Man Trouble Page 2

  “You could include that when you talk to him,” Carter said thoughtfully. “It might help.”

  Molly stared at him. “Hold it. Talk to him? Are you saying that you want me to ask Jake Berenger if he'll do this book?”

  “That's the plan,” Carter said. “But first, you'll need to seduce him.”

  CHAPTER 2

  “Jaaake! Where are you?”

  The call came plaintively through the warm Caribbean air, echoing down the hallway of the villa. It was a sweet, girlish voice, and to Jake Berenger, it was every bit as melodic as the evening lockdown bell at San Quentin. He pushed aside the pile of paper on his desk and closed his eyes briefly.

  “Darling,” said his mother, who was sitting in a leather armchair nearby, studying fabric samples for the renovation of the Gold Bay lobby, “did I just see you cringe?”

  “Yes,” Jake said. “And before the week is out, you may see me snap completely.”

  Oliver Arias, Jake's number-two man and Berenger Corporation's Chief Operations Officer, was too discreet to laugh, but a faint smile hovered on the edges of his mouth.

  Cora Berenger began to protest, but Jake held up a warning hand as he heard light footsteps approaching the library. The door to his suite of rooms had been closed, which would have suggested to most people that he did not want to be disturbed, but he knew from recent experience that it took more than subtle suggestion to discourage Amanda Harper.

  Moments later, she appeared in the doorway. Twenty-one years old, golden-haired, with the face of an angel, the body of a centerfold, and the soul of a pit bull, Amanda was the only daughter of Harry Harper, Jake's longtime friend and mentor. Unfortunately, the same steely determination that had made her father a major player in the oil business had expressed itself in Amanda as one single-minded goal: to have and to hold Jake Berenger.

  “I found you,” Amanda said. She was wearing a lime-green bikini under some kind of gauzy white minidress, and she smiled at him, tilting her head so that her hair swung forward in a shining curtain.

  “You did, indeed,” Jake said.

  “It wasn't very hard. You're always in here. How can you work on such a beautiful day? Why don't you come down to the beach? You're supposed to be on vacation.”

  “Funny thing about the world,” Jake said, “it doesn't seem to care that I'm on vacation. And I thought that I was doing well, working only six hours a day instead of ten.”

  Amanda laughed uneasily, and Jake could tell that she wasn't sure whether he was joking or not. He wasn't. You want me, little girl? he thought. Be careful what you wish for. This is what you'll get.

  She, like everyone else who didn't know him, had bought into the tabloid version of his life. She wanted it for herself, but she didn't know that she was chasing a phantom. If you believed what you read in the papers, his world consisted of glittering parties, jet-set events, and an endless procession of beautiful women. The reality was somewhat different. The parties were choreographed publicity stunts designed to keep the media buzzing about the Berenger hotels; the jet-set events were corporate sponsorships carefully chosen to flash the Berenger logo in the eyes of their most elite customers, and the women were models or actresses who saw the chance to appear on his arm as a useful promotion for their own careers. It was a mutual use situation, and Jake had learned that there was no shortage of available flesh as long as the champagne was flowing and the flashbulbs were popping.

  He heard his mother sigh, as if she'd read his thoughts. It had been her idea to invite Amanda to spend the winter holidays at Gold Bay with their family. The official reason given was that Amanda's parents were enjoying a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary trip to Europe, but Jake knew his mother well enough to guess that she had an ulterior motive similar to Amanda's.

  “Oliver,” Cora said briskly, and Oliver looked up nervously from his sheaf of papers. He, like everyone else who worked for Berenger, held Cora in a regard that mixed awe, adoration, and terror. Gold Bay was the crown jewel in the company treasury, and it had been Cora's baby from the beginning. She was the managing director of the exclusive resort, and she ran it with an efficiency that would have impressed the U.S. Army. In keeping with that theme, Jake teasingly referred to her as his five-star resort general.

  “It seems a shame,” she continued, “to send you back to New York tonight without giving you a little time to enjoy the fresh air and the sun.”

  “Oh, no,” Oliver said. “I'm—”

  “Oh, yes,” Cora said. “I insist, dear. In fact, I have a wonderful idea. You should take a drive over to the west side of the island and see the site we've marked out for the new golf course. We've only just broken ground, but you'll get a sense of the layout. The views are stunning.” She smiled. “Amanda, would you be a sweetheart and go with Mr. Arias? I'm sure he'd enjoy the company.”

  “Now?” Amanda asked with a clear lack of enthusiasm.

  “Now,” Cora said firmly. “Oliver needs a break. My son will work us all to death unless someone intervenes.”

  Amanda began to pout. “But—”

  “Jake and I have a few more things to discuss, but we'll see you this evening, at dinner. All right? Good. Now, go ahead, you two.”

  Cora waited until they heard the sound of the hall door closing behind Oliver and Amanda before she spoke again. “Well,” she said in a tone that made Jake wonder if he should have gone with the others, “I've been waiting for a chance to ask what got into you this morning at breakfast. It's the first time I've ever seen you read the newspaper through a meal. You know how I feel about that.”

  “Sorry. But it was preferable to the company.”

  “Oh? I had no idea that I'd become so tedious, darling.”

  “You know I'm not talking about you,” Jake said. “Every time I looked up, there was Amanda, staring at me over the orange juice. Those blue eyes blinking, those glossy lips pouting…I'm sure it works on the boys at school, but I don't want to play.”

  “You've hardly given this a chance!”

  “Why should I? It would be a waste of my time, and hers. She's a pretty little package, and I'm sure that she'll meet another nice businessman, marry him, and spend the rest of her life shopping and doing token charity work. Frankly, though, if I wanted a pet, I'd buy a collie.”

  “Jake!”

  “Oh, come on, Ma. You should know me well enough to know that I could never take Amanda seriously. She thinks Watergate was a spa.”

  “She's young.”

  “Exactly.”

  “She'll grow up, get more worldly.”

  “I don't give a damn about worldly. I'm talking about character. Amanda has always had everything handed to her on a silver platter. She's never worked or struggled for anything in her life.”

  “You're being deliberately difficult,” Cora said. “How can you complain about Amanda's character? What about all of the other women you've dated?”

  “What about them?”

  “Darling, they've hardly been a lineup of Nobel laureates. I fail to see how Amanda Harper is any more deficient in character than Skye Elliot, or Tamara Thomas, or…or…who was that woman who kept writing to you?”

  Jake grinned. “Kristy Kreme?”

  “That's the one. She said she was a dancer, but I've never heard of a ballerina with a name like that. I think she was a fraud.”

  “I wouldn't know. I never actually met her.”

  “My point,” Cora continued, “is that if you insist on running around with shallow women, couldn't you at least pick one from a good family?”

  “No. Harry is my friend, and I'm not going to date his daughter. It wouldn't be ethical.”

  Cora regarded him with barely controlled frustration. “Why on earth not?”

  “Because Amanda—and her daddy—would expect too much from me. I'm not going to settle down, and I'm sure as hell not going to cut back on my work schedule. The women I date don't want Prince Charming, they want a good photo op. That's as committed as I inte
nd to get.”

  “How interesting,” Cora said. “I think you may have forgotten to mention that to Skye Elliot, darling.”

  Jake exhaled sharply. His mother was the only person on earth who could needle him with impunity, but sometimes she went too far. “I didn't forget,” he said. “Miss Elliot has selective hearing. She knew exactly what she was getting into when she had her publicist call me. But she tried to change the rules in the middle of the game.”

  “She fell in love with you. As your mother, I can hardly blame her for that. But what she's doing now is unforgivable.”

  Jake's mouth turned up slightly, humorlessly. “Hell hath no fury…” he quoted and shrugged. “I was always completely honest with Skye.”

  “I'm sure that you were,” Cora said, and sighed. “My dear, life is not just a series of photo ops. You're forty years old, and I want more for you. I want you to be happy. I want you to fall in love.”

  Love? Jake felt a sourness in his stomach, as if old dreams had fallen there to rot. He remembered being in love. It had been a long time ago.

  “I am happy,” he said.

  “Not like you were. When you were in school, you were—”

  “A child. And then I grew up.”

  “Too fast. You had no choice. This was never the life you wanted. I remember when you didn't care about business, or money—”

  “I learned to care a lot about money once we didn't have any,” Jake said. “Funny how that happens.”

  But Cora was caught up in her sentimental reverie. “You would have finished school, married Karen…”

  “And lived happily ever after?” Jake's voice was suddenly harsh. He preferred his mother in her executive guise. “I doubt that. Hindsight suggests that it wouldn't have worked out anyway.”

  Cora looked hurt, and Jake felt a stab of guilt. She meant well, and it wasn't her fault that her misty-eyed memories brought up emotions that he preferred to keep buried.

  “It doesn't matter now,” he said, trying to soothe her. He gestured around the luxuriously furnished room. “It all worked out in the end, didn't it?”

  “It's not the end yet,” Cora said tartly, and Jake grinned, remembering from whom he had inherited his temper.

  “Oh, Jake,” she said. “I don't suppose you'd reconsider this business with Amanda? She's a nice girl.”

  “No.”

  “She's pretty. And she wants children.”

  “Not interested.”

  “If you'd spend some time getting to know her, you might become interested. And it would be good for you to get the Skye episode behind you. Publicly, I mean. You need to show the world that you've moved on. Amanda isn't high profile, but right now that's an asset.”

  “I don't care,” Jake said. “I'm not going to date Amanda Harper, publicly or privately. Give up, Ma.”

  “Hmm,” Cora said. “We'll see. Regardless, you need to do something about Skye. That girl is unstable, and she has the newspapers eating out of her hand. She's a talented actress, I'll give her that, but that's just what makes her so dangerous. She'll say anything to hurt you, and believe me, those reporters won't bother to confirm it before they print it.”

  “So what?” Jake shrugged. “You know my take on that. Publicity keeps us hot, and even scandal sells rooms. There's nothing Skye can say that can do us any damage.”

  “Don't be so sure. It would be much better if you spoke to the press yourself…”

  “No.”

  “The journalists are beginning to resent you for shutting them out. I can see it in the way they've been writing about you.”

  “I don't know why you read that junk.”

  “Because someone needs to keep an eye on these things, and I'm the only one who can make you listen! I see trouble, Jake. You're giving the reporters the impression that you think you're above them, and they're passing that feeling on to the readers…our customers.”

  “That's ridiculous. You know why I don't give interviews. It has nothing to do with snobbery.”

  “I know that,” Cora said. “But they don't.”

  “Too bad. I don't talk about my personal life to the press. Not now, not ever. That's where I draw the line.”

  “I'm not sure you still have the luxury of drawing a line,” Cora said. “The Berenger board is concerned about you, Jake. They say that your public image has become too frivolous. The world is calling you a playboy, and the analysts are questioning whether you're still an appropriate figurehead for the company. And now, this trouble with Skye…”

  Jake had heard enough. “Damn it!” he said, slamming his hands down on the desktop. “Everything I do is for the good of the company. Everything. I built it, I run it, and until the economy took a dive, I didn't hear any of those sanctimonious pricks on the board complaining about the value of their stock. If things are rough these days, it has nothing to do with my personal life. The whole hospitality industry has taken a hit. Berenger is doing better than most, and it's specifically because of my hard work.”

  “I agree,” Cora said. “But you can't fight human nature, my dear. Bad economy or not, when the stock is down, people want someone to blame. Right now, they're looking at you, and I want you to be careful.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “Okay, Carter,” Molly said. “Just tell me one thing.”

  “Sure, what?”

  “Have you gone completely insane?”

  They were back in Molly's apartment, the spacious bottom floor of an old clapboard house near campus. Carter's declaration had pushed the conversation to a point where Molly had decided that it would be better continued in private.

  “I mean, listen to yourself,” she continued. “Are you seriously telling me that you want me to go with you to one of Jake Berenger's resorts and spend a week swanning around in a low-cut dress, trying to catch his attention so that I can then use my feminine wiles to persuade him to let you write his biography?”

  “Yes,” Carter said.

  “Yes, you've gone insane? I thought so.”

  Carter shot a nervous look at the chef's knife that she was using, and Molly realized that she was gripping it in a way that suggested that she had intentions beyond chopping parsley. She put down the knife and wiped her hands on her apron.

  “Why me? If you really do want to go through with this…bizarre plan, why don't you hire some local model to go with you? I'm flattered that you haven't noticed that I'm not exactly the glamorous type, but—”

  “Packaging,” Carter said dismissively.

  “What?”

  “Packaging,” he repeated. “That's all it is. Your infrastructure is as good as any other female's. Better, actually.”

  “My infrastructure?”

  Carter looked uncomfortable. “You know what I mean. The whole…girl thing.” He raised his hands and waved them vaguely along the outlines of a female form. “You're actually very good-looking, Molly, or you would be, if you didn't try so hard to hide it.”

  “I'm not trying to hide anything,” Molly exclaimed. “That is such a typically male thing to say. I suppose you think I should show up at faculty meetings in high heels and a miniskirt. Don't you think that it might be a little difficult for me to discuss my teaching load with the department head while he's staring at my thighs?”

  “Maybe so, but you weren't always like this.”

  “Like what?”

  He didn't even blink. “Frumpy.”

  “What!”

  “The pearls, the glasses, those baggy beige sweaters, two at a time—”

  “They're called twin sets! They're cashmere. They're classic. Grace Kelly wore them.”

  Carter shrugged. “I'm just giving you the male perspective. I don't know where you got the idea that dressing like your own grandmother would make the people at Belden take you seriously, but it seems like a wasted youth to me.”

  Molly stared at him, unable to speak. She knew that she should be outraged that he would dare to say these things to her. She tried to work up
some righteous indignation, but it came with difficulty. Mostly, she just felt deflated and foolish. Carter had called her bluff. She didn't particularly like the way she looked these days, but she didn't think that she had any choice about it. There had been mornings when, sick of her usual drab uniform, she had put on something more daring—daring, for her, being a snug sweater and a skirt hemmed above the knee—only to lose her nerve before she set foot out of her front door. It had gotten even worse in recent months, since Pirate Gold was published. She felt as if she were always seeing herself through two sets of eyes: her own, and those of some sour-lipped critic who saw any attempt at vanity as proof that she was an intellectual fraud.

  “In my opinion,” Carter said, “you're seriously conflicted, Molly. This trip might turn out to be as helpful to you as it is to me.”

  “I doubt that very much,” Molly muttered, but the vigor had gone out of her voice. She felt tired, suddenly, and she sighed. “Carter, please. Don't ask me to do this. I can't. My feminine wiles are gone…they dried up and blew away while I was in grad school. Anyway, your plan can't possibly work. Jake Berenger just broke up with Skye Elliot—”

  “Aha!” Carter said triumphantly. “You do read People magazine. I knew it. You probably have a subscription. Where do you hide them? Under your mattress?”

  “My point,” Molly continued, ignoring him, “is that if the man's last love interest was an Academy Award-winning actress who also happens to be one of the most beautiful women on the planet, then what are my chances? He won't even look at me.”

  “He will,” Carter said, so positively that Molly was intrigued, in spite of herself.

  “Oh?” she asked. “Why?”

  “I told you,” Carter said. “It's all in the packaging. Marketing makes the world go round, Molly, and Jake Berenger will notice you because we have done our market research.”

  Molly looked blankly at him. “Huh?”