Читать книгу The Reluctant Heiress - Christine Flynn, Christine Flynn, Mary J. Forbes - Страница 6

Chapter One

Ben Garrett did his best work under pressure. He thrived on challenges, deadlines and delivering the impossible. Obstacles were nothing more than hurdles to be jumped, shifted or removed as he saw fit. But the part of the game he loved best was developing strategies to alter or influence the public’s perception, and he always played the game to win.

His clients paid him handsomely to see that he did.

The hard muscles of his athletic frame shifted beneath his tailored three-piece suit as he moved from the unanswered front door to the side gate of the modest beige duplex in the working-class suburb Hayden, Pennsylvania. The toylike, earth-green Volkswagen he recognized as Jillian Hadley’s sat parked under the carport that belonged to her unit. It was a good bet that she was around there somewhere.

Ben’s specialty was media relations for The Garrett Group’s high-profile clients; Washington, D.C.’ s movers and shakers, and the rich and famous—or infamous—who wanted their images enhanced, subdued or altered completely. In the fifteen years since he’d earned his MBA from Yale, he’d also earned a reputation in those rarefied circles as the expert at damage control. That ability was why his father, the senior partner in their prestigious public relations firm, and William Kendrick, his father’s close friend and a longtime client, had both insisted that he handle Miss Hadley himself.

The good news was that he would get to her before the press descended on her like vultures on carrion. The bad news was that the information he’d been given about William’s newly disclosed daughter left him little to work with. All he knew about Jillian Hadley was that she taught grade school, that her sole meeting with William had not gone well and that no one had been able to reach her to warn her about yesterday’s press conference. What concerned him most, though, what concerned them all for that matter, was that she was a potential powder keg in the scandal that had broken twenty-four hours ago.

There hadn’t been a newspaper, television station or radio talk show in the country that hadn’t jumped on the stories about William’s youngest daughter, Tess, being blackmailed by her ex-husband, and about William’s newly revealed affair and offspring. The gossip had gone international at the speed of light. The London Daily Star had announced the Crisis in Camelot in bold type on its front page. Headlines in Paris, Rome and on the Internet had leaned toward the theme of Tess paying for the sins of her father and speculation about whether his unnamed daughter had been paid for her silence.

Since no one had any idea what Jillian might say, it was Ben’s job to keep the powder keg she represented from blowing. Part of his job, anyway. William had also been adamant that she be protected from the media for her own sake as much as to protect him and his family from any potentially damaging comments she might make.

He reached a small side gate in the white picket fence surrounding the backyard. Letting himself through, he strode past the neat, profusely blooming flowerbed at the side of the house. He had allotted himself twenty-four hours to accomplish his goal with Miss Hadley. As he absently checked the date and time on his Rolex, he hoped fervently that this aspect of the “affair situation,” as it was being referred to in the office, would go as smoothly as the press conference he’d arranged and scripted yesterday. He was in the middle of a little family crisis of his own.

He rounded the corner of the tidy little yard that looked much like the small yards on either side of it. Fruit trees and flower beds took up most of the space both sides of the duplex apparently shared. The bulk of his attention, though, settled on the slender brunette standing barefoot in the grass by a redwood picnic table.

He recognized her delicate cameo-like profile from the photos of her he’d seen yesterday. And her hair. The long, wild curls tumbled past her shoulders in a cloud of unrestrained dark silk.

In the space of seconds his glance shifted over her gentle curves. The white tank top and the khaki knee-length skirt she wore were the antithesis of the corporate, chic and designer attire worn by most the women in his sphere, the sophisticated Kendrick women included. If she was wearing makeup, he couldn’t tell. As she sensed his presence and glanced toward him, she simply looked tanned, healthy and far younger than the thirty-three years he knew her to be.

Still assessing her, he felt himself frown. He hadn’t expected her to appear so…natural. He didn’t expect how cheated he felt, either, when the smile of greeting that curved her lush mouth and lit her beautiful dark eyes died at the sight of him.

From that soft smile, she’d clearly expected him to be someone she knew. At the very least, she hadn’t expected to be faced with a total stranger.

Not wanting to alarm her by getting close enough to offer his hand, he stopped near the opposite end of the table and motioned toward the house.

“I rang your doorbell but no one answered,” he told her, explaining his presence in her backyard. “I’m Ben Garrett, Miss Hadley. William Kendrick’s public relations manager.”

Jillian’s heart gave an unfamiliar little lurch as the lean hunk of dark-haired, blue-eyed perfection in the expensively tailored suit gave her an easygoing smile. The rich, deep tones of his voice held equal notes of reserve and friendliness. So did the strong, decidedly handsome lines of his face. The combination might have struck her as rather remarkable to achieve had she considered it. As it was, she was too busy dealing with dismay at his presence to worry about his effect on her pulse.

“William said someone was coming when he called this morning.” William Kendrick had actually called her twice before that. So had his secretary. Theirs had been four of the messages waiting for her last night on her answering machine. “I’m sorry he didn’t reach you in time.”

One dark eyebrow slowly arched. “In time?”

“To tell you that coming here was unnecessary.”

She looked back to the rocks and twigs she’d gathered for her classroom’s new terrarium and began placing them in a plastic bag. The kids wouldn’t return to school for a few days. This week was for teacher preparation. Yet, rather than class sizes and curriculums, it seemed every conversation she’d had or overheard had included gossip about William Kendrick’s mystery daughter and the affair tainting what had been long regarded as his and Katherine Kendrick’s perfect marriage. Sympathy had leaned heavily toward the wronged party, the beautiful Katherine. After all, her husband had cheated on her. Worse, he’d had a child by that other woman.

That woman was her mother.

Jillian had stayed as far from those conversations as she could and tried to tune out what she couldn’t help overhear. When Carrie Teague, her teaching partner for the past two years, had noticed her lack of participation in the discussions and asked point-blank what she thought about the scandals, Jillian had offered the excuse of being too jet-lagged to care about anything but school and sleep. That comment had, mercifully, led to questions about her vacation and the uncomfortable subject had been dropped. Temporarily, anyway.

From the messages Jillian had listened to last night, she now knew that William had made an honest effort to reach her before his broadcast, to explain what he felt he had to do. Deep down, she supposed she even understood that he’d done the only thing he could do to protect and to clear the name of his real daughter, as she thought of Tess. She had also been infinitely relieved to learn when William had called that morning that he hadn’t divulged her name or anything about her to the press. None of that changed her opinion of him, though. Her other reasons for feeling so resentful toward him remained firmly in place.

In an ideal world, she would never even have heard the Kendrick name. And Ben Garrett wouldn’t be standing in her backyard messing with her heart rate.

He hadn’t offered anything remotely resembling a goodbye. He’d done nothing but remain with his size-elevens planted firmly on the lawn studying her as a scientist might some intriguing, or unexpected, specimen he needed to identify and catalogue.

“Actually, I’m afraid my presence is necessary. Or will be.”

His too-thorough scrutiny unnerved her. Preferring that he didn’t notice how her hands were shaking, she left the sack on the table and crossed her arms. “You said you’re in public relations?”

“I am.”

“Then, honestly,” she insisted, “we really don’t have anything to discuss. I don’t deal with the public. Not in the sense you do. William said no one knows who I am,” she said, not knowing what else to call the man she refused to refer to as “my father.” “I’m perfectly happy to remain anonymous. The Kendricks have their lives. I have mine. I’d prefer it remain that way.”

Her gaze remained direct and uncompromising. Like her words, that expression spoke more of conviction than challenge. It was her body language that told him how valiantly she was trying to hide how upset she was with William and what he’d done.

It also seemed as obvious as the uneasy way her glance finally flicked from his that she lacked either the sophistication or the practice to effectively pull off that feat. Anxiety had her hugging her arms tightly enough to leave white marks on her skin.

It relieved him to know she wanted to remain unknown. She wouldn’t get her wish, but that desire meant she wasn’t interested in running out to sell her story, whatever it was, to the highest bidder. That desire, however, also gave him a new concern. All she would have to do is repeat in public what she’d just told him and the press would be all over her preference to have nothing to do with the Kendricks. As persistent as the media tended to be, they’d hound her into the ground trying to find out why.

Rubbing the side of his nose, he considered how best to help her face how complicated her life was about to get. “Things aren’t quite that simple, Miss Hadley. William didn’t tell the press who you are,” he confirmed, deciding to simply lay it all out. “But you won’t be able to avoid them. I figure you have somewhere between a couple of hours and a couple of days before reporters show up here.”

Her expression held infinite patience as she cocked her head. “If he didn’t tell anyone who I am, then how will they find me?”

“One of William’s attorneys learned this morning that a tabloid paid an undisclosed source a small fortune for copies of the photographs. The ones William refused to describe or show during his press conference,” he explained. “One of those pictures contains a shot of the two of you in what looks like an embrace…”

Confusion entered her tone. “There was no ‘embrace.’ He might have tried to put his arm around—”

“Another shows you in what looks like an argument,” he continued without pause. “Both show the two of you beside a Volkswagen with Pennsylvania plates. William said the car was yours.

“The tabloid probably already knows who you are,” he warned. “And any news editor who gets his hands on those photos will use his contacts to run those plates just like William’s attorney did.”

Confusion gave way to uneasy comprehension. “Is that how you found me?”

He shook his head, stepped closer. “We already knew you lived in Hayden. You’d told William,” he reminded her. “Locating you was just a matter of plugging your name and town into the Internet.”

“I’m on the Internet?”

“Just about everyone is,” he assured her. “Anyway,” he continued, more interested in making his point than in her apparent ignorance of what could be obtained for five bucks from the right search site, “the attorney ran your plates just to see what anyone else running them would come up with.

“What they’ll get is your name and address and the name of the lien holder on your little Beetle out there. Once they know who and where you are and you’re recognized as the woman in those photos, your anonymity will be history.”

Ben’s first impression of the woman he’d been sent to guide and protect was that she was the sort of person who went through life flying under the radar. Considering her and her modest surroundings, she appeared to be a quietly attractive woman of average means, one whose life was as relatively uncomplicated as she appeared to be herself. She didn’t want the world to know her. She didn’t want notoriety or fame. From what she’d rather emphatically made clear to him, all she wanted was whatever it was she had now.

It wasn’t his fault her life was about to be upended. Yet, something about the way she struggled to mask her apprehension as she searched his face brought an unexpected twinge of sympathy. And guilt. She was looking to him for help. Just not the kind he was prepared to offer.

“The pictures were sold?” Looking as if she absolutely did not want to believe what she’d heard, she lifted her hand, pushed her fingers through the wild tangle of her incredible hair. “Who else had access to them?”

Her motions drew the soft cotton of her tank top taut below the fullness of her breasts. Ben felt his breath stall. He was already more aware than he wanted to be of the litheness of her feminine body, the delicacy of her shoulder blades, the long length of her shapely legs. He preferred women who looked refined, sophisticated, sleek. Standing barefoot in the grass with the soft, golden skin of her slender limbs exposed and her thick curls uncontrolled, she looked more like a young earth mother. He could easily see her wandering down a beach or through the woods with a dozen little kids in tow.

Still, there was no denying the quick tightening low in his gut as he met the anxiety in her eyes once more. As cynical as he’d become, the sympathy he felt for her was disconcerting enough. The last thing he wanted was the reminder of just how long he’d gone without a woman.

“Tess Kendrick’s ex-husband. Bradley Ashworth,” he said, burying his responses to her the way he did anything else he didn’t want to think about. “We suspect he sold them in retaliation for William exposing him as the louse he is.”

A little panic on her part wouldn’t have surprised him. At the very least, he expected a little more cooperation.

“They might know who I am,” she conceded, “but I don’t have to talk to them.”

“That’s not going to stop them from invading your life. That’s why I’m here,” he emphasized, needing her to grasp the gravity of the situation. “My job is to help you with the media that’s going to descend the minute they discover your identity.” And to put the proper spin on what you say, he admitted to himself. If she knew that, though, she’d only want to get rid of him that much faster. “They will arrive,” he assured her. “If not today, then tomorrow for certain. As difficult as it may be to accept, you can’t avoid any of this.”

The woman clearly had no idea how vulnerable she was. Hoping he didn’t sound impatient with her, he deliberately gentled his tone.

“William wants you to know he’s not about to leave you to the wolves. And that’s exactly what you’ll think has happened once your phone starts ringing with requests for statements and interviews.” He slowly shook his head. “This really isn’t something you want to try to handle alone.”

For a moment Jillian said nothing. She found it disconcerting enough to be face-to-face with one of her famous father’s associates. But Ben Garrett was unsettling in his own right. The man was confident to a fault, incredibly persuasive in his arguments and utterly convinced of his certainty of what was about to happen. Yet, even more disturbing than his absolute insistence was the physical impact of his presence.

He possessed the same compelling aura of authority and influence she’d sensed in William when she’d met him, only in a more elemental and infinitely more disquieting way. He stood nearly ten feet from her, yet she could almost feel the energy that radiated from him like a force field. That raw power sensitized her nerves, tugged hard at something low in her belly.

She didn’t doubt for an instant that he was a man accustomed to achieving exactly what he set out to accomplish. He was the alpha other men envied and women turned stupid for—just as her mother had done with William. But turning stupid over a total stranger wasn’t on her list of back-to-school resolutions. Nor was she about to have a stranger tell her what she should do. Especially one she strongly suspected wanted only to cover William’s tracks.

Feeling a definite need for the situation in general and this unnerving man in particular to go away, she adopted the end-of-discussion tone she used when a student was being particularly obtuse.

“Mr. Garrett,” she began, “please tell your client I appreciate his concern, but I can manage on my own. If I can handle thirty second-graders on a sugar high after a class birthday party, I can probably deal with a few reporters.”

“It’ll be more than a few.”

“Then, I’ll handle however many there are,” she insisted, only to immediately soften her tone. “I’m sorry you had to come all this way for nothing. I’m sure you’re very qualified to do whatever it is you do, but I don’t want anything from William. Not even his help.

“No offense to you,” she concluded, because she didn’t believe in shooting the messenger—even if the messenger was part of the reason her stomach was jumping.

She’d seen something that looked suspiciously like sympathy in his disturbing blue eyes moments ago. She caught a glimpse of it again before he glanced away. She just couldn’t tell if it was real or calculated.

She never should have gone to see William, she thought, reaching to stuff the last of the stones and twigs into the bag. Loss and anger had pushed her. That alone should have told her seeking him out would be a mistake.

The chirping of birds joined the rustle of plastic as Ben prepared to argue his position. The woman really had no concept of what she was about to face. He’d seen seasoned politicians and corporate heads cave under the media’s badgering, and he had no clear idea of what she would say or do when the press found her. But pressing his point didn’t seem like such a good idea just then. Jillian Hadley might be as naive as a newborn about what was to come, but there was a sense of independence about her—or maybe it was simply stubbornness—that told him pushing too hard would only push her farther away. He needed her cooperation. He wouldn’t get it by badgering her.

With his first efforts frustrated, Ben prepared to retreat. He wasn’t admitting defeat by any means. He would simply let time work in his favor.

Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a pen and one of his business cards. Using the table beside him, he wrote his cell phone number on the back of the card. Two steps later he held it out to her.

The breeze shifted. As it did, it caught her scent, something elusive, faintly exotic and far more sensual than he would have expected a woman who worked with small children to wear.

A muscle in his jaw jerked.

“Call me when you change your mind.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Jillian assured him, but took the card anyway. Anything to get him on his way. “But thank you.”

With a nod of his dark head, he murmured, “You’re welcome,” and turned to stride back the way he’d come.

Not until he’d disappeared around the side of the house did Jillian realize she’d been holding her breath. Realizing it now, it escaped in a rush as she stuffed his card in her skirt pocket and grabbed her sack.

Considering the amount of doom he’d predicted, she hadn’t expected him to give up and go so easily. Just glad that he had, she hurried toward her back door with her chest feeling far too tight and a sense of foreboding fast on her heels. If the press did find her, the next few days could be a little unsettling. But she had weathered upsetting days before.

For months after her mom had been diagnosed and she’d lost both her mom and Eric, she’d felt as if she’d been in a total, stomach-dropping free fall. Nothing about her world had felt the same. Not even the parts that had kept her from feeling as if she had nothing to latch on to, nothing to keep her life from spinning completely out of control. Now that she’d finally gotten her feet back under her, and the dark cloud that had hung over her head had lifted, she was not about to let her life get messed up again. Especially not by William Kendrick.

She could handle this, she assured herself over the squeak of her back screen door as she pulled it open. And she could handle it on her own. She did not need Ben Garrett.

Or so she thought before she found herself rather desperately needing to seek his advice less than twelve hours later.