishing?”
“Not a lot of fishing in the greater Chicago area. But you could golf.”
“Tried it once. I’d have to hang myself.” Shane shuddered at the memory.
“You do know it’s not about the ball. It’s about the conversation.”
“Boring people play golf.”
Justin paused beside the closed door. “Powerful people play golf.”
“I’d rather scuba dive or target shoot.”
“Go for it.”
Shane had considered both of those things, dreaming of a long weekend in the Keys or a rustic lodge in Montana. “It’s a little hard to find the time.”
“Now that you’ve given up dating, you’ll have nothing but time on your hands.”
“There’s a board meeting on Friday. We break ground on the new wing of the R & D facility Wednesday morning. Then I’m hosting the search-and-rescue fundraiser at the mansion next Saturday night.” Shane paused. “And I’m not going stag to that.”
“Sure you are.”
“Uh, no, I’m not.”
“Then find a nice, safe date,” said Justin. “Take your cousin.”
“Madeline is not going to be my date to the fundraiser.”
“Why not? She could be your hostess. It’s not the same as a date.”
“That’s pathetic. I’m not going to look pathetic at my own party.”
“You won’t look pathetic. You’ll look shrewd. The trick here is to give the media absolutely nothing to report.”
“You don’t think they’ll report that I’m dating my cousin?”
“They’ll report that you and Madeline were impeccable hosts and that Colborn raised hundreds of thousands for the search-and-rescue service.”
Shane’s instinct was to argue. But he forced himself to think it through. Was cohosting with Madeline really the safe route?
He knew she’d do it for him. She was a sweetheart. Would it deflect public criticism? More importantly, would it protect his privacy?
Justin spoke up again. “There’s a fine line between keeping your company in the public eye and becoming a social-media spectacle.”
“I’ve crossed it, haven’t I?”
“Bianca crossed it for you.”
Shane capitulated. “Fine. I’ll call Maddie.”
“Good decision.”
“You do know I have a 100 percent success rate, getting lucky after that particular party.”
“You do know those women are sleeping with the billionaire persona and not the man, right?”
“The family mansion has to be good for something.”
The Barrington Hills house had been in his family for decades. But it was an hour commute to downtown. And what single man needed fourteen acres and seven bedrooms?
Shane mostly lived at his Lake Shore Drive penthouse—three bedrooms, a fantastic view and close to any number of fine restaurants.
“I’m sure your father would be proud of how you’re using the family assets,” Justin drawled.
Shane couldn’t help but smile at the memory. His dad had been gone for six years now, tragically killed along with Shane’s mother in a boating accident when Shane was twenty-four. He missed them both. And although Justin was being sarcastic, Dalton wouldn’t have had the slightest problem with Shane’s love life.
Shane heard his assistant, Ginger, over the intercom. “Mr. Colburn? A Hans Strutz is on the phone from Gobrecht Airlines.”
He and Justin exchanged a worried look.
Shane reached out to press the intercom button on his desk phone. “I’ll pick it up.”
“Thank you, sir. Line one.”
“Thanks, Ginger.” He took a bracing breath. “Well, this could be really good or really bad.”
Justin reached for the door handle. “Call me when you’re done.”
“I will.” Shane punched line one.
* * *
Darci sat perched on a bus-stop bench across the busy street from the Colborn Aerospace headquarters. The June sunshine glinted on the giant royal blue sign, which stretched across the front of the building. The twenty-one story structure was two blocks from the river, overlooking a small park.
Her father’s unmailed letter had been a revelation. It explained Ian’s bitterness, his rages at Dalton Colborn and likely his fondness for Scotch, which had increased as the years went by. The letter accused Dalton of betraying Ian, of stealing and patenting her father’s next-generation turbine design.
It seemed Ian and Dalton had been best friends for years, until Dalton got greedy and stole everything for himself. Ian’s letter had threatened a lawsuit. He wanted money, sure. But he also wanted professional recognition for his invention. Dalton had won a prestigious award for the turbine, gaining fame that had translated into wealth and skyrocketing growth for Colborn Aerospace, while Ian’s marriage had broken up and he had spiraled into depression and obscurity.
The letter stated that there was irrefutable proof of Ian’s claim in the company’s records. He said his original, signed schematic drawings were hidden away in a place where only he could find them. He’d wanted a court order to retrieve the designs and force Dalton to come clean.
But the letter was never mailed. And Darci could only guess at the reasons her father might have changed his mind. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to tip Dalton off, to risk Dalton finding the drawings and destroying them. If so, why hadn’t he called a lawyer? Or maybe he had.
She realized she’d probably never know.
Now she sat staring at the Colborn Aerospace building and wondered if the proof could possibly be inside. Were there papers moldering in a basement filing cabinet that showed her father was a brilliant engineer? If there were, how could she get her hands on them?
She watched people walk in and out of the building, alone, in pairs, in groups. Some were obviously executives
