Pursued(10)

"I know you won't, kid. I knew the second I saw that picture that you would be perfect for the job."

"Picture?" she asked. "What picture?"

"The one of you and Nic Durand at the Children's Hospital Gala in San  Diego a few weeks ago. It was in the files under Bijoux when I went to  look. Pretty dress, by the way."                       
       
           



       

She felt all the blood drain from her face as his words sunk in. "Me and Nic Durand?"

"Yeah. You look surprised. Didn't you get his name before you danced with him?"

Oh, God. Oh, God. Ohgod! Panic hit her like a freight train as she  figured out that Nic-her Nic-was actually Nic Durand. But that was  impossible. He'd said he was a PR guy. She remembered every second of  the time she spent with him and she remembered, very clearly, him saying  he worked in public relations. Then again, maybe he hadn't.

Something like that.

Those were his exact words when she'd asked him what he did. She'd  leaped to the conclusion that he was a PR guy and he'd let her make the  leap. More, he'd encouraged her to do it.

Typical, she told herself as she tried to tamp down the fury and the  fear rocketing through her. He hadn't wanted her to know who he really  was, hadn't wanted her to know how much money he was worth, just in case  she decided to try to sink her claws into him. As if she'd ever do  something like that. As if she would ever even consider sinking her  claws into any man.

But figuring all this out now didn't make her current situation any  less precarious. What was she supposed to do? Obviously, this was a very  clear conflict of interest. She'd slept with Nic Durand, for God's  sake. And then blown him off. And now she was supposed to investigate  him? Fairly and impartially and with a very definite eye on the prize of  becoming a reporter who did real stories as opposed to one who covered  whose designer dress was actually an imitation?

How could she do it? How could she not do it, when she was standing in  the middle of Malcolm's office and he was looking at her so expectantly?  Maybe even paternally. She didn't want to disappoint him, but she also  didn't know if she could do this. Didn't know if she could investigate  Nic and his brother for something so despicable when-up until two  minutes ago-there'd been a part of her that had longed to see him again  for very nonbusiness reasons.

She must have been standing there trying to figure things out for  longer than she'd thought, because Malcolm suddenly put a bracing hand  on her shoulders. "Everything okay there, Desi?" he asked gruffly.

"Yes, of course," she lied. "Sorry, I was just thinking about what angle to take with my investigation."

"Well, I'd start by using the gala angle."

She looked at him blankly. "The gala angle?"

"Sure. You've already met him at least once, right?"

"Yes."

"Then call him up. Ask him for a tour of his business. Tell him you're  writing a story about Bijoux since they're new to the area and set to  become a major power player in Southern California. Men like that enjoy  having their egos stroked."

"You want me to lie to him?" Was it possible for her to feel any sicker about this whole situation?

Malcolm glared at her sternly. "You're an investigative reporter,  Maddox. You use whatever contacts you have to find out the truth. That's  the way the job works."

"I know that, sir. It's just that-"

"Just what? I gave you this story because I figured you already had an  in with Nic Durand. Was I wrong about that? Should I give the story to  someone else?"

He looked far from pleased at the prospect, and she knew if she  followed her gut, if she told him yes he should give the story to  someone else, he would do just that. And it would be a cold day in hell  before she ever got another chance. She'd be writing obituaries and  party gossip for as long as she worked for the Los Angeles Times. And  maybe even longer.

"No, of course not," she told him, putting every ounce of conviction  she could muster into her voice. Which wasn't much, if she was being  honest, but at this point she would take what she could get.

"You don't sound too sure about that."

"I am sure. I've got this."

Malcolm finally nodded, satisfied. "Well, go get them, then. And don't forget to ask for help if you need it."

"I won't," she told him before making her way out of his office and  back to her desk. As she did, her stomach pitched and rolled at the  thought of the mess she had gotten herself into.

What was she supposed to do?

Then again, what could she do?

The questions echoed in her mind like a particularly terrifying mantra.  But no matter how many times she asked them, no matter how many  scenarios she ran through, she couldn't find a solution. She was going  to have to investigate Nic Durand. And if he was guilty of what he was  accused of … if he was guilty, she was going to have to write an article  that exposed that guilt to the whole world.                       
       
           



       

The thought made her sick.

Because whatever his reasons for not telling her who he was-and she was  forced to admit his omission could have been for any number of reasons  besides him thinking she was a gold digger-after all, she hadn't exactly  told him what she did for a living, either, had she?-he didn't deserve  her using their connection, or whatever it was, to trick him into  letting her inside Bijoux.

She had never used her body to get what she wanted, and she'd be damned  if she'd use it now, even after the fact. No, she decided as she sat at  her desk scrolling through the folder Malcolm had emailed her. If she  had to do this investigation, then she would do it her way. Without  involving Nic until she had no other choice in the matter. And when  she'd reached that point, when she'd gathered as much information as she  could on his company's diamond procurement, she would go to him. But  she would do it the right way. She would be totally honest about who she  was and what she wanted.

It was the only way she could do it, as far as she could tell. The only  way she could write the story and also keep her integrity. Anything  else was out of the question.

Satisfied with her decision-or at least as satisfied as she could  be-she skimmed through the rest of the file before pulling out a yellow  legal pad and making a list of every question she could think of  pertaining to the investigation. It was just a start. She was sure she  would come up with a bunch more as she delved into her research. But she  needed to start somewhere, and this seemed as good a way to focus her  research as any other.

Always start with the questions, her father used to tell her. How do  you know what you're looking for if you don't even know what information  you're missing? He'd said that to her a million times when she was  young, back when he actually used to come home from his sojourns on the  road. Back when he-when they-still had a home for him to come back to.

Shoving the unpleasant memories away, she dug into the story just as  he'd taught her all those years ago. And soon she was so engrossed in  her research that she forgot about everything else. It turned out the  diamond trade was a fascinating-and brutal-world, one where human lives  were often valued much less than the stones they mined.

She was so riveted by the stories that she didn't even notice Stephanie  stopping by her desk until her friend put her hand on Desi's arm. Then  she nearly jumped through the roof.

"I'm sorry!" Stephanie laughed when Desi had finally calmed down enough  to take a breath. "I just wanted to see if you were ready to go to  lunch."

"Oh, yeah. Of course. Give me five minutes to get all this in order, if that's okay."

"No problem. Looks like you got a decent story after all."

"Looks like. I hope I can do it justice."

"Of course you can! You'll be off the galas and into the news pages in no time."

"From your mouth to God's ears," Desi told her.

"Hush! Don't let Malcolm hear you say that. He'll think you're talking about him!"

They both laughed then, largely because Stephanie was right.

Desi closed her computer and locked up all of her paper research in her  desk. It was early days yet, but it was never too early to be careful  with her information. Another lesson her father had taught her before  she'd hit her tenth birthday.

"Ready to go?" she asked after gathering her purse.

"Absolutely." But before she could step out from behind her desk,  Stephanie leaned closer and whispered, "Actually, I was hoping you had a  tampon I could borrow. I always carry a couple in my purse, but for  some reason I only had one today and there's no way I'll make it through  the afternoon without an extra."