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To a team I didn’t even understand. Doing some kind of shady work he couldn’t discuss with me. If it was classified, it had to be government-related. But if I was implicating myself…it wasn’t strictly…legitimate.
From the little information I could gather before he showed up, it seemed the fire-breathing dragon was funding something rather…philanthropic. I thought of my Max, taking down corrupt politicians from within their own framework. I wondered if he’d specifically led me to something he wasn’t supposed to know about but had seen, anyway.
So many questions. So few answers.
I was just a girl from a small town in Alaska. A girl from Alaska lucky to land a position with one of the planet's largest investment and media dynasties. A girl from Alaska who was about to walk away from said position. Did I…did I still want that? Did he actually think I could do more, or was he just covering his very rich, very fine, Armani-clothed ass? Using the strength of mouthwatering cologne and his towering, beautiful frame to scatter my sensibilities as violently as the bomb he’d just dropped.
I glanced at my watch, sucking in a steadying breath as his words tumbled through my mind, gathering momentum like a snowball. Mouth dry, I mumbled, “It’s eleven, Greyson. I have a meeting at seven.”
“Answer my question, Alessandra.”
Jaw set, I looked up to him, that steadystroke, stroke, strokeof his thumb over my skin, sending pebbles across it. Christ, I was so grateful he’d never touched me prior—it would have been all I could think about. “Nobody will believe it.”
“Here, google me,” he ordered, unceremoniously tossing his cell phone to me. I caught it on reflex.
“I’m sorry?” I balked.
“Look at the screen. You search my name, and you invariably see yours as well. But if you add?—”
“Romance…” I finished his sentence as I glanced at the populated search results he had open on his screen, my mouth falling open.
“You’re the only woman they’ve snapped photos of beside me intwo years. It won’t be a hard sell.” Scroll after scroll of search results confirmed what he was saying. Not just photos but articles and blog posts speculating that we were together.
“Myfamily, for starters, would believe I was dead long before they believe I up and married you.” My words earned a visible wince, but I couldn’t stop. There were too many questions. This was just my first. “You were going to dig through my archives and repurpose those candid Barcelona images?”
He rubbed at his forehead like he could ease some of our reality away. “There was one of me guiding you through a door—hand on your low back.” His eyes went distant, his head softly shaking, like he was searching through old memories. “Another where you took my hand stepping out of the car over a full gutter. So many on the UK trips. Even articles speculating back then. Multiples of you getting out of the car in front of my house.Creeps,” he complained but shrugged begrudgingly. “Could benefit us now, though.”
“We’d fake a photo with a ring and leak it ourselves,” I concluded—correctly, based on his smirk and the subtle nod ashe watched me. “It’s still a scandal, Greyson.Hotshot CEO runs off with his secretary.”
“You and I both know you’re much more than my appointment setter. That’s what Paul is for.”
“My point stands—it’s a cliché, but it will still make headlines.”
“HeadlinesI can livewith. Headlines that don’t bring the feds poking around in my financials or lead them to my…extracurriculars. You could invoke spousal immunity should they come knocking. Plus, Stacy would make her career on this story,” he said with great satisfaction. Stacy was the one reporter we could count on to fan flames or extinguish them when needed. We already knew we had her allegiance in this after today’s call. “We’d be doing her a favor in the long run.”
I covered my mouth, heart pounding just at the fact that I was considering this insanity.
“Unless you have an alternate diversion significant enough to draw media attention for a prolonged period, at which point I amallears. An alternative plan wouldn’t protect you with immunity, though. Should the law come knocking—you won’t take the fall for me; you’d have to tell them what you know, which I hope is very little.” He pursed his lips. “If you’ve got something else that could solve our immediate allegation problems…throw it on the table.” His eyes dropped, a focused furrow pinching his brows. “But I think he was right. I think the royal wedding would swallow some baseless accusation—and we could draw it out.”
“Speculations, confirmations, announcements,” I concluded, sucking down a breath.
“Vapid parties and all the details around the wedding itself.”
“The ring.”
“The dress,” he said, expression warming, no doubt as he realized I was playing along.
“Elopement or a big, televised fiasco sold off to the highest bidder.”
“Elopement, obviously.” As an afterthought, he explained, “I notoriously hate productions.”
“Then, it would turn to the guest list.” I hated that it made sense. Hated that he was right—the public would believe it as long as my family didn’t light the building on fire.
“Your siblings would help with that.”
“I’m not exploiting Elora or Paxton,” I argued. “If—and I cannot stress theifenough—we even entertain this in some acid trip-altered reality, they only participate electively.”
“We wouldn’t have a choice. The media would write whatever they wanted to write. Your family has placed themselves in the public eye. They’ll be seen. After the wedding, they’d talk photos and guest list?—”