Uncovered (13 page)

I
combed my hands through my pale blond hair before pushing the tangled locks
behind my ears. “They made a lot of money, and I found out Margaret is matching
all donations with a giant charitable endowment to the foster program.” Rolling
my eyes, I released a harsh laugh. “As much as I want to hate her, she makes it
a little bit difficult when she does things like that.”

At
Penelope’s sudden quietness, wariness pulled my features into a tight frown.
“Is everything alright?” I questioned.

“Better
than alright,” she promised, but her tight smile made my chest constrict. “
But
I should probably let you get ready to get started on the she-devil’s list.”
She hopped off the bed, starting toward my door. “You don’t have any birthday
plans for this weekend, do you?”

I
rolled my eyes. “Of course I do, because everyone here knows it’s my birthday.”

Pen’s
forced smile turned into a very genuine grin. “Just making sure.”

*

An
hour later, I walked through the lobby of Emerson & Taylor, feeling my
cheery smile at having the day all to myself slowly slip away as I approached
Carl at the security desk. The pitying look he gave me was undeniable, and I
shifted uncomfortably as I handed him my employee ID.

He scanned it quickly but before he
handed it back to me, he moved his shiny head a couple inches closer to mine.
“I thought you deserved to know,” he said in a grave voice, “Mrs. Emerson has
been upstairs for two hours, and she’s called down here three times already,
wanting to know if you were here yet.”

     I felt my heart sink as I tossed the
badge down in my bag. What the hell happened with Margaret going on a spa
retreat?

“Thanks for the heads-up!” Giving Carl a
grateful, shaky smile, I turned the corner.

As I waited for the elevator with a woman
I recognized as the HR receptionist, I kept my appearance calm as I texted Pen.

I thought you said Margaret wouldn’t be
here. Security just let me know she’s been in her office for over an hour
waiting for me.

My best friend responded a few seconds after
the other woman got off on the second floor.
Check your phone log. She
definitely called.

Biting the inside of my lip, I went to my
call history. Just as Pen had promised, the very first call on the list came
from Margaret. She’d contacted me at 8:49 AM from her home phone number, and
her call with my best friend had apparently lasted for just one minute, ten
seconds. 

So what was going on?

Rubbing my palms down the front of my
A-line houndstooth dress, I walked tentatively into Margaret’s office, my legs
wobbly inside of my black knee-high boots. She was on the phone, but that
didn’t stop her from jabbing her red-manicured finger to the seat in front of
her desk.

“…Monday morning is not good enough, Mr.
Harding, I need it sent
now
,” she barked. “Then email me the document
and I’ll sign and fax it right back over.” Slamming the phone down, she focused
her undivided attention on me, her icy features contorted into a harsh
expression.

God, this was not going to be good.

“Where the hell were you this morning?”
she demanded sharply. “You’re an hour late, and in all honesty, I’ve needed you
since I stepped foot into this goddamn building at eight.”

From what both Carl and Margaret had told
me, she’d been inside her office for the majority of the morning. There was no
way she could have called me at 8:49 from her house like my call log was showing
me. Although I hated pointing fingers, it didn’t take many guesses to figure
out who might have called me from my father’s old house.

Still, I couldn’t accuse Finley because I
had a feeling Margaret would lose her shit. From what I could see, my boss
worshiped Oliver’s ex, even if he had moved on.

“Where were you?” she repeated through
clenched teeth. Before I could answer, she twisted her laptop around so I had a
clear view of the screen. A popular L.A. based lifestyle-and-entertainment
website was pulled up, and the headline read
Emerson & Taylor Charity
Gala Nets Record Contributions.
 That was a good thing, wasn’t it?

But then my eyes dipped down and I saw
the photo that accompanied the article. Even though my face was completely
obscured because the picture was captured from Oliver’s side while we waited
together for a drink, it was obvious to anyone in attendance that the woman
beside him was me. The blond hair and flowing aqua-blue costume made sure of
that.

Reading the caption beneath the photo, my
heart felt like it had lodged in my throat.
The Bad Boy Next Door Meets the
Mother of Dragons – Oliver Manning of Manning Hotel Group and guest attends the
Emerson & Taylor Costume ball last night.

When I swallowed hard, Margaret smirked
and turned her laptop back around to face her. “Let me ask you again, where
were you this morning, Ms. Connelly? Because if it was with my son, you can
pack your belongings and leave this office now.”

“I
woke up alone. And I went to bed
alone
,” I said honestly, struggling to
keep my voice even. I prayed she hadn’t noticed my disappearance during her
speech last night, but if she mentioned it, I was prepared to make up any
excuse necessary to keep my job.

“You understand, of course, how suspect
it looks that you were with my son—whom I had no idea even came to the
party—and then you were late to work this morning.”

“Mr. Manning spoke to me briefly last
night to let me know how impressed he was with the event, which was obviously
when this photo was taken.” There was a fine line between dismissive and
defensive, and I was balancing precariously on the edge. Releasing a laugh, I
shrugged one of my shoulders in a flippant motion. “The media adores him, and
they look for any opportunity to get his picture. No matter who’s standing in
the way.”

My boss digested what I said for a long
moment, slitting her light blue eyes. At last, she leaned back in her chair and
tapped her fingers against her thin lips softly. Her gaze focused distractedly
on something behind me, but I kept my shoulders squared and my eyes on her
face.

“Oliver doesn’t always have the best
taste in women. Obviously, you understand why I’m so protective over my son?”

There was nothing quite like being told I
was a mother’s worst nightmare for her son—and on my birthday, of all days. I
straightened my back painfully. “I’m sorry to hear that. And of
course
I
understand.”

Sighing, she moved her head, her wavy
highlighted hair swishing around her narrow face. “My
husband
was the
same way.”

My stomach lurched painfully. Was she
talking about my father or Oliver’s dad? I searched her distant expression,
wishing she’d say more, all the while knowing it was impossible for me to ask.
After the way we’d started this morning, I felt like my job was hanging on by a
thread already. Pissing her off would probably put an end to my Los Angeles
pilgrimage.

Plus, something about her demeanor today
seemed …
off
. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but her typical icy
behavior was mixed with another emotion that made her fidgety and unfocused.

“Again, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said
cautiously, and she snapped her head in my direction.

“I’m going to tell you this now because
I’m sure you’ve probably heard the water cooler chatter before—Greg Emerson and
I were engaged twice.”

Actually, I’d
never
heard that
before, and my body automatically angled forward. Pushing away from her glass
desk, she walked over to the window behind her and stared down. Splaying her
hand out on the glass, she snorted.

“The first time, he let some gold-digging
Russian whore turn his head.”

My mouth fell open, but I immediately
snapped it shut. Still, I felt the blood rushing to my face. At first, I
wondered if I’d been found out. Then I observed the smug look on my
stepmother’s face.

No, she didn’t realize who I was. The
only thing she knew was that she wanted to shame me. And though I knew for
certain I wasn’t a parasite, the words hit so close to home they stung.

I’d worked in the adult industry since I
was eighteen—first as a phone sex operator before I even lost my virginity, and
then as an escort named “Alice” for the last three years—and I’d heard the
words
gold-digger
and
whore
thrown at me only once. It was
permanently embedded in my mind.

It had happened about a year ago, and I
still remembered the jolt that snapped through my body when the guy—the CEO of
a bank—went from calling me exquisite to every negative name in the book after
I’d refused to snort coke and have sex with him.

I’d held in all emotion as I’d gathered
my stuff from his hotel suite and listened to him rant about what a horrible
review he planned on giving my agency, but as soon as the cab let me off at my
apartment, I broke down.

Mentally replaying what Margaret said in
my thoughts once more, I felt like gasoline was being thrown over the fire
already raging within me. Because as I heard her snippy
gold-digging Russian
whore jab, it dawned on me she not only insulted me, she’d also obviously
called out my mom.

Although my father’s first wife had never
been mentioned when I was younger, I knew that she was an American woman—the
heiress to a South Carolina-based furniture company. It had ended amicably in
the early seventies—two years after it started—and she and my dad hadn’t felt
the need to stay in touch.

My mom had been my father’s second wife.

She’d only been twenty when they met, a
model hired for one of Emerson & Taylor’s spring campaigns, and I could
still remember my dad staring at her affectionately, telling me that she was
the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

My mom was
not
some money-chasing
Russian
anything
.

She had been everything to me.

“I’m not calling you a gold-digger, Ms.
Connelly. I just want you to know I’m very concerned about who my son dates.”
She sat back down across from me, and I fisted my hands in my lap. “While I may
not be able to discourage him from some of his other—” She wrinkled her
turned-up nose. “—
conquests
, I can at least make sure my assistant isn’t
sleeping with him.”

Conquests.

It took an exhausting amount of effort
not to reach across the desk and tell Margaret my mom was Ukrainian, not
Russian. That even though she wasn’t perfect, she certainly hadn’t been a
gold-digger. That, had the roles been reversed, my mom would have never turned
Oliver away, offering him a settlement in exchange for him disappearing from
her life.

That I wasn’t a goddamn conquest.

Blinking back the tears that punched at
my eyelids, I stretched my lips into a smile that broke my heart. “Luckily,
your husband came to his senses,” I replied, and Margaret sneered. “And even
luckier, I have no interest in Oliver or his wealth. I’m sorry that I was late,
but I value my job too much to—”

Margaret held up her hand, cutting off
the partial lie. “I’ve got it, Ms. Connelly.” Tightening her mouth, she
gestured at the door. “Since you failed to bring my coffee earlier, I’ll take a
large now.”

*

I’d
never been a crier. When I was a little girl and had gotten hurt, or when a
boyfriend had ended things with me as an adult, I never let the tears fall. My
father had instilled that in me. Before my parents split up, my dad had always
gently reminded me that tears solved nothing. It was better to face whatever
problem I had directly with a clear head. As I drove home from work that
evening, though, a hot path of tears flowed freely down my cheeks, landing on
the front of my black and white dress, making it difficult for me to see.

This was the second time I’d flat-out
cried since all the lies began five months ago, and it was a culmination of
every emotion hurtling through me today. Frustration at the fact I had yet to
figure out everything I came to California for, rage at what Margaret had said
about my mother earlier, and anger at Finley Scott for the bullshit joke that
had helped spawn my boss’ tirade.

Shame, for the first time, over the job
I’d started to make ends meet.

And confusion and lust and dizziness
because of Oliver.

He was quickly getting into my head,
occupying an increasing space in my thoughts. After parking in my usual spot in
the apartment garage, I rested my forehead on the black leather steering wheel.
“Get a grip,” I warned myself, rubbing the tears from my face with the back of
my hands. “Get a grip before you lose
everything
for just a few hours of
sex.”

Even if those few hours could be the
intense explosion Oliver’s fingers and mouth had promised.

Heading up to my apartment, I threw my
bag and keys on the foyer table and released a groan as I walked toward the
dining room, where Pen had been practically living ever since she and August
started their secret project.

“I swear that woman is a four-letter word
that rhymes with runt, and—”

“Gemma, look who’s here!” she shouted.

I froze a few feet from the table at the
sight of a tall man sitting with Pen. Lifting her face, she gave me an
apologetic look and mouthed,
“I tried to call you.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” I
demanded. Bearded, with a dark buzz cut that I knew grew out into curls, Linc
Connelly was probably the best thing I’d laid eyes on all day.

He stood up, holding his arms out wide.
“I wasn’t going to miss your birthday,” he announced when I nearly knocked him
over tackling him. He wrapped me up tightly, keeping our crotches from touching
as he smooshed his lips to my cheek in a brotherly kiss. When he leaned me away
from him, his smooth forehead was wrinkled.

“You’ve been crying.”

I brushed my fingers over the spot where
his lips touched, finding it slightly damp. In my periphery, I saw Pen’s face
screw up in concern, and although I’d probably tell her everything later, it
wasn’t possible to say anything with Linc standing nearby. 

In a day full of excuses, what could one
more hurt?

“I poked myself in the eye with my
mascara,” I said. “So, no, you don’t have to shoot anyone today, Agent Connelly.”

I shot him the mandatory dirty look, and
he stifled a laugh. “You shouldn’t put on makeup and drive.”

“
But
,” Pen chimed in loudly from
behind us, and we both looked at her, “you should probably get dressed.”

“Penelope,” I groaned, and she scratched
the peacock on her left shoulder and grinned sheepishly.

“I didn’t know he was coming, and there’s
no way I’m cancelling our plans.” Hopping up from the table, she wiggled her
eyebrows at her brother. “Sorry, Asshat, but it looks like you’re DD tonight.”

*

A
couple hours later, I swirled my beer, watching as my best friend danced
against a redheaded guy beneath the flashing lights at the appropriately named
Club Chaos. The line waiting out front had stretched around the corner, and
though she’d explained to her brother and me that she’d had our names on the
list for weeks, I had a feeling she’d used her special skills to get us a spot
tonight. 

Linc had given her a ghost of a smile,
but it was obvious he wasn’t buying her excuse either.

“When does your friend come back to
town?” he asked me, dragging my focus from the dance floor. I had no idea the
extent of what his sister had told him about our stay in California, and I
rested my elbows on the table.

“By Christmas, I hope.”

“You plan on coming home then, even if
he’s not back.”

“Maybe.”

He placed his own elbows on the table and
leaned in close to me, his jade green eyes dancing with amusement. “Did
Penelope let you know, she told me you were out here apartment-sitting for one
of your female colleagues?”

Dammit. I hated lying to him—loathed it
almost as much as not giving Pen the entire truth—and I felt like shit when I
offered him a hesitant smile. “Maybe I didn’t want you to worry about me. Did
you stop to think that might be why I asked her to tell you that?”

He wore a skeptical look when he rested
his shoulders to the red leather booth. “What’s she up to, Gem?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I know my sister like the back of my
damn hand. I can tell when she’s up to something.”

“Calm your tits, Agent Connelly,” I
teased, sounding so much like Pen that he couldn’t help but grin. “She’s not up
to anything besides working like crazy on some new software her company’s
launching next year.”

A lot of that was the truth. Although I
had no idea what she was doing for August, I knew she’d been doing legitimate
work for her job back in Vegas.

Tilting his head to the side, Linc
scratched his scruffy chin. “You know I’ll always help both of you,” he said
carefully, and I rolled my eyes theatrically in response so that he’d see it
beneath the dark booth lighting. “Are you sure my sister’s not into anything
sketchy?”

“She’s being perfectly—” To my relief,
Pen picked that exact moment to shimmy over to our booth and slam down next to
her brother. “Having fun?”

“Not as much fun as if you were dancing
with me!” she sang, and my lip twitched. I had no plans to dance when I came in
here, but with Linc’s eyes burning a hole into the side of my face, I turned to
him. “Can you keep an eye on my drink?”

For a few seconds, he studied me closely,
and I felt my chest hammer under the scrutiny. From the day he first stepped
foot in my life six years ago, I’d never been very good at lying to him, and he
always saw right through me. Then he nodded and turned to his sister with a
forced chuckle.

“You just brought me here just to watch
your stuff.”

Grabbing my hand, she smirked. “I feel a
little less bad now that you realize it.” She urged me out of the booth. “Be
back in a few, big brother!”