“No. They just said something else came up.” Christine sounded distraught. “What’s going on, Zandra? Are we being investigated?”
Johanna Kennedy’s warning echoed tauntingly through Zandra’s mind. One day you’re the toast of the town. The next day you’re a pariah.
Shaking off the thought, Zandra gritted her teeth. “I think one of my father’s campaign rivals went to the media about me and the agency. I just turned on the news, and they’re doing a hit piece.”
“Oh, no,” Christine groaned in dismay. “Just what we need.”
“Tell me about it.” Zandra’s mind was racing. First and foremost, she needed to protect her escorts. “Listen, Chris. Reporters are probably en route to the office as we speak. I want you to send out a text and email to everyone to tell them to stay away from the office. And then I want you to transfer the phone lines to your private extension, lock up the building and go home.”
“In the middle of the week?”
“Yes,” Zandra said grimly. “Once the press hounds arrive, you probably won’t be able to get much work done anyway.”
Suddenly her apartment intercom buzzed, signaling that she had a visitor downstairs.
“I have to go, Chris. Call me when you get home.”
She ended the call, then walked to the front door and nervously pressed the intercom button. “Yes?”
There was a heavy pause. “It’s your father.”
Her blood ran cold. He was the last person on earth she wanted to see right now.
“What do you want?”
“We need to talk,” he said curtly.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“But you might be interested in hearing what I have to say.”
Zandra frowned, staring at the intercom panel.
After several moments, he said levelly, “It’s important, Zandra.”
She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, then reluctantly pushed the button. “Come up.”
*
Remy had just strolled through the door of his downtown apartment when his cell phone rang. Setting down his suitcase—he’d only needed one, unlike Zandra—he dug the phone out of his pocket and saw Duke’s number.
He hit the answer button. “Talk to me.”
“You owe me big-time,” Duke growled.
“Why? What happened on your date?”
“It’s what didn’t happen that’s got me fucked up.”
Remy couldn’t help chuckling wryly as he walked to the windows overlooking Lake Michigan. “You’re talking in riddles, Gannon. Give me the shit straight.”
Duke heaved a short, ragged breath. “The date was last night. The escort was some hot little brunette named Brigitte.”
“Brigitte?” Remy frowned, not recognizing the name. Zandra must have forgotten to tell him that she’d finally hired Lena’s replacement, after months of interviewing candidates and finding fault with every last one.
“Yeah, Brigitte,” Duke muttered. “French spelling.”
“Gotcha. So what happened?”
“I’ll tell you what happened. I came on to her to see if she’d take the bait. Oh, she took it all right. Had me damn near begging for mercy by the time she got done with me.”
Remy pushed out a heavy breath, disappointment washing over him. “Fuck.”
“Yeah. That’s exactly what I wanted to do. Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“But you didn’t, right?”
“No,” Duke said with grim humor. “I was a good little boy and kept my dick in my pants. And it’s been punishing me ever since.”
Remy’s lips twitched with amusement, even as his stomach knotted at the implications of Duke’s report. It only took one wayward escort to bring down Zandra and her agency. He had to warn her. And he had to come clean about what he’d been doing. He owed her the truth, and the guilt was eating him alive.
“Anyway,” Duke grumbled, “I don’t think I’m the right man for this job.”
“Maybe not,” Remy said wryly. “Or maybe it’s just this one broad who pushed your buttons.”
Duke snorted. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? If so, it sure as hell didn’t.”