The Delacourt Scandal. Sherryl Woods
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Bryce Delacourt’s arrogant, hard-hearted actions had cost them.
An image of the Delacourt family portrait, taken last Christmas, flashed in her head. She had been struck by how happy they’d looked. She’d almost been able to hear the sounds of teasing and laughter as the camera recorded the moment. And in the center of the group sat Bryce Delacourt, the subject of their devotion, the man they all looked up to.
What a contrast to her own holiday season last year. Her mother’s funeral had been held the day after Thanksgiving. Maddie hadn’t even been able to locate her brothers to notify them. She had stood all alone beside the grave, mourning the woman she had really lost years before.
That was the moment she had formulated her precise plans for bringing down the Delacourts. The rest of the holidays had passed in a blur. She had spent the intervening months looking at back issues of newspapers around the state trying to determine which one might be open to such an exposé. Hard Truths, as distasteful as she found its tactics and reporting to be, had clearly been her best shot.
Remember the goal, she had reminded herself a dozen times as she had placed that first, fateful call to Griffin Carpenter to arrange an interview. It appeared she was going to have to repeat that refrain a lot before all was said and done.
When her tape of the conversation with Tyler ended, she began making notes of everything else she could recall about the evening, from the decor of his apartment to his sexily rumpled appearance. She tried not to linger too much over the latter because it kept bringing her back to the kiss, and that was definitely not a memory she wanted to encourage.
“Think, Maddie,” she ordered herself sternly. “Did he say anything, anything at all that could be a lead?”
It was less what he’d said than what he hadn’t said, she finally concluded, thinking of his curt responses to many of her questions. Then there was the fact that he’d clammed up about that baby picture. That was promising.
Who was it? she wondered. Not a niece or nephew. He’d said that much. Then why not just say it was a cousin or a friend’s child or any of the other myriad innocent explanations he could have given? Why had he looked as if he’d wanted to snatch it out of her hands?
Could the child be his? He’d never been married, according to her research, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t fathered a child. An illegitimate Delacourt baby wasn’t the scandal she’d been hoping for, but it would make for some great headlines just the same.
Even as the thought occurred to her, she winced. It wasn’t Tyler Delacourt she wanted to bring down or embarrass. It was his father. The baby picture might be a lead, but if it turned out to be linked to Tyler, would she use it just because he and Bryce shared the same last name? She honestly didn’t know.
And for one tiny moment she wasn’t sure she liked what that said about her or this path she was heading down.
After nursing a single beer for an hour at O’Reilly’s and giving the bar owner a good deal of grief about sending Maddie on her supposed mission of mercy, Tyler eventually went home. To his surprise, the apartment felt a whole lot emptier. Had that brief visit by Maddie counteracted years of solitude here, made him yearn for the female companionship he’d lost after Jen’s death? This apartment had always been a bachelor pad, a retreat. Even before he’d met Jen, he’d rarely brought a woman here, preferring to visit his dates at their homes. This place had been his sanctuary.
So why, suddenly, was he so restless in his own world? Was it because of the woman whose lips had been warm and yielding under his? Or was it simply because of the decision he’d been alternately wrestling with and avoiding for the past few days?
He was still holding the same internal debate in the morning. Because he’d tired of it, he grabbed up the newspaper and headed down the block to a restaurant that specialized in strong coffee and greasy food. Today he needed eggs, bacon and hash browns, not gourmet bran muffins or whole-wheat pancakes. Maybe once he was fortified with a hearty breakfast, he’d be able to handle a meeting with his father. Maybe he’d even produce a compromise they could both live with.
At nine o’clock the place was still bustling with its own form of blue-collar power breakfast. The waitresses were sassy, the service quick. Tyler had a steaming plate of food in front of him before he could scan the front-page headlines. He had company before he could taste the first forkful.
“Looks dangerous,” Maddie observed, staring at the eggs swimming in butter and the strips of crisp bacon.
Tyler thought she looked a whole lot more dangerous in her snug-fitting tank top and thigh-skimming skirt. Her hair looked as if she’d done little more than run her fingers through it. The effect was rumpled and sexy and had an effect on his pulse he didn’t like one bit.
“What brings you to a place like this if you don’t like the menu?” he asked.
“The coffee,” she said at once. “It’s lethal.”
He grinned at that. “It is indeed.” His gaze strayed over her formfitting outfit. “Going job hunting?”
She returned his gaze with an innocent expression. “You disapprove?”
“Darlin’, I could never disapprove of anything that shows your assets to such advantage, but it might just be a tad underdressed for the average office.”
“Maybe I’m not looking for an office job.”
“What, then? Or should I ask? Vice squad maybe?”
She frowned at him. “You do disapprove.”
Tyler wasn’t sure why he was making such an issue of it. What Maddie wore was none of his business. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that every man’s mouth had dropped open when she’d walked in. He’d instinctively wanted to wrap her in a blanket and bundle her off to some place out of view.
No, he corrected, what he’d really wanted to do was pummel those men until they thought twice about staring, then take her somewhere private and strip away the scanty attire she was wearing. Bad ideas, both of them.
“Just a little friendly job-hunting advice,” he said mildly. “First impressions count, and this isn’t freewheeling California or trendy New York. We’re in Texas, darlin’.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
To his surprise her eyes were bright with amusement as she sipped her coffee and watched him over the rim of the cup. He deliberately turned his attention to his food.
“So, what are your plans for the day?” she asked.
“As soon as I’ve eaten, I’m going to drop by the office.”
“Really?” She did her own slow survey of his jeans and dark-blue T-shirt. “A little underdressed for the executive suite, aren’t you?”
Tyler scowled. “Okay, touché. But unlike you, I already have a job, and I’m definitely well acquainted with the boss. I doubt he’ll fire me.”
Of course, as he’d told Daniel the day before, his father might very well grumble about his lack of attention to corporate image. Maybe that was why he’d deliberately chosen these particular clothes this morning, just to goad his father into remembering who he was: Tyler, not his clotheshorse brother Michael, who had standing appointments to have his suits custom tailored.
Maddie studied him, her expression thoughtful. “But you’d like him to, wouldn’t you?”
Tyler was startled by the observation. “Like him to do what? Fire me?”
“Yes.”
“Of course not.”
“Are you sure about that?” she probed. “You never really got into what it was that had you so down, but I’m guessing from a couple of offhand remarks you made that it has something to do with work. You apparently love working on the rig, yet you’re here. What’s that all about?”
“Command