The TROUBLE with BILLIONAIRES: Book 3 (7 page)

Rawn laughed under his breath. “That’s how egotistical I am. I kept the blueprints, the memos about the patient deaths, everything. I liked to know they were there because it helped me remember that even my hero, my father, was human, and he made mistakes.” He shook his head. “And now my own ego is going to be my downfall.”

Silence settled over the room. So many things jumped to my mind; things I would have told Rawn if we were alone. That it wasn’t his fault; that he wasn’t being egotistical. That wanting to hold onto the image of his father as a hero was a beautiful thing, not a bad one. But I couldn’t say those things now, not in front of Conrad.

“Is there anything in the memos that specifically says that the patient deaths were caused by a fault in the laser?”

“No,” Rawn said softly. “But if anyone were to compare the old blueprints to the new ones, they would be able to see the mistake the inventor made. It would be glaringly obvious.”

“But to release that to the press would be a complicated move. They would have to have an expert back it up and that would not appeal to many reporters.”

“It might right now, what with the press coverage of Madison and Mellissa’s ordeals, and then the suggested scandal of Logan’s seizure.”

“But neither of those received a lot of attention,” Conrad said, patting himself on the back a little. “The press still hasn’t really figured out what happened at that photoshoot, and they’re lost in the details of Peggy and Mellissa’s fragile connection with the kidnappings. They haven’t even made the connection to Cepheus. Not really.”

Rawn leaned back and pulled his fingers through his hair. “They could also go to the FDA, and the FDA really frowns on covering up patient deaths.” Rawn pulled out his cellphone and called up a text message that he showed to Conrad. I moved up behind him to read it over his shoulder:

If you do not hand in your resignation by Friday morning, the things taken from your safe will anonymously land on a desk at the FDA first thing Monday morning.

“When did you…?” I asked.

“Just after the police called.”

“Did you try to text back?” Conrad asked.

“It came back undeliverable. It must have been a burner phone, or some computer trick.”

Conrad grunted, as he studied the message a moment longer before handing the phone back to Rawn. “If we go to the FDA first, maybe they’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Rawn’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah, well, they might give me a break because I was a seventeen-year-old-kid at the time. But what about my father? The CEO? Or Cepheus in general? Do you really think they’ll let all of them walk away unscathed?”

“But you can’t resign,” I said. “What would you do?”

Rawn shook his head, dragging his fingers through his hair again. “I don’t know. But I can’t hang Cepheus and my father out to dry to save my own ass.”

“You have until Friday,” Conrad said. “Give me that long to see if I can come up with something.”

That, I knew, was why Rawn had come here. He trusted Conrad despite the fact that he once thought he might have been connected to my kidnappers. When it came to PR, to spinning a bad situation into a good one, Conrad was the best. And, right now, he was Rawn’s last and best hope.

“Thursday night. After that…”

***

Annie

The plane landed as the sun set. Logan gestured for me to lead the way down the steps to where another black SUV was waiting for us. I expected this car to take us to a five star hotel; I was actually looking forward to enjoying room service on Rawn’s dime, but it ascended the hills of Mulholland Drive, taking us deep into the secluded areas of the stars’ homes.

“What is this?” I asked as we paused outside the wrought iron gate of one particular house.

“My place.”

I glanced at Logan before turning back to the windows, straining to see everything I could about his home. I’d heard he had an expensive apartment in New York where he’d spent a great deal of time while making the space movie that had elevated his career spectacularly a year ago. But I didn’t know he had a house in LA.

It was nothing like what I might have imagined. It was designed like an old English manor, with a stone exterior and box-like shape. It was at least two stories, maybe three, with a marble porch that spread out toward the driveway like the train of a wedding dress. The double doors were made of wood and iron like the gate of a medieval castle. I could almost imagine Mr. Carson’s double appearing at those doors, a cloth draped over his arm and a silver tray in the other hand.

It was…impressive.

And that was only the outside.

Logan led the way inside like he was walking into a studio apartment, gesturing toward one corner of the marble and glass entry way in a casual indication of where the driver should drop our bags. He grabbed a stack of mail waiting on a low table and wandered into the bowels of the house. I hesitated to follow, feeling like I should kick off my shoes or hide the ratty exterior of my old suitcase. But follow I did, walking into an old-fashioned solarium with so many windows I could only imagine how bright this room would be during the day. Now, with the sun quickly disappearing along the horizon, it was filled with a purplish, pink color that turned the white furniture into something like a preteen girl’s dreams.

“Wow.”

Logan looked up. “You like it?”

“It’s impressive.”

“It’s oppressive. I rent it from this actress who has very odd tastes. One of the rooms upstairs has a jungle theme, complete with a hidden sound system that plays monkey noises at odd times.”

I wanted to laugh. But I also kind of wanted to see it.

“You rent it?”

“I needed a place to stay, and she’s been in Paris for more than a year, but she didn’t want to let the house to go.”

“Works out.”

“Yeah. And it’s got an awesome kitchen. If you give me a minute to deal with some of this,” he said, waving the stack of papers and mail he had in his hand, “I’ll make you some dinner.”

“I’d like that.”

He turned his back to me, so I decided to give myself a little tour of the house. I wandered out of the solarium and stumbled into a library that was filled with mostly romance novels, but there were a few classics that were impressive. Whoever this actress was, she had a first edition
Gone with the Wind
on her shelves. The theater was down the hall from the dark den, designed with recliners instead of movie theater-style chairs. There was a game room that sported a pool table, several arcade games, and every game console ever invented along with a large majority of the games.

The house had just about every luxury a person might want. There was a gym, a room massage room, a room that was apparently dedicated to wrapping presents, an indoor pool…it was mind boggling. I walked around for an hour and never saw the same room twice.

By the time I found the kitchen, Logan was already there, sautéing something that smelled absolutely divine on the stove.

“What can I do to help?”

He glanced over at me. “Just keep me company.”

“That I can do.”

I jumped up onto the counter a small distance from where his pan was popping and sizzling, grabbing a bottle of wine that was sitting there. I opened it and filled both glasses also sitting out, assuming that was his intention, handing him his as he finished seasoning his skillet of vegetables.

“What are we having?”

“A homemade chicken soup with crostini with mozzarella cheese and tomatoes.”

“That sounds…complicated.”

“It’s really pretty simple. Just seems difficult.”

I sipped my wine and looked around the kitchen, impressed by the yards and yards of marble countertop, the restaurant-style refrigerator, and the massive gas stove. I could see why someone who liked to cook would like a room like this.

“Have you lived in Portland all your life?”

I looked up and caught Logan studying me. He’d set down his wine glass and was stirring his vegetables, but not really watching what he was doing. A couple of translucent onion slices came out of the skillet, making a funny sound when they burned in the fire.

“No. I grew up in the Bend area, mostly.”

“Bend?”

“It’s in the eastern part of the state. There’s a ski resort nearby, so it’s kind of a touristy town.”

“Do you ski?”

I laughed into my wine glass. “I don’t think you can honestly call what I do skiing. I’m not that athletic.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound as excited as I felt.

A secret from Logan Mitchell? I was really moving up in the world.

“I’m not that athletic, either. I would prefer to watch a good horror movie than go for a run with my trainer…but with my chosen career…”

“You like horror movies?”

“Love them.”

I smiled as heat crept up my cheeks. “Me too.”

Logan turned his attention back to his cooking vegetables, but he glanced at me even as he poured something that looked like weak chicken broth over them.

“What’s your favorite?”

I groaned as I leaned my head back and pretended to think hard on his question. The truth was, however, it was no guessing game.

“I’m always torn between
Psycho
and
The Birds
.”

Logan’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t know. I’m more partial to the Stephen King arena.
Carrie, Salem’s Lot,
and
Christine
are my absolute favorites.”

“Really?”

He shrugged. “But I’ll always sit through a showing of
The Fly
.”

“The original or the Jeff Goldblum remake?”

He groaned as he stirred the concoction bubbling in his skillet. “Vincent Price is amazing, but you can’t really turn your nose up at Goldblum either. It’s kind of a neck to neck race.”

A man after my own heart. That was exactly what I’d tried to explain to Madison last fall during one of our many movie marathons.

“I love Goldblum, but I prefer him in something like
Jurassic Park
or
Independence Day.
”

“Oh, don’t get me started on
Independence Day
!”

“I know,” I said, taking a sip of my wine. “It has a million plot problems, but it is just so over to the top that I can’t help but love it.”

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.”

I smiled. We really were on the same page. I had never met anyone else who felt the exact same way about movies as me. Most of my friends thought I was insane when I wanted to curl up and watch a cheesy horror movie, like Logan’s
Zombie Vacation
, instead of going to some club where the music was too loud and the alcohol too free-flowing. Not that I didn’t like a good party…I just preferred my movies.

We compared our opinions on half a dozen other films—mostly old, obscure movies that Logan assumed I had never heard of, but which were staples on my go-to movie list. I even caught him by surprise when I came up with a couple of titles he had never heard of—and he thought he was a movie expert!

When we settled down to eat—
omg!
His cooking was amazing. I might swear off salami pizza if he would cook for me every night!—and the wine continued to flow. I was a little surprised that Logan drank, but, then again, the rumors were that his drug of choice was prescription pain killers. There’s a difference between that and alcohol, I supposed.

“What do you think of Romero?”

I sat back, pushing away my plate of crostini before I ate one too many and regretted it later.

“I think zombies are horribly overdone these days, but Romero was a master.”

“The man was ahead of his time.”

“Would you consider doing another zombie movie?”

Logan looked up, a slight blush appearing under his California tan. “You know about that?”

“I’ve seen it. Quite…fascinating.”

He groaned and buried his face in his hands for a second. “That was the most humiliating role of my life. I only did it because my agent assured me it would be the perfect vehicle to get my name out in Hollywood. What it did, though, was create a joke that I still hear about whenever I walk onto a new set.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it was quite that bad.”

Logan looked up at me, and we both laughed. It actually was that bad.

Logan began to gather dishes, and I helped, moving up behind him with our soup bowls. When he turned…I hadn’t realized I was that close to him. He was so tall, towering over me in that way that makes you feel like you’re vulnerable and protected all at the same time. I looked up at him, a dozen movie scenes running through my mind, that moment when you realize the hero and heroine are falling in love with each other. But then something always happens to stop that first kiss.

I hoped that reality proved to be better fated than the movies.