Chapter Two
"Andrea Blain." Alex repeated her name while his gaze traveled slowly over her face. She did not resemble a bulldog in any way. Dressed in black pants with a short gray jacket over a silky top, she was slender and more than a little attractive. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a knot, setting off beautiful features, wide-set blue eyes, dark lashes, and a very pretty mouth that would have been even prettier if her lips weren't drawn in a tight angry line. She wasn't more than five feet and a couple of inches even with heels on, but her shoulders were stiff, and her slim body was poised in a way that exuded challenge.
He exchanged a quick look with Ellen, whose gaze said I told you so.
Then he stepped forward and extended his hand. "I'm Alex Donovan."
"Of course you are," Andrea replied, giving his hand a brief shake. "I already know your name. It's everything else I'm here to find out."
"This is my assistant, Ellen Hill."
Andrea nodded in the older woman's direction. "It's nice to meet you. I hope we'll have time to talk, if not today, then another time. I'm sure you must have a different perspective on our Man of the Year."
"He's a good employer. That's all I have to say." Ellen turned to Alex. "Do you need anything else tonight?"
"Yes," he said quickly. "I'll walk you out." He turned to the reporter. "Miss Blain, if you'd like to have a seat, I'll be right with you."
"All right," she said.
He walked Ellen into the outer office, shutting his door behind him. "Maybe you could call me in a half hour. I might need an emergency exit."
Ellen smiled as she took her purse out of a drawer. "That won't help. You've agreed to let her follow you around all weekend."
"So maybe I'll have an emergency out of town."
"I thought you weren't afraid of her."
"That was before I saw her."
"Good point. I think you should be worried."
"Because she's that good of a reporter?"
"No, because she's that pretty, and just your type."
"I can get a blonde any night of the week." He wasn't being arrogant; he was speaking the truth.
"But you can't get that kind of blonde any night of the week," she said with a sparkle in her eyes. "You've always liked a challenge, Alex. Have a good weekend. And good luck!"
He had a feeling he was going to need it.
* * *
Andrea wandered around Alex's office, unwilling to admit that her first sight of Alex Donovan had been more unsettling than she'd expected, and it wasn't just because she'd overheard him call her a bulldog; she'd been called far worse on the job. It was because he was much better looking in person than he was in the pictures she'd reviewed. His hair was a darker, richer brown, with thick waves just made for a woman's fingers to run through, and his eyes were a piercing green. His smile was also incredibly charming and sexy, which probably got him everything he wanted. He wouldn't have trouble getting women if he didn't have a penny in his pocket.
She cleared her throat, silently telling herself not to get carried away. He was just a man, after all. Actually, he might be more boy than man, she thought, noting the railroad tracks that traveled around the room, the videogames and monitors set up along one wall, the basketball hoop in the corner and the shelves of comic books. She probably shouldn't be surprised. Alex Donovan had made millions in the gaming industry. He had to have a good head for figuring out what kids wanted to play.
"Sorry for the delay," he said as he returned to the office.
She turned around to face him. "No problem. Are you ready to begin our interview?"
"I'm always ready."
"Good. I think we should set some ground rules before we begin."
Alex raised his eyebrows quizzically. "Like what?"
"As to how we'll proceed. Since we're going to be spending some time together, we should decide just how we're going to fill it. For instance—"
"I have decided." Alex cut her off in midsentence. "You're free to follow along on my activities, but they will be activities that I choose, not you. I'm only consenting to do this interview because I happen to enjoy reading your magazine."
"You read World News Today?" she asked doubtfully.
He met her gaze. "Does that surprise you?"
"A little," she admitted.
"So, you've already made a judgment—I thought you were here to get to know me."
"I am, and you're right."
A gleam came into his eyes. "A woman who can admit she is wrong—now I'm surprised."
"And you're also making a generalization."
He nodded. "Good point. So we table the snap judgments and generalizations?"
"All right."
"Getting back to the rules governing our interview. You may ask any question that you like, and I, in turn, will answer any question that I like."
He delivered his terms with a charming smile, but Andrea wasn't at all fooled. He was not going to make getting his story easy, at least not the story she wanted—the one that would flesh out his true character. But she wasn't going to argue the point now. She would bide her time and wait for her opportunity. Hopefully, it would come sooner rather than later. Roger had given her ten days, and she could not come up short again, not after the last six weeks.
"Well?" Alex prodded.
"Whatever you say. I certainly want you to be comfortable."
What she really wanted was to shake him up and get him to confess all sorts of scandalous secrets to her. But so far, she seemed to be the one feeling a little off balance.
"Thank you," he said. "By the way, if I offended you with the bulldog remark, I apologize. I had no idea you were standing there."
"So you're not sorry that you said it, only sorry that I heard you." She sent him a direct look and waited for him to squirm, but he didn't, and it was rather disconcerting. Instead of anger, she saw another smile play across his lips.
"Would it surprise you to know that I was very fond of my aunt's bulldog?"
His smile grew broader and more persuasive, and Andrea had to fight with herself not to respond. She decided to change the subject. "What plans do you have for this evening, Mr. Donovan? My boss mentioned something about dinner."
"Why don't you call me Alex, and I'll call you Andrea? As for tonight, I have reservations for dinner at the Crystal Terrace."
It was just what she had expected, the most expensive and trendiest restaurant in San Francisco. "Very nice. But you don't have to impress me. I'm much more interested in the real man than the image."
"Really?" he asked dryly. "Then you're the first in a long time. Let me sign one contract, and we'll go."
Andrea nodded. While he was reading through some paperwork on his desk, she walked across the room to take a closer look at the train. It was incredibly detailed she thought. Whoever had built this had done it with a great deal of love and passion.
"You can start the train if you like," Alex said.
"Oh. No, thanks."
"You can't break it. It's built for kids."
"It seems expensive."
"It is, but it's also meant to be played with. Did you ever play with trains when you were a child?"
She shook her head. "Never. I grew up with a sister and mother who both thought the only toys appropriate for girls were dolls and play kitchens."
"Then you've missed out."
She shrugged. "I wouldn't say that." Although she had wished for more variety when she was younger. She'd been a tomboy at heart.
Alex walked around his desk and flipped the switch, sending the train on its way. "My favorite story growing up was The Little Engine That Could. I see my life like that train, just chugging away toward the top of the mountain."
She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? Your career is more like the flight of a jet airplane than a slow-moving train. You made your first million before age twenty-five and seven years later you're the Man of the Year for World News Today. If that's not moving fast, I don't know what is."
Alex grinned. "You might have a point. What about you? Are you on a fast jet or a slow train?"
"Me? At the moment, I'm on a horse going backward."
Alex burst out laughing, a genuine smile crossing his lips. "You're very candid, aren't you?"
"Yes. It sometimes gets me into trouble."
"I'll bet."
"I hope you'll be just as honest with me. I want to do an in-depth story on you, Alex. I want the world to know the real you—what makes you tick, what you think about, worry about, what your vision is for the future."
"Your readers don't care about that. They just want to know who I'm dating."
"Well, I want more."
"Why did they give you this assignment?" he asked, a curious note in his voice. "I've read some of your work. It's serious and rather intense."
She was shocked that he'd read her articles and a little skeptical. "Which one did you like the most?" she challenged.
He gazed back at her. "Probably the one on pesticides in drinking water. It gave me chills. I haven't been able to turn on a faucet without thinking about it."
"That was one of my best articles," she admitted.
"So how did you get me?"
"I got lucky," she said lightly. "And I always put one hundred percent into my work, no matter what the assignment."
"Will this cover story help you get that horse you're on turned in the right direction?"
He was definitely a smart man, she thought. She would have to be careful that she didn't allow him to outplay her.
"Your story will be good for the magazine, which is good for me. And it will be great for you, too. You're releasing a new game soon. More exposure equals more sales, right?"
"Yes, a win-win for both of us," he said.
She certainly hoped so.
* * *
The Crystal Terrace was just what Andrea had expected. Set on the top floor in a building on Fisherman's Wharf, the dining room had a gorgeous view of the bay including the infamous island prison of Alcatraz and the iconic Golden Gate Bridge. The décor was warm and luxurious with gleaming hardwood floors, floor-to-ceiling windows and amazing crystal chandeliers.
There wasn't an entrée on the menu under thirty-five dollars, with one steak going for eighty-two dollars. She couldn't imagine what would make a piece of meat worth that much money, but then again, she was more of a cheeseburger-kind-of-girl. Apparently, Alex Donovan was not. He'd shown no hesitancy ordering expensive wine, a sampler of gourmet appetizers and a lobster dish that looked amazing. She'd gone for the filet mignon, figuring she might as well take advantage of the rare opportunity to dine like a celebrity.
Alex had obviously visited the restaurant on many occasions. The waiters greeted him by name, and he was treated with enormous courtesy and respect. A few other diners stopped by their table to say a quick hello, each giving her a rather curious look. She wasn't surprised by their interest; she doubted she was the kind of woman Alex usually took out to dinner.
She sipped her wine as Alex finished his meal. So far, their conversation had been fairly inconsequential. She'd learned that Alex liked movies, especially science fiction, ran at least three times a week, enjoyed sports, rooted for the local teams and had played some baseball when he was a kid. She'd also discovered that while his charm came easy, hard answers were more difficult to come by—not that she'd really pressed him yet. She'd wanted to give him time to warm up to her, but he was going to be guarded no matter how much time she gave him.
"So," she began.
"So," he echoed, meeting her gaze.
She smiled. "This doesn't have to be painful."
"Not for you."
"Let's talk about your company. How did you get into making games? Were you a big gamer as a child?"
"Yes. I've always enjoyed games. The more challenging the better. As technology evolved, so has the way the world plays games. We've gone from simple board games to computer games, video games, virtual reality experiences and mobile apps that allow people to play wherever they are. They don't need friends for these games, they can play alone or with anyone in the world in a multi-player digital online game."
She heard the passion in his voice. There was no doubt that Alex's business was more than just a moneymaker. It was something he believed in. She admired a man who pursued his goals with intensity and determination. Still, he was making games…
"Wouldn't some people argue that your games encourage children to spend far too many hours inside, hooked up to electronics, when they should be experiencing the real world?" she asked.
A smile played around his lips. "Would one of those persons be at this table? Do you not like games, Andrea?"
"I like games," she said defensively. "And you haven't answered my question."
"I would argue that for many of my customers, games connect them to the world. My team works hard to create games that are educational as well as entertaining."
"What about the violence in video games?"
"There's violence in the real world, too, but in games you have control."
She thought about his words, wondering about the undercurrent in his voice, what he wasn't saying…
When he didn't continue speaking, she moved on. "How did you get started? I know you were a millionaire by age twenty-five, so I assume your vision started a lot earlier."
"I started making up games when I was in elementary school. By the time I was a teenager, I had sketched out rough illustrations of multiple worlds. But it was all just a very big and impossible dream back then. I didn't grow up in a world of opportunity, so I had to find my own way into the industry. I started out working in an arcade at a miniature golf course. In between selling tokens and cleaning up after birthday parties, I was doing research. I had access to the database of some of the games. I could see which games were the most popular, the most challenging and who played them. Some were geared more to girls, others to boys. I made notes and files, thinking some day I would use them."
"How did that day come?" she asked curiously. "It's a big leap to go from working in an arcade to running a million—or is it a billion—dollar company?"
"We've done well," he said. "As for the leap, I took a job at a game company."
"Were you really a janitor there?"
"I see you already know the answer."
"I only had about an hour to prep for this dinner, so I don't know that much, and I'd prefer to hear your story from you."
"I was hired as part of the cleaning crew, yes. I wanted to be in that industry and that was the only job I was qualified to do. Three months in, I became friendly with one of the tech guys. He let me sit with him when I was off work. I learned a lot in those sessions, and it was his mentoring that encouraged me to take some computer programming classes at the local community college. Soon I was giving him ideas, and he was creating them. The ideas turned out to be winners, and eventually the head of the company took notice. He gave me a real job on the development team, and that's when my career took off."
"How old were you then?"
"Nineteen."
"That's impressive. How long did you stay with that company?"
"Three years. At twenty-two, I wanted to launch my own game. I quit and created my own company. That tech guy became the head of my development team."
"So the mentor becomes your employee?"
"More like my partner. Cameron is brilliant and he now runs a staff of thirty-seven developers located around the world."
"And how many people does your company employ worldwide?"
"At last report, we were around three hundred and twenty-five employees."
She really wished she wasn't so impressed with his story, but he certainly had created an empire from very little. "Tell me about your family. I know that your parents were killed in a car crash when you were twelve. What happened to you after that?"
"I bounced around the system for a few months until they located my aunt. She took me in, and I lived with her until she died. When she passed away, I was eighteen and almost done with high school, so the foster system was not interested in me; I was on my own."
"That's sad," she murmured.
A curtain had come down over his gaze, and she couldn't read his expression at all now.
"It was a long time ago. To be frank, I'd prefer not to relive my past. A lot of people in this world have difficult childhoods. I'm not unusual in that regard. I think it's more important to focus on the present and the future."
"I can understand that. But my profile is about you, the man, and where you come from is important."
"I just told you where I come from. There's nothing else to say."
She seriously doubted that, but she could see by his stiffening jaw that she was not going to get anything more out of him right now. So she would drop it—for the moment. She looked down at her empty plate and stabbed her fork at the last roasted potato. With that gone, she leaned over to spear an errant carrot on Alex's plate.
His hand came down on her wrist in a harsh, unyielding grip. "Don't."
She looked at him in amazement, the intensity in his voice catching her completely off guard. "I'm sorry. Were you going to eat that?"
"Yes."
A look came into his eyes that made her catch her breath. Finally, there was emotion in those green eyes, and pain—a remembrance of something old, something that must have hurt him deeply. She didn't know what to say. His reaction was so out of character and in such ridiculous proportion to her meaningless act.
She cleared her throat, trying to ease the tension in his face. "Can I have my hand back if I promise not to trespass again?"
Alex looked down at her wrist trapped in the grip of his hand. He quickly released her. "I'm sorry. If you're still hungry, we can order something more. They make an excellent chocolate mousse here. Or carrot cake, that's always been my favorite."
Andrea waited for him to stop talking, and her silence forced him to look into her eyes. "Are you all right?" she asked.
"I'm fine. Do you want something else to eat?"
"No."
"Then I'll get the check." He motioned for the waiter to come over, then handed him his credit card. "Tomorrow, I've made plans for you to see how I spend my weekends. You'll also be able to meet some of my friends."
"All right." She wished she could get him talk about his strange reaction a moment earlier, but there was something about his gaze that told her that line of questioning wouldn't get her anywhere.
"I'll pick you up in the morning—around ten," he said. "Will that be all right?"
"I'd like to see where you live. Why don't I meet you at your place?"
"Fine."
He gave her the address, and she jotted it down on her phone.
"Do you know the area?" he asked.
"No, but should I just look for the biggest mansion on the block?"
"It's large, but not quite the biggest."
"You mean there are still a few goals left for Alexander Donovan to accomplish?"
"A few." He let out a breath as the tension eased from his face. "What about you, Andrea? What kind of goals do you have for yourself?"
"I want to do my job well."
"No bigger dream? What about winning a Pulitzer prize?"
"I wouldn't say no to that, but it's probably an unrealistic and impossible goal."
"Most worthy goals are filled with challenges. When did you decide to be a reporter?"
"When I was ten years old. I started the first fifth-grade newspaper at Hazelton Elementary School. It was one page, and I handed it out at recess."
"Fifth grade. You were an early achiever. What did you write about?"
"My first story was about why they moved the garbage cans to the other side of the playground," she replied, smiling at the memory.
"Was that an important move?"
"Not at all, but I wanted something to write about, and that was the only thing I could think of." She paused. "My father was a foreign correspondent. He traveled all over the world reporting on wars, politics, famine and global changes. I grew up hearing from him about the power of the press to change the world, and I wanted to follow in his footsteps."
"He sounds like an admirable man."
"He made a difference by revealing truths that needed to be told. I wanted to be just like him. Unfortunately, I soon realized that the power of the press can be squashed by those in actual power."
"How so?"
"When the principal at my elementary school decided that girls couldn't play flag football with the boys, I wrote an article about discrimination and passed it around the school."
"I'm surprised you knew how to spell discrimination," he said with a grin.
"I did have to look it up. But I've always been an excellent speller."
"What happened?"
"The principal gave me detention for a week and made me write, 'I'll mind my own business' five thousand times. It was very unfair. I wanted to write about that injustice but my mother told me she would ground me for a month if I did. She didn't like her daughter being a troublemaker."
"It doesn't appear to me that you learned your lesson very well, since you're still sticking your nose into other people's business."
"But now other people's business is my business. And I don't back down from challenges. If the story is important, I go after it, regardless of the potential fall-out. The public has a right to know."
Alex settled back in his seat. "I'm not sure I agree with the public having the right to know everything. What about personal privacy?"
"I'm not against personal privacy," she said carefully. "But you're a public figure, Alex. You've made yourself that. So I think you have to accept the fact that you have less privacy than someone like me. And if you're really concerned about your privacy, why did you agree to the interview?"
"That's a good question. I don't mind sharing my insights on my business and to a certain extent my life, my philosophy and my future goals. I understand that my story can inspire others, but what I don't understand is why anyone would care whether I squeeze my toothpaste from the top or the bottom or where was the most interesting place I've had sex."
"You've been talking to entertainment reporters."
"Too many," he agreed.
"So what were your answers to those questions? Toothpaste, top or bottom? Sex?" She paused, thinking she was probably a little too interested in his answer. She wasn't an entertainment reporter, and she didn't need to know the answers for her article. But she was suddenly very curious.
Alex grinned. "I don't think my bulldog comment earlier was too far off the mark. You're going to make this difficult for me, aren't you, Andrea?"
"Not if you tell me what I want to know."
"What about what I want?" he asked, a sparkle in his eyes.
She caught her breath. "What do you want?"
"Maybe I want to know the most interesting place you've had sex."
He leaned forward, and she found herself doing the same, impulsively wishing there wasn't a table between them, because she suddenly felt an incredibly intense pull to this man.
"Well?" he pressed.
She couldn't even remember the question. She just knew it had something to do with sex. And thinking about sex and Alex Donovan in the same moment made her palms sweat.
Then the waiter interrupted.
"Your check, sir." The crisp words caught them both off guard.
Andrea sat back in her seat. Alex did the same.
The waiter pushed the booklet toward Alex and stood patiently by the table.
"Oh, of course," Alex replied.
As Alex busied himself with signing the credit card receipt, Andrea blew out a breath and tried to calm her racing pulse. She felt both relieved and frustrated by the interruption. For a second there, she'd thought Alex was going to lean across the table and kiss her. Worse—she'd wanted him to, and that was a reckless thought.
She drew in a deep breath as her phone began to buzz. She pulled it out of her bag and checked the number—it was her sister. She couldn't answer the call now, but she knew she really needed to touch base with Laurel. While she might be able to get away with being a bad bridesmaid, she couldn't be a bad sister.
"Work?" Alex quizzed.
"No," she said, putting the phone away. "My sister Laurel. She's getting married in a couple of weeks, and I have been falling a little short on my maid-of-honor duties."
"Do you need to talk to her?"
"I'll touch base with her later. She's going out tonight with some of our friends, so I'm sure she'll be fine until tomorrow."
"Is she older or younger?"
"We're twins."
"That's interesting."
"I suppose. It's all I've ever known."
"And you're close?"
"Very close. We've always done everything together: school, soccer, a short stint in gymnastics, until we both realized we were more likely to break something than win any awards."
Alex smiled. "It sounds like you're alike."
"Actually, we're very different, opposites in almost every way, but we're still super close, which has always amazed our friends. We went to college together, and we're part of a really tight group of girlfriends, who are all going to be bridesmaids in Laurel's wedding." She stopped abruptly, realizing she was rambling, but she was still rattled by her almost kiss with Alexander Donovan. "You don't want to hear all this."
"I'd rather talk about you than me."
"I'm not surprised, but we do need to keep talking about you."
"We will—tomorrow."
"It's still early," she protested.
"I have to meet someone," he said.
Of course he did. He probably had a real date waiting. "I understand."
"Maybe you can catch up with your friends."
"Maybe," she said lightly.
"Shall we go?"
"Lead the way."
* * *
Alex rolled down the window of his Mercedes as he drove away from the restaurant, feeling hot and a little off his game, and it was all because of Andrea. She was not what he'd expected. Not only was she a pretty blonde, but she was smart as hell, and he would not be able to pull his usual bullshit on her. He was both intrigued and annoyed by that realization. It had been a long time since he'd met a woman who challenged him in any way. But he needed to remember that Andrea had only one goal and that was to get him to spill his secrets. Her only interest in him was what he could do for her career.
Maybe it was good that her motives were in the open. He'd had women try to get ahead by getting involved with him. At least Andrea wasn't trying to hide anything.
But that didn't mean he was going to give her a good story. As far as he was concerned, by the end of this weekend she wouldn't know much more about him than she knew right now. And she would write an article like all the others he'd done.
"Where are we going tomorrow?" Andrea asked, as he pulled up in front of his office building, so she could get her car.
"You'll see."
"Really? You can't even give me a straight answer about that?" she asked dryly.
He grinned. "I like to be mysterious. But I will say that we're going to do something I enjoy very much." He gave her a quick glance. "Don't look so worried. It's not X-rated."
"I'm not worried. I can handle anything you have planned."
"That's probably true." He paused. "You didn't ask for this story, did you?"
"No," she admitted. "But it doesn't matter. I'm committed to doing a good job."
"What story would you rather be working on?"
"The one I've been researching the past six weeks."
"What's it about?"
"I can't get into details, but I have located a possible whistleblower in a company that makes something important to a lot of people. Something that if it isn't done right could be life-threatening."
He was intrigued by her words. "Now who's being mysterious?"
She shrugged. "I can't say more until I have more."
"So why did you take this assignment? It sounds like you have a much better story in the works."
"A story that is taking too long to pan out. My boss needs me to earn my paycheck." She sighed. "I really shouldn't have told you that."
"Your secret is safe with me."
She stared back at him. "Thank you. I wish I could say the same, but—"
"But anything I say is fair game, got it."
"I must admit I'm more interested in your story now that you've told me a little about your past. You have done some amazing things, Alex. I can't wait to hear more."
"You will. Where are you parked?"
"Over there. The red Scion."
"Ah, red. It suits you."
"I don't think you know me well enough to know that."
"I'm getting a pretty good picture, and a person's car says something about their style and personality."
"Then why do you drive a black Mercedes? It seems rather dull for someone the press has called the 'King of Games'."
"You're right. I do have other vehicles, but this is the car I use to impress serious reporters," he said with a grin.
"I'm glad you consider me a serious reporter. So what do you really drive?"
"I have a Jeep that I use for pleasure. I take it up in the mountains and there's no place I can't go. It gives me complete and absolute freedom. Maybe I'll give you a ride sometime."
"Sounds like fun. We could do that tomorrow."
"No, tomorrow's plans are set."
"Fine, we'll play it your way, but you know you don't have to spend time impressing me. I just want to know the real you."
He could have said that only one or two people in his life knew the real him, but that would only give her another clue to latch onto, and he was trying to give her just enough detail to satisfy her curiosity and no more. "I'll see you tomorrow, Andrea. Don't be late."
"I'm never late," she said quickly, then she uttered a little laugh. "Actually, that's not true. I'm often late, because I try to do a dozen things all at the same time, but tomorrow I will be at your house at ten."
"Good," he said. "Because unlike you, I am always on time."
She tipped her head in acknowledgement, then got out of the car. He watched her walk down the street, enjoying the way the moonlight bounced off her blonde waves and the sexy swing of her hips. His body tightened as alarm bells went off in his mind. Letting this reporter follow him around all weekend might just be the biggest mistake he'd made in a long time.