Molly looked down at it. On the cover was a perfectly groomed platinum-haired woman who appeared to be in her early forties. She was smiling, knowingly and glamorously, at the camera.
“How to Meet and Marry the Rich,”
Molly read aloud. “
A Guide for Girls Who Want It All.
By Elaine McKee Culpepper Von Reinholz Newberg? Carter, what on earth? Elaine McKee? Isn't that your…?”
“You remember my sister?” Carter asked. “She writes, too. In her case, it tends to be autobiographical.”
Billionaire Gets the Boot
“I had no choice but to break it off,” says a pale and fragile Skye Elliot, speaking to this reporter of the recent end of her well-publicized relationship with resort magnate Jake Berenger. “Jake and I just don't have the same values. I wanted to make a home for us, but he only cares about life in the fast lane. The parties, the drugs…”
Drugs? “Oh, I never
saw
him use drugs,” she says. “But with that lifestyle…” Her cerulean eyes have a haunted look, hinting that the celebrity tycoon has a darker side.
“He told me to give up my work as an advocate for Third World children so that I would have more time for him. I just couldn't do it.”
Tears spring to her eyes. Gratefully, she accepts a tissue from her manager…
Jake folded the
Daily News
in half and tossed it across his desk toward Oliver Arias. “Well,” he said, “we expected this, didn't we?”
“It's going to get worse,” Oliver said darkly. “It's going to be a feeding frenzy. I think we should sue. I'll talk to the lawyers.”
“Don't bother,” Jake said. “We're not suing.”
“What?” Oliver's face was flushed with outrage. He shook the paper at Jake. “These are
lies.
She wants to destroy you. She's calling you a drug addict! We need to act fast.”
“Actually, what she said was that she'd never seen me using drugs, which is certainly true. She's too smart—or the
Daily News's
lawyers are too smart—to give us anything to hang a libel suit on.”
“It's the principle of the thing. We need to make a statement. We have to fight back.”
Jake shook his head. “We can't. It would be gasoline on the fire. There's nothing that the media would love more than a public mud-slinging match, and I guarantee that between Skye and me, the one with the teary cerulean eyes would win.”
“But—”
“Take a deep breath,” Jake advised, “and forget about it.”
“We have to issue a statement! The reporters have been calling all morning, reading us things that she's said about you, asking if you want to refute them.”
Jake shrugged. “They're playing chicken with me, trying to get a reaction. If they don't get one, they'll give up. We've been through this kind of thing before.”
“No, we haven't,” Oliver said. “Not a personal attack from someone who actually seems credible. I don't like it, Jake. This is very bad. The stock is down again—”
“So I keep hearing,” Jake said coolly. “And meanwhile, my so-called playboy lifestyle is on hold, and I'm doing my damnedest to get things back on track.” He stopped, hearing defensiveness in his own voice. His mother's warning about the rumblings of mutiny on the Berenger board had been on his mind for the past few days.
A dry smile touched his mouth. Skye was either remarkably clever, or just very lucky. Knowing her, his bet was on lucky. She had stumbled across the only way that she could really do him damage—by publicly painting him as unfit to be the head of Berenger Corporation. Luckily, her media appeal was limited to Hollywood magazines and scandal sheets like the
Daily News,
a category not taken too seriously by the Wall Street investment community. His image could afford to take a few hits, and the story would eventually die. He hadn't gotten this far in life by panicking every time someone slung a little mud in his direction.
“She's perfect,” exclaimed Elaine McKee Culpepper Von Reinholz Newberg, clasping her manicured hands in delight as she looked Molly up and down. “Yes, absolutely perfect.”
Molly blushed, unexpectedly flattered. It was Saturday, one week after Carter had driven up to Belden to propose his scheme, and they were now sitting on brocade-upholstered chairs in the parlor of Carter's sister's penthouse condominium, on Chicago's near north side.
“I admit,” Elaine continued, “that I had doubts about your judgment, Carter. But this is going to work out beautifully. This project will test the
limits
of my ability. We are truly beginning from ground zero.”
Abruptly, Molly tuned back in. “I beg your pardon?”
Elaine patted her arm. “Oh, my dear. My clients are usually much more advanced. They're models, pageant winners, girls who already know how to dress, how to flirt, how to interest a man. All they need from me is a little guidance, a little reassurance that there is nothing whatsoever wrong with setting one's sights on a man who is—as I like to say—economically advantaged. They are already halfway there by the time they come to me, and it's no challenge at all, really. But you…my goodness! If I can take a history professor with no apparent fashion sense and limited social skills, and turn her into the kind of woman who would interest the most eligible bachelor on
earth,
then I will have proven to myself and to the world that my techniques are foolproof. You will be my triumph.”
Her eyes took on a faraway look. “I'll use this as the feature case study in my next book.”
Molly's mouth had dropped open in shock, and she was having trouble breathing through the sudden constriction in her chest. “You…” she began, ran out of air, and had to take another breath. “Book? About this? Oh, no, you won't. You're not putting this into any kind of book!”
Elaine looked surprised. “But…”
“Absolutely not!” Molly exclaimed. “Carter, tell your sister to swear that she'll never write a word about this, or I'll walk out of here and never speak to you again.”
Elaine's eyebrows shot up into two exaggerated arches. “Fiery!” she said.
“Oh, God,” Carter mumbled. “Listen, you two. Can't we just…”
“Passionate,” Elaine continued, appraising Molly with a sharper eye. “I wouldn't have guessed that by looking at you, dear. But that's a good thing. We can work with that.”
“Carter!” Molly shouted.
Carter looked uneasily at his sister. “You heard her,” he said. “Sorry.”
Elaine looked hurt. “Names and all identifying details would be changed,” she said. “Naturally.”
Molly glared at her. “Publish a single word about me and I'll have you killed,” she said, and turned to Carter. “And let me warn
you,”
she added, “that my ‘limited social skills’ are connected to a limited tolerance for this project.”
“Oh, all right,” Elaine interrupted. “Fine. I won't put you in the book, although it does seem like a waste, considering the size of my investment. If I'd known that I couldn't use the material…”
“What investment?” Molly asked.
“Never mind,” Carter said quickly. “We'll all be putting our time and effort into this, and I am deeply grateful for your collective generosity, in all of its incarnations—”
“Shut up, Carter,” Molly said, and turned to Elaine. “Is that what you meant? Investment of your time?”
“Yes,” Elaine said. “My time, and my money. You don't think that Carter can afford a week for three at a Berenger resort on his salary at the
Tribune,
do you? My dear, this is not a Holiday Inn. Gold Bay is
the
most important spot in the Caribbean, and one of the top resorts in the world. And let me add that getting a reservation there, at the last minute, in the height of the holiday season, was just about impossible. I had to call the Princess Von Faxon Westenburg, my ex-sister-in-law, whose daughter Chantal works at Sotheby's with the son of a Berenger senior VP of marketing.”
Carter looked pained. “It's a loan,” he explained to Molly. “Against eventual royalties. My sister was more forthcoming than my publisher, who is sadly lacking in optimism.”
“I couldn't possibly turn down such a fascinating project,” Elaine added. “It was made for me. I am the sort of person who needs to be needed.”
“Good for you,” Molly said. “But I'll be paying my own way.” She had no intention of taking charity from Elaine, and it was a pleasure to be able to refuse it. On the more practical side, covering her own expenses also meant that she had no obligation to anyone but herself. She still had her doubts about Carter's scheme, and this meeting was doing nothing to allay them.
Elaine looked surprised. “Rooms at Gold Bay are
extremely
expensive.”
“Then I suppose that your brother and I had better keep out of the minibar,” Molly said coolly. If Elaine McKee Culpepper Von Reinholz Newberg thought that she could intimidate a member of the Belden College faculty, then she was in for a shock. The woman might have perfect nails and a two-hundred-dollar haircut, but she had certainly never read Plutarch.
Molly frowned. Something that Elaine had said, just a few moments ago, was nagging at her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it now. It had seized her attention like a bee sting, but the conversation had quickly moved on, distracting her with talk of princesses and Sotheby's, and loans to Carter…
“Wait a minute!” she exclaimed, alarmed. Now she remembered. “Did you just say something about a week for
three
at Gold Bay?”
Elaine's matte-red lips curved into a delighted smile. “Yes, indeed,” she said. “You don't think that you can do this alone, do you? I'm going with you.”
Judging from Carter's expression, Molly guessed that this was news to him, as well.
“Ahh,” Carter said. His face had turned an odd shade of gray. “Elaine, that's very nice of you, but we had talked about you giving Molly just a couple of quick lessons, remember? The short course?”
Elaine shook her head. “The short course,” she said, sliding a meaningful look in Molly's direction, “will not be long enough.”
“Won't Mr. Newberg miss you?” Molly asked, doubting it. So far, there had been no sign of anyone who answered to that name.
“Leonard and I separated six weeks ago,” Elaine said. “He is currently in Bermuda, visiting his offshore corporation. I don't expect a reconciliation. Not before Christmas, at least.”
“Oh,” Carter said. “I'm sorry to hear that.” “Yes, thank you, it's very sad,” Elaine said briskly. “But life goes on, and I hate spending the holidays alone.”
T
he Gold Bay beach was half a mile long, curved in a crescent-moon shape that hugged the blue water and gentle waves of the bay. At eight
A.M.
it was still deserted save for a few dedicated joggers, and Jake, who was taking his morning reconnaissance walk.
Behind the beach was a lush garden of palms and flowering vines, and tucked into this water-hungry landscaping was a row of thirty cottages, strung like pearls around the neck of the resort. They were the best suites at Gold Bay, each with two bedrooms, a living room, a caterer's kitchen for private parties, and a large deck overlooking the sand. The trees and vines had been carefully arranged to give the occupants of each cottage the feeling that they had no neighbors, but to allow them an unobstructed view of the ocean and the action on the beach.
Room service to the cottages came by way of an electric golf cart equipped with coolers and warming trays. There was a complimentary morning delivery of fresh juice, pastries, coffee, and the morning paper from the guest's home city, all of which would appear at a time previously arranged with the cottage's private butler. Breakfast was rarely requested before eight, but Jake noticed that a cart was arriving at Cottage Five, and wondered who the early bird was. A yoga-obsessed supermodel, perhaps. Ingrid Anderson, a Victoria's Secret catalog veteran, had arrived three days ago with a bald man in flowing white robes who had signed the register as Rama Guru. For the past two mornings at nine
A.M.
, Rama and Ingrid, both wearing thong bathing suits, had done the Sun Salutation on the pool terrace, to the awe and delight of the rest of the guests.
Jake strolled up the beach, a little closer to the cottage, looking curiously to see if Ingrid and Rama were there. But he saw only a smallish mousy-haired woman sitting in a chair on the deck, wrapped in one of the thick white terry-cloth Gold Bay bathrobes. The bulky robe was too big for her, and made her look as if she were being eaten by a polar bear. He nodded to her, in casual greeting, and was startled to see her eyes widen as if he had just given her the finger. Without a word, she jumped to her feet, stumbled over the hem of the robe, regained her balance, and then fled back into the cottage.
Jake stopped, taken aback. He waited for a few moments to see if she would come out again, but the cottage was now as silent as its neighbors. The curtains moved slightly, and while it was probably just the wind, he had the sudden feeling that she was standing there, hidden behind the fabric, peeking at him.
Weird,
he thought, wondering what could have spooked her. If the sight of a man in swim trunks frightened her so much, she was in for a seriously terrifying vacation. He shrugged, lifted a hand in a brief wave toward the curtain, and continued on down the beach.
“My dear,” said Elaine McKee Culpepper Von Reinholz Newberg, “what on earth are you doing?”
Guiltily, Molly jumped. Her heart was still hammering so hard that she could hear the beat of the blood in her ears, and her cheeks were hot. She released her grip on the curtain, and turned, feeling foolish.
“Nothing,” she said.
Elaine raised her eyebrows. She was wearing black satin mules, a red silk nightgown with a matching robe, and diamond earrings. Her hair was pinned into a neat chignon, and her makeup was perfect. It was five minutes after eight
A.M.
They had arrived at Gold Bay late the night before, after a six-hour snow delay at Chicago's O'Hare airport. Commercial travel took them only as far as Antigua, where they were met by a Gold Bay helicopter that whisked them and their baggage over the last stretch of ocean to the resort's private island. Molly had been surviving on minimal sleep in the days prior to the trip, working nights to get two hundred freshman final exams graded before she left town, and by the time they arrived at Gold Bay, she was so dazed with fatigue that her brain had barely processed the scene around her. She had tumbled into bed after a brief discussion with Carter and Elaine about the fact that they were three people in a two-bedroom cottage. Elaine had explained that it would be perfect for Molly and Carter to share the room with the twin beds, and although her logic was dubious, Molly had been too tired to argue.