The Chatsfield: Series 2. Кейт Хьюит
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Seeing as she had pronounced her love for him and he had rejected it. Well, he hadn’t rejected it entirely, he hadn’t sent her away, rather he had offered to take care of her. And in some ways she found that even worse.
Things that had made sense last night now seemed mostly embarrassing in the cold light of day. But then, pride wasn’t the most important thing. The fact that she had tried was. Because she had to. Because it had been worth all of the potential humiliation to finally demand that somebody want her for who she was.
She heard her phone vibrating on the table and she crossed the room, catching her boss’s name on the screen as she bent down to pick it up. “Hello?”
“Sophie, we haven’t spoken in a while.”
Probably because she meant less than nothing to him. She was as low on the totem pole as it got, and there was no reason for him to call and check in with her when he had no interest. “I know.”
“I hope that things have been going well there. I hope that you have some good buzz about the wedding.”
“Oh, yes, great stuff about the wedding.” Just thinking about the wedding made her want to shove something sharp beneath her fingernails. “I’ve had a look at the menu, I’ve spoken to the coordinator and I even know which designer the bride is wearing. And I may be able to talk my way into getting a sneak peek of the gown. The future sheikha hasn’t arrived yet, but when she does...”
“There’s been a lot of curiosity swirling around the royal family because of this whole shindig.”
“Oh, has there?” It stood to reason, it was probably why Zayn’s protective instincts were in such overdrive. Though she had a feeling he was just that way all the time.
“Oh, yeah, big-time. In fact, because of that building interest, I came into the possession of something rather interesting.”
The hair on the back of her neck stood up. “What do you have?”
“More than a decade ago one of the princesses died in a terrible accident. It was big news at the time, but you would probably barely remember it. Anyway, the guy she was with was part of a pretty rich family. And apparently they have a recording of the last conversation the sheikh had with his sister. I mean, the alleged last conversation the sheikh had with his sister. We don’t really want to invite lawsuits.”
She thought of Zayn’s pain when he had spoken of Jasmine, when he had spoken of his faults in it. What if they released this tape? What if they resurrected all of that pain, all of that agony he had already gone through, and all of that soul crushing guilt he carried with him every day?
“Yes,” she said, her voice wooden, “I am familiar with that. With the tragedy, not with the invitation of lawsuits.” Her words sounded distant, as though they were being spoken by a stranger.
“It’s pretty juicy stuff. Here, I’ll play a little bit for you.”
She started to protest, but then she heard Zayn’s voice coming through the receiver. He was shouting, a tone she had never heard him use before. Swearing, words she had never heard him use before. Telling her to go, telling her to get out of his life. Forever.
The audio recording stopped, and so did her heart. Colin, on the other hand, kept talking.
“Where did you get that?” she asked.
“Damien Coltrane’s father. Damien was the driver in the accident that killed the princess. It turns out that when his son’s body was removed from the wreckage, he had a tape recorder on him. And on that was this little encounter with Al-Ahmar. Coltrane is pretty angry at the sheikh, which shouldn’t be too tough to imagine. And he doesn’t figure Mr. Al-Ahmar deserves his nuptials to go off without a hitch. Not after Damien’s death. Which, of course, Mr. Coltrane feels our sheikh was responsible for. And as you can hear on the tape, it seems like he certainly sent the two of them out in a hurry. Anyway, I think the public is going to eat this up. It’ll go nicely with your wedding piece. I’d like for you to incorporate it.”
“I don’t... No.”
“What do you mean no?”
“Exactly what I said. No, I will not incorporate that into my story. It’s distasteful. She died. He grieved. He is still grieving. They all are. That is his last conversation with her, and you just want to play it to create a little bit of public titillation. I don’t want any part of that.”
“You don’t have a choice, Sophie. You have to have a part in it or you won’t have a job. Anyway, I need a story. Because it turns out one of our competitors is about to break something huge.”
“What?” Her voice was thin, crackling.
“Sheikha Leila Al-Ahmar is pregnant with a royal bastard. No one even knows who the father is. Now if I knew that, I could skip the story about the sheikh. But sadly, all I have is an old audiotape.”
Suddenly it all came together, all of the pieces. Why he was so protective of Leila, and why he had been threatening James Chatsfield with an early death in that alley weeks ago. It wasn’t only that James had slept with Leila, he had gotten her pregnant. The princess was pregnant with a Chatsfield baby. And that was the scandal. The scandal that Zayn could not give her, the scandal that she needed. For Isabelle... But right now, for Zayn, most of all.
“I know who the father is.”
“You do? How?”
“I...I’ve gotten close with the sheikh. And I know. But it will cost you that audiotape. You don’t release it. That’s my price. You sell the tape to me in exchange for the name of Leila Al-Ahmar’s child’s father.”
“That’s a steep price.” He was angry, but he was treading carefully.
“It might be. But trust me, the public will care a whole lot more about this than they will about resurrecting an old accident. This will be nothing but fascinating, you revealing a final argument between the sheikh and his sister is potentially upsetting. You could face backlash. This is relevant, and the news is all about relevance. Unless you’re solving some great mystery of the past, an argument that happened sixteen years ago isn’t exactly news.”
“Fine, you have it. The tape is yours. I’ll put it in the mail.”
“Promise me. Promise me you won’t release the tape, anyway. I’m not that naive.”
“You’re naive enough to think that my promise would mean much.”
“Oh, I’m not. But I’m also not above blackmailing you.” She swallowed hard. “I know you’re cheating on your wife.” She’d heard him order flowers for women with several different names, and she had a feeling most of them were not sources. Sources tended to prefer money over blossoms, as money was a little bit less temporary. “I have no problem letting your wife know about it, and I’m pretty sure she would take you for everything. Seeing as she came into the marriage with a whole lot more money than you, I’m betting that prenup is pretty airtight.” She was playing hardball, and bluffing in addition. She hated the hard edge in her voice, hated what she was having to do. But when you made deals with the devil you had to be aware of that fact. If she was going to give up this information, she had to be certain that it would protect Zayn from harm.
Because the paternity of Leila’s child would be revealed. There would be no hiding it forever. Yes, she was bringing it out in the open early, but the moment the story broke James would know that he was the father. He wouldn’t need a newspaper to tell him that. The big secret would be out as soon as the sun rose in New York, but she had the last piece, and with that last piece she would protect Zayn.
Because he was already broken. Because he did not need to relive those final ugly words.
“You drive a hard bargain, Sophie. I think I underestimated you. I didn’t think you had the balls to make it in this business. Apparently I was wrong.”
“I don’t really take that as a compliment. But then, I don’t really