Elusive
Why here? A self-made billionaire could have a villa on the coast, a secluded beach house anywhere in the Outer Banks. Shoot, a guy like Cooper Anderson could own a private bungalow on an island if he wanted. Instead, he’d holed up in Littleton, NC. Population: 625.
And he wanted people to believe there wasn’t a story under all this? Please. Maybe one that most journalists didn’t have the skills to shake out, but Quinn Thompson wasn’t about to be lumped in with the others who’d walked away empty-handed. She had too much riding on this feature.
A flicker of dread passed through her at the sight of the quaint lake homes streaming by the window. Squelching it, Quinn tilted the A/C vent toward her face.
So what if this lead meant going back to her hometown after four years? It was just a quick interview. In and out. She’d be back in Cape Hatteras by tomorrow afternoon. Sunday at the latest, if Cooper wanted to be extra difficult. It’d be fine. She’d be fine.
Yeah, if fine meant being as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
Quinn almost flinched at the phrase springing to mind out of nowhere—in Mama’s country drawl, no less. She cringed. She hadn’t even turned her car off yet, and her roots were already trying to strangle her. As if the blazing July heat weren’t doing a good enough job as it was.
She leaned forward in her seat to air out the back of her blouse. A lot of good it did. A drip of sweat careened down her spine straight into her underwear. She sighed. Welcome home.
Alongside the curb, a layer of acorns crunched under her Altima’s wheels like a giant sheet of bubble wrap. She shifted into park, looked from the sticky note on the center of the steering wheel to the house matching the address, and breathed in.
One lead story. That was all she needed. Just one solid push to show her boss she had the journalistic instincts to hack it as executive editor. Then she’d at least have access to Cruella’s ear every day. Could maybe even convince her to stop being a tyrant micromanager before she drove their magazine into the ground. She was running out of time.
Echoing the thought, Mama’s unanswered voice mail from days ago weighed Quinn’s cell in her pocket like a lead sinker.
She withdrew her keys from the ignition, straightened her back, and pushed every apprehension aside. The chance of getting this promotion was worth any cost, even enduring a torturous hour with some rich stockbroker playboy.
A dog barked somewhere nearby. Without thinking, Quinn slid down her seat faster than a hot knife through butter.
A hot knife through butter? Really? Where were these random phrases coming from?
Quinn peeked over the rim toward a woman walking her collie. Wow. That fluorescent visor she was sporting might’ve shielded her eyes from the sun, but nothing was blocking the glare coming off those bright pink flamingos on her apron.
At least she didn’t recognize the lady. With no one else in sight, Quinn inched all the way up. If this interview didn’t kill her, returning to Lake Gaston clearly wanted a stab.
She draped her arms around the wheel and tapped her forehead against them. “This lead’s right up your alley, Thompson,” she mimicked in her boss’s raspy voice. She’d like to show her an alley, all right.
The Cruella De Vil song blared into the car and sent her juggling her phone. Jeez, it was like the woman had her Altima wired or something. While trying not to curl a lip at the image of her boss on the screen, Quinn composed herself and answered. “Hi, Chri—”
“Give me the scoop. What do you have?”
A splitting headache? “I just pulled up.”
“Time is money, Thompson. You left four and a half hours ago.”
“Well, I thought about bringing empty bottles so I wouldn’t have to stop to use a restroom but decided against it.” Quinn grasped at the runaway words spewing from her mouth, but they were gone before her fingertips ever grazed them. Chewing her nail instead, she slumped in the seat and waited for impact.
One tick. Two. The seconds hung on her boss’s delayed response.
“Considering you’re showing up unannounced to land an interview with a guy who’s skilled at turning them down, you better have spent your trip thinking of something other than your bladder.”
Even 230 miles away, Cruella could still make her feel as small as a minnow in a fishing pond.
Her jaw clenched before she even finished the thought. So help her, if one more suppressed country saying slipped through her subconscious, she’d—
“I expect to see an update in my email within the hour. Are we clear?”
Another sigh. “Crystal.”
“Good. And, Thompson? Don’t even think about asking him if you can use his restroom.”
Her knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. The minute her boss hung up, Quinn chucked her cell into the cup holder, peeled her damp shirt away from the leather seat again, and craned her head back.
Buying a car with black interior definitely fit on the ever-growing list of “shouldn’t haves” she’d racked up in life. But nailing this piece? No way. She had to make it work.
Her best friend’s ringtone rang like a warning bell. They’d worked together long enough to know what was coming. “Cruella isn’t roaming the halls on one of her rampages already, is she?”
Ava snorted. “Are you seriously asking? I’m pretty sure another Dalmatian just lost its life somewhere. Let me guess, you didn’t have anything to give her yet?”
Quinn tore into a half melted dark chocolate bar she’d stashed in her bag of road trip snacks. “I just got here. I don’t know what she expects.”
“Of course you do, and you’re the crazy girl who assured her you’d deliver.”
“I’m not crazy,” she mumbled through a mouthful of sticky chocolate getting everywhere. She eyed her messy fingers. “Okay, maybe I am. Ugh. I swear, that woman has it out for me.”
“She has it out for everyone. No one can live up to her expectations.”
“Yeah, but she didn’t send everyone out on a career suicide mission. She wants me to fail at this. And I just had to say yes anyway, didn’t I? What in the world is wrong with me?”
“Oh, there are so many adjectives I want to insert right now.”
“Very funny.” Quinn balled up the empty candy wrapper in hopes her nerves would crumble with it. Crazy expectations or not, she couldn’t afford to prove her boss right. “You know what? Forget my rambling and just keep running interference for me, will ya?”
“Instead of trudging through this endless trough of stock photos? I’ll see if I can tear myself away, but I’m taking my chair with me. I swear, Cruella’s gonna start putting them on eBay just to boost our bottom line this quarter.”
“Our bottom line’s fine, and it’s a good thing you’re paid to have a flair for the dramatic, you know that?”
“Says the girl about to interview our competition’s pick for the hottest guy in business this year.”
“Top Entrepreneur.”
“Whatever. Oh, speaking of which, what are you wearing right now?”
“Ava.”
“I’m just saying. If you want an in with a guy like Cooper Anderson, you gotta play the part.”
“Or I could just be myself. You know, that really skilled journalist who can get an in without any tricks.” The very sophisticated one with chocolate all over her. Right. She grabbed a hand wipe from her purse.
“You mean the really geeky editor who pretends she’s satisfied with book boyfriends instead of a real relationship. Give it up, girl. You’re gonna fall all over yourself the minute Mr. Elusive opens the front door. Ooh, now there’s a story worth pitching. I can meet you there this afternoon. You know, for an unbiased viewpoint.”
Quinn rolled her eyes. “I’m hanging up now.”
“Don’t forget to take pictures!”
“Bye, Ava.” Shaking her head, she tucked her phone in her purse and extracted the pencil holding her hair up in a twist. As it spilled down her shoulders, she refocused on the house and the task before her. She wasn’t pretending anything. She was making things happen. Same as she’d done the last four years.
She yanked the sticky note off the horn and opened her car door. Cruella wanted the impossible? That made two of them.
Outside, a lake-scented breeze swam across her face and hedged all reservations inside the car where they needed to stay. This small town didn’t leave room for second guesses.
A For Sale sign in the yard drew her to a stop along the driveway. He was moving? Sunlight crested the roof and intensified the heat already claiming her cheeks. A good journalist would’ve known this already. She kicked herself the rest of the way to the front door. What made her think she could do this?
Stop it, already. She could handle this. She just had to get Cruella out of her head.
On the porch, she straightened her navy-blue wrap midi skirt. With another calming breath, she rang the bell and tapped her pencil to her thigh until she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass panels. A double take sent her scrambling to smooth out the humidity-induced frizz time-warping her back to the eighties.
The sound of a baby crying stopped her halfway into reaching for her brush. She scanned all around before leaning an ear closer to the door. Okay, something was off. She checked the house number on the siding against her sticky note one more time. Her source better not have gotten the address wrong.
A sinking feeling seized her stomach. What if it was someone else’s house? Someone she knew?
She latched onto the doorknob for balance and adjusted the strap to her slingback. Stupid. What was she thinking? She shouldn’t be here. If she ran into—
The door whisked open, gravity took over, and she stumbled right into Cooper Anderson’s solid bare chest.
Good thing she’d just sucked in that giant gasp of air, because her lungs were about to prove Ava right.
“I’m so sorry.” Embarrassment trumped the summer heat infusing every inch of her skin. Skin. Gah. She flung her hands off his brawny arms like they were hot coals. Once back on the porch, she shoved her long hair out of her face with her forearm and resituated her purse and heels. “I, um . . . Sorry, I just lost my . . .” Dignity? Professionalism?
In nothing but plaid pajama pants, Cooper stood in the doorway, a slow grin sloping toward his sandy blond hair.
Sanity. That’s what the heck she’d lost. All grasp on sanity. She knew better than to take Ava’s call. It had her all messed up. Now, she’d have to backpedal without looking completely neurotic, if that were even possible.
A high-pitched wail from inside erased the fleeting amusement from Cooper’s face. With a cell in one hand, he waved her in with the other. “Thanks for responding to my ad.”
Ad?
“Sorry about the mess.” He scooted an open moving box out of the entryway and tossed a pen over a folded-up newspaper on top of it. “It’s been a little” —he raked a hand through his messy hair— “crazy here lately.”
A man’s voice sounded from the phone at Cooper’s side, and he offered Quinn a weary smile. “Excuse me for a minute.” He brought his cell to his ear. “Yeah, Jim, I’m here. . . . I don’t care what her lawyer said, I . . . Yes, I knew about her dad. But what about her mom, her brother?”
Another set of airy cries drew Quinn’s attention from one distressed male in the room to the other. Seated in a high chair, a brown-haired, red-cheeked baby boy—probably a year old—smeared what looked like sweet potatoes across his face while rubbing his eyes.
Wait, Cooper Anderson had a kid? She knew there had to be missing pieces to his story, but this? No. Uh-uh. Couldn’t be. Maybe he was a nephew. A girlfriend’s son?
Whomever he belonged to, one thing was clear. He obviously missed them.
Instinct kicked in, and Quinn forged a path through a mountain of toys surrounding the high chair. “Hey, little guy, you’re ready for a nap, aren’t you?”
Though, truth be told, the coffee fumes bouncing off the lofty ceilings were strong enough to give the kid a secondhand buzz. It was only nine a.m., yet it smelled like Cooper’d brewed a good four pots already.
She cleaned off the baby’s fingers with another hand wipe from her purse and set her keys in the one clear spot on the tray in front of him. He picked them up, cries morphing into babbles of curiosity. The transition uncovered a sweet little boy, and the center of Quinn’s chest constricted at the sight of him.
Cooper paced in the hallway. “There’s got to be someone. You have three weeks to resolve this. Three. I’m running out of time and . . .” He stopped mid-stride, turned in Quinn’s direction, and almost dropped his phone. “Jim, let me call you back.”
Though he stayed in place, a dozen questions raced past his eyes. “How’d you do that?”
“Do what?”
He waved a hand at the baby like he was hunting for words. “That. Silence. You got him to stop crying.”
Quinn bit her lip to keep from grinning. So, even the elusive Cooper Anderson could be caught outside his element. Interesting. “Keys. They work every time.”
“Keys.” He looked across the plethora of toys he’d piled in front of the kid as if he were a buyer at a toy fair. Still without blinking, he started toward her.
Frazzled, sleep deprived—whatever might’ve been going on with the rest of him, it obviously didn’t affect his eyes. They locked on to hers with the kind of charisma he was known for. So much so, Quinn backed into a box behind her as he neared.
“You’re hired.”
“Excuse me?”
“The nanny position. It’s yours.”
“Nanny pos . . . ?” The ad. He thought she was here because of an ad to come work for him? “Oh, um, no, sorry. I think there’s been a—”
“Name your price.” He edged a step closer, hazel eyes confiscating her voice. “It’ll only be for three weeks, but I’ll pay you six months’ worth, if that’s what it’ll take.” Another inch toward her. A nod. “Please.”
Five blinks finally untied her vocal cords. Not that it mattered. They obviously had a mind of their own. “Wh . . . when do I start?”
He looked at the ceiling, exhaled. “Now.” When he faced her again, visible relief awakened a smile even more dangerous than those enigmatic eyes of his. He extended a hand. “Cooper Anderson.”
Willing her response to remain schooled, she slipped a hand into his. “Quinn Thompson. Pleasure’s mine.”
“I think I may have you beat on that one.” A soft, almost vulnerable laugh curled around her as he let go and kneaded the base of his neck. “You’ve been a lifesaver already.”
Seeing him in this context had her fighting a bashful smile. “I haven’t done anything.”
A mystified look took her in. “You have no idea.”
And he had no idea the effect he was having on her. Or maybe he did. The thought alone jolted her out of a trance she’d never live down if Ava could see her right now. She shifted her focus to the high chair. “What’s his name?”
“Brayden.” A waver caught between affection and regret shook his voice. He cleared his throat. “You can have the guest room beside his. You should find everything you need, but let me know if not.” His phone rang. “We can finalize the rest of the arrangements this evening.”
“Okay, but I should tell you—”
“Six o’clock.” Unfair dimples deepened as he backed up. “A lifesaver, Quinn Thompson.” Cooper brought his cell to his ear and turned toward a room she presumed to be an office. “Ray Williams. Tell me you found a new buyer.”
As the conversation drifted out of reach, the possibilities before her slowly sank in. She could process her normal workload from here for a few weeks while warming him up to the idea of an official interview. Admittedly, an in-home nanny wasn’t exactly the in she had planned, but she’d be crazy to pass up an opportunity handed to her like this. It was perfect. More than perfect, it was an exclusive, inside look into Cooper’s life—the one no one else got to see.
Grinning, Quinn shot off a text to Ava.
Tell Cruella this feature’s in the bag.
Cooper Anderson was about to meet his match.