A hearty laugh escaped her. "Everyone is surprised. And Im older than I look." Perusing him, she c.o.c.ked her head. "Youre exactly what I antic.i.p.ated. But, of course, Ive seen the picture with your column and then of you on TV, when you were with your sister."
Linton led the way across the room. The faint scent of coffee filled the air, and the several people in the outer area spoke on the phone or with each other or worked quietly at their desks. He noticed Christian music played softly in the background.
Overlooking Houston Street, Lintons office was big, with two tables, a scarred oak desk and shelves lining the walls, stuffed with books and newspapers and magazines. The entire place seemed totally disorganized, but there was probably a method in its madness.
When she took a seat at a table with some clean surface s.p.a.ce, he followed suit. She looked him square in the eye. "So, I read your column."
"I guessed you would."
Picking up gla.s.ses with red frames, which lay on her desk, she put them on, then stared down at a paper, presumably CitySights. From his vantage point, Dylan noted portions of it were highlighted. After glancing through the column, she sat back in her chair. "I imagine you want to follow the money trail."
"Among other things. I have to say, my gut tells me the cash flow will check out, given your Charity Navigator rating." An okay from that national organization, which policed charities, was the crown jewel for any group.
Her light brown brows raised. "Didnt you see their rating before you wrote the column?" Her voice held disdain.
He had to laugh. "I a.s.sure you I did due diligence before I came to any conclusions."
Now her face lost all its innocence, or friendliness, or naivete. "Then what do you want from us, Mr. ONeil?"
Raising an eyebrow, he nodded to the paper in front of her. "Isnt that highlighted in yellow?"
"No, I must have seen red before I got to it."
"My concern is for the people you get money from. Who are they? Can they afford the donation? How much do they donate? Where do they get it from? And how dependent are they on what they give to you?"
"Im not privy to that information."
"Seriously?"
"My job is to produce a day-long show."
"No Christian ethics driving you?" Jamies eyes narrowed and she sat up a bit straighter. "My religion or beliefs do not matter here."
He had her going now. "Even if youre milking people in the name of G.o.d?"
"Some might consider it milking people. Others say its supporting Jesuss ministry. Spreading His word to others."
"If you can do so without bankrupting donors, thats okay."
Her brows lifted. "I a.s.sume forty dollars a month isnt going to make someone go broke."
"First, for people below the poverty level who cling to religion as their only hope in the world, their donations might be a lot more than they can afford. In His name. Second, Ill bet there are bigger contributions."
She tapped her pen on the table. "How can we clear this up?"
"Get me the list of donors. Let me talk to them."
"I doubt thats possible."
"Who would know if it is?"
"The board running the organization."
"Then ask them. Better yet, let me ask them."
She nodded. Hed be d.a.m.ned if she didnt believe what she was saying. "Ill see what I can do."
Pulling out a card, he handed it to her. "Heres my contact information in case you didnt save my number. Call me. Ill investigate as I always do, and well let, as the cliche says, the chips fall where they may."
Pique tinged her cheeks red. "Im sure well be vindicated, Mr. ONeil. Ill be back in touch."
He was n.o.bodys favorite person as he left the offices, but hed gotten his job done. Now, if only he could do the same with Rachel Scott.
Rachel walked into Dylans office building, much as she had last winter. Shed come when he printed the actual transcript of her interview with Sophie Tyler. That whole fiasco still made her furious. Shed done a fair and balanced piece with a woman she liked. Crane had edited it well, then the supervisor of her show b.a.s.t.a.r.dized it. Shed been vocal in her objections until their boss, John Walsh, had, once again, held the foreign reporter position coming up this summer over her head.
Dylan was waiting for her, slouched in a chair in the entryway. He looked fantastic in jeans, a blue cashmere sweater and a sports coat. Her heart did a little lurch until she quelled it.
When he caught sight of her, he stood. "h.e.l.lo, Ms. Scott."
Rachel, baby, that feels so good.
"Drop the formality, Dylan. I already know you regret what happened. I just wish I did." Once again, her last words came out before she could censor them.
"Bulls.h.i.t." He walked a few paces toward her. "Come on. Lets take this to my office."
She followed him down a corridor and then another. "This wasnt where you were last winter."
He stepped aside when they reached an open doorway. The name plate read Dylan ONeil. a.s.sociate Editor and Contributor.
"You got a promotion?"
"I guess. Ive taken some responsibility for the direction of the pieces we run. I like the challenge."
The office was s.p.a.cious, with a window overlooking a little park. The walls were a dark tan, the furniture brown leather and the wood accents light oak. "Nice view. Great decor."
When he didnt respond, she turned to find him staring at her. "That it is, darlin."
Ah, darlin, you take my breath away.
Dropping down behind his desk, he motioned to the chair in front of it. No equal seating at the conference table in the corner-a power play, for sure. She removed her long leather coat and sat, too.
Steepling his hands, he stared at her. "You agree to my terms?"
"I thought I didnt have any choice."
His gaze stony, he angled his head. "Theres the door. Im sure you can find some other sucker to charm the pants off, literally, and get all the choices you want."
"All right, thats my first requirement. If youre going to snipe at me for however long this investigation takes, Im not doing it."
"Why? Were used to sniping."
"Not after..." she knew her face colored, but his meanness hurt.
"We f.u.c.ked? Not after we f.u.c.ked?"
All she could do was nod. It had been much more to her. h.e.l.l, shed been in his company for ten minutes and already felt vulnerable to him. "I told you before. I made love. But we can use had s.e.x if you prefer."
"I prefer never to discuss it again."
"Fine by me."
He glanced up at the ceiling, as if he trying to decide something. "Youre right about the sniping," he finally said. "Meanness isnt an ONeil gene, thanks to my mother. Ill try to be nice. You do the same with me."
She nodded.
"What about the three things I proposed?" he asked civilly.
From a Prada bag her mother had bought her for her last birthday, she pulled out a folder and handed it to him. "These are a list of all the segments or special shows Ive done since I came to NSMBC. Ive starred the ones Im most proud of."
He skimmed the list. The corners of his mouth turned up. "You did something on high heels? Seriously?"
She raised her chin. "Thats one of my favorites. I interviewed women about how much they loved their shoes, then I talked to podiatrists on the physical aspects of footwear."
"Howd that go over?"
"Well. I made a pledge." Scooting back, she lifted her foot, showing off brown, hand-tooled boots with only an inch-high heel. "I vowed to never wear anything higher than a one-and-a-half-inch heel. I asked others to take the pledge."
"How many did?"
"Eight thousand women went to the website and its still going strong. The whole thing is kind of fun."
A glimmer of approval shone in his eyes. "Then, congratulations."
"As for following me around at work, presumably to see that Im not a slacker, I can handle that." She hoped. Proximity to Dylan was going to be hard since she remembered so much about their time together.
I love the way your skin smells, shed said, burying her face in his chest. Even as shed followed him down the corridor, she got a hint of something spicy and sharp.
"And the last requirement? I thought youd balk at that one."
"I did. But my supervisor insisted. So I have a caveat of my own in that area. And, as you told him, its a deal breaker."
His navy eyes narrowed. "What?"
"That for everything I tell you about my life, you tell me something comparable about yours."
"Hey, with Bailey being the Second Lady, my lifes an open book."
"You know those arent the things I mean."
"Give me an example."
"Youre bound to ask me about hobbies past and present."
"I know you were a beauty queen."
"Yes, well, Im also a dancer. I love ballet and still practice, take cla.s.ses."
"Ah, interesting." "So, a parallel to that would be..."
"I was the star forward on our soccer team in high school. But car racing is my favorite sport now."
"Great, thats what I mean."
"Then, heres what I mean. Tell me what was the worst thing that ever happened to you. Something that seriously affected you. Mines that my mother and father split, and dad had an affair. Resulting in a half sister." His face tightened and she knew it was from remembered pain. "Jesus, is that what youre after? Information that you can use on Bailey?"
Reaching inside her purse again, she drew out another folder. "No, heres our agreement."
He took the doc.u.ment.
"This is a contract stating personal information given to each other in the next few months cannot be made public. We both have to sign it. Theres a copy for you."
"You knew I wouldnt trust you."
"Dylan, one thing I am sure of about you is that you dont trust me."
"What else are you sure about?"
She stood then and gathered her things. Zeroing in on his face, she said, "That the night of the wedding, we made love. We didnt just have s.e.x, we didnt f.u.c.k, we made love."
With that exit line, she walked out of his office.
Chapter 5.
Standing by a window at JKF Airport, looking out over several jets, Dylan scowled and checked his watch again. He was happy that his son was coming home from Paris, but he couldnt get his earlier conversation with Rachel out of his mind.
What else are you sure about?
That the night of the wedding, we made love.