Sex, Lies and the CEO

“My life of crime will have a net positive outcome. You calling Ashton is only going to mess up your life.”

“I wish I could say you were wrong.” Jennifer lifted the painting, then stepped forward to hand it up to Darci. “It’s not that I can’t see the danger. But he’s like chocolate-ribbon cookie dough. You know you’ll regret it in the end, but sometimes a girl just has to go for it.”

“You’re making me hungry.”

Jennifer grinned while Darci turned to position the center painting.

“How’s that?” Darci asked.

Jennifer took a few steps back. “Perfect.”

She retrieved the next largest painting and passed it to Darci.

Darci married the hook to the hanger. Then she stepped down to see how they looked.

“The spacing looks right to me,” said Jennifer.

There was about four inches of cream-colored wall between the two connected oils.

“You’ve given me a craving for ice cream,” said Darci.

“We don’t have any ice cream. But I do have a box of almond-caramel crunch.”

“Bring it on.”

While Jennifer went for the chocolates, Darci moved the ladder and measured for the next picture hook.

“Tell me about your upcoming date,” Jennifer called from the kitchen.

“Dinner and wine on his deck. My plan so far is to get him to the wine cellar, pretend I need the restroom, then snoop my way through the basement.”

“And if he comes after you?”

“I’ll pretend I’m lost.”

“It might work,” Jennifer conceded.

On her return, she picked up the remote control and put on the TV in the living area. A news reporter’s voice filled the background.

“He might get suspicious.” Darci hung picture number three, then stepped back, liking how it looked. “But he’s never going to guess the truth.”

“Maybe he’ll think you’re a reporter writing an expose on him,” said Jennifer.

“You think?” That hadn’t occurred to Darci.

“You wouldn’t be the first.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look,” said Jennifer.

Darci turned.

Jennifer pointed to the television. “Bianca Covington just published a book.”

“Who’s Bianca Covington?”

“Somebody gorgeous and famous, I guess.”

Darci moved for a better view. A young blonde woman sat across the table from Berkley Nash, an infamous, local reporter. The camera zoomed in on a book with a fuchsia cover, titled Shane Colborn—Behind the Mask.

“The perils of being rich,” said Jennifer.

“I wonder if it’s flattering,” said Darci while a headshot of Shane came up on the screen. Her chest contracted at the sight. He was cover-model gorgeous.

Suddenly, she couldn’t combat her rising trepidation. Why had he been so insistent about arranging a date with her when he could have any woman in the city? Sure, she’d been wearing a four-thousand-dollar dress, and her hair and makeup had been stellar. But she was no Bianca Covington.

She had to allow for the possibility that Shane knew who she was and was stringing her along.

“There are some scandalous accusations between these pages,” said Berkley.

Bianca gave a throaty laugh. “I think readers will be shocked to discover the dark side of Shane Colborn.”

Jennifer raised her brows at Darci. “Dark side?”

“I’m sure she’s exaggerating for ratings.”

“You’re going to his mansion.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“Alone.”

“He’s not Count Dracula.” Darci wasn’t fearful at all. Well, except for the worry he might know her real identity.

“But you’re going to cross him.”

“I am.”

“And he’s got a dark side.”

“Well, I have a dark side, too. I’m spying on the man.”

“Ruthless,” Bianca stated with conviction, her darkly outlined eyes wide. “And completely narcissistic. The silver spoon is still lodged in that man’s mouth.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” said Darci.

Except for the ruthless part, she supposed.