“I can’t tell you that.”
“Goddammit, Sophie,” he snapped. “How can you show me this and then deny me the resources to determine whether it’s true or not. Real or not?” he demanded, fury sparking his eyes.
“I can’t, Joshua,” she insisted. Shaking her head, she spread her hands wide, palms up, on her thighs. “I wish I could, but I can’t. I will tell you this, though. I believe the report is authentic. My source... I’ve held the actual report in my hand. If it’s faked, it’s a fabulous forgery.”
“Dammit.” He surged off the couch and stalked across the floor to the floor-to-ceiling window that made up one of the walls of his office. Thrusting the fingers of both hands through his short hair, he uttered a soft “dammit” again, then pressed a fist to the glass and cupped the back of his neck with the other. “How would they even be able to run a DNA test? I’ve never been asked or consented to giving a sample.” He whirled around, his sharp features drawn, taut. “This doesn’t make sense. Someone is playing games. They have an endgame that I don’t know about and can’t figure out.”
Sophie stood and ventured a couple of steps in his direction. But didn’t travel farther than those steps. Those pinpricks of caution that she’d felt in his presence before now stabbed at her. Warning her to. Back. Off. To retreat and regroup. Because at some point, she’d become too vulnerable to him. Too open.
And that should have her snatching up her belongings and running for the door like he’d just sprouted fur and fangs. Because in her position, vulnerability was a liability. For her and her job. God, she’d already revealed some of her research to him. What next? Ignore a lead? Refuse a story?
End her career?
She’d seen it with her mother.
She’d been her mother.
Shame, glittering bright and filthy at the same time, slicked through her like an oil stain. One would think she’d learned her lesson. Because it’d been brutal, but a good one. But those were the best. Or at least, they should be.
Bumping into Laurence Danvers at a local campaign rally four years ago had been an accident, so she’d believed for a long time. She hadn’t known then that he’d planned the meeting that had seemed serendipitous. Fated. And she’d fallen so hard for his handsome features, his wide smile, his charm...his lies. She’d allowed her heart to blind her to his true nature. So when he’d first suggested a different perspective on an article she was writing about the city council election candidates, she saw it as his helping her see a different angle. When he’d convinced her that reporting an indiscretion from a candidate’s past would be inflammatory and unfair—even though that candidate was running on a family platform—she’d conceded because he was only looking out for her career and reputation as a reputable reporter.
And when he’d demanded that she resign rather than reveal this same candidate had been accused of sexual misconduct by several women, she almost conceded. Almost. Too many times during her relationship with Laurence, she’d ignored her intuition. But that time, she’d listened, done some digging and uncovered that he was a longtime family friend to the candidate whose rally they’d met at. Meeting her, seducing her, making her fall in love... It’d all been so calculated in an effort to use her.
In mere months, she’d almost thrown aside her career, her dreams, her integrity for a man. As Laurence had walked out her apartment door for the final time, she vowed never to be that vulnerable, that foolish again.
And as she stared at Joshua, she could feel herself already climbing that slippery slope. One misstep, and it would be a long, painful slide down. Hell, she’d already shown him part of her research. She shuffled back and away from him, both physically and mentally. She had to approach Joshua and this element of her story as a journalist, not a woman who wanted to cradle that strong jaw and massage away the deep crease between his eyebrows. Or soothe the confusion, anger and pain in his eyes.
“Someone is setting me up,” Joshua continued, dropping his gaze to his clenched fist. As if disturbed by the outward display of emotion, he stretched his fingers out, splaying them wide and lowering them to the side of his thigh. “Nothing else makes sense. No one has contacted me about possible paternity or approached me for money. Not even threatened blackmail. Logic says that if there was a woman out there with a child I fathered, she would reach out to me for child support.”
Sophie couldn’t argue with his assumption. Joshua Lowell wasn’t only a beautiful man; he was obscenely wealthy and very well connected, even in spite of the scandal. He could more than afford to provide for a child. And a particular kind of woman would use the situation to her advantage and try for more than money. Like forcing a relationship, marriage. Through her research for her article, she’d discovered that from the moment his father disappeared, Joshua had become a choirboy—well, if choirboys had the bodies and faces of Greek gods and exuded sex like a pheromone. But no hint of impropriety had ever been connected to his name in the media. A person didn’t need to have a psychology degree to determine the reason behind that. And a woman looking to permanently bind herself to a powerful and rich family would realize that bit of information, as well.
She tapped a finger against her bottom lip. “That is...curious. Especially since the child is four years old now.” This was her cue to walk away. To pack up her things, thank him for the opportunity to see the inside of Black Crescent and leave. “I can’t give up my sources. But...if you need or want the help, I’ll assist in finding out what’s going on. Or try to.”
Damn.
So much for walking
