The Rich Boy. Leah Vale
to tell no one he was the father, Joseph was willing to let the world learn the truth about them. Only Alex would still be saddled with barbed secrets.
The bitterness from having been lied to for so long seared Alex from the inside out. He slid his hand from beneath Maddy’s, shoved out of his chair and paced toward the floor-to-ceiling window. His head had started to pound again.
From behind him she said, “I only wondered because Joseph—”
He halfway glanced at her over his shoulder. “Look, Madeline, I don’t want to talk about my grandfather, either, okay?”
He turned back to the window and raised a hand to rub his temple. He didn’t want to so much as think about Joseph, Marcus or Helen. How was he supposed to pretend that nothing had changed when everything about his world had changed?
“I knew it,” Maddy almost whispered.
Certain his refusal to talk about Joseph couldn’t be that surprising to her, he faced her. “What—?” Her wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression stopped him cold.
She rose slowly from her chair, musing, “I did the math, and I just couldn’t buy the coincidence. I mean, you’re dang near the same age as the others.”
The hair rose on the back of Alex’s neck. “What are you talking about, Madeline?”
She came closer, her incredible eyes searching his face. “You didn’t know, did you? Oh, my—” She put a hand over her mouth, as if something in his expression confirmed her suspicion.
He did his damnedest to shutter all the hurt. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She took her hand from her mouth and touched it to his sleeve. “Alex, you called Joseph your grandfather. You said you didn’t want to talk about your grandfather.”
Alex’s breath was knocked out of him as though he’d just fallen from a galloping horse onto hard-packed earth.
Holy crap.
All this time he’d struggled to break the habit of calling Joseph by what had been a lie, and his subconscious decided now to get it right.
Holy heaping crap.
But maybe that same subconscious had glommed on to the idea of opening up to Madeline, of confessing his burden of pain and a marrow-deep bitterness that scared the hell out of him.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Because mixed in with the sympathy glistening in her eyes, a sympathy he strangely didn’t doubt, was the gleam of triumph that tore through him like a sharp hoof.
He’d handed her the story of a career; the McCoys under glass, stuffed, braised and ready to be torn apart by the media. Now everyone—not just the family and those who’d had to—would find out that Joseph McCoy, an increasingly lone bastion of morality in corporate America, had lied to protect his son.
His only son.
Alex’s stomach pitched. “You misheard me, Maddy.”
Pity, as clear as day, tugged the corners of her mouth downward. “I didn’t, Alex. You know I didn’t.”
“I know no such thing, Miss Monroe.”
Her fingers curled into his coat sleeve, bunching the pinstripes as she tightened her grip. Not a hint of victory remained in her turbulent eyes. But he’d seen the triumph, and he’d never forget the look. “Oh, Alex, don’t.”
He willed himself to turn to stone. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t shut me out.”
He did just that. “Why, exactly, are you here?”
“Because I was certain you were trying to deal with something—”
He sent her a sarcastic smile. “The horrible loss of a family member? And what did you plan to do about this something?”
“I—” She faltered.
Thank God lying to get a story hadn’t become second nature to her. Yet. And because he was now forced to make lying second nature to him, he couldn’t rightly throw mud at her.
He placed his hand over hers, squeezed once in regret for what might have been between them, then removed her hand from his arm and stepped back. “You came for a story you could sensationalize. That’s fine—it’s your job. I understand. Just please don’t pretend otherwise.” His voice cracked. Damn it!
She shook her head, biting her lip.
He fisted his hands and forced himself to play hardball. “But if you try to use what you thought you heard here today, I’ll vehemently deny everything. It will be your word against mine. A TV gossip reporter with a clear agenda versus a grieving McCoy.”
He knew what he was about to say would be an even cheaper shot, but he had no choice. “Don’t forget who landed you the job in the first place.”
That one did the trick. The empathy cleared from her eyes. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “I am well aware of why I was hired for my job. Which is why I’m hell-bent on earning what I now consider a better one.”
He acknowledged her ambition with a nod. “Fine. Just don’t expect a hand up from me.”
“Fine. Because I don’t want a hand up from anyone.”
He jerked his head toward the door. “Then have a good day, Miss Monroe.”
Her chin went up another notch. “I will.” She whirled and marched away. Halfway across the room she stopped, the stiffness draining from her shoulders.
Alex’s heart tripped, then started to pound with a trepidation that vaguely resembled hope. What he wouldn’t give for his control back.
Madeline slowly faced him. Much of the indignation was gone from her expression, replaced by a caring hardened with determination. “But I’m not walking away from this, Alexander. From you. I know what I heard, and I know how bad finding out something like that would be for you. I can see how bad it is.”
She took a step closer. “I don’t think you’ll be okay until you get the truth out in the open, where you can deal with it. I’m going to make sure that happens.”
With sudden clarity, Alex realized there was only one way he would be able to deal with it.
He turned to his desk, grabbed his keys from the top drawer and headed straight for the door.
Watching him stride past, Maddy said, “Where are you going?”
Without looking at her, he answered, “That’s for me to know and you not to find out.”
He needed to get the hell away before he slipped up in front of anyone else. As if slipping up in front of Maddy Monroe weren’t bad enough. Not just because she was a reporter, entertainment or otherwise. She was the only woman who’d ever made him feel like simply a man.
A man who only wanted to be loved for who he was inside, not for his name and money.
How ironic, since he no longer had a clue who that was.
Chapter Four
So much for the Maddy Monroe magic.
Madeline flinched when Alex’s office door smacked against its stopper, but she couldn’t take her eyes from his broad back as he stormed away. The stiffness in his shoulders radiated fury, frustration and hurt.
Poor Alex. Her heart folded in on itself, smothering any jubilation she might have felt from the vindication.
Alexander McCoy was actually Marcus McCoy’s son, not Joseph’s.
She’d been right.
Good heavens, who was his biological mother? Had that been revealed in the will, also?