Private Scandal (17 page)

He paced the length of it as it wrapped around the penthouse, and wondered how she’d managed to get past him with two dogs. She was as resourceful as she was stubborn, which was how she’d survived these last few months. He climbed the stairs that led from the private balcony to the rooftop garden he shared with the other penthouse.

His pulse dipped from the danger zone when he spied Megan tossing a ball to Money, who scampered about the ridiculously small piece of grass while Cash had to sniff every single bush twice before doing his business. It was the same thing every time.

Heaven help the pup if another dog came along and changed the scent. They’d probably have to spend twice as long out here with him. That definitely put a tick in the column to join the penthouses into one apartment.

Brandon cleared his throat and Money brought him the well-loved tennis ball. He tossed it behind a potted palm. “Why do you have such an aversion to doing what I ask?”

Megan wrapped her arms around herself, her body-hugging sweater dress probably not doing much against the wind. “I’m not used to being told what to do. I haven’t had a nanny since I was twelve, and I was the one calling the shots with her.”

“Lucky you. My mother was still going to the movies with me at twelve.” Money returned with the ball so he tossed it again, wondering when Cash would get around to deciding which bush got the honor today.

“You didn’t have a nanny?”

He stared at the horizon, the lavender sky of early evening softening the edges of everything. “I was the only kid, and we had a housekeeper to stay with me when they were both out.” His eyes met hers. “Did you like it?”

“Nannies? No, they annoyed me mostly. And usually wound up leaving suddenly because they slept with my father.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked away, wishing he hadn’t brought up the subject.

“Don’t be. It’s just how men are.”

He jerked his head towards her as if she’d slapped him. “Are you really going to put me in a box with your father?”

“Why? Don’t you think both your egos will fit?” Money brought the ball to her this time.

“I am not like him, Meg, and in your heart you know that.”

“I’m sure he used a line like that at least once. I’m sure over the years my mother heard every excuse you’re going to try and feed me. She might have believed them at first, but after a while she’d lost so much of her self-worth that she just took it in stride.” She turned and looked up at him. “Too bad my self-worth is all I have. I can’t afford to buy any of your lies.”

“So I shouldn’t even bother with the truth, is that it?” Thankfully her dog finally decided on a bush.

Megan shrugged, staring out at the skyline as the day faded away. Her blonde hair danced on the wind and twice he had to stop himself for reaching for it to tuck behind her ear. When Cash scampered over to them, Brandon scooped him up and started for the stairs.

“I ordered dinner if you’re interested.” Money followed him down the stairs and into the penthouse. He fed the dogs, washed his hands and sat down to dinner alone. He was trying to decide if he had enough of an appetite to eat anything when Megan finally came in from the cold.

“I haven’t had a meal in two days,” she said as way of explanation. Brandon nodded, wondering if starvation was the only reason she’d deign to sit at the same table as him. She lifted the lids from each platter, and then switched them.

“Hey, you like the grilled veggie sandwich.”

“No, I liked being able to fit into my jeans.” She set his steak and roasted potatoes in front of her and began eating with gusto.

“For the record, you looked fantastic in jeans.”

She pointed her fork at him. “You say that because you wanted them off.”

He shrugged. “You look better with them off.”

She gave him a pointed look that made him smile. Megan might be hurt and angry and lashing out at everyone she could, but she was still Megan.

Which meant he had to get her back.

He made his way to the kitchen and returned with a pint of spumoni ice cream. He was more of a rocky-road person, but he knew Megan couldn’t resist the cherry-pistachio-chocolate combination. With as thin as she’d become, he figured he needed the edge.

He sat down across from her and carefully pulled his spoon through a swirl of green pistachio ice cream. She eyed him as he took a bite, her gaze narrowing when he lifted a spoonful of cherry to his lips.

“What’s that?”

“You took my dinner. You can’t have my dessert, unless you want to make a trade.”

“I’m not having sex with you.”

“Who asked you to? Your attitude today hasn’t exactly been a turn-on.” He tasted the chocolate this time. “I was thinking of something a little less unseemly.”

“I’m not taking off my clothes either. You want that, you go track down your little tramp.”

“Stop calling Gemma names. It’s petty. And untrue.”

“Hey, she’s slept with half of Beverly Hills. You want to get in line for some of that, you go right on ahead.”

Pain flickered behind her baby blue eyes. It was the only thing that kept him from walking out of the room. If she was hurting, then she cared.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t go with her. Unless you’ve tired of her already. Maybe she wasn’t as good as you’d heard she’d be.”

“I wonder if your nastiness is in direct proportion to how bad you hurt right now.”

“Don’t try and psychoanalyze me. I don’t care what you do with your life, as long as you let me and my dog out of it.”

“You wish you didn’t care, Megan. If you didn’t care then you couldn’t hurt. But you do.”

She rose from the table. “Like usual, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He caught her wrist as she turned to go. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“Said the spider to the fly.”

“Maybe.” He grinned. “I want to tell you what happened. I want to explain whether you care to hear it or not. You sit down and listen for as long as it takes you to finish the ice cream. Then you can go and lock yourself in the spare room, and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.”

She shook off his hold and grabbed the ice cream. “Do your worst.”

He waited until she’d settled herself on the leather couch before he sat on the upholstered ottoman opposite her. “I think I should start at the beginning.”

“You mean you’re not going to start with your tongue down Gemma Ryan’s throat? And I thought this was going to be a naughty story.”

“My tongue wasn’t in any part of her.”

“Oh, what a tangled web we weave…” Megan slid the spoon into her mouth, her eyes never leaving his.

Chapter Ten

Brandon stared at her like he had all the time in the world to convince her to believe his stories. His confidence mocked her and she tried to get her bearings. Hope bloomed in her chest that maybe, just maybe there was an explanation that could glue the shattered pieces of their lives back together.

Looking at him now, so close and so comforting, she wanted to believe he could fix this, fix them. His French blue dress shirt had long ago been open at the collar, but he slowly unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled them back to his elbows. His black slacks bunched around his narrow hips as he sat in front of her, staring at her as if sizing up an opponent.

His dark gaze held her in place, fixed on her as if he knew just how close she was to throwing in the towel. He seemed to see right through her bravado, like he could sense all her weaknesses and wouldn’t stop until he’d exploited every single one.

Funny, how simply staring at someone’s eyes could make your stomach pitch and roll, your heart skitter around your chest and make you doubt everything you’d built your anger upon.

“I think I’ve changed my mind.” Megan silently praised herself that the panic didn’t break her even tone.

“No, you’re just realizing you’re wrong about me.” He shrugged and spread his hands out. “You’ve been asking me for answers for weeks. I’m going to give them to you.”

But he wasn’t. He was trying to convince her to see things his way. Since it was far rosier than her version, she was tempted.

Being tempted around Brandon was a bad idea. She forced herself to think about her mother and wonder if this was why she never tried to break free. Had she let the shadow of doubt excuse obvious indiscretions? Megan couldn’t let herself be fooled the same way.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. The scent of his cologne swirled around her, and she took in a deep breath on instinct, which only served to intoxicate her more. Why did he have to be so handsome and smell so good? It made keeping her perspective darned near impossible.

He gave her a slow smile that lit naughty lights in his eyes. He was so close that their knees were nearly touching. All he had to do was shift a certain way and that familiar spark would spiral through her body. She sat still in quiet anticipation, wondering how to keep her composure.

“I’ve been buying stock in Carlton International for years.”

Megan blinked, her dirty mind getting whiplash from his businesslike words. “Why?”

“Because I figured your dad would divide everything equally when he retired. I wanted you to have the option of majority.”

“But it’s not as if…” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and tried to find the right words. She wanted to ask so many things, but didn’t have the courage to say them outright. “Our relationship wasn’t public knowledge, so why were you concerned about the future of my family’s business? We were fun and clandestine. There wasn’t a future for us, just a present.”

“We were fun, but you’re rewriting history if you think our relationship was some fly-by-night affair. No, we didn’t share everything with the world, but we’ve been together for a very long time. We weren’t talking marriage until last year, but we never once talked about ending things.”

Megan leaned back onto the cushions, needing to get a little more space from the truth. She’d always tried not to think about the future of her relationship with Brandon. Things worked as they were, and she couldn’t wrap her head around a life without him, so she’d always maintained the status quo. They’d outlasted all of her friends’ relationships, but she always thought it was because the element of secrecy kept things hot between them.

“I collected the stock over the years, but a few months ago a large offering came out. I snagged it, and then started wondering why it was available in the first place. We investigated, and things at Carlton started to look shady. Some of the subsidiaries weren’t doing well, but instead of consolidating, the company was looking to expand with an express hotel chain.”

Megan pulled the spoon through the ice cream and lifted a scoop to her mouth. She let the flavors melt and blend, keeping her mouth full so she wouldn’t be tempted to tell Brandon she didn’t care one iota about why he took over Carlton International. She cared why he didn’t tell her he was doing it.

“Since we had the stock, we could look at the financials. There was really only three days between when I was cautiously curious, until I knew he’d made some bad choices, and embezzlement was one of them. A lot of shareholders were involved, and I didn’t alert you to my suspicions because I couldn’t risk him being tipped off.”

“You didn’t trust me.” A problem ice cream and excuses couldn’t fix, nothing could.

“He’s your father.” Brandon shrugged. “I would have protected mine.”

She pointed the spoon at him, sugar-fueled confidence making her brave. “But if you were really as serious about a future with me as you are pretending to be, you would have trusted me with that decision rather than making it for me. You would have tried to protect
me
rather than your investment.”

He winced and rubbed his hand along the dark stubble forming along his jaw. “I thought I had, Meg. I checked to make sure the trust funds were completely free of the business and they were. I had no way of knowing that he’d bled those dry too.”

“And I didn’t know to check because you never said a thing about it.” She dug a pistachio from its ice-cream prison. “If you’d warned me I could have saved so many things, things they auctioned off that meant much more than money. If you would have trusted me, things would be different. You’re asking me to trust you more than I trust myself, and yet you never offered me the same kind of respect.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He placed his hand on her bare knee and a shock of something hot and reckless bolted through her.

He was firmly in the wrong here, and yet, strangely enough, it didn’t diminish the attraction she felt when looking into his soulful brown gaze. He opened his mouth to speak again, but a rapid knock on the door stole their attention.

Brandon stood and pointed at her. “I’m putting both this conversation and your ice-cream eating on pause.”

As he made his way to the entry Megan stared down at the softening spumoni and swirled her spoon through the colors. Growing up, her favorite Italian restaurant ended every meal with a dish of spumoni ice cream. It usually comforted her, brought back memories of her grandfather’s fourth wife, Maria, who introduced them to the best Bolognese in Beverly Hills. Maria had loved being a grandmother, and they’d all loved her for the five years she put up with Grandfather’s penchant for the cleaning staff.

Megan took a bite, letting the chocolate and cherry melt against her tongue as she tried to make out the muffled conversation. She was four bites in before he returned with a plain white box.

“Do you ever listen?” He smiled down at her, the smile he used whenever she’d been waiting for him in nothing but his sheets after he’d worked late.

She shored up her defenses, determined not to fall victim to believing lies to better her life. “What’s that? The ashes of another company you’ve raided?”

“I reallocate resources, Megan. I’m not some pirate.” He lifted the lid off the box before carrying it to the ottoman and placing it beside him as he sat. “It’s what was left from the apartment.”

The ice cream curdled in her stomach and she set the carton on the end table. “What do you mean, what was left?”

“I had them save anything that wasn’t damaged.”