Sandra Field – The Mistress Deal (страница 2)

“I mean every word.” Reece Callahan drew back his sleeve, looking at his gold watch. “If that’s all you have to say, I think we can profitably terminate this interview.”

With swift grace, Lauren got to her feet. “If you publish such outright lies about my stepfather, I’ll sue you for defamation of character.”

“Please don’t—you’d be laughed out of court. Besides, do you have any idea what that would cost you?”

“Does everything come down to money with you?”

“In this case, yes—Wallace Harvarson milked my company of five hundred thousand dollars.”

“What’s the truth, Mr. Callahan? That you made a bad business decision that cost you half a million and now you’re looking for a scapegoat?”

“You go public with a statement like that and I’ll be the one suing you,” he said in a voice like steel. “My secretary will see you out.”

“I’m not leaving until you promise you won’t drag my stepfather’s name through the mud for your own ends!”

He straightened, taking a step toward her. “You really do have gall, Miss Courtney. I happen to know you bought your studio with your inheritance from your stepfather, and that you’re still the owner of a very nice little property on the coast of Maine that belonged to him.”

Her brain made a lightning-fast leap. “You’ve known all along that I’m Wallace’s stepdaughter?”

“I always research the artists I’m investing in—it makes good business sense.”

“So you’ve been leading me on ever since I got here—how despicable!”

“That label belongs to you rather than me. You’re the one who’s been living off the proceeds of fraud. I suppose it beats doing the starving-sculptor-in-a-garret routine. Even if your artistic integrity is a touch tarnished.”

White with rage, Lauren spat, “My integrity isn’t the issue here—what about yours? Smearing the reputation of a dead man in the full knowledge that I can’t possibly hire the kind of lawyers you can afford…doesn’t that give your conscience even the smallest twinge?”

His blue eyes were fastened on her face; he said in a peculiar voice, “You really do believe he’s innocent, don’t you?”

“Of course I do! Do you think I’d be wasting my time, let alone yours, if I thought for one moment Wallace could have done anything so underhanded?”

“Then I’m sorry. Because you’re in for a rude awakening. And now I really must ask you to leave—I have an appointment in ten minutes.”

Hating herself for doing so, knowing she had no other choice, Lauren swallowed her pride. “Is there nothing I can do to make you change your mind?”

“Not a thing.”

“There must be something…”

His eyes like gimlets, he said, “I’m surprised, with your reputation, that you haven’t offered the obvious.”

Lauren flushed. “My sexual reputation, you mean?”

“Precisely.”

Her fists were clenched at her sides so hard the knuckles were white. “So you researched that, too. And along with the rest of the world, you believed every word the gutter press printed about me. Fabrications my mentor Sandor fed his journalist friends. Yet you’re the one who says he doesn’t believe in gossip?”

“Your mentor’s highly respected.”

“Whereas I was a mere upstart with the kind of looks the press adores. Do you wonder why I’m begging you not to publish all these lies about Wallace? I know the power of the media to ruin reputations…know it and fear it and have suffered from it.”

“When I arrived at your gallery last year, you were leaving by another door. Arm in arm with two men, no less. I doubt that your lack of morals is just gossip invented by a vengeful ex-lover.”

Her shoulders sagged. “I didn’t come here to defend myself against promiscuity,” she said in a low voice. “Neither did I come to say I’d sleep with you if you promised not to publish.”

“So why didn’t you sue Sandor—your ex-lover, your ex-teacher, your mentor—if he was lying?”

“It was four years ago,” she blazed. “At that time I’d sold exactly two pieces in my whole life—I wasn’t into selling then, I knew I hadn’t reached the point where I wanted my stuff out there in the real world—as it happens, I do have artistic integrity, Mr. Callahan. Short of asking Wallace for money, I didn’t have one cent to rub against another. And lawyers come expensive. As you know.”

“Indeed.” Hands in his pockets, Reece looked her up and down with a deliberation that made her flinch inwardly; she felt as though his ice-cold eyes were stripping her naked. But Lauren had toughened in the years since Sandor had set out to drag her through the gutter personally and artistically; she raised her chin, breathing hard, and said not one word. He said noncommittally, “You’re not dressed cheaply.”

“There are some wonderful secondhand places in Greenwich Village. I know them all.”

“I see.” Casually Reece leaned back against the desk again. “Perhaps I should reconsider.”

In a flash of incredulous hope, she said eagerly, “You mean you believe me about Wallace?”

“That’s not what I mean at all. But there is something you could do for me. A way in which you could be useful to me.”

The light died from her face. “And in return, you wouldn’t publish anything about my stepfather?”

“That’s correct.”

She said in a level voice, “I won’t sleep with you, Mr. Callahan.”

“I’m not asking you to, Miss Courtney.”

“Soiled goods,” she said bitterly.

“As you say.”

Briefly she closed her eyes. “Then what do you want of me?”

“You could be of use to me for the next week or so—after that I’m off to London and Cairo. But while I’m here, I have a number of engagements that mix business with pleasure, never my favorite way of operating but sometimes it’s unavoidable. I’d want you to pose as my companion. My lover, to put it bluntly. I can’t imagine you’d find that difficult.”

Her response came from a deep place she couldn’t have named or ignored. “No! I’m a sculptor—not a call girl.”

“Either you want to protect your stepfather, or you don’t. Which is it?”

His voice was clipped, utterly emotionless. She flashed, “Why would you want to be seen with someone whose reputation’s not much better than a call girl’s?”

“Because you interest me.”

“Oh, that’s just lovely. As if I’m a stock market quote. Or a microchip.”

“You’re a very talented woman. As well you know. You’re also articulate, well-dressed and pretty enough for my purposes. In other words, you’ll do. So which is it, Miss Courtney—yes or no?”

Pretty enough, she thought in true fury. She wasn’t just pretty, she was beautiful: without a speck of vanity she knew this, for her mirror and the rest of the world had told her so often enough. But to Mr. Ice-Water-In-His-Veins Callahan she was merely pretty.

Not that that was the real issue, Lauren realized hastily.

She dragged her thoughts back to Wallace, his quicksilver smile and ready laughter, the way that his rare and always delightful visits had rescued her from an adolescence that had been rife with real unhappiness. Her mother had resented her burgeoning beauty, while her mother’s third husband had despised her budding talent; between them, they had made her teenage years a misery. She’d left home the week she’d graduated from high school; it had been Wallace who’d seen to it that she hadn’t starved in a garret during the years when she’d been studying at art school, sculpting all hours of the night, and gradually unearthing her own strengths.

And weaknesses. Of which Sandor was the prime example.

This was no time to think about Sandor. She said carefully, “Let me get this straight. For one week you want me to publicly pretend I’m your mistress.” She flicked her eyes up and down his expensive suit, letting them linger on his silk tie, which bore the crest of a very distinguished university. “While you may not be my idea of the ideal date, there must be lots of women who’d bypass your personality in favor of your money. Since I can’t believe you’re offering this out of the kindness of your heart, I wonder why you’ve chosen me to come to your rescue?”

To her intense fury, he gave a bark of laughter. “Your tongue’s got a bite like sulfuric acid.”

“All the more reason for you to avoid me.”

“Oh, I think I can handle you.”

Discovering a profound wish to knock him off balance, she said sweetly, “You’re forgetting something. You’re a big name, with your mergers and your innovations and your huge profits—don’t think I hadn’t done my research. As for me, I had a major show in London last year, and I have a growing reputation in the States. If you and I pose as lovers, the press will have a field day. There will be gossip, Mr. Callahan. Lots of lovely gossip.”

“So your answer’s no.” He moved toward the door. “Don’t forget to buy Wednesday’s paper, will you? You’ll see a whole new side to your stepfather, and—trust me—it won’t be based on gossip.”

She couldn’t bear that. She couldn’t. Her only alternative was to toe the line. Do as Reece Callahan had proposed. Because Lauren was under no illusions; even if she could afford to sue Reece, and even if by some remote chance she won, the damage would have been done. Wallace’s name would always be linked with dishonor. She said coldly, “I was merely pointing out the pitfalls of your course of action.”