Millionaires' Destinies(29)
“No,” she told Becky. “Maybe without my confirmation, Forsythe will conclude that there’s nothing to the gossip and drop it.”
Becky promptly shook her head. “I think you’re being blindly optimistic. This is too juicy. I’d certainly want to know if a powerful man like Carlton, who’s thinking of running for office, was holed up in a cozy little getaway with a major PR consultant. That’s hot stuff in this town. With what he has now, he can spin it a lot of different ways. An intimate rendezvous? A campaign strategy session that confirms Richard’s intention to run for Council? Either way, it’s news.”
Melanie couldn’t deny that. She could only pray that Pete Forsythe was the kind of reporter who’d want confirmation from at least one of the participants before printing anything, before deciding on what angle to pursue. He hadn’t gotten any sort of confirmation from her, and she doubted he’d risk going straight to Richard. Carlton Industries spent a lot of money in advertising, and Richard was a powerful man in the business community. Would Forsythe or his paper risk offending him for a titillating tidbit in tomorrow’s paper? The story could still die, she told herself staunchly. Really.
Sure, she thought grimly, and pigs could fly.
Chapter Seven
“Why was one of Alexandria’s most eligible bachelors huddling in a secret hideaway with a marketing expert last weekend?” Pete Forsythe’s insider column in the Washington paper asked a few days later. “Could it be that Carlton Industries CEO Richard Carlton is finally getting ready for that long-rumored plunge into politics? Or was this rendezvous personal? He’s not talking and neither is the woman, but we’ve confirmed that he was tucked away during last weekend’s snowstorm with Melanie Hart, an up-and-coming star on the local marketing and public relations scene.”
Richard tossed the newspaper in the trash where it belonged and buzzed his secretary. “Winifred, get Melanie Hart over here now!”
“Yes, sir.”
Melanie must have been lurking in the lobby, because she was in his office in less than ten minutes. She looked good, too. Great, in fact, as if she’d prepared for just the right look to get him to pay more attention to her than this situation she’d created by blabbing their business all over town. If she was still trying to convince him to hire her, she’d gone about it all wrong. He was fit to be tied.
“I had a feeling I’d be hearing from you. I was already on my way over here,” she told him, studying him worriedly. “I saw the paper this morning. How furious are you?”
“On a scale of one to ten, I’d say twelve thousand,” he retorted. “I do not intend to play out my campaign intentions or my personal life in some damned gossip column. You ought to know that.”
She stared at him a minute, apparently absorbing his barely disguised accusation, then said icily, “I do. I know it, not because I have a clue what goes on in that impossibly hard head of yours, but because it’s a bad strategy. It diminishes you as a candidate to have people perceive that you’re sneaking around with a woman for any reason whatsoever.”
Richard was taken aback by her blunt response. What made her think she could get away with being some sort of victim? He scowled right back at her. “Then what the hell were you thinking?” There it was. He’d said it. Now let her dance around and try to avoid the obvious. Only the two of them knew about the weekend, and he’d never spoken to For-sythe.
“Me?” she said, radiating indignation. “I had nothing to do with this. This isn’t exactly great for my reputation, either.”
His frown deepened, but for an instant his fury wavered. She’d made the denial sound almost believable. His temper cooled marginally as he struggled to give her the benefit of the doubt. What she’d said made sense. He regarded her intently, wanting desperately to believe she hadn’t betrayed him. “Then you’re swearing to me that you did not plant that item?”
She gave him another one of those withering looks intended to make him feel like slime.
“Absolutely not,” she swore.
Richard knew then that he owed her an apology, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to utter it, not without asking a few more questions. “Did you speak to Forsythe?”
Her expression faltered at that. “Yes, but—”
Richard seized on the admission, not even waiting for her explanation. “Why the hell would you even take his call? I didn’t. He never got past my secretary. No good can ever come from talking to a gossip columnist. You’re a professional. You should know that.”