One Final Step
Stephanie Doyle
A new image…step by stepWho said moving forward is easy? Car thief turned race car driver, Michael Langdon has worked hard to build his image. Now to take it to the next level and become a successful manufacturer, he needs to kick that image up a notch. Enter Madeleine Kane, a genius at adjusting public perception. With her in charge, he's guaranteed to look better while keeping his darkest secrets where they belong–in the past.Doesn't take long, however, for his ambition to change and the campaign to become personal. Because he wants Madeleine–as beautiful as she is talented and smart. First, Michael must overcome her reservations about crossing professional boundaries and persuade her he's worth the risk…without revealing those buried parts of himself. Good thing he's very persuasive.
A new image…step by step
Who said moving forward is easy? Car thief turned race car driver, Michael Langdon has worked hard to build his image. Now to take it to the next level and become a successful manufacturer, he needs to kick that image up a notch. Enter Madeleine Kane, a genius at adjusting public perception. With her in charge, he’s guaranteed to look better while keeping his darkest secrets where they belong—in the past.
Doesn’t take long, however, for his ambition to change and the campaign to become personal. Because he wants Madeleine—as beautiful as she is talented and smart. First, Michael must overcome her reservations about crossing professional boundaries and persuade her he’s worth the risk…without revealing those buried parts of himself. Good thing he’s very persuasive.
“What do you want from me, Michael? Why are you pushing me?”
He couldn’t say what he wanted. He only knew what he didn’t want. “I don’t want you to go. Stay here with me. Let’s just see what could happen. Don’t we owe ourselves that? A chance at maybe…I don’t know…happiness?”
Madeleine crossed her arms over her chest and raised her head as if seeking divine intervention. “That’s not going to happen. I still work for you. If you think I’m going to set up house here and be your little lady…so not going to happen.”
“You’re right. I was stupid. I forgot one last thing.”
This time Michael did pounce. He had his hands around her upper arms holding her in place.
“Madeleine, you’re fired.”
It was the last thing he said before he swooped down and kissed her.
Dear Reader,
For as long as I can remember I’ve had a crush on George Stephanopoulos. I think it might be because the name “Steph” appears in his last name. I mean, how cool would it have been to be Steph Stephanopoulos? But beyond the name connection, I was always fascinated by how he was able to rise to the top of the political world so quickly. He was this super boy wonder and many people credit him with making an unknown candidate a president.
The idea of doing a story featuring a character like him appealed to me. Then I thought of another young person involved with the president, who also became a household name, but for a very different reason. That’s when it hit me. What if I combined George Stephanopoulos and Monica Lewinsky? What kind of challenges would that create?
My heroine Madeleine Kane is that twisted brainchild and her challenges are many. Good thing she’s got a hero like Michael Langdon to help her along. The two of them are pretty messed up, but together they learn that love will help them to take that One Final Step.
I love to hear from readers so if you are in the mood you can contact me at www.stephaniedoyle.net (http://www.stephaniedoyle.net).
Enjoy!
Stephanie Doyle
One Final Step
Stephanie Doyle
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stephanie Doyle, a dedicated romance reader, began to pen her own romantic adventures at age sixteen. She began submitting to Harlequin Books at age eighteen and by twenty-six, her first book was published. Fifteen years later, she still loves what she does as each book is a new adventure. She lives in South Jersey with two kittens who have taken over everything. When she isn’t thinking about escaping to the beach, she’s working on her next story idea.
Books by Stephanie Doyle
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
1773—THE WAY BACK
SILHOUETTE ROMANTIC SUSPENSE
1554—SUSPECT LOVER
1650—THE DOCTOR’S DEADLY AFFAIR
SILHOUETTE BOMBSHELL
36—CALCULATED RISK
52—THE CONTESTANT
116—POSSESSED
Other titles by this author available in ebook format.
Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
For Kimberly and Emil
You may live on the other side of the ocean but family bonds never break.
Contents
Chapter One (#ub444fece-0686-5c78-9695-f83313129f06)
Chapter Two (#u7176978a-9ded-5938-ab8f-97a3ea45cc71)
Chapter Three (#ubf3cd270-d0bc-5cd9-9d7f-5e25e17c9890)
Chapter Four (#u8a99606b-083a-596d-b30e-b9b012d9b8dd)
Chapter Five (#u545f16a9-d10c-5fc6-9abf-1fc99a568add)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
MICHAEL LANGDONLOOKEDat the woman on the opposite side of his wide desk and felt as if he’d been struck on the head with a bat. Having previously experienced such a sensation, he felt it was an accurate description. But looking at her was far less painful.
She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He knew in that moment—she was going to change his life.
Then he shook off the ridiculous thoughts. Just as he’d shaken off the effects of actually being hit by the bat. Only, there was still a buzzing in his head and as he took notice of his body, he found himself shifting in his chair and wondering.
“I’m surprised you accepted my invitation,” he said.
He watched as her right eyebrow arched, slightly framing a perfectly shaped cobalt-blue eye. The color was everything he’d heard about and read about. And it was more amazing than anything he’d seen on television.
Cobalt-blue eyes combined with dark, long hair that had reddish highlights he suspected were real. Her skin looked as if it would feel silky to the touch and her lips were full enough to make a man think of the things men usually liked to think about when it came to a woman’s mouth. Her chin was slightly pointed, a small flaw that prevented her from being a goddess yet at the same time made her that much more intriguing because it meant she was real and not mythical.
“Ben Tyler is a personal friend, as well as my employer. When he asked as my employer, I refused. When he asked as a friend, I had no choice.”
Her voice was cool and clipped. Sophisticated and well balanced. Everything an Ivy League education should produce.
“How is Ben doing?”
She turned her head. “Not well.”
Michael nodded. He’d known about the cancer, of course, but Ben was one of the toughest fighters he’d ever met. If anyone had a chance of beating it, it was Ben. He would be that one man in a million.
“I called him because I needed the best. Because what I’m about to do is very important. Not for me or my company but for the country. Maybe even the world.”
She didn’t smirk or look away. A woman like Madeleine Kane understood events that impacted the world.
Michael knew by her silence that he was being invited to make his pitch. It was like being granted permission to speak by the queen. He shifted in his chair again, then placed both elbows on the desk and clasped his hands together.
“I’ve created something. A car that I believe will revolutionize the industry. I need to convince people it’s real and credible and not another Langdon prototype or an interesting anomaly.”
“Why do you care what people think? You have an idea…you should build it and sell it.”
“I can’t do it alone.” He sighed. “I wish I could. I don’t have the resources the bigger companies do. I don’t want this to be a high-end car that only a few can afford. I want to make it available to the masses. For that I need a partner. To get one of those, I need to rebuild my image. It’s time to lose the old race-car persona and focus on who I am as an inventor and industry leader.”
Madeleine crossed her legs slowly. He couldn’t help but let his gaze follow the length of her panty-hose-clad leg to the simple black three-inch pump.
Her ankle was a work of art.
“Did you hear me?”
Michael lifted his gaze.
“I said what you’re asking for won’t be easy. Your reputation has been very firmly established in the American media as a playboy. Someone who builds fast cars and dates…”
“Fast women?”
“I was going to say well-known actresses. I would never speculate on a woman’s sexual proclivities because she happens to be pretty.”
No, Michael thought. You wouldn’t.
“You’re known for your flair and style,” she continued. “Not for your substance, Mr. Langdon. I’m sorry to be so blunt.”
“No, please. It’s why I brought you here. I need you to fix me. I need you to help me show my substance to the world—otherwise when I talk about this design to the media they won’t listen. I need them to listen. My competitors, other industry leaders, and I suspect maybe even the government, will all want to know the potential of what I have to offer.”
“You’re talking about an electric car. It’s not the first of its kind. You’re going to have to give me more than that if you want to convince me.”
“More than that? It’s not enough that I’m willing to pay you?”
Again the eyebrow rose nearly into the center of her forehead. How did she do that and why did it make him feel half his size?
“I don’t need money, Mr. Langdon. The work I do currently for Ben pays my bills sufficiently. You’re asking me to remake you. To create a new story for you. Something I haven’t done in a long time, but the last time I did do it, that man became president. If you want to convince me to take you on, I’m going to have to believe in what you’re doing. More importantly, I’m going to have to believe in you.”
Yes, he thought. He wanted that. He wanted this woman to believe in him, although for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why that was important.
“Okay, first of all, I’m not talking about just an electric car. My design will not only be affordable but will have a much higher sustained energy output, and can be built with the factories we have now. I’m talking about a fully integrated computer that can make real-time driving decisions. I’m talking about no more accidents.” He paused for a breath, feeling the excitement he always did when he started talking about his baby.
“Go on.”
“I’m talking about a car that can drive itself. And I can do it cheaper than anyone else. Which means bringing a product to the masses within the next two to five years. Other companies trying to accomplish the same thing are projecting seven to ten years. I’m talking about the future, only making that future happen today.”
He waited while she considered him for a time. “You are certainly very passionate about this, Mr. Langdon.”
“I’m very passionate about a great many things, Ms. Kane.”
She didn’t like that. He could see it right away in her face. He hadn’t intended the sexual innuendo, but it was there, and instantly her body reacted by tightening subtly.
“My project and helping the environment—”
“Partying, women, scandals.”
He wasn’t going to defend nor explain his behavior. “Look, are you going to take the job or not?”
“We still have more to discuss. First, what do you envision I will do for you?”
Impatiently Michael leaned back in his chair. It had been a while since he’d been in a position other than complete and total power. Finding himself on the other side of the coin was surprisingly…uncomfortable. Yet he needed this woman, so she controlled the shots.
He didn’t like it and part of him wanted to escort her contained and cool self to the door. However, the idea of watching her leave didn’t sit well with him, either. Which was ridiculous. Of course she had to leave.
“I guess you would do what you do best. Rebuild my image, create a persona the media will respond to, send the message to the world about who I am and what I’m about. Give me direction on how I go about interacting with the public and the media. Isn’t that what you did for…him?”
Michael shouldn’t have added the emphasis on the last word. It had been a jab at her for making him feel weaker than he was. She was already reaching for the briefcase she’d set down next to her chair.
“Sorry,” he said before she could stand. “I don’t play games. Not in business. You’re one of the most talented political handlers in the world. That’s why I want you. To remake my image. To get me elected—if not by the people then by my peers, the people who judge me.”
“I was a political handler. Now I write position papers for political action committees that contract with the Tyler Group. You don’t need a thesis from me. You need someone who would work closely with you to reshape your image. That means event planning, cultivating certain media contacts and any number of other tasks.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “That can’t be you?”
She looked around his office. He knew she saw money in the furniture, in the artwork. Detroit wasn’t necessarily a city known for elegance and riches, but it was his home—always had been, even when he lived overseas. When he’d decided to start his own company there wasn’t even a question about doing so here, but that didn’t mean he was coming back to the Detroit he knew as a kid. His new Detroit was filled with all the things his money could buy.
“You said it wasn’t about the money, but I’ll pay anything Ben demands,” he said. But she already knew that money was not an issue.
No response. It agitated him.
“I’ll do everything you say,” he offered. “Within reason, of course.”
Still he could see her mulling it over in that big brain of hers.
“Not for nothing, but I would think you get sick of writing papers all day. Don’t you want to get back to doing what you love? You’re a kingmaker, for crying out loud. Not a research-policy wonk.”
That played. Her eyes lit up. “Can you give me until tomorrow to consider your offer?”
This time she was asking his permission. This he preferred. “Of course. Can I ask what your reservations are?”
“Truthfully?”
“I think I was very truthful with you just now.”
“You’re a man who spends his life in the spotlight. You have been since you won your first Formula One race. The spotlight is not something I’m…comfortable with. If I accept your offer—and that is a decidedly big ‘if’—you have to understand that all my guidance and direction will be behind the scenes.”
“I don’t care about what happened with you and him,” he offered.
“I don’t discuss what happened. Ever. I’m simply giving you my working parameters.”
“But you’ll stay here. In Detroit. With me.”
She seemed to consider that deeply, as if she just realized what her commitment would mean. “Yes. But the only people who would know about my involvement are myself, Ben and anyone you consider essential. I draw these lines not only for my protection but for yours. Your image might not be helped if people knew I was working with you.”
“For me,” he corrected. “You would be working for me. I want to make sure you understand that. I’ll do whatever you say that makes sense. But I’m not some puppet blindly taking orders.”
She tilted her head slightly to the right as if scrutinizing him. As though she was Dr. Frankenstein and was coldly, clinically wondering if he had any potential as a monster.
“I’ll call you first thing in the morning.”
“I look forward to it.” He stood and stretched out his hand. She accepted it as she stood. Her grasp was firm and strong and brief.
Too brief. He didn’t know if it was him, or whether letting go so fast was something she’d trained herself to do. He only knew he missed her touch when it was gone.
“Goodbye, Mr. Langdon.”
“See you soon, Ms. Kane.”
His choice of words was deliberate and they weren’t lost on her. She gave him a brief smile, straightened her suit jacket and walked out his office door.
He was right. He didn’t like the feeling of seeing her leave. But he had confidence she would be back. He wasn’t wrong in his description of her. She was a kingmaker and he was a man who would be king—at least in this arena.
Sitting, he turned to the flat screen on his office wall and pulled up the specs of his electric car. It moved and rotated, showing him each side. It was a thing of beauty. It was revolutionary. It was going to change the driving experience for the millions of people who would buy it.
But right now it wasn’t capturing his attention half so much as the woman who’d just left his office.
* * *
MADELEINEOPENEDTHEdoor to her hotel room and felt a sense of relief when the door closed behind her. She was staying in one of the best hotels in downtown Detroit, not too far from Michael Langdon’s offices. The room was like any other she’d spent her life in so many years ago. Two beds, a desk, an uncomfortable chair, with meaningless, boring art covering the walls.
The sentimental side of her said it was good to be in familiar surroundings again.
It felt good to kick off her shoes and take off her suit jacket. It had been a long time since she’d actually had to meet with a client and needed the barrier of formal business attire. In her opinion, nothing said “back off” like a woman in a buttoned up, dark colored business suit.
Checking her watch she could see it was just after six. Ben would hopefully still be up. She extracted her tablet from her briefcase. Calling his number, she hit the button to interface. If Ben was up, which was likely given the time, he would either be sitting at his desk or would have his tablet with him in bed.
“Why do you insist on calling me like this?”
His voice was gruff, but still as strong as it was when she’d left. She’d caught him in his office.
“I like to see your shiny bald head. It makes me smile.”
“I think you’re afraid when I die Anna is going to simply record my voice and run the business on her own and you’ll never know she’s got me buried in the backyard.”
“Hardee, har.” Anna’s voice came from off the view of the computer’s camera. “Death humor. I love it.”
It was comforting to know Anna would never leave Ben’s side. She was either the most dedicated assistant in all the world, or his very best friend. Sometimes it was hard to tell.
The redhead popped her face over Ben’s shoulder. “Hi, Mad. So what do you think? Ready to come out of obscurity and take the world by storm again?”
“Don’t pressure her,” Ben said, shooing Anna away with his hand.
“I’m going to make your dinner. What do you want?”
“Nothing,” he growled, not looking at the computer but at his assistant, who was once again off camera.
“Steak and mashed potatoes? With asparagus in hollandaise sauce? That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“Please, God, tell me you’re not going to attempt to cook that.”
“Uh, duh. It’s called delivery.”
Madeleine smiled. She shouldn’t have been worried about leaving him. Not with Anna there. “I see you are in good hands.”
“I’m in impossible hands. I fire her daily, yet she keeps coming back. She knows I don’t have the strength to physically remove her and I find that absolutely galling.”
Madeleine took note of the flannel robe and the lines around Ben’s mouth and eyes. He’d been a superhero once. First a servant to his country, then a man who charged in and rescued people from their failing lives. Now his life was failing and Madeleine wondered what the group would do without him.
Not that everyone in the Tyler Group wouldn’t ultimately recover. Everyone Ben hired had a unique skill set that would always be valuable to people who needed that particular service. What Ben provided that no one else could, however, were the connections. Putting people together who needed each other the most. That was his special skill.
She shivered a little and hoped he hadn’t seen it. She needed to think positive thoughts. “How is the treatment going?”
“Treatment sucks.”
“So I’ve been told. What are the doctors saying?”
“I don’t want to talk about the doctors, I want to talk about you and the job. What did you think of Michael?”
Where to begin? Her impressions raced through Madeleine’s mind at lightning speed. Handsome, intelligent, forceful, tightly wound. Not too dissimilar to the politicians she used to work with back in the day. The differences were subtle but they were there. Michael was not as polished. The Armani suit, which was tailored perfectly for him, still didn’t quite fit. His language wasn’t always refined, though there was no hint of the streets where, according to his famous bio, he apparently grew up.
The boy from 8 Mile who went from stealing cars to becoming a legend in the racing world to creating an empire of specialty high-end vehicles sought out by millionaires and billionaires around the world.
Now he was ready to turn his talents to mass marketing a car for the future. It was ambitious and noble, probably unlikely. Definitely unlikely considering the world still saw him as a frivolous speed jockey who liked to drink champagne from women’s cleavage after each victory.
Strange, but the man who had sat across from her hadn’t looked much like the pictures she’d seen when doing preliminary research. His hair was natural brown with gold streaks rather than bleached white, as it had been during his days on the racing circuit. While his hazel eyes had been more prominent with the extreme color, they seemed fairly normal on a face that wasn’t as darkly tanned as it had been back then.
Of course, in most pictures he’d always been wearing his custom-made trademark wraparound sunglasses. No real chance for a person to see his eyes and detect the intelligence and determination within them.
“He was okay.”
“Okay. What an abysmal word. Talk to me, Madeleine.”
She wasn’t sure what to say. “He’s got potential. If he plays his cards right and changes his public persona, I think he would stand a better chance of having his ideas reach his target audience.”
“Does he need your help to do that?”
Yes. Madeleine was confident about that. She was sure he didn’t see himself the way she did. “I think so. You know my concerns.”
“I know your concerns. I also know what it meant for you to leave your house to fly out there and meet him. And I appreciate that you did it because I asked. But, Madeleine, it’s been seven years.”
She hated when people recited the number. It was like there was some magical timetable in the universe for recovery. After two years she should have moved on. After five years she should have put it in perspective. After seven years she should have forgotten it entirely.
None of those things had happened. It made her feel weak. She hated feeling weak more than she hated people reciting the number of years since the incident.
“I’m considering it.” She would sleep on it and decide if the fear of getting back into this line of work outweighed her need to do more than simply read or write about a subject.
“Good girl. This job would be good for you. I know it. And Michael…well, Michael’s not what he seems. You know how the media can distort things.”
“You mean like when they christened me the ‘Whore of the Twenty-first Century’?”
Ben actually smiled. “Yeah. Like that. When you think about how ridiculous the name— It doesn’t matter. You can’t go back. Only forward. I’ve been letting you bury your head in the sand for five years coming up with idea after idea that other people take credit for. That time is over, Madeleine. You’re ready.”
“Thanks, Pop.” It was a lecture she had received before, mainly from herself. She bristled a little to hear it from Ben.
She understood she’d purposefully cut herself off from the life she once had. But it wasn’t as if anyone had come knocking on her door to pull her back into the political arena. She could be as ready to reenter the political world as can be. It didn’t mean she was going to get any job offers.
“I’m not your father, I’m your employer. More importantly, I know you. Go research electric cars and Michael because you know you are itching to do it. Then call him in the morning and take the job. Consider my health-care costs. I need the money.”
Madeleine snorted. Ben Tyler did not need the money. He did, however, need to think he was contributing to the group, helping its members. Especially at a time when he felt so physically useless.
“I’m seriously considering it,” she told him.
“I’ll take it.”
“Yo, cancer boy. Dinner is on the way and you are going to eat some of it even if I have to sit on your pathetically weak chest and force the food down.”
Ben leaned into the camera and lowered his voice. “Do you see what I have to put up with?” To Anna he shouted, “You’re fired.”
“Nice try, Donald Trump. Start making your way into the kitchen. By the time you shuffle here the food will have arrived.”
Madeleine laughed and she could see a hint of a smile on Ben’s face before she disconnected the call. That was what made Anna completely indispensable. She still made Ben smile. And a man, no matter how sick, still wanted to smile once in a while.
Left on her own, Madeleine thought about Michael. Michael, who needed a kingmaker.
This was probably not going to end well, but the urge to reach for it was impossible to ignore. For seven years she’d felt like she was living someone else’s life. Happily, because her own life had imploded into a disaster. Lately, though, she’d begun to feel a sense of urgency. Like if she didn’t try to overcome her fears she would waste away and forever become the quiet hermit she’d made herself into.
She was going to take the job.
God help her.
CHAPTER TWO
“THISISIT.”
Madeleine turned her attention to the flat-screen monitor on the wall and watched a series of images appear. At Michael’s urging, she’d agreed to come back to his office for an in-depth look at the project. Despite having made up her mind to take the job, she still found herself hesitating to tell him.
Sitting with him now, the presentation was less important than observing the man. She watched as he animatedly went through each screen, detailing design changes, enhancements and improvements for the standard Detroit-made car, while at the same time utilizing the factory machinery already in place. He talked about making more space in the passenger seating area and trunk without the need for driveshafts and chassis.
None of it made any sense to her. She was the stereotypical woman when it came to automobiles. She knew they needed a key and gas to work and every three thousand miles the oil needed to be changed. That was about all.
“Okay, let’s talk about money. Are you still with me?”
Madeleine nodded, then listened to him expand on costs. He discussed how many to build against projections of what would sell. And the price of the car and the impact it would have on the average American. Not to mention the nation’s dependence on foreign oil.
Madeleine had to smother a smile. The average American. It had been a long time since she’d heard anyone use that phrase so effectually. Because it targeted not a specific group, but everyone in the country. It was something politicians learned long ago, all American people, rich, poor and those in the middle, still liked to identify themselves as average.
This man wasn’t average. He was extraordinary.
Again she considered the bio on him she had read before agreeing to fly to Detroit. Raised by a single mother in the poor section of Detroit, he found he had a knack for both fixing up cars as well as racing them. It eventually led him into crime when he began to steal them. Incarcerated at the age of nineteen, he’d served all three years of his sentence.
His time served was actually an anomaly. As a first-time offender for grand theft auto, the sentence made perfect sense. But with parole and relatively good behavior he should have been out in half the time. Instead he’d spent the full three years behind bars.
After being released he went to work at an auto body shop. Archie Beeker still owned and operated it, not too far from where Michael grew up. In countless interviews, Michael always credited Archie with giving him his start, with saving his life. While working for Archie he began to rebuild cars from the scrap heap and was racing them in what was called “Formula X” races all around the country.
Not the sleek, sophisticated machines of Formula One and not the stock racing cars of NASCAR, the Formula X cars represented the best designs built with the least amount of money. Eventually through his wins and his designs, Michael attracted the attention of a Formula One team who took him to Europe and the rest was history. After years of successfully racing cars in Europe he eventually retired and came back to his hometown of Detroit to start up his specialty car design company. A company that would eventually spawn the idea for the vehicle he was currently showing her.
Madeleine tried to reconcile the images of the spiky-white-haired racer with the wraparound shades and the sedate businessman standing in front of her in his expensive suit and tie.
But there were still edges to the businessman. His sleeves were rolled up. She could see his forearms were sprinkled with light brown hair. For a moment she was captivated by those naked arms.
“So what do you think?”
She thought his arms appeared very strong. Probably not the answer he was looking for and definitely not something she should be thinking about at all. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such thoughts about a man. Probably not in seven years.
Another kind of counting she didn’t like to think about. She didn’t know what the fact that it had been so long said about her, a woman who hadn’t admired a man’s forearms in more than seven years.
Cold? Most likely. Overly cautious? Definitely.
“Have I finally convinced you?” he asked.
“I think you believe in what you’re doing.”
“Understatement. Did I sell you?”
“I don’t know much about auto mechanics.”
“Forget that, did I sell you as an average citizen? Would you buy this car? Would you believe you can save money by buying it?”
Madeleine considered that. She drove a BMW. A nine-year-old gift from her father, which was beginning to show its age. He’d given it to her after she’d been hired by the Marlin presidential campaign. Tangible evidence of her success at such a young age. Her older brother, Robert, who hadn’t yet made junior partner at his law firm, had been seething with jealousy when her father handed her the keys.
She should have done away with it years ago, if only because it brought back memories of a time when her father was proud of her. Not that she was hanging on to it for sentimental reasons, trying to hold on to a piece of him now that he was gone.
Her father would disdain such impracticality.
The future was where her head should be. Eco-friendly instead of maudlin and sappy. What Michael was describing would be better than all hybrids on the road today. Definitely a practical choice for her.
“I don’t know,” she said, trying to regain her focus on the present instead of the past. “It almost seems improbable.”
“Exactly! That’s my point. We get it into our heads that technology is so far down the road we think it will always be out of reach. I want to convince people the time is here and now. We can have this.” He pointed to the screen, now an image of a silver car anybody would want to own. “We can have this now.”
“Then let’s talk about the other side of the equation. Tell me about you.”
“Why do I feel like I’m the one being interviewed?”
“Because you are. Remember, I need to believe in you as well as your project. You’ve sold me on the project, now sell me on you.”
“I’m the problem, remember? It’s why I need you. I’m a hard-drinking, fast-car driving, womanizing playboy.”
No, she thought, he wasn’t. There was so much more to him. She could sense it. There was a sincerity about him that playboys she’d met, and she’d met plenty during her days on political campaigns, never had. “You also run a successful luxury-car company. One wonders where you find the time for all your activities.”
“A man finds time for what he wants. And I no longer actually race fast cars, at least not competitively, so there’s that.”
“Why do I feel like you want me to see the worst in you?” She could see the question startled him, but she sensed it was getting closer to the truth.
“I don’t. I’m trying to be honest here.”
“Hmm,” she murmured. Again, she didn’t think so. Instinctively she felt like he was hiding something. It should have signaled her warning bells. After all, she hadn’t verbally committed to the job so it wasn’t too late to decline his offer. Instead she found herself desperately curious about him.
“If you won’t tell me about the man you are today, tell me about who you were. Many have retold your success story. Kid from the wrong side of 8 Mile Road makes it big. How did that happen? How did you turn it around? You were a kid from a poor neighborhood…”
“I was a poor kid,” he interrupted.
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“No. There is a big difference. There were kids who grew up in the same neighborhood I did who didn’t think they were poor. They had a mom, sometimes a dad, too. They had siblings and family meals. They ate three times a day and they went to school and did their homework. Yeah, maybe they wore shoes long after they outgrew them or pants that were too tight. They never got an extra helping at dinner, but they weren’t poor.”
“You were different from them.”
“In every way. It was just me and my mom. Don’t ask me about my father, I have no idea who he is.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. He could have made things worse. As for my mother, it feels weird calling her that, mostly I called her Jackie. She was an addict. Big deal, right? So are lots of mothers on that side of town. Jackie was strung out most days doing whatever it took to get her next fix, while I survived on what the state gave us. I lived on Kraft Dinner and the dollar menu at the local fast-food place. We never talked from as far back as I could remember. It was like we didn’t even know each other. We were two people sharing the same apartment.”
“Did you go to school?”
“I tried for a while. I had this thought that I could use school to get out, but it was too much time spent sitting around talking and not enough doing. So I was done with that by seventeen. The only thing I cared about were cars and driving them fast. It’s how I got hooked up with Nick. He lived on the block and would see me screeching around town in my mother’s POS. He showed me how to fix cars, and my mother’s POS always needed fixing. Eventually he brought me into the game.”
“Auto theft?”
“Yeah, yeah. At first I just broke down the cars for parts. Then one day Nick takes me out and shows me how to jack them. I’m not going to lie—it was a pretty big high. My adrenaline would pump, but you had to make your fingers move and you had to remember how each car was different and how to shut down an alarm in seconds. In hindsight it was a blessing and a curse.”
“A blessing?”
“Kept me off the drugs. Nick didn’t tolerate that. Bad for business. No drinking, no drugs. When you jacked you needed full control of your senses.”
“The hard drinking came later, then?”
“Huh? Oh…yeah, yeah. Later.”
Exactly. He was no more a hard-drinking man than she was a hard-drinking woman. Yes, he was definitely hiding something and it was only one of the reasons she was cautious about taking him on as a project.
For one, he was a man in the media spotlight, which meant working with him was going to present some risk. Plus, while she didn’t exactly believe he was the scoundrel he presented himself to be, there were all those pictures of him at various parties with so many different women. Men, she found, didn’t easily give up the things they wanted—especially when they were told by someone else not to indulge.
But what she had to concern herself with most of all was that she liked the way he looked in his suit. She liked it even better when he rolled up his sleeves. As an employee she should have no physical attraction to her employer. Certainly no emotional attachment.
If it was too late to prevent the physical attraction, she should back out now. It was the only sensible decision.
“What do you say?”
“I’ll do it.”
The words were out before she could stop them. She couldn’t help herself. She felt caught up in his infectiousness. She wanted to stand up and give everyone a new car. More than that she wanted to show everyone what a person who was committed to something could accomplish, no matter what the odds.
An inner voice told her she’d tried that before. Look at where it led you.
But that was seven years ago. Maybe it was time she started counting, after all.
“That’s great. That’s very cool. I’m…pleased.”
Madeleine nodded. She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a contract. “This is a standard contract from the Tyler Group. It breaks down my rates, services and expenses. You should have your attorneys look it over.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He signed and dismissed the paper without even looking at it.
“I hate to be blunt, but you really should consider going over the contract first. The Tyler Group isn’t cheap and my rider, while not diva level, is still extensive.”
“I don’t want cheap. I want the best. I’ll pay whatever you’re asking. It’s done.”
Madeleine smiled. “That will make Ben happy. Okay, then we should establish a time to start.”
“Right now.”
“Now? Surely you have other matters to attend to and will need to rearrange your calendar, Mr. Langdon.”
“It’s Michael. And I don’t. This is the most important thing to me. I know this is going to take time. You don’t change your image overnight. The sooner we get started, the sooner I get what I want. The CEOs I’m trying to convince aren’t easy pushovers. I’m talking about Carter, Blakely, Rodgers and Smithfield.”
The current leaders of the four largest car companies in America. He was right, convincing one of those men to take a risk would be hard enough, convincing one of them to take a risk with him was something altogether difficult. Maybe impossible. But he had her on his side.
Madeleine pulled out her laptop and powered it up. “Well, we need to begin with my parameters. As I said, I don’t intend to have anything to do with your spotlight. I will not do PR from the front line. I will not do direct media interviews or issue press releases in my name. I will, however, work my media contacts and connect you with the people I think can help, but I will do so discreetly.”
“Yeah, yeah. But hear me out. I know the whole big scandal and everything.”
That was one way to describe it.
“Before all that, you were really respected. Revered even. I’m thinking you hanging around a bum like me might be a good thing. Your presence alone could gain me respect.”
She could see in his eyes that he truly believed what he was saying. A flush of emotion overcame her and for a moment she feared she would tear up. She swallowed it and took a breath.
“While I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Langdon…”
“Michael. Please say my name.”
His tone took her off guard. Not annoyed. Not angry. Merely insistent.
“Michael.” The name came out of her mouth sounding like a sigh. “I don’t think you understand the magnitude of what happened. Trust me when I tell you being seen with the former president’s mistress will not gain you any public-relations points. If anything it will make you more of a joke.”
“So you slept with your boss. It’s not the first time that’s ever happened. It’s not like you’re Jezebel.”
According to her father she was. In fact it was the last word he’d ever said to her.
“It doesn’t matter. You need to trust me. My presence will not help you. My advice can. You wanted to know where to start?”
“Yes.”
“Then we start with the people who gave you your image in the first place. You’ll need to use the media—only this time on your terms. You’ll need to identify several well-known charities you can link your name with.”
“I already have a charity.”
Madeleine knew he donated generously to a jobs program that helped inmates transition when they left prison. “Yes, but we’ll need something more high profile. I know it sounds self-serving and the idea of charity is to be selfless, but in this case we have no choice. I’m thinking environmental causes. Attaching yourself to the green movement will seem to give you purpose when you present your idea to the people you want to partner with. It raises the stakes on the whole project.”
Michael stood and paced a little behind his desk while Madeleine used her computer to call up events that might be newsworthy.
“There, in two days. And bonus—it’s local. There is a charity being hosted by Solarcomp. They are the group that promotes…”
“I know who they are.”
“For five thousand dollars a plate you can attend, for twenty thousand a plate you can sit at a table with the former vice president who believes solar energy is the key to our clean-energy future.”
Michael stopped his pacing and faced her. “I’m not opposed to the environmental causes.”
“That’s good. Few people are.”
“I meant… I want you to know…you…that I’m not launching this car for purely altruistic reasons. I’m a businessman. I have what I believe is a good idea. I want to make money from it. If in the end it saves people money and helps the environment that’s gravy, but it’s not what I’m about.”
Madeleine looked at him. “Why do you think it’s important I should know that?”
“I don’t want to be a fraud to you. I don’t want you to think I’m something I’m not.”
Madeleine considered that. “I think you’re a businessman, in need of a new reputation. I think your cause is worthy and I’ve already accepted the position. You don’t have to prove anything to me, Mr.…”
“Don’t do it.”
“Michael. You don’t have anything to prove to me, Michael.”
“Of course I don’t. I wanted you to know the score. That’s all.”
“Okay. Well, let’s talk about Solarcomp’s Night of Lights event. According to the website I can still get you two seats at the five-thousand-dollar level. Given the attendees it should definitely garner some media attention. Plus, the former vice president has a new book coming out. We need to talk about your escort.”
“Escort? That’s an old-fashioned word.”
“Your date.”
“That can’t be you? Right?”
Madeleine felt a zing of reaction whiz through her body. She wasn’t sure if it was fear, revulsion at the idea of being seen at an event or something else she wasn’t going to put a name to.
She met his eyes and searched them for meaning. When he looked back at her directly she could see his intentions. He wasn’t asking her on a date. He was simply reiterating his point that he thought it was a good idea to be seen with her.
He was wrong.
“Michael, do you trust me to do my job?”
“Of course. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“Then please don’t ever ask me something like that again. I’ve told you I’m poison. I mean this not in a self-deprecating way, but in the cold, hard fact way.”
“Maybe I want a beautiful woman on my arm.”
“Do an internet search on your name, then click the images page. I’m sure you’ll find you always have a beautiful woman on your arm.”
He dug his hands into his pants pockets and said nothing.
“We need to talk about who she will be.”
“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not really involved with anyone right now.”
“Do you have any ideas of who you might call? Anyone who could be available on short notice?”
He met her eyes steadily. “There are a few who would come on short notice. Why does it matter?”
“Because one of the things we want to try to countermand is your playboy image. A different girl every week, every event, every red carpet, lends itself to that. If you could possibly settle on one…”
Michael’s jaw dropped. “You want me to start a relationship with a woman because it would be good for my reputation?”
Madeleine inwardly sighed. She was working with an amateur. Which meant she needed patience. Amateurs didn’t understand that everything counted. Every word, every action, every picture printed in the media, was its own story. To create an image one had to be in control of every element of his life. What he said, what he ate, who he saw publicly. Politicians knew this. To a certain extent so did the Hollywood elite, although their cultivated image was often more radical than a politician’s.
She had to admit she was a little stunned by how quickly and easily it all came back. After years of researching and writing position papers, here she was, doing what she knew how to do best. It was thrilling and daunting considering who she had to work with. But to have a challenge, a real challenge in her life, she could feel the adrenaline pulsing beneath her skin.
“Of course not. I want you to consider if there is a woman in your life who you are more partial to than others. Being seen with the same woman at multiple events implies a relationship even if there truly isn’t one. It shows stability, maturity and lends itself to the new image we want to cultivate for you, that you are someone to be trusted.”
“Wow. That’s pretty…cold.”
Madeleine stood and closed her laptop. “Michael, everything you do from now on will be screened by me. I’ll determine your tie-color choice, the events where you will be seen and yes, if I can have some say in the woman you choose to escort to these events, that will be helpful. There is no emotion in these decisions, no personal stake. I’m going to help you tell the best story you can and the rest is up to you. Are you still certain you want to do this?”
“I have no choice, do I?”
Madeleine shook her head. “We always have choices.”
“Is that what you told yourself when it all came crashing down around you? That your choices led to your fall?”
She didn’t detect any bitterness in his question. Merely curiosity. So she answered him.
“It’s exactly what I told myself.”
* * *
MICHAELWATCHEDHERleave with the same twitchy feeling he suffered the day before. Only this time it was easy to shake it off since he knew she would be back. What was it about her?
She was right: he was used to attractive women. Women more glamorous, more blatantly sexual. On the two days he’d seen her, she had been wearing a dark gray business suit then a black business suit. Both austere, both unassuming. She could have been an FBI agent for all her flash. Still when she was around him, he felt something.
Something instinctual.
Free to pace now that she was gone, he trod back and forth in his plushly carpeted office. He never liked to overdo it in front of people. He only ever allowed himself a few back-and-forths before forcing himself to stay still. Pacing could be construed as a sign of nerves or anxiety, which obviously wasn’t something he wanted to communicate to people. For him it was a bad habit. One he picked up in prison as a way to deal with being confined in a cell. As long as he kept moving he could cope with the tight space. It was when he stopped that he felt like the walls would start to close in on him.
So Madeleine wanted him to take a woman to the charity event. And not just any woman. But a woman he might consider taking to more than a handful of events. A woman he might consider spending enough time with that the media could start using the word relationship.
The idea was laughable. The women were there for a purpose. He knew she thought he was naive at the game they were playing, creating an image, manipulating the press to think what he wanted them to think, but the truth was he was a master craftsman.
At least at creating the bad-boy persona. He knew how to present himself so people would see what he wanted them to see. He didn’t know how to do that and come off as respectable. That’s why he’d reached out to Ben.
Michael knew Madeleine Kane was a member of Ben’s team and he knew about the scandal involving her and the president peripherally. He’d been in Europe at the time and his racing career had started its meteoric rise. An American sex scandal made the news, but in Europe they always thought Americans took sex too seriously so the story was only casually mentioned.
If a man had a mistress, so be it. If the woman chose to be that mistress, her choice. The president was a powerful man. Who wouldn’t want his attention?
Michael tried to reconcile the woman in his office with the star of the scandal. She was so buttoned up. So locked down as if every word she said and every movement she made was carefully considered. How had a woman like that tempted the president?
What the hell was he saying? She only had to look at Michael and he was… He didn’t know what he was. He couldn’t say aroused. Maybe intrigued. Something.
He needed information. Sitting at his desk he called up a search engine and started to type. It wasn’t difficult. Key in Madeleine Kane and President and there were hundreds of pictures, articles and blogs related to the subject.
She wasn’t overplaying the size of the scandal. Looking at the time frame, it had gone on for months. Even after she’d resigned and the First Lady filed for divorce from President Marlin, the press continued to pursue her. Unlike his predecessor, who had once been in the center of a sexual scandal, this president didn’t lie about the affair. He came clean quickly and apologized profusely.
No crime had been committed and as a result no charges of impeachment were filed against him. After several months it died a slow death and he went about the job of running the country. He was not reelected but Michael thought that had more to do with his jobs policy than it did the sex scandal.
Madeleine never reentered the political arena and after a two-year hiatus in media attention, there was a blip of an article announcing her addition to the Tyler Group.
Not a surprise Ben would go after her. He collected great minds like most people collected coins. His group was part think tank, part troubleshooters, all brains. If someone needed a job done and didn’t have the skills or the necessary people on hand to accomplish the task, they contacted Ben.
The Tyler Group was like a brainy version of the A-Team. Selling their specific set of skills for a price.
In Europe, Michael had met Ben while he was still an operative for the CIA. Michael actually liked to think he’d helped him out on a mission, but all he’d really done was act as a carrier pigeon. Still, it was as close to James Bond as he’d ever gotten. For whatever reason, Ben had seen through the image of the hard-drinking, hard-gambling, hard-sexing playboy. As though he’d been wearing special-colored glasses.
At first he had balked at Ben’s request that Michael help him out. Until the idea of doing something right for a good cause settled in his stomach and made him feel…better about himself.
Ben thought he was in Michael’s debt. The reality was the opposite. Meeting Ben and getting to know him helped Michael grow up. Ben wasn’t just some government agent. He was a man who cared deeply about his country and the work he did for it. It had been such a simple chore he’d asked Michael to do. When Michael asked, “Why me?” Ben said it was time for Michael to do something for someone else.
He’d been right. And it had been another step in the path that had eventually helped him to get his life back when it seemed as if prison had taken it all away.
At least part of his life.
Michael finally pushed away from the computer, tired of reading the sordid details of Madeleine’s past. Somehow he doubted the affair was quite as dirty as the press made it out to be. One article mentioned toys, another the president’s need to be dominated, of all things.
He could see Madeleine wielding a whip. He couldn’t imagine her doing something as silly as smacking a man’s bare ass with it.
No, if Madeleine was going to take out a whip she would have a much more useful purpose. Michael smiled as he shut down his computer. After a moment he got up and started pacing again.
Right, then left. Right, then left.
CHAPTER THREE
“HOWAREthings going with the new girl?”
Michael handed down a crescent wrench to Archie. Instantly an image of Madeleine appeared in his mind, but Archie didn’t know anything about Madeleine. No one did.
She was like the Wizard of Oz behind the curtain secretly pulling all the strings. Any consulting was done either by phone or occasionally after hours in his office. Mostly she coached him on answers to questions that might be put to him when a microphone was shoved in his face. And of course she was always plotting ways to get him to those places where the microphones might be.
He’d asked her to visit his home in Grosse Pointe. He thought she could stay in one of his guest rooms, which would be more comfortable than a sterile hotel suite. She’d stiffened and told him in no uncertain terms that there was not a single reason for her to see his personal residence.
No stepping out of bounds for his girl.
Not his girl.
She wasn’t even remotely his girl. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. A condition that was becoming as problematic as it was annoying.
“Which new girl?”
“The one you went to that fancy shindig with. The actress. What’s her name. You know, she was in that movie with that fancy guy.”
“Charlene Merritt. She was in a movie with George Clooney.”
“Yeah, that guy. He’s sharp. No Cary Grant, but then who is today?”
“Really, Archie? You’re that old you remember Cary Grant?”
The dolly slid out from under the car. A small, thin white-haired old man with bifocals squinted up at him. “North by Northwest, Charade, Psycho…now those were real movies.”
“I’m pretty sure Cary Grant wasn’t in Psycho.”
Archie waved him off. “Oh, what do you know.”
Michael pulled out his smartphone to check, but then tucked it away. No reason to upstage the man.
“So you like this girl or what?”
“Charlene is very beautiful.”
“You’ve been with her to two things now. You never see a girl two times in a row. I think you like this one.”
Michael had flown Charlene in for the Solarcomp charity event. Then he’d taken her to dinner at The Whitney where they had been photographed together. Madeleine had been pleased.
“I like her all right.”
“But do you like her like her? You’re not getting any younger, kid. It’s time you start thinking about settling down and getting yourself some kids.”
The concept was so far removed from Michael’s reality there was no point in even refuting it. Instead he said, “My focus is on getting this electric car off the ground. Not getting married. Charlene is hanging around. She likes to be wined and dined. There is nothing serious there.”
Archie offered his hand and Michael pulled on it until the man was sitting and then on his feet. Archie took a rag out of his pocket, wiped his hands more out of habit than need and shuffled his feet a few times.
“I’ve known you a long time, Mickey.”
Twenty years. They’d met back when he’d been Mickey Lang because someone along the way thought the name Langdon was too fancy for 8 Mile.
“You’re not about to lecture me, are you, Archie?”
“I’m saying you’ve come through a lot. And now you’re on top of the world. You’re like that guy…what’s that fellow…the one on the boat. You can hold your arms up and say you’re the king. But still I look at you and I don’t see a happy guy. I think maybe a wife, kids…a family. This would make you happy.”
“You’re my family, Archie.”
“Ah, kid, don’t get all sentimental on me. I’m not dying yet. I’ll let you know when I am and then you can come cry over my bed and say nice things to me. I’m saying a man reaches an age when the money isn’t enough.”
“What happened to you, then? What woman wouldn’t have wanted all this?” Michael looked around the run-down mechanic’s shop. Through rose-colored glasses Archie saw it as a thriving business when in fact it was a dump. Michael had offered Archie all the money in the world to take on more help, to fix the place up nice.
The old man would have none of it. After all, if he actually brought on full-time help, where would the ex-cons go to find honest work when they got out?
“I’m an ex-con, Mickey. I didn’t have much of a choice. You come clean with a lady about that and she’s likely to run the other way.”
“I’m an ex-con,” Michael reminded him.
“Yeah, but you washed all the stink right off. Hell, they talk about you being in prison like you were out on a picnic. You’re like a reformed version of…who was that guy in the movies, the one with the funny voice. James Cagney, yeah, like him. Bad boy makes good. I read the magazines. I know.”
“Prison wasn’t a picnic,” Michael said thickly as a surge of shame and disgust rose up in his throat. This, he thought, this is why I will never have a family. I can never leave it behind.
The irritating part was that he’d accepted that fact years ago, but now when he thought about Madeleine things started resurfacing. Wishes and desires he thought he’d squashed forever. With them came regret and loss. It was why in some ways being around her was pure hell.
“Well, you do what you want. Are you going to see what’s-her-face again?”
“Charlene?”
“Yeah, that one.”
“One more time. She’s accompanying me to the Detroit Revival event.”
Archie laughed. “If I had a nickel every time they said Detroit was making a comeback I wouldn’t need to play the lottery every day, that’s for sure.”
“Maybe this time they’re right. A new type of car, manufacturing on the rise. Hell, even the Lions are winning. Who knows what’s possible?”
Archie shook his head.
Michael reached into his back pocket. “Speaking of the lottery. I almost forgot. These are for you.”
“Kid, why do you keep doing this?”
“They’re scratch offs. I buy them for me and I get tired of scratching.”
Archie took the five cardboard pieces. “You got a dime? Or a quarter? A nickel won’t work on these.”
Michael jangled some of the loose change in his pocket. He pulled out a quarter and watched as the man leaned against the old Chevy to carefully scratch each square.
One of these days he would hit. Michael was sure of it.
“Hey, look at this! Two bucks. I’m on a roll.”
The rest of them proved worthless, but now Archie had cash for two more. He was a happy man.
“Listen, I have to go out of town for a while as soon as the Revival thing is over. When I’m back I’ll stop by.”
“Yeah. Okay. I’ve got a new project coming in a couple of days and it would be nice if you could meet him.”
By “new project,” Archie meant a guy out on probation. Archie liked to think that Michael could rub off on an ex-con and maybe make a difference. Hell, maybe he did, Michael didn’t really know. Most of Archie’s projects came for a couple of months and then left. Either to find a better job that actually paid something or to return to the life they knew before. Michael rarely followed up with any of them.
It was easy to give money to a charity that offered support for people getting out of jail, but it was never easy spending time with actual ex-cons. It reminded him too much of his past.
“Sure. I’ll come over when he gets here. But I’ll check in on you, too, when I get back.”
“Whatever. It’s not like I need to be watched over by you, kid. I do the watching. You hear me.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m saying when I get back maybe we can head over to Darnell’s for some barbecue. We haven’t done that in a while.”
“Darnell’s? It’s a date.”
“A date, huh? I don’t know. You’re nowhere near as pretty as Charlene.”
“Get out of here, kid. Before I show you all the ways I know how to use a crescent wrench.”
Michael lifted his hands in surrender and left the shop. He got into his specially formulated Chrysler, one he’d rebuilt from the ground up, and tossed the kid who had watched it for him a couple of bucks.
Beeker’s wasn’t in the greatest part of town, but it wasn’t in the worst, either. Archie lived right on the edge. And for the most part, people around these parts looked at Michael as a local hero. The money for the kid had been more about finding a way to hand out a few bucks than keeping his rims safe.
Once Michael closed the door behind him, he hit the car’s start button and did one last check to make sure Archie was where he always was. The man joked about not dying, but he was over seventy and he wouldn’t be around forever.
Once Michael had tried to talk him into a place in Florida but that idea went over as well as offering him money to fix up the shop. Archie Beeker wanted to die while changing somebody’s oil. It was the way it was. Michael had to hope his death was a long way off. He wasn’t kidding when he called Archie family. He sure as hell knew Archie was the only family he would ever have.
* * *
“AREYOUready for this evening?” Madeleine asked as she hit the speaker button on her phone and set it down on the coffee table in her hotel room. In an act of small defiance, she shucked off her shoes before sitting on the couch.
As a matter of professionalism, she preferred to be in business dress at all times when dealing with a client, even when she was on the phone. The rule was for her sake entirely. It helped keep her mind focused on the job at hand.
But after a long day of airports and cabs, she was happy to be off her feet. Losing the pumps wouldn’t completely compromise her professional integrity. She was fairly sure. Besides, it’s not like he could see her.
“I have a tux on. I suppose that makes me ready.”
Madeleine recalled the pictures of Michael in the paper from the last event. The black tuxedo had fit him flawlessly. It should have made him look elegant and sophisticated. Instead it made him look powerful and edgy. Like someone had harnessed all this raw energy and shoved it into a suit. The camera loved him.
And his date. The camera loved both of them.
“You’re picking up Charlene at her hotel.”
“Yeah, yeah. She’s staying at the same place you are. You want to come down for a drink before the event?”
It was offered so casually. A drink before the event. A glass of wine at the bar where she could meet Charlene Merritt and ask her if George Clooney was as handsome in person as he was on film. She could go over the event schedule again with Michael. She could update him on her trip back to Philadelphia to see Ben.
She could see Michael and talk with him.
“No, thank you.”
“It’s just a drink, Madeleine.”
She hated the way he said her name. He added this extra oomph to the last syllable, dragging it out so that it sounded like Mad-e-lane. She thought to correct him, but didn’t see the point since he would keep on saying it his way no matter what. She wasn’t sure at what point she’d even given him permission to use her first name. He probably imagined it was acceptable since she could call him Michael.
In fact, he was the only client she’d been on a first-name basis with in five years. Any contact she had with the representatives from the political action committees or lobbying firms had always been brief and very formal. Michael had already gone beyond that.
“You’ll be with Charlene. There could be photographers.”
“So?”
For a very intelligent man there were times she knew he played thick deliberately. “Michael.” It was all she needed to say.
“Right. I know. No cameras. I thought we could catch up. You’ve been gone for two days.”
“Anything happening I should be aware of?”
“No. Just this event tonight. Then we’re scheduled to leave for Los Angeles, right?”
“Yes. I picked up some more clothes from my place on my trip back. I’m all set.”
They were going to L.A. so Michael could attend a larger charity event hosted by a famous film director. The party was private but there would be paparazzi littering the entrance. Michael was sure to be photographed again. The media would begin to put the pieces of her puzzle together as environmental event after environmental event featured Michael Langdon.
It was convenient he was interested in Charlene. As a star on the rise she was also attracting a lot of attention. The two of them together at the L.A. party would officially launch speculation about a relationship.
From a public-relations point of view, she was thrilled. More than thrilled. Charlene was not only stunning, but also considered one of Hollywood’s good girls. Michael looked good next to her, and more importantly, people thought better of him because he was with her.
“You’ll be taking Charlene again? To Drearson’s party.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
Madeleine was about to say something, then stopped. His relationship with the woman was none of her business. She only needed to focus on the image and she sensed forcing the woman on him was the surest way for him to call it off. There was nothing he’d said directly to her, but she had the sense that his interest in Charlene was superficial at best.
Subtly, on the plane ride out to L.A., she would convince him another photo opportunity with the actress would be ideal. What man wouldn’t want to be seen in Charlene’s company? There had once been rumors that linked her with Clooney but apparently she had turned him down. It seemed to Madeleine any man would be prancing like a peacock with Charlene at his side.
Only Madeleine hadn’t once seen Michael prance. And when the pictures were released of them from the Solarcomp event, Charlene had been holding on to his arm and looking up at his face, but Michael had looked…disinterested.
She shook her head. It was a random picture. Anything could have been happening in that moment to distract him.
Madeleine needed to be more focused on what came next. Michael needed to start talking about his ideas, and she needed someone there to write them down. It was her reason for accompanying him to L.A. She still had some media contacts out there, and a host of people it wouldn’t hurt her to reconnect with. If she could work some of her old connections in L.A. and New York, she might be able to get him featured on a prime-time news show.
“Was there anything else?” she asked.
“No. I guess I can’t think of anything. You sure you’re going to be fine? In your room all night? I mean, do you ever leave it? Ever?”
“Of course I do. However, I also don’t mind staying in. It’s why I demand a suite when I do this work. It gives me more than enough room to stretch out.”
She was stretched out on the couch now, with her shoeless feet resting on a pillow. While on the phone with a client.
Shameless hussy, she thought.
“I’m not sure. I think you spend a lot of time by yourself. I thought maybe when we get back I could show you some of Detroit. The good and the bad. Might give you a better sense of who I am.”
Spending time with Michael. Getting to know Michael more.
Both very dangerous things. Madeleine wasn’t an idiot. Michael was intelligent, passionate, interesting and completely charismatic. There was a reason women all over the world flocked to him. Spending time in his sphere on a social level was bound to lead to her liking him.
Heck, she already did like him. She liked his energy and his direction. She liked the way he thought about how she might be lonely sitting in her hotel room.
He was a good man. She sensed it about him. Spending more time with him? It would do nothing but lead to trouble.
“We’ll see when we get back.” It was an easy out and would generate the least amount of resistance. She wasn’t sure what Michael’s intent was with all these invitations. Were they purely harmless or something more? Either way she needed to keep him at arm’s length if only for a little while. This job wouldn’t last too much longer. As long as she kept dancing out of his reach, she should be able to accomplish his goal and move on unscathed.
“Okay. How about you check me out? See if this monkey suit looks okay.”
Madeleine accepted the FaceTime request on her phone and a blip later she could see Michael standing in what appeared to be a very large closet holding his phone out so she could get the full effect.
It was as she thought. He looked utterly handsome, if a little restrained. She bet the first thing he would do when he got home from this evening would be to remove the jacket and tie and unbutton his cuffs and roll up his sleeves and relax.
Unless, of course, Charlene was with him. She hadn’t considered that possibility. She didn’t know why. The woman was obviously interested in him to have come all this way. Of course it made sense he would bring her home at the end of the evening. He had probably already done so on their two previous dates.
That thought made her irritated, but she wasn’t willing to admit why.
“You look very nice.”
“Nice? That’s the best you can do? I spent a couple of grand on this suit.”
“How about dashing?”
He smirked and she had to be careful not to roll her eyes since she knew he could see her, too.
See her, too! She was still lying on the couch with her shoes off. Instantly she sat up and while she held the phone steady on her face, she moved her feet around until she found one pump and slipped her foot into it.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Just sitting here being forced to feed you compliments.”
Where the hell was her other shoe? Her foot stretched around while she worked to keep her hand steady.
“You’ve got a weird look on your face.”
“After I called you dashing…you’ve got some nerve. Wait one second.” Madeleine shoved the phone against the sofa cushion and then finally found her other shoe. Fully clothed she felt more in control of herself.
An acknowledged nutcase, but in control.
“There. I’m back.”
“Hoookay. Well, you have a good night.”
“I will.”
“Watch a movie or something.”
“Your dime.”
“I can afford it. Hell, I can afford two movies if you want. I’ll call you first thing tomorrow. We can have breakfast before we leave for the airport.”
“Or we can meet there. I can certainly get a cab…if you’re…if you’re otherwise engaged.”
She could see his forehead scrunch like he didn’t understand what she was saying.
“With Charlene,” she clarified.
“Oh. Yeah, yeah. Well, I’ll let you know. ’Bye.”
The screen went blank before she could reply. And later that night, instead of enjoying the on-demand movie, she spent the whole time wondering what she had seen in his expression right before he closed the connection.
She was almost certain it was sadness.
CHAPTER FOUR
“COMEON! Don’t be like that. I came all this way to be with you and you haven’t so much as kissed me on the cheek.”
Madeleine was on her way back to her hotel suite with a bucket of ice when the sound of a couple engaged in what appeared to be an intimate conversation stopped her. Not wanting to intrude on what was obviously a private moment, she remained still.
“Then I’ll kiss you on the cheek and say good-night. Some other time for us maybe.”
That voice! She knew that voice. Holy shoot. Peeking around the corner of the hall she saw Michael leaning in to Charlene as if to kiss her.
Immediately she pulled back. What in the hell were they doing outside of her suite? Or more accurately, the suite door next to hers.
Of course. Michael said Charlene was staying in the same hotel. Naturally she’d have a suite, as well. What were the odds she’d be right next door? Apparently very good ones. The idea that she might actually have to go back to her room, knowing what Charlene and Michael were doing in the room next to hers, was unthinkable.
Although, that she considered it unthinkable was probably not a good thing, either.
Darn it! Madeleine began to consider her lifetime legacy of bad luck, when she heard a noise that was part moan and part sigh.
Female sigh.
“Michael, stop this silliness. Come inside with me.”
“I promised I would walk you to your room and I have.”
“Yes, and now that I have you here, I want a little more. I always want a little more when I’m with you. You tease me like no other man has ever teased me.”
“I don’t mean to be a tease, but I can’t stay.”
“You can if you want to,” the actress said in more of a song than a sentence. Madeleine grimaced. She was standing in the hall in a pair of yoga pants and an old T-shirt with fuzzy socks on her feet and her hair in a ponytail. All she had wanted was a little ice to add to what was left of her mineral water and now she was stuck in what might be the most humiliating situation of her life.
Correction. Not the most humiliating situation. Getting caught in the Oval Office with her skirt hiked up around her hips by the First Lady while her husband shouted “oh, baby” at the top of his lungs—that was the most humiliating experience. This would be a very distant second.
“Do you know how many men would kill to be in your position right now?”
“I imagine a great many. You’re a very beautiful woman, Charlene. This has nothing to do with you. It’s poor scheduling.”
“You could always sleep on the plane.”
Madeleine had to admire the woman’s tenacity. The tone of her voice oozed sex. If she were a man she’d certainly be tempted by now.
“Maybe I can convince you with a little…touch.”
“Charlene, please.”
“Huh. Well, that’s never happened to me before.”
Resisting the urge to peek around the corner, Madeleine held still, careful not to move the bucket and rattle the melting ice.
“You really don’t want me. I mean, wow. I figured you were playing hard to get, but you’re not…hard… anything.”
Madeleine had a strong suspicion where Charlene’s touch had landed. Awfully bold considering they were in a hallway where anyone could come by with a bucket of ice in her hands.
“Charlene, it’s been a long day. I have a longer day tomorrow. I don’t mean to be rude, but no, I’m simply not interested in what you’re offering.”
“That’s a first.”
“No man has ever told you no?”
A harsh laugh echoed around the corridor. “I’ve never had to ask to be told no. I think it’s what made you so intriguing. You were the first man I ever dated who didn’t immediately try to get me into bed. Now I get it. You’re not into me. The question remains, why ask me out?”
“I told you. I’m tired…”
“Don’t give me tired. I can make a tired man sit back on his haunches and beg like a puppy if I want. You’re not gay, are you?”
Madeleine had to choke back the abrupt “no” that wanted to shoot out of her mouth. Michael Langdon, for whatever reason, was not interested in Charlene Merritt but he was decidedly not gay. There was a way he watched her when they worked together. A way his eyes followed her movements, from picking up a pen she’d dropped to crossing her legs.
No gay man would be as fascinated by the female body. Madeleine sensed it in her gut.
“I’m not gay, Charlene. I am through with this conversation, though. I’ve enjoyed our time together and I appreciate you coming out here on such short notice. Some other time.”
“Okay. Sorry. I had to ask. Some other time.”
“I’ll call you.”
“Right.”
Charlene’s skepticism wasn’t misplaced. Madeleine didn’t think he had any intention of calling her, either. She heard a key card slide into the door and a second later she heard the door close.
It would take him maybe two or three more seconds to turn and head back to the elevators around the corner and out of sight. She gave him an extra second beyond that, and then Madeleine turned the corner only to find him still standing outside Charlene’s door.
Her faint gasp gave her away. He looked up and instantly frowned.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“I, uh, I went to get some ice. What are you doing here?”
Michael walked to her and she didn’t have the sense to run. He glanced down into her bucket and saw the glimmering sheen of ice beginning to melt.
“You heard everything.”
“I…” Madeleine’s shoulders dropped. There really was no point in lying. “I was coming back and heard you two. I didn’t realize she was in the suite next to mine. I didn’t want to…interrupt.”
“I didn’t realize she was in the suite next to yours, either. Is that your room…1022?”
“Yes.”
“Does it have a minibar?”
“Yes.”
“Good thing you brought ice. Where is your key?”
Madeleine handed it over without thinking. Michael took the key and efficiently swiped it through the holder. The green light appeared and he opened the door. Madeleine had no choice but to follow.
He didn’t speak or offer any excuses for barging into her hotel room. Instead he tossed the tuxedo jacket he’d been holding over his shoulder onto the couch and crouched down in front of the minibar.
He pulled out two bottles of Jack Daniel’s.
“Want anything?”
“No.”
“Don’t drink?”
“Don’t drink with clients.” Another of the many rules she’d constructed after her fall. Always be professional. Always maintain a certain level of distance. No drinking or socializing. No casual dress.
Madeleine looked down at her fuzzy socks. So much for rules tonight.
“I’ll have mineral water.”
“Come on, Madeleine, don’t make me drink alone. I promise I’ll never tell.” He pulled out a mini Chardonnay and handed it to her.
For a moment she hesitated. And part of her knew what the problem was. She wanted to take the damn wine. She wanted to sit with him and recap how the event went. She wanted to know what happened with Charlene and why he didn’t seem interested.
She wanted to be with him for a time.
For that reason alone she should refuse the wine and politely ask him to leave. But doing so might make her seem a little ridiculous in this situation. He was in her hotel room, she was wearing socks. One glass of wine wasn’t going to kill her. Surely a woman in full control of herself could break her own rules occasionally without there being consequences.
She hoped so.
“Okay.” She turned over two clean glasses and handed him one. He added ice to his drink and then sat on the couch. She chose the chair across from him.
“Want to tell me what you’re doing here?” Madeleine asked.
“Having a drink.”
“I thought you were tired and worried about your early flight.”
“Since our flight doesn’t leave until noon you know that’s a bald-faced lie.”
Madeleine fidgeted a little as she sipped her wine. Unthinkingly she brought up her legs and tucked them under her butt. When she looked back to Michael she could see even that simple movement fascinated him.
His eyes were also trying very hard not to look at her chest. She had a tank top on but she was most definitely braless.
“Look, I’m sorry if I pushed you toward her. I thought you liked her.”
“I did like her. I just didn’t want to have sex with her.”
“Why?” The question popped out before she could stop it. It was far too personal. His eyebrows arched up as if to suggest he agreed. But for some reason she wanted an answer. “You heard her. She can make a tired man beg like a puppy.”
“Maybe I have more discerning tastes.” He drank his whiskey in one gulp then opened the second bottle and splashed it over the ice.
“A playboy with discerning tastes. Those two things usually don’t go together.” Like a lot of things about him, the pieces didn’t fit. Madeleine knew all about constructing an image and it was becoming evident that Michael’s playboy image was as real as his environmental-philanthropist cover.
“What do you want? What answer are you looking for here? She didn’t do it for me. She didn’t make my dick hard. I can’t make it any plainer than that.”
Madeleine winced. Not so much at his harsh language but at the anger she heard in his tone. She didn’t know who he was directing his anger toward and she really didn’t care. The last thing she wanted to be talking about was sex. Especially with him.
“I didn’t mean anything. Truly. We shouldn’t be having this conversation, anyway. It’s way too personal.”
“Eff that. What is it with you and the whole no crossing lines? We’re people. We’re talking. It’s personal. With you everything has a rule.”
She snorted. “You really have to ask why?”
“I get it, but it’s like you’re obsessed. Are you worried that if you let loose a little we’re going to pounce on each other? If I see you with your hair down or call you by your name, suddenly I’m going to want to get between your legs?”
“Stop it. That’s enough.”
He abruptly shut his mouth. He stood and carefully set the now-empty glass down on the table between them.
“I’m sorry.”
Madeleine stood, assuming she was going to show him to the door. She should have accepted his apology and said good-night. Instead she felt like she owed him an apology, too. “I know I have boundaries and rules. I put all of them there for a reason.”
“But don’t you let anyone in? Ever?”
No, she hadn’t. She had coworkers she considered friends. There was Ben and Anna, but no, there was really no one she’d let get past her guard in these past seven years. If he knew to what extent, he might think her a freak. But that was her business.
“You have to understand, even before my fall I wasn’t the greatest at relationships.”
“Why not? You’re smart and hot to boot. It should have all come so easy for you.”
Easy. It was almost laughable. Nothing that wasn’t work related had ever come easy for her. Not relationships, not sex. Not ever.
Madeleine shook off her thoughts. That was a place she didn’t want to go. Memories that were better left untouched. But he was still standing there looking at her like he needed an answer.
“I was raised by my father. My mother died when I was young and he was very strict about certain things. Dating was not a priority in our house.”
“Okay? What about in the last sixteen years since you left your house?”
She’d grown cold. Cut off and unemotional. It hurt her to have to acknowledge it and she was angry at Michael for forcing her to do so. “Why do you care about this?”
“Because I know you. I like you. I want to know you better but I keep running into this invisible wall and frankly, it’s giving me a headache. So you screwed the president? Now that has to mean everything? Get on with your life.”
“Get on with my life?” she shrieked. “Because it was what? A few thousand articles written in papers and magazines and online. Three or four books written by people who didn’t even know me but who passed judgment on me. News stories and pictures and twenty-four-hour coverage for what…six months? Seven months. In America, in Europe. Hell, at one point the whole damn world was talking about it. People offered me thousands of dollars for the clothes I was wearing that night. A ten-thousand-dollar offer alone for my underwear, if you can believe it. But I mean, really, why dwell?”
“Hey,” he said, softening his voice. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No, Michael. You brought this up. You said it. You didn’t want to have sex with Charlene. She didn’t make your d-dick hard. You had that choice. You want to know why I haven’t had sex with anyone in seven years?”
“Madeleine, don’t…”
“Because I stopped having a choice. After it all came out…after the things the press said about me, men who knew me, who I thought knew me, suddenly believed me to be a very different type of woman. I couldn’t be in a room alone with a man for five seconds without having to explain that no, I don’t take my clothes off as soon as I say hello. Then came the men who didn’t know me but wanted to bag the president’s girl. Like I had some magic sexual powers that would turn them into world leaders. I had to back away from everyone because I couldn’t trust anyone.”
He moved around the table and took her hand. He didn’t do anything with it, just held it and looked at her.
“Did anyone hurt you?”
“They all hurt me.”
He shook his head. “Did any of them touch you?”
She could see the fury in his eyes along with a harnessed violence that reminded her he came from a very different world than she did.
“No, it wasn’t like that. No one forced me, but no one saw anything other than a woman who would freely lift her skirt. I wasn’t me anymore. I was this sexual prize. I hated it.”
“I’m sorry those men did that to you.”
Madeleine didn’t know what to say but she felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. That he cared. This man who barely knew her when so many men who were close to her in her life didn’t.
Like her father and her brother.
“I’m not like them. In fact, I’m the opposite of them. I don’t want sex with you…instead I want to know you. I want to be something to you. Not your employer. Not your project of the hour.”
“I can’t. I simply can’t ever do that again.”
“Not even friends? Friends, Madeleine. Two grown-up people who can make that choice. This job is only going to last what…a couple of more weeks? Then you won’t be working for me. No rules would be broken. And if you wanted to we could maybe stay in touch. A call every once in a while. A visit here and there. Friends.”
“Friends?” She couldn’t help herself. She was suspicious of his motives. Why did this man need her as a friend?
“I’m lonely, Madeleine,” he said as if he’d read her mind. “I have my work and I love it but lately it feels like something is missing. Maybe I’m tired of the endless Charlenes. I think I would rather be able to sit down and have a drink and talk.”
She was tempted. So tempted. Because she was lonely, too. This evening, as strange as it had been, had also been nice.
“Think about it. We’re still working together so take that time to get to know me. The real me. And let me get to know you. The real you.”
“This is the real me. Everything you see is everything I am.” Or at least all she would let herself be as far as he was concerned.
He smiled a little sadly. “I don’t think so, Madeleine. I think you’re hiding behind your business suits. I’m only asking you to undo a couple of buttons.”
The thought of him undressing her sent a little shiver through her body. This was why she’d fought so hard to keep him at arm’s length. The brutal truth was she was attracted to him. The first man in more than seven years to interest her and once again she was working for him.
Life could seriously be unfair.
“I can’t think about…anything between us. Not until the job is over. It has to be that way for me.”
“Okay. Then work quick and turn me into someone respectable.”
“How about we shoot for less unrespectable.” They both laughed and the tension between them dissipated.
He dropped her hand and she realized he had been holding it all this time.
“I’ll leave you tonight but can we do breakfast tomorrow morning? I’ll pick you up here.”
“That’s fine. We’ll eat here in the room, though.”
He opened his mouth as if to say something but stopped.
“Tomorrow,” he told her. “Thanks for the drink and the company.”
“Your dime.”
With that, Madeleine watched him leave and heard the door close behind him. Michael Langdon wanted to be her friend. Crazy enough, she wanted his friendship, too.
* * *
HEWASSORRYhe had lied to her. Deception in any form could kill a relationship, but Michael didn’t see any other way around it. She was too closed off. He needed some way to get over the walls she’d spent the past seven years shoring up.
He hit the button between the elevators and waited for the ding to announce one had arrived. Stepping inside, he reassured himself that it would only be another ten hours until he saw her again. But that felt like too much time apart.
Whatever this was, it was crazy. He’d never felt like this before. Never dreamed he would. Yet as he stepped off the elevator and headed for the lobby doors he knew that this thing between them was important. He had nothing to offer a woman like her except a whole lot of baggage, but stubbornly he couldn’t drag himself away from what he wanted.
Michael handed the valet his stub and started pacing along the sidewalk as he waited for his car.
Yeah, he probably shouldn’t have lied about the friends thing. Of course he wanted that but he also wanted something more. Maybe this was his chance to have a grown-up relationship with a woman. Something different. Something he’d never really had. He hadn’t lied when he’d said he was tired of Charlene and others like her. He also hadn’t lied when he’d said he didn’t want Madeleine for sex. She was more important than that.
He didn’t have a word for what he and Madeleine were going to be to one another, but he knew he needed her.
She was changing him. Not just his reputation, but changing him from the inside. He was starting to want things he’d never thought were important. Like companionship and having someone in the universe care how his day went. He had thought he didn’t need those things, but maybe he’d been wrong. His vision of the future was suddenly shifting—the life he had thought he was going to have and the life he just might have were different. As long as Madeleine was with him.
He would lie, cheat and steal all over again to hold on to her.
Poor Madeleine. She didn’t know who she was dealing with.
CHAPTER FIVE
“MADDY!”
Madeleine ducked her head a bit and adjusted her sunglasses, confident they covered most of her face as she approached the sidewalk café on Rodeo Drive. Her old friend and coworker was the only person she would ever let get away with calling her by the old nickname.
“You channeling Jackie O or what?”
“Peg,” Madeleine said as she reached the table and kissed her friend on the cheek. “One might hope for a little discretion.”
“From me? Then it has been too long since we’ve seen each other. Sit down. I’ve ordered you an appletini. You’re going to love it.”
She was going to hate it. She preferred wine to hard alcohol but there would be no convincing Peg. Since she was here to ask a favor, she made the politically correct decision to play along.
“Look at you.” Peg ran her finger up and down to indicate Madeleine’s choice of ensemble. “Very southern California chic.”
“At home I’m always in business suits and I’m never recognized. I didn’t think I would see a lot of those out here so I wanted to blend.”
Madeleine wore an expensive solid-blue top matched with white capris and flat sandals that really cost too much for anyone to justify but she did, anyway. When she’d bought them she’d felt slightly wicked. She paired the ensemble with a patterned scarf around her hair. And the big sunglasses made her feel sufficiently camouflaged.
“You look good. Real good. More relaxed. I would never say this to your face before…wait, actually, I would but I never got the chance to say it…you looked like hell back in the day. Too much pressure and too much stress is not good for the complexion.”
“Back in the day” was code for the campaign trail. When Madeleine had been molding a man to be president and Peg had been working with the press to get the message out. After winning the election Peg stayed on for two more years as junior press secretary. She left when she was given the opportunity to be a producer on television’s more popular newsmagazine show, Sunday Night Hour. Of course Peg had been upset for her when the scandal broke. They were friends. But not so outraged to leave her job. Not that Madeleine would have ever expected her to. When you worked so hard to make it to the top, quitting on moral grounds wasn’t an option.
Quitting because you could land a much more lucrative deal in the private sector was completely understandable.
“I mean it,” she continued. “You were skinny and drawn. I know what you did to make that guy president and I think you paid for it. Physically and emotionally. It’s no wonder your decision-making skills sucked when the jerk put the moves on you. You were vulnerable and he knew it.”
“It wasn’t lack of sleep and a bad diet, Peg.” If only Madeleine could have blamed it on such things. “It was flat-out stupidity. But I don’t want to talk about that. I’m here to talk about my favor.”
The waiter arrived with their drinks and Peg carefully lifted the martini glass so as to not spill a drop even as she waved her other hand for Madeleine to continue.
“I want you to feature someone on an upcoming episode.”
Peg put the glass down. “Don’t leave me in suspense.”
“Michael Langdon.”
“Michael Langdon? The race-car guy? With the white spiky hair and glasses.”
“That was him. Yes. He has since become a car designer. Specialty stuff mostly, but now he’s developed something new and innovative for the mass market. He’s trying to partner with one of the major manufacturers to roll out his concept and to do that we’re trying to change his image a bit so they’ll think he’s worth the risk.”
Peg’s smile was infectious. “You’re working again.”
Madeleine expected this. To delay she took a sip of her own drink. It was too sweet so she set it back down. “I’ve been working for the last five years.”
“Don’t give me that bull. I know what you’ve been doing for Ben and it looked a lot more like hiding than working. Speaking of Ben…how is he?”
“Fighting.”
“Yeah, he would do that. When I heard he was sick and how serious it was, I thought if he dies it’s going to be like God dying. He’s connected to so many people in so many ways. Once we lose him all those connections will break apart and we’ll all be left on our own.”
“He’s not gone yet.” Madeleine tried to believe that his fight was stronger than his sickness. But the longer the treatments went on with no confirmation from the doctors that they were working, it was getting harder to do so.
“Right. Okay. Back to your real job. You’re turning Michael Langdon into what? Not a political candidate.”
“No. A serious person. Someone who is trustworthy.”
Peg laughed. “Honey, the only thing serious about that guy is he’s seriously hot.”
“Michael Langdon is a respectable and solid businessman. He’s an entrepreneur with creative new ideas for the auto industry. An environmentalist who’s concerned about our dependence on foreign oil and believes his electric car can change that while also offering the average American an affordable option.”
“Interesting. Keep going.”
They were interrupted as the waiter came over to take their lunch order and as soon as he left Madeleine continued. “He’s everything you want to see in a success story. Raised in poverty, turned to crime, paid his debt to society then reformed his life. He’s built himself up on his talent and brains. Now he wants to give something back.”
“And make money.”
“Of course make money,” Madeleine allowed. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t do both.”
“What do you think about him? Gut feeling. Winner? Loser?”
Gut feeling was a game they used to play a lot in the past. Any time they were working with a candidate’s adviser, or hiring staff or dealing with the media. Gut feeling was a simple up-or-down vote that encompassed everything. Good guy, bad guy. Smart guy, dumb guy. Winner, loser.
Madeleine’s gut was completely convinced. Which wasn’t like her. She used to be more cautious and make her decisions more logically, based on facts and statistics. Despite having very little of either, she believed he was who he said he was. She hoped her belief wasn’t because she wanted him to be who he said he was. Because she wanted to be his friend. “Winner.”
“Very interesting. Madeleine Kane thinks there is more to Michael Langdon than meets the eye. Well, hell, yes, I want to interview him. Do I get you, too?”
“Outside of a handful of people, which now includes you, no one knows I’m working for him. And it will stay that way. Won’t it, Peg?”
Peg’s lips twitched as the veiled threat registered and was acknowledged. Madeleine held on to a lot of secrets for a lot of people. Peg was among that number.
“My lips are sealed. Now let’s talk fun stuff. What are you doing tonight?”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/stephanie-doyle/one-final-step/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.