A Bad Boy is Good to Find - By Jennifer Lewis Page 0,89

an investigation into what happened to the money, as apparently there was almost two million in there when the old man died seven years ago. But—” Maisie glanced at Con, “they’ve uncovered other assets in storage, valuable antiques apparently, though at this point no one knows exactly what they are.”

Lizzie didn’t know what to say. Her brioche churned in her gut. “Any word on his brother?”

“Eyewitness News say they’ve had a slew of calls, but what with the inheritance they expect most or all of them are cranks wanting to get their hands on some money. They’re weeding through them.”

“So, um, the wedding, is it still on track for tomorrow?”

“The wedding? Oh, Don wants us to run with this inheritance story and get to the wedding after it’s died down a bit. He thinks this is fresher and will generate more buzz. Roger’s inside rough-cutting some promos already. It’s a perk that Con’s so great looking. I think we’re going to get a lot of attention with this show.”

Now if we could just recast the leading lady… Lizzie heard a subtext that made her glance down at the outfit she’d carefully chosen. She’d put some weight back on, and both the sage green capris and the turquoise blouse were a little snug. She’d have to keep her face to the camera so they didn’t see a panty line.

Not that it was a pressing problem right now.

Another thought occurred to her. “The lawyer said we probably couldn’t stay into next week. He said it was booked.” What if they decided to drop the wedding altogether?

“Bullshit. That good old boy is sweating bullets right now with the attorney general’s office breathing down his neck. It’s Con’s house, darling! He can stay here the rest of his life if he wants.” Maisie squeezed her wrist. “Isn’t it wonderful!”

“Oh, yes,” she said weakly. “Wonderful.”

The lord of the manor looked very handsome and earnest, talking with the reporter. What on earth were they gabbing about for so long? She couldn’t hear a word.

For someone who’d wanted nothing to do with the past, with the letters, with any claim to the house, Con had slipped into his new role with alarming ease, and she was getting left out in the cold. Or more accurately, in the sweltering, armpit-soaking heat. The blue cooling machines had been carted away, apparently given up as a lost cause. She probably wouldn’t get to feel cool again until she got back to New York.

If she ever did get back to New York.

Of course she was going back to New York. You’re not going to be living here by his side as lady of the manor. You’ll be lucky if he even goes through with the damn wedding now. He certainly doesn’t need the money. He can sell this pile for a pot of cash and cruise off into the sunset in a brand new gold Mercedes with a brand-new golden-haired mama by his side, no sugar even required.

She realized she was chewing her nail and pulled her hand sharply away. Damn, it was hard to breathe in this humidity.

Was it possible that Raoul was right and Con really did love her too?

Making love. What a funny expression. They’d done it three times last night. But amidst all the moaning and heavy breathing there had been no professions of undying love.

He was horny.

And she’d gone soft on him.

Sucker.

“Maisie, do you have a minute?” Con wiped his forehead with his sleeve. Where was Lizzie?

“Shoot.”

“Any word on Danny?”

“They’ve had eighty-three calls and more than three hundred emails, though a lot of those are just people who are interested but don’t know anything. I think eight different people have claimed to be Danny.”

Con swallowed. Would he even know Danny after ten years’ absence? He sure didn’t look anything like his scrawny fourteen-year old-self. “Anyway, the PA is updating me every half-hour. They’re going to run something again on the evening news. The story is a local sensation.”

He took a deep breath. “Could I ask you something in total confidence.”

“Of course,” she whispered, moving closer. Her eyes shone. “What is it?”

“Well,” he shoved his fingers through his hair. “I was wondering if, maybe,” he hesitated, his stomach tight. Where had Lizzie gone? “If maybe this story about me trying to find my brother might be enough to earn Lizzie the fifty thousand.”

Maisie’s eyes narrowed and her head cocked to the side like a coyote that just heard a rabbit in the bushes. “You don’t want to