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  “I can understand why taking the television opportunity is important to you,” he said. “Opportunities like that don’t come along every day. The only thing is, I can’t accept your resignation.”

  She sat there and blinked at him. Was he really going to make this so hard? Did everything have to be a struggle?

  “How about if we call it an indefinite leave of absence instead? You can come back if and when you’re ready. Really, you’d be doing that more for me than for yourself, because I have no doubt that you will be successful at whatever you choose to do. Let’s just call the leave of absence in lieu of resignation your retirement present to me, okay?”

  His smile let her know that yes, indeed, she had heard him correctly. Or, more important, that he had finally heard her.

  * * *

  Who’d have known Charles Coopersmith would have been so full of surprises? Drew thought as he walked into the man’s retirement party on the arm of his daughter.

  After Caroline’s lunch with her father, she had floated the idea of using his retirement party as the backdrop for the pilot. To everyone’s astonishment, he’d actually agreed. Of course, that meant that not only did Celebrations, Inc. have to cater the event, but it meant that the four women were also guests. A.J. and Caroline had done all the prep work on the savory and sweet foods, but they had to hire staff to execute and serve.

  Caroline looked beautiful tonight in a form-fitting blue gown that hugged her curves in all the right places. She and Pepper seemed to be right in their element mixing and mingling with the guests, but A.J. and Sydney had removed themselves from the party for the most part and were spending a great deal of time in the kitchen.

  Drew had been right about how once Caroline had gotten things straightened out with her father, she would be much more at ease on camera. Once they were inside and had made their initial rounds to greet people, Drew had stood on the sidelines watching Caroline, who seemed perfectly at ease—as if the television cameras weren’t even there.

  While he was glad that Caroline had wanted him by her side tonight, he had not fully realized that circulating among the guests would be quite similar to navigating a minefield. Case in point was when he spied Harold Grady, the opinionated family friend who had chewed out Drew on his first date with Caroline in downtown Celebration. Drew did his best to steer clear of him. And there was Harris Merriweather walking straight toward him.

  These men were slick and savvy business moguls, Dallas’s business elite. However, seeing Drew in a tux as a guest at an event like this took him out of context. No doubt the men must have looked at him and thought he looked vaguely familiar, then dismissed him as someone they’d simply met along the way. Merriweather walked right by Drew, doing a double take but continuing on to greet a distinguished-looking couple who were standing a few feet behind him.

  It was odd being at an event like this and actually being on the guest list. Drew definitely felt out of his element. He had, actually, been given the right to write a story about Coopersmith’s retirement and the taping of the show’s pilot. And other media were there, of course, but in a more official capacity—some wearing their press credentials, others actively working with pen and notebook in hand or talking into a microphone as they recapped the event for news cameras.

  Yes, tonight, Drew was definitely a fish out of water—actually, he was neither fish nor fowl. He was in love with a woman who belonged in a world that, to him, was a hotbed of scandal. Even though he was on the inside tonight, he was definitely the outsider gazing in.

  After drinks and dinner, during which Drew and Caroline sat at the head table with her father and mother, Charles Coopersmith’s friends and colleagues took turns roasting him. Interestingly, several used his daughter’s new role on the show as fodder for their jokes, asserting that he had given up accounting to become a reality television star or to join his daughter in the catering business. There were several invitations to cater festivities—birthday parties, anniversary celebrations and New Year’s Eve bashes.

  At one point, he felt Caroline shift in her seat a little bit. It was a barely perceptible shift of posture, but he caught it and leaned down to whisper, “Are you okay? Do you want to go out and get some air?”

  “Maybe in a few minutes,” she said. “But right now I’m fine.”

  Then Drew felt the buzz of a text message come through. As inconspicuously as possible, he slid the phone out of his pocket and checked the message.

  It was from Bia: SOS! Please call me ASAP. Very important.

  Drew waited until the current speaker was finished and then excused himself to go out into the lobby to return her call.

  She answered on the first ring. “Drew, thank God you called me back so fast. You’re not going to believe this. I found someone from Texas Star who is willing to talk on the condition that he remain anonymous.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Caroline had been disappointed that Drew had to leave before the roast was over, but he told her he had an emergency that couldn’t wait. She had understood. Really, the party had been going on a little too long. People were taking cheap shots at her father, ribbing him about things that had more to do with her than him. She had found it a bit inappropriate but did the socially correct thing and kept her party smile firmly in place.

  She was proud of herself for not once letting it slip.

  Now that she was at home and she could relax, she thought about how ironic it was that reality television would have loved a good cat fight over some of the things that were said tonight.

  As she changed out of her gown and into a pair of comfortable slacks and a sweater set, she laughed to herself about the opportunities she could’ve taken. Of course, she hadn’t and never would, because that just wasn’t her style, but it was fun to think about it.

  Maybe Celebrations, Inc. would bring a whole new level of class to reality TV. But the most important thing about tonight—besides giving her father a good send-off on his retirement journey—was that she had actually enjoyed herself. Granted, the roast was tedious and the social part was exhausting, but what she had loved about the evening was how at home she had felt as a part of the Celebrations, Inc. team. She had made the chocolate mousse that had been served for dessert and it had been beyond thrilling to watch people enjoy it.

  Her only disappointment was that Drew had not been there at the end of the night to toast the show’s success. Carlos and Lindsay had said because of the friendship dynamic and the glimpse that the quartet of friends provided into the Dallas area social arena, they could all but guarantee that there would be a first season and had given each of them a bottle of champagne to take home. She wished that Drew could’ve been there to celebrate with them.

  She had an idea and glanced at her watch. It was eleven-fifteen. But it was a Wednesday night. Since she wasn’t sure whether he was at home asleep by this point or was perhaps tied up with something that would not be conducive to answering the phone, she decided to text him.

  Where are you, my love?

  He texted her back right away. Still at the office. I’m sorry. I miss you.

  Then she had an idea.

  * * *

  What in hell was Drew going to do now?

  He sat in his office and read and then reread Bia’s article. Her anonymous source had given her some damming inside information—stories about file shredding, about how the whole office would be in an uproar just before the facts and figures for the quarterly report were due and then, miraculously, not only would everything be fine, but Texas Star would be boasting a profit increase. This, said the source, was accomplished by padding numbers, shuffling accounts and falsifying records. In essence, Bia Anderson had proof positive, thanks to sensitive documents that the ex-employee had copied and stuck away for safekeeping, that Texas Star was one gigantic shell game on the verge of collapse.

  When the mammoth went down, it would not only bruise the Dallas-area economy, but thousands of innocent people would lose the
ir life savings while a few of the Texas Star upper echelon—namely, Harris Merriweather—had been living large with his four mansions and fleets of cars, airplanes and yachts.

  Drew felt lightheaded. He leaned forward and braced his head on his hands. He inhaled through his nose and out through his mouth noisily. Never before had he experienced something so bittersweet.

  On one hand, this was a story that would put his small newspaper on the map. Hell, they were going to scoop the Wall Street Journal. It had journalistic prizes written all over it.

  On the other hand, there was Caroline.

  Oh, God, Caroline. How in the world was he going to make her understand that he had a journalistic duty to run this story? Reporters were the watchdogs of society. He would be guilty of negligence if he did not do his duty and publish Bia’s article. Since it was Wednesday night, time was of the essence. They would go to press tomorrow. Friday, the article would hit the newsstands. They had to clear all the hurdles: Drew had read it—and it was a damn good story. It was going to nail Merriweather and his band of conniving criminals to the wall. Bia had called Coopersmith & Bales, but they weren’t talking; the publisher of the Journal had read it and signed off; the Journal’s attorneys had looked it over to make sure it was free of potential legal hangnails. So far they had given it the green light. The only step left before they went to press was to get a statement from someone at Coopersmith & Bales, Texas Star’s auditor of record. Of course, they weren’t expecting the good folks at C & B to say much other than “no comment” but they had to give them a chance to speak. Bia had tried to get a hold of someone today but was told that the publicists were not available. She would have to call back tomorrow.

  The administrative assistant who took the call had incorrectly assumed that Bia was calling for information about Charles Coopersmith’s retirement. Bia did not correct her. She did not want to reveal her hand before she had a chance to talk to someone in person.

  That would happen tomorrow. If not, they would go to press with or without a statement from C & B.

  The story was going to run and all hell was going to break loose. The best way for Drew to cut his losses with Caroline, to cushion the blow, would be to tell her. He had to tell her before it hit the stands and everything hit the fan.

  So that meant he needed to talk to her tonight. Just as the thought had registered, his phone buzzed a text notification from Caroline.

  Look out your window, it said.

  He did. She was sitting in her car, a huge smile on her face, crooking her finger on her left hand in a come here motion and holding up a bottle of champagne with the other.

  Because his brain was on overload with all the baggage of the Texas Star debacle, seeing her looking so happy, beckoning him to come outside and drink champagne with him threw him for a second. Then he remembered: she had no idea what was about to happen.

  She has no idea that I’m about to break her heart. I love her so much, but I’m about to become the person she hates the most in the entire world.

  He held up his phone, indicating that he was going to text her back.

  I still have some work to do. Please come inside.

  * * *

  The guy was a workaholic. But that was one of the many things she loved about him—his dedication to the job and the way he was learning to balance work and time with her. He really had made a concerted effort to let his assistant editor take on some of the workload. That’s why she understood when the occasional crisis—like tonight’s—happened.

  Too bad it had to be on the night of the party and the pilot taping. But she forgave him. And she wanted to make sure he understood that. Hence the bottle of champagne.

  His office was on the first floor of a three-story office building. Though she’d driven by the place many times, it was the first time she’d ever been inside.

  He met her at the door, looking tired and...stressed. Definitely not himself.

  Uh-oh, had she made a mistake by showing up uninvited? She hugged him at the door, careful not to be too touchy-feely, since she didn’t know who else was in the building with him.

  Oh...should she have brought the champagne? That might be frowned on. Especially if he was in the middle of an emergency. Well, they didn’t have to open it right now.

  But he was definitely hugging her back. In fact, for a moment, it felt as if he did not want to let her go.

  Oh, my gosh. Did someone die?

  Something was definitely off-kilter.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked when they finally pulled out of the hug.

  He looked at her for a long moment. She could actually see the great effort he was making as he was thinking. Thinking very, very hard.

  Finally, he just raked his hands into his hair and let out a low growl.

  “My God, Drew, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

  “Just come inside,” he said, stepping back so she could walk around him into the Journal’s lobby. She looked around the sparsely decorated reception area as he locked the door. Her first impression was that the place was very...white. Scuffed white walls, white laminated reception desk, gray-white tile on the floors. It was obviously a place where function was valued over form. But that was okay.

  The next thing she noticed was that the place was very quiet and empty.

  “Come on.” Drew motioned her past a large room that was broken up by at least a dozen cubicles. It boasted framed posters with motivational sayings on the wall and what looked like a giant spreadsheet with the words SALES GOALS printed across the top.

  Ah, that must be where they kept the sales force.

  They passed down a short hallway into a smaller room with six cubicles outside of a glass office.

  “This has to be the infamous newsroom that I’ve heard so much about,” she said, trying to lighten his mood.

  Her heart sank when he did not crack a smile.

  “Look, Drew, I can leave if it’s a bad time. I don’t want to keep you from your work. I probably should’ve called before I barged in on you.”

  “No, stay. Please,” he said. This time he pressed his palms into his eyes before raking his hand through his hair. Obviously, that was his stress tic. It was really worrying her. “Just come in here. Into my office. Sit. Do you want some coffee or a soda or something?”

  “No,” she said as she followed him inside. “I just want you to tell me what’s wrong. Because you are definitely not yourself.”

  He sat down at his desk and first looked at his hands as if ordering his words. Then he looked at her.

  She sat down, bracing herself for the bombshell he was obviously about to drop.

  “Our managing editor, Beatrice Anderson, has been working on an investigative story for a few weeks now.”

  Caroline nodded. So far, so good. That’s what they do at a newspaper—research, write and publish stories.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary there.”

  He shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. This story is very out of the ordinary and it’s not good, Caroline. It’s about Texas Star. Our evidence points to fraud.”

  It took a moment for his words to sink in. Not good. Texas Star. Fraud.

  “Drew, what do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I just said. We have evidence that Texas Star has been defrauding its investors.”

  Suddenly, as the implications of what he was saying began to sink in, she shook her head as if doing so could fend off his words. Those ugly words.

  “No, it’s impossible, because I’ve known Harris Merriweather my entire life. Pepper is one of my best friends. Do you realize that what you’re saying is very damaging?”

  “I know the implications. If we didn’t have ironclad proof, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait a minute. You say you have ironclad proof that there had been fraud?”

  Drew nodded.

  “Are you forgetting that Coopersmith & Bales is the audito
r for Texas Star? Because if you’re saying you have ironclad proof of fraud, you’re either accusing us of covering it up or not knowing what the hell we’re doing.”

  “Bia hasn’t talked to anyone from your office yet. I wanted to talk to you and let you know what was going on before she calls tomorrow. I didn’t want you to be blindsided.”

  Caroline leaned forward in her chair. “Am I supposed to thank you for that, Drew? You’re basically accusing my family...no, you’re accusing me of fraud. Do you realize that?”

  “Caroline, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Are you involved with the Texas Star account?”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but then she shut it again, blinking in obvious disbelief. “Well, no. That’s not an account that I handle.”

  “Then how do you know what’s going on with them?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have to know what’s going on to be one hundred percent sure that Coopersmith & Bales doesn’t condone fraudulent practices. That’s as bad as me accusing you of—”

  “Hack reporting.” He finished her sentence for her. “Which is exactly what you’re sitting right there accusing me of.”

  He took a deep breath and seemed to regain his composure. “Caroline, the paper’s attorneys have looked over our findings. We have uncovered enough evidence to substantiate our findings. Texas Star is in big trouble.”

  He seemed to imply that Coopersmith & Bales might be, too. Although he had the decency to not come right out and say it.

  “What is this evidence? I want to see it. I want to read this story.”

  “I’m not the one investigating and writing the piece. So it’s not mine to give to you. If you want to contact Bia tomorrow, you can ask her, but I have to warn you that most reporters won’t let anyone but their editor read the story before it’s printed.”