A knock sounded on the door. Grace slipped in, set a pile of papers on his desk and turned her curious gaze on him. “Isabel Peters is here.”
“Thanks. Show her in.”
He leaned against the front of his solid wooden desk as Izzie appeared in the doorway, wearing a simple green dress that hugged her lush figure. He zeroed in on the stiff set of her face and shoulders. She was nervous. Good.
He gestured toward the sitting area by the windows. “Have a seat.”
She walked past him and perched on the corner of one of the matching leather chairs. He sauntered over and sat opposite her, deliberately letting silence reign until she squirmed in her seat.
“What made you change your mind?”
“My management team thinks we need the public on our side.”
“You’ll do the interview then?”
He nodded. “With a few conditions.”
A guarded look replaced the relieved glimmer in her eyes. “Which are?”
“We have complete control over the final edit.”
“That’ll never happen.”
“Then you won’t get the interview.”
She frowned. “What else?”
“You’ll be the reporter.”
“James assigned the story to me. It’s mine.”
He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “That part I don’t understand. The community reporter doing an investigative feature? Working your way up the ladder Hollywood-style, Iz?”
She clenched her hands in her lap, fire flashing in her dark eyes. “What’s it going to take for you to believe the truth? I didn’t know it was you, Alex.”
“Give it up,” he encouraged in a bored tone. “We’re wasting time here. What I am interested in,” he said deliberately, “is if you’re still part of the package?”
Her face turned the exact color of his fire-engine-red Ferrari. “That was way over the line.”
“Too bad,” he gibed. “I’m in the driver’s seat now. You need me.”
She looked down at her hands, twisted them together in her lap. “You said a few conditions...”
He nodded. “I’m assuming you want to get started on the interview right away?”
She inclined her head.
“I have business in California this week,” he drawled. “You’ll need to come with me.”
Her mouth fell open. “I—we—I can’t do that. We can do the pre-interviews by phone.”
He shook his head. “We do it in person or we don’t do it at all.”
She chewed on her lip, uncertainty glittering in those big brown eyes. “What’s the matter?” he goaded. “You were all over me that night in London.”
“That was real,” she hissed. “This has to be strictly business now.”
He moved his gaze leisurely over her curves in the sexy, understated dress. “Why, when we clearly mix business and pleasure so well?”
Her back went ramrod straight. “That’s enough.”
A slow smile stretched his lips. “I recognize ambition, Iz. I get it. I’m ruthless too. Why not scratch the itch? Get it out of our systems?”
She flashed him a heated look. “If we do this it’s business.”
He crossed one leg over the other in an indolent gesture. “Does your boss know we’ve slept together? How far you decided to take it? Or was that just because you were enjoying it and you made the call?”
She stood up. “I’m done with this conversation.”
“Get your bag packed, Iz.” He rolled to his feet. “We leave tomorrow morning.”
“I can’t do that.” She gaped at him. “I have stories I’m working on.”
“Hand them off,” he ordered, striding over to his desk. “Grace will call you with the details. Oh,” he added, sitting down in his chair. “Don’t forget your bathing suit. The pool is spectacular.”
Her mouth tightened. She walked out without a backward glance. He smiled and pulled a file toward him. He’d bet his Ferrari Izzie looked amazing in a bikini. He couldn’t wait to find out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHE REALLY SHOULD get out of the sun, Izzie thought lazily, staring up at the perfect, clear blue California sky. Except after the stress of the past couple of days, heaven right now was floating on her back in Alex’s infinity pool and escaping the heat.
She sighed and trailed her hands through the water. It was one of those sweat-inducing, steaming-hot summer California days that made everyone go a little crazy. So she’d done what any self-respecting native Californian would have done while Alex was in San Francisco in meetings and the ever-present tension between them was gone for a few hours. She’d headed outside to the pool, armed with a pitcher of cold lemonade and a book.
She should get out of the sun. And she would soon. It was just that the infinity pool with its gasp-inducing, hundred-foot drop to the Pacific was like teetering on the edge of heaven. In fact, everything about Alex’s excessively private Spanish-style home perched over the wildly beautiful golden beaches of Malibu was heavenly. Acres of tropical gardens swamped the grounds with color, its expansive outdoor living spaces encouraging one to spend all their time outside. And then there was the house, with the works of the great Impressionists on the walls.
She flicked her hand through the water and sent an arc of diamond-shaped drops through the air. It was a privileged, luxurious slice of paradise, as elusive to most as the man she’d been interviewing all week. Four days into their stay, three days into their background interviews, and she still knew so little about the man behind the trophies she was afraid to pick up James’s calls. That night in London hadn’t been an outlier. Alex didn’t talk about himself. Had given one-line answers to every question she’d asked and nothing more.
She shut her eyes against the blinding rays of the sun, sweat dripping down her forehead and beneath her lashes. Alex was hosting a party for business associates tomorrow, after which she was headed back to New York, with or without the story. Which meant today she had to get him to talk. A near impossible task when your interview subject had zero trust in you.
She waved her arms and pushed herself back to the center of the pool. She’d done everything she could to convince Alex she was telling the truth but it was like talking to a wall. The man she’d met in London was gone. And the aloof stranger who’d replaced him unnerved her. So did the ever-present heat between them. He might hate her for what she’d done, but he still wanted her. That hadn’t gone away. It’d made her flee dinner on the intimate little terrace last night like a woman possessed.
Twenty-four hours, she told herself. Twenty-four hours and she’d be out of danger. But she needed him to talk first.
“You researching cloud formations?”
The sardonic observation from a deep, amused male voice had her yanking herself upright and feeling for the bottom. But the water was too deep and she plunged, her arms and legs flailing. Kicking back to the surface, she pulled in a breath, coughing and sputtering.
“Do you always sneak up on people like that?”
“I thought you said you were a champion swimmer...”
“That doesn’t help when you scare the life out of me.” She pushed her soaking hair out of her face and took in yet another of the gorgeous designer suits that molded every lean muscle of his body into a work of art.
His gaze slid over her. She’d put her minuscule bikini on while he was out. What had possessed her to do that?