The Girl Who Knew Too Much(27)

He smiled, startling her. His eyes warmed.

“I appreciate your time, Miss Glasson,” he said very earnestly. “I hope you’ll at least consider my side of things before you write another piece for Whispers.”

“Definitely.”

He lowered his voice and infused it with meaningful intensity.

“I had nothing to do with Gloria Maitland’s accident last night,” he said. “All I’m asking is that Whispers prints the truth. If it does I will be very . . . grateful.”

She angled her head slightly as though she hadn’t heard him clearly.

“Grateful?” she repeated.

“My career took off with Fortune’s Rogue. As a result, I am besieged with requests for interviews. Let’s just say that I am now in a position to pick and choose which reporters get the real inside information regarding my career and my personal life. Naturally I’ll tell my publicist that I will only talk to the members of the press I know I can trust.”

She gave him her most winning smile. “No need to make threats, Mr. Tremayne. Your assistant already did that for you.”

“I wasn’t threatening you.”

“Yes, you were.” She turned to go and then stopped.

“One more thing,” she said, trying to make it sound as if a last-minute thought had just occurred to her. “Would you care to comment on why you refused to talk to my predecessor?”

“What?” He looked wary now.

“Peggy Hackett. I’m sure you remember her. She was a reporter for Whispers. She tried to schedule an interview with you shortly before she suffered an unfortunate accident and drowned. An interesting coincidence, don’t you think? Two women associated with you have recently drowned. You’re sure you don’t have a comment?”

For a beat he looked as if he had been struck by lightning. An unnatural stillness came over him.

It was all over in the next instant. He gave her a pitying look, as if she were not very intelligent.

“I have no idea what you mean, Miss Glasson,” he said. “I had no relationship of any kind with Peggy Hackett. Everyone knows that she was a washed-up drunk. The studio publicist mentioned that she had begged for an interview but it never happened. The publicist turned her down cold.”

“Did Gloria Maitland speak to Hackett?”

“I have no idea. A word of advice, Miss Glasson. You’re playing with fire. The studio can destroy you and your cheap newspaper in the blink of an eye.”

“Thanks for the quote.”

She turned quickly, instinctively wanting to escape—and collided with a very solid, very unmovable object blocking her path. The shock of the impact rattled her. She gasped, lurched back a step, and found herself off balance.

Oliver used his free hand to steady her.

“Sorry,” he said. But his attention was on Nick Tremayne, not her. “I’ve been looking for you, Miss Glasson,” he said. “The front desk just had a telephone call from Mildred Fordyce at the Cove Inn. Evidently someone in L.A. is trying to reach you. Mildred said it sounded important.”

“Thanks,” Irene mumbled. She pushed her hair back behind her ears and collected herself. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go back to the inn and return the call.”

“No need to do that,” Oliver said. “You can use the telephone in my office.”

Startled all over again, she stared at him. “Thanks, but that’s not necessary. Really.”

“I insist.” He took her arm. “You’ll have privacy here. You can’t say the same about the telephone in the lobby at the inn.”

She started to argue but something in his eyes made her change her mind.

“Fine,” she said. “Your office. I appreciate it. Don’t worry, if I have to telephone my editor, I’ll reverse the charges.”

“We can discuss the charges later.” Oliver kept his attention on Nick. “I trust you’re enjoying your stay with us, Mr. Tremayne?”

“It’s been interesting,” Nick growled. He did not take his eyes off Irene. “You’ll remember what I said, won’t you, Miss Glasson?”

“Every word,” she vowed.

A shiver whispered through her. She knew that Oliver felt it, because his hand tightened around her elbow in a reassuring way.

“I’ll take you to my office,” he said.





Chapter 13




She did not succeed in taking a deep breath until they were out of the Garden Room. Oliver steered her through the graceful, arched walkway that ran the length of the hotel’s main building.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, of course.” She glanced at him. “Was there really a telephone call for me?”