Hard to Handle (10 page)

She slapped him, hard. It took Sam a few seconds for it to register. This tiny five-foot, four-inch woman had just had the audacity to hit him when she was the lying cheat.

“You don't know me,” she shot back. “I've known you for five minutes, so you have no right to judge me. Yes, I screwed up. I made a mistake! And I'm going to have to answer for that, but you have no right to call me names!”

“I have every right,” Sam yelled back.

“Why? Because we slept together? Look at you. I'm sure this is a regular Tuesday for you,” spat Kaylee. “So don't accept my apology, I don't care. Just get the hell out of my apartment.”

Sam was speechless, and the look of pure disgust was etched on his face.

“And what about Evan? You're just going to marry him? Then continue sleeping around behind his back?”

“Of course not!” Kaylee yelled back, then slapped her hand over her mouth and turned away. But not before her eyes shimmered with tears. “You have to go.”

Sam knew she was right. There was no point to this confrontation, nothing left to air out.

“Why don't you wear your engagement ring?” he demanded, trying hard not to sound like an angry caveman.

“What difference does it make?” she asked in a defeated tone.

“Jesus, Kaylee. I deserve more than just a polite sorry! I want an explanation!”

“Why, Sam?” she sneered, walking away from him. “So you can continue to chastise me? I'm nothing to you. Just some random girl that you gallantly patched up. And I think you've been adequately repaid for your help.”

“Is that what you think? That I go around sleeping with every woman I run into? Or is it easier for you to pretend what happened between us was nothing.”

She sighed and dropped her head in her hands.

“Maybe that would make this easier. I don't know. But I know it's not true,” she said softly, turning to look at him from a few feet away. “It was something, at least for me. It just makes this ten times harder.”

Sam felt some of the anger drain out of him. She was right. They had both felt that rare, intimate connection both in and out of her bed. And that was what was eating at him, creating the bitter, stale taste of guilt in his mouth. She was scheduled to marry Evan DaCosta within a few weeks. He had accepted the fucking invitation! But Sam still wanted her. Even now, with the truth of her unforgivable betrayal between them, he wanted her. And it made him sick.

“Why don't you wear your ring?” he asked again.

Kaylee looked away, her lips quivering.

“I do, when I'm in McLean. But a three-karat yellow diamond attracts a little too much attention in the bullpen at the
Baltimore Journal
.”

They both stood there silently for a few minutes.

“Are you going to marry him?” Sam finally asked, needing to know.

“I can't,” she whispered. “For months now, I knew that something wasn't right. But I couldn't figure out what. I love Evan. In a lot of ways, he's my closest friend. We're good together. It should be the perfect relationship. But something didn't fit, and as the wedding grew closer, so did the possibility that I was making a big mistake. I just didn't know why until recently. Three days ago, to be exact. I was going to end our engagement this weekend.”

Sam clenched his teeth at what her words suggested.

“You and Evan. You've—”

“Yes. Of course we've had sex,” interrupted Kaylee. “It was . . . fine. He's a great guy. But it wasn't like . . .”

She turned away and covered her face. He tightened his fist, wanting to believe everything she said. But only so he didn't have to believe she was a completely heartless tart. Not that it mattered. Whatever the truth was, whatever her explanations were, what he wanted just wasn't possible.

“We have to tell him,” Sam finally said.

Kaylee looked up at him with complete confusion.

“We? What are you talking about?”

That's when the rest of it fell into place.

“You don't know,” he mumbled.

“Know what?” she demanded, walking toward him. “What are you talking about, Sam?”

“Evan never told you about Fortis?”

“Fortis? The company you work for?” she asked, now standing right in front of him. “You know Evan. How exactly?”

“I don't work for Fortis, I own it.” He crossed his arms at his chest. “I own it, with Evan and Lucas Johnson.”

He watched her eyes and mouth open with shock. Some sick part of him wanted her to hurt, to fully understand the damage she had done with her lies and treacherous behavior.

“He's a friend. An investor in my company, Kaylee. And I've now slept with his fiancée.” She gasped. “So, now you can see exactly why this is my business.”

“Oh my God, oh my God,” she whispered, bending at the waist as though hyperventilating. “I didn't know.”

He turned away from her, hating the immediate and instinctive urge to comfort her.

“Give me one day,” she finally whispered. He looked at her again. There were tears streaming down her face, but her voice was unwavering and her expression resolute. “I was going to end it tomorrow anyway. I'll tell him the truth. That I love him like my best friend, like a brother, and should never have accepted his proposal. That's really what I need to explain. You and I aren't the real reason, Sam. So let me end it tomorrow. And after that, you can tell him whatever you need to. In the end, I'm the one to blame, and he'll understand that.”

Sam felt something crack painfully behind his ribs.

“Please. Give me one day,” she pleaded again.

When the words choked his throat, he could only nod.

Kaylee let out a deep breath of relief.

“Thank you,” she told him with her lips trembling and fresh tears swelling forward. “Good-bye, Sam.”

CHAPTER 10

Sam looked over at Kaylee from the corner of his eye. It was Saturday, the morning after she had walked back into his life, and they were sitting apart in a spacious private jet during the flight from Dulles airport to LaGuardia in New York. The plane was slowly making its descent for landing. Sam anticipated they would be on the ground by 8:30
AM
.

Kaylee was reclined far back in her chair with her body and face turned toward the window and away from him. He knew she wasn't sleeping, but she was doing a pretty good job of pretending to be. It had been that way since they had boarded the plane over an hour ago, and Sam was pretty grateful for it. They had barely spoken at all since he had woken her up that morning, naked in the bed they had shared.

Sam turned back to the information he'd researched during the quick flight. It was a few dozen articles and social media postings on the activities of Mikayla Stone-Clement over the last few years. Most of it, Sam already knew. When George Clement retired from his role as CEO at Clement Media, Kaylee Stone had quit her staff writer job in Baltimore, and Mikayla had resurfaced in the Virginia and D.C. social circles a few weeks later. There was gossip about her sudden breakup with the very eligible Evan DaCosta, with speculation about his womanizing ways, or her sexuality. She spent the next three years working for her mother's charitable organization, with lots of media coverage from as far away as Martha's Vineyard for their various successful fundraising campaigns. Then, last summer, she relocated to Manhattan, but was no longer in the social scene. The rest seemed to match her story.

Sam scrolled through dozens of her pictures from parties, dinners, and events with society's business and political elite. She always looked perfect—elegant, stylish but conservatively understated. Poised and polite but never quite approachable. And she only ever seemed to wear shades of black and grey, or the occasional dark blue, as though forever in mourning. She was never laughing, nor was there ever a hint of those dimples. When she smiled, it didn't seem to reach her eyes.

One of the more recent images captured Sam's attention. Taken at a Clement Literacy Foundation dinner last July, it was of Kaylee and her mother, but with a mature man between them showing some familiarity with both women. It wasn't her father or Evan. The caption didn't provide his name, nor did the original Web page for the article. They all smiled politely for the camera, but something in the man's expression made him uneasy.

Sam then switched to searches on Terrance Antonoli, but there was little valuable information about the property developer on the Web. He read through it all until they landed.

“I've let Terry know we'll meet him at his apartment at around nine o'clock,” Kaylee said as they waited for their luggage in the baggage claim area. Sam nodded.

A driver met them at the exit, and they were on their way into Lower Manhattan a short time later. Sam called Renee during the drive.

“Did you get my email from last night?” he asked when she answered.

“Bleeding hell, old man. You really need to learn how to take a proper vacation,” she replied, and Sam smirked.

“Stop taking the piss. I'm working on it,” he conceded.

“Not hard enough. I'm looking into all calls connected to Francesco's phone, and I'll let you know if anything of interest comes up,” Renee said. “I'll start working on any information about city projects in Paterson, New Jersey. We might find the information we need in public domain. But I'll bring in Raymond if we need to access more secure networks to find out who the competition is for the proposal Antonoli submitted.”

“Thanks, but don't spend too much time on it over the weekend. We'll regroup on Monday.”

“Okay, boss.”

“Thanks, Thomas,” he added.

“Who was that?” Kaylee asked, still looking out the rear passenger window. “Someone from Fortis?”

“It's none of your concern,” Sam said dispassionately, aware that they needed some clear boundaries.

“It is if you were discussing my assignment. We specifically agreed that it would be confidential.”

“I remember your conditions very clearly, Kaylee. But I'm not just your hired hand. I still have a business to run and other clients to support,” he said, barely looking up from his phone screen. Kaylee didn't reply.

Their car arrived at their destination a few minutes later, in the Battery Park neighborhood of Lower Manhattan, and they stopped in front of a new, tall building. The driver helped her out of the car, then delivered their bags to the curb.

“Welcome back, Ms. Stone,” said the older, portly doorman as he exited the building to greet them. His jet-black hair, full beard, and swarthy complexion suggested Middle Eastern descent.

“Hi, Ali. Nice to see you again,” Kaylee replied with a genuine smile.

“Do you need any help with your bags?” the man asked politely.

“We're good, thanks,” Sam said, draping the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder and grabbing the handle of Kaylee's rolling suitcase.

The doorman nodded and opened the door for them to enter. Inside, the lobby was spacious and modern with lots of honed marble, chrome, and glass. They rode the elevator to the penthouse on the twenty-fourth floor.

“Does Antonoli know about the attack last night?” Sam asked as they walked to the apartment door.

“Yes, I called him while you were talking to the police at the hotel.”

She pulled out a pass card and swiped it at the door to unlock it. They walked into the apartment to find a slender man sitting on the center of a large white sectional. He was watching three televisions mounted in a horizontal line on the wall, but immediately stood up and strode toward them with a bouncing gait.

Terrance Antonoli looked every inch the indulgent playboy. His dark brown hair was expensively styled, his creamy olive-tinged skin was darkly tanned, and bronze and designer logos adorned every piece of his clothing. His face split with a wide smile, revealing large, unnaturally white teeth.

“Kaylee, darling. It's good to have you back home safely,” he said in a lyrical French accent. Then he pulled her into a close embrace, so tight her back was arched.

Sam cleared his throat, his eyes narrowed. A small white terrier came charging across the room and jumped up and down in front of Kaylee. She stepped back from Antonoli to sweep the ball of fur up into her arms and cradle it like a child.

“Hi there, Niko! I missed you too,” she teased, scratching his belly to the dog's obvious delight.

Sam set their bags aside and walked further into the room.

“Ahhh, you must be Samuel Mackenzie,” Terrance said with his hand extended. “Kaylee has told me about you. Thank you so much for your support in this unfortunate matter.”

They shook hands while Sam could feel the heat of Kaylee's gaze.

“Kaylee and her family are well connected to my firm, so her safety and security are of the utmost importance,” Sam explained, choosing his words carefully. “She's given me some information about this threat, but I have some additional questions for you, Mr. Antonoli.”

“Please, call me Terry,” replied the younger man. “I'll tell you everything I know, but Kaylee is better positioned to fill in any gaps, I think. Come. I was about to eat breakfast, and I asked our housekeeper, Silvia, to prepare extra in case you were both hungry.”

Terry walked away toward the hidden area on the right side of the apartment. Sam looked over at Kaylee, who still had the dog in her arms. She looked back defiantly, then followed Terry. Finally, Sam did the same, finding them in the large white kitchen with a variety of pastries and fruits laid out on one of the Carrera marble counters.

“Would you like some coffee, Mr. Mackenzie?” asked Terry. There was a large French press on the round table off to the left, in front of wall-high windows and doors to a rooftop terrace.

“Sam's fine. And coffee would be lovely.”

Kaylee was now sitting at the table with a flaky croissant and an assortment of fruit on her plate. Terry handed her a cup of coffee, black. Then poured two more, placing one across from Kaylee, and sitting down in the chair next to hers with his own brew. Niko sat down next to her feet.

Awareness tingled down Sam's spine. He looked back at Kaylee, holding her gaze steadily, trying to read the truth in her eyes. She looked back, unblinking, but her eyes were cloudy.

“Have a seat, Sam,” Terry requested, gesturing to the chair across from Kaylee. “Ask the questions you need to.”

She looked away to stare out the terrace door. Sam sat down and added sugar and cream to his coffee from the containers in the center of the table.

“Your family has a very successful business in France and other parts of Europe,” Sam began after taking a sip of his drink. “Why expand to the United States?”

Terry nodded as though he'd anticipated the question.

“My reasons are both business and personal,” he replied. “On the business side, much of Europe is still recovering from the recent recession and financial crisis. So the profitability of our business interests has diminished considerably in recent years. Diversification into new markets is necessary for us to remain competitive, if not essential. On the personal side, I have three older brothers. It is not easy for me to carve out my own path while under their shadows. So, I'm seeking to do so boldly in another country.”

“You intend to move to the U.S.?”

“Perhaps, at some point, if our business here continues to grow,” Terry explained.

“And your wife, Selina? Is she supportive of this objective?” Sam continued, flicking a glance at Kaylee. She bit into a strawberry and slowly chewed it.

“Ahh, my wife,” sighed Terry, flashing a blinding smile. “Selina understands the possibilities of this venture and is, of course, very supportive. She is not opposed to perhaps living in America and raising our family here”

“That's right. She's pregnant. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. We are expecting our baby daughter later this summer,” Terry added, still smiling affably.

Kaylee popped a grape into her mouth.

“My understanding is that Antonoli Properties specializes in developing commercial properties, like shopping malls and retail plazas. And you recently built some vacation resorts in the Caribbean and Europe,” Sam continued. “Yet, here, you've chosen to start with developing civic properties through government contracts. Why is that?”

Terry glanced at Kaylee, then took a drink from his cup.

“It is purely a financial decision, made with the guidance of my American investors,” Terry explained, spreading his arms wide to suggest it as a simple answer. “The commercial development business is very competitive, requires a heavy cash outlay up front, and is high risk unless you have a certain percentage of committed tenants. That is very difficult to accomplish these days, particularly for a new developer. By starting with small, municipal construction projects, we have a guaranteed buyer and a contractual commitment from the start. These facts are very compelling, so I had to be agile in my approach and try a new path, as is necessary for any new venture.”

Sam looked relaxed, but watched the Frenchman closely. Everything he had said so far made good sense, but Sam knew he was hiding something, if not outright lying.

“Well, judging by the trouble you've encountered recently, and the danger Kaylee is now in, it would seem municipal construction is just as competitive as commercial development,” Sam noted. “Why didn't you withdraw your bid after the first threat?”

“Sam, Terry is a businessman,” Kaylee interrupted. “He can't simply cancel projects every time one of his competitors gets their feathers ruffled.”

“Sure he can, if someone might get hurt,” Sam replied easily, with his impassive gaze still fixed on Terry. “He's not exactly hurting for profits.”

“That's unfair,” gasped Kaylee, pushing back her chair.

“Sit, darling. Sit,” Terry insisted, waving his hand in her general direction. “I had two options for responding to these threats, Sam. Either retreat from the bid or hire professional protection to ensure that my staff and I remain safe. I chose the latter.”

“And now that Kaylee has been physically attacked while traveling alone?”

“She assures me that you are the very best there is in physical security and protection. So it seems I made the right decision and we have little to fear going forward.”

Sam wanted to punch the little wanker in the nose, but of course he didn't.

“Any other questions, Sam?” Kaylee asked, shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

“Aye, just one. Why do you think they've gone after Kaylee in order to coerce you? You have other employees, several of which are also women of a similar age. Why her?”

“I would think that was obvious,” Terry replied, flashing his big, phony teeth again while reaching out to take hold of Kaylee's hand. “They must be aware of my affection for her.”

“Your affection,” Sam repeated, looking back and forth between them.

“Affection, fondness, attachment,” Terry added, gesturing with a wave of his hand after each label. “These are all words meant to explain our rather delicate and discreet relationship of an intimate nature.”