No Stranger to Scandal. Rachel Bailey
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mean she’d taken a swipe at him. He offered a self-deprecating smile as compensation for his overreaction. “The nanny packed it all. I wouldn’t have thought of a washcloth, so you weren’t far off the mark.”
She broke off a piece of her granola bar and popped it in her mouth. They ate in silence for a couple of minutes, watching Josh with his banana.
Lucy leaned back, propping one hand on the grass behind her for support. “Is that where Josh is during your interviews?”
“I hired the nanny for while we’re in D.C. She comes nine to five.” He hadn’t been sure how the arrangement would work out, but it was fine. The biggest adjustment had been not having his sister close by—he was flying solo as a parent for the first time, and he was determined to make it work.
“What does Josh normally do during the day?” she asked as she fed a piece of granola to Rosebud.
“When we’re in New York, a couple of days a week he goes to my sister—she has a three-year-old boy, and the cousins enjoy their time together. The other three days a week he goes to a day-care center at my office. There are five kids of staff members there, and I can see him at lunchtime.”
She smiled over at Josh. “Sounds ideal.”
No, ideal would have been Josh having two parents to spend time with him, love him and make him the center of their world. But even before Brooke’s death, Josh hadn’t had that. The weight of needing to make things perfect for his son crashed down on him, as it did regularly. His gut contracted and clenched. He was all Josh had and he’d do his damned best to make his childhood as close to ideal as he could.
He looked up and saw Lucy was still watching him. This had become far too personal. What was it about Lucy Royall that made him forget everything that was important? What he needed to do was schedule another interview, and this time he’d write a complete list of questions—something he hadn’t done in years—to make sure he stayed on topic.
He grabbed the remnants of his lunch and stuffed them back into the brown paper bag. “Josh is getting sleepy. I need to get him back for his nap.”
“This was nice,” she said, picking up the washcloth and wiping the banana from Josh’s fingers. “Maybe Rosie and I could join you again sometime.”
Join him again sometime? He coughed out an incredulous laugh. Out in the forest, this was a woman who’d poke a hungry bear until it ate her. He stood and picked Josh up. Thankfully, the little boy curled into his neck, as if supporting Hayden’s prediction that he was ready for a nap.
“Look, Lucy,” he said, more gruffly than he intended. “I’m not sure what you think is going on here, but this investigation is serious. I’m not here to make friends.” Her eyes widened and he immediately regretted his tone. He blew out a breath, and said more softly, “Even if I wanted to, I can’t.”
Lucy stood, as well. “You’d like to be my friend, Hayden?” She arched an eyebrow, her eyes glimmering with something he couldn’t read.
“Under different circumstances,” he emphasized, “it’s possible that we would have been friends.”
Her chin lifted. “I know how important this is. I take Graham’s future very seriously. But just so we’re clear—” she fixed him with sultry hazel eyes, and her voice slid deeper into the accent of a Southern belle who took no prisoners “—under different circumstances, I wouldn’t want to be your friend, Hayden. I’d make one heck of a pass at you.”
She turned and walked off, blond hair glinting in the sunshine, Rosie at her heels, leaving Hayden poleaxed.
Three
At four o’clock the next day, Lucy knocked on the door to Hayden’s suite, then rolled her shoulders one at a time to try and ease the bunching tension in them.
Hayden had called her cell an hour ago and asked if she could come by to answer a few more questions, and she’d jumped at the chance to see him again in his suite, maybe find a few more clues for her story. The only other time she’d been to his hotel was before Graham had handed her the assignment of the exposé, so this time she’d pay more attention to the little things. The clues.
But now that she was here, her knees quivered—in fact her whole body was unsteady. She wiped damp palms down her calf-length skirt. This was the first time she’d seen him after saying that if things were different, she’d make a pass at him. And she had no idea how things had changed between them, or if she’d ruined the fragile rapport she’d been building with the man who was her target.
After she’d turned a corner yesterday at the park and was safely out of his line of sight, she’d called herself every type of crazy. Rosie had looked up, worried, and Lucy had explained to the dog that she’d probably just uttered the most reckless, foolish words of her life.
Even if they were true.
But she had to be careful. It wasn’t just that they were in the midst of a congressional investigation. Hayden Black was the last man on the planet she could afford to be involved with. People already judged her for being the daughter of Jonathon Royall and the stepdaughter of Graham Boyle—two wealthy, high-profile, well-connected men. The common opinion was that she’d been handed everything she wanted on a silver platter. That she hadn’t had to work for her own achievements. If she were to be seen with another wealthy, high-profile, well-connected man like Hayden Black, especially given that he was a few years older than she, people would write her off as a woman who was dependent on strong men. Her achievements would again be discounted as not coming from hard work. At just thirteen she’d realized what people assumed about her and it had made her determined to prove to the world that she could achieve anything she wanted on her own.
No, Hayden Black was not for her. She needed an average guy, maybe one just starting out in his career, like her.
With a heavy whoosh, the door swung open and there stood the far-from-average man himself, as broodingly gorgeous as she remembered. “Thank you for coming,” he said, his voice like gravel, as if he hadn’t used it all day.
And there was something new in his expression—his dark coffee eyes were wary as they assessed her. Seemed she’d thrown the great criminal investigator a curveball yesterday. Her taut shoulders relaxed a little. Perhaps, despite it being a crazy thing to say, it had worked in her favor.
“You’re welcome….” She paused as she stepped into the room. “Do I call you Hayden or Mr. Black, since this is an official interview?”
“Hayden is fine.” He closed the door behind her and led her to the desk and chairs where they’d spoken two days ago.
She glanced around, taking note of details that might be useful later. Besides the papers on the wooden desk and the coffee cup on the kitchenette counter, the room was neat, nothing out of place, as if he’d just moved in. Hotel housekeeping would have had something to do with that, but there was more to it—as if he was keeping a firm line between Hayden the father and widower and Hayden the tough, take-no-prisoners investigator. She also spied the recorder sitting on the desk again and approved. Recordings were less likely to be misinterpreted than notes.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
She took her seat and lifted her bag onto the desk. “I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, and she remembered that last time she’d made him go back for water after they’d sat down, then to throw away her paper coffee cup. Her mouth began to curve at the memory, but as their gazes held, heat shimmered between them. Time seemed to stretch; goose bumps erupted across her skin. Then Hayden looked away and gave his head a quick shake.
“I have a bottle of water in my bag,” she said in a voice that was more of a husky whisper.
He folded himself into his chair, as if nothing had just passed between them, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Of course you do.”
She