The Billionaire's Revenge (Tycoon Billionaires 3)

Joseph ran his fingers absentmindedly through her hair. “You should contact the private investigator and arrange to meet with him at Press HQ tomorrow night – tell him you’ve heard how great he is and that Stinger has tipped you off to use him. In the meantime, I can meet up with Dylan and get him to talk to his cop friend. Then we’ll tell the private investigator that the police are on-board. The incorrupt ones this time.”

“Sounds like a good plan. But this private investigator… he might turn ugly?”

“Nah, he won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ll be there with you. And we’ll bring Adam and Dylan for back-up. And a briefcase full of money.”

She laughed, snuggling back in his arms again. “Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”

He kissed her on the forehead. “I just want you to succeed, sweetheart.”

“So I get to keep the story, right?”

“Of course – I’ve thought of that too. You can publish it in The Big Society, then use that as a press release for all the major broadsheets. I bet you’ll have the pick of the jobs after that – they’ll be begging you to work for them. The good newspapers; the ones that actually believe in reporting the facts. ” He squeezed her in his arms. “But for now, we’ve got a couple hours before we land. How about I show you how to adopt a good position in the unlikely case of an emergency landing?”

She chuckled. “Please do!”

Chapter Twenty-One

Eleanor felt strong and powerful as she strode in the snow towards the steps of Press HQ the next evening, surrounded by the three Quinlan Brothers. It was amazing the power they emitted – especially when they were on a mission. It was like having three bodyguards. Adam and Dylan had come straight from work and were dressed in their designer suits, and Joseph was holding her hand – wearing his usual leather trousers and winter coat over his shirt. Eleanor was in her pinstripe suit and heels, and she imagined the whole scene looked like something out of a 1950s spy movie. Dylan had spoken to his cop friend earlier, and he’d said he would gladly reopen the case against News Scape if they could provide him with a lead and some evidence. So that’s what they planned to do tonight.

Eleanor had taken great joy in calling the private investigator earlier, requesting he meet her here tonight. He hadn’t suspected a thing, because she’d opened the conversation by mentioning Stinger’s name, and then they’d chatted about what sort of services he could provide. But he wasn’t stupid of course. He’d ensured he’d only spoken vaguely over the phone, not committing himself to any details, and saying they ought to meet in person before he took her on as a client.

So here she was with Joseph, Adam, and Dylan, striding up the steps of Press HQ, rushing to get in out of the freezing snow – ready to lay the trap. It was quiet here this evening, due to the treacherous weather and lack of protesters, but the old gothic building was still as much of a fortress as ever. Luckily, there was only one security guard, cowering under an umbrella, dressed in a thick trench coat and leather boots. Eleanor halted on the concrete steps and flashed her pass at him.

“Eleanor Davison,” she said. “These guys are with me.”

The guard grabbed her pass with gloved hands and inspected it closely. “Why are you here this time of night, ma’am?”

“I’m interviewing Joseph Quinlan.”

The guard glanced up and noticed Joseph for the first time. He seemed taken aback about having this A-list rockstar standing on his steps. The fact that Joseph was wearing sunglasses in the middle of winter should’ve been a clue.

Joseph remained totally deadpan, playing the part of celebrity asshole perfectly. “Do we have a problem?”

“Uhh…” The guard turned back to Eleanor, not daring to speak to the rock-god himself. “And who are these other two men with you, ma’am?”

Adam folded his arms across his broad chest and glowered. Eleanor tried not to laugh – he looked as if he’d just walked off the set of Reservoir Dogs. “We’re Joseph’s bodyguards and we never let him out of our sight. Now hurry up; it’s freezing out here and our superstar needs to either go inside right now or get back in the limo.”

The guard glanced at the road. There was no limo there, because they’d come in a cab. He spoke to Eleanor again. “I’m sorry, but I’m can’t permit entry to anyone without an official pass. You can enter, but I’m afraid–”

Joseph whipped off his shades and stepped into the guard’s personal space. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, sir, but–”

“No, I don’t think you do. I’m Blair Robertson’s biggest money-maker, and I’ve never been so insulted. I’m freezing my nuts off out here, while you – some nobody – treats me like a regular person! That’s it, Ellie, the interview’s off. I’ll ensure Mr Robertson hears all about how this guard prevented you from acquiring the most lucrative scoop in the history of his newspaper. Goodbye!”

Joseph turned to leave, but Eleanor grabbed his arm, playing along. “No, Joseph, please! I’m sure this guard will do the right thing and allow New Scape’s biggest commodity to enter the building.” She shot the guard a pleading look, saying to him with her big blue eyes, ‘It’s okay – I’m the same as you. He’s an idiot, but we all have to pander to the stars in this job…’

“Please,” she whispered to the guard, as Joseph struggled against her grip. “Do the right thing…”

The guard’s expression was full of terror – torn between not wanting to upset this superstar but wanting to follow the protocol about who was allowed entry. He inspected Joseph and his ‘bodyguards’ once more, then he stepped out the way and allowed them to access the huge red wooden doors. Eleanor’s nerves dissipated as she strode inside. She exhaled, realising she’d been holding her breath. Then she led the three Quinlan brothers into the stark and empty foyer.

The only other person in here at the moment clearly possessed all the correct entry paperwork. The private investigator was sitting on one of the leather couches with his legs crossed, looking like an English gent dressed in a tweed suit and a bowtie. Eleanor knew looks could be deceptive, but this shouldn’t be too hard.

She strode over to where he was sitting and thrust out her hand. “You must be Max.”