The Magnate's Marriage Merger. Joanne Rock

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СКАЧАТЬ Lydia was the mystery matchmaker? Ian needed to investigate this more himself.

      “Yes. Throughout the year she worked as a matchmaker, she continued to take jobs decorating. Since she walked away from the dating service, she is back to working more hours at the design business, but she still volunteers a lot of her time with the single mothers’ network I mentioned in the notes.”

      “Single mothers?” Frowning, Ian opened the file again and riffled through it.

      “Moms’ Connection. She gives a lot of money to the diaper and food banks.” Straightening, Bentley backed up a step. “Anyway, mystery solved, and I’ve got an appointment in midtown I can’t miss. Are we good here?”

      “Sure. I’ll have my assistant send the payment.” Setting aside the file, Ian shoved to his feet and extended a hand to his friend. “I appreciate the time you put into this.”

      Bentley bumped his fist. “Not a problem. I’d forgo the payment if you could get me a meeting with your brother Cameron.”

      “Cam?” Ian frowned, thinking his friend must have confused his brothers. “Quinn’s the hedge fund manager. Were you thinking of doing some investing?”

      “No. It’s Cameron I’d like to meet with. Word is, he’s working on a new video game and I’ve got some ideas to speed graphics. I’d prefer to work with an independent—”

      “Done.” Ian wasn’t ready to dive into a discussion full of technojargon, but he knew his younger brother would speak Bentley’s language. Cameron was the family tech guy since he owned a video game business in addition to his role in McNeill Resorts. “I’ll put him in touch with you.”

      Seeing his friend out the door, Ian returned to the photo of Lydia Whitney he’d left on the window ledge. He felt the kick-to-the-chest sensation all over again. He needed to see her in person to get to the bottom of this. He’d thought they were finished forever when she broke things off last spring. But clearly, there was unfinished business between them.

      Pivoting on the heel of one Italian leather loafer, Ian pressed the intercom button on his phone to page his assistant. In seconds, Mrs. Trager appeared in his doorway, tablet in hand.

      “Yes, Mr. McNeill?” The older woman was efficient and deferential in a public setting, but she’d been with him long enough that she didn’t pull punches when they worked together privately.

      “I need to find a consulting gig, and I’m willing to take a pay cut to secure the right one. It doesn’t matter where it is in the world, as long as you can get me onto a project where Lydia Whitney is providing the design services.”

      Despite the highly unusual request, Mrs. Trager didn’t even blink as she tapped buttons on the digital tablet. “I just read in an architectural trade that Ms. Whitney recently committed to Singer Associates for a hotel renovation on South Beach.”

      “Good.” He knew Jeremy Singer well. The guy only bought highly specialized properties that he liked to turn into foodie havens. “I’ll call Jeremy myself. Once I speak to him, I’ll let you know how soon I’ll need a flight.”

      “Very good.” His assistant tucked the tablet under one arm. “I forwarded you an article about the property.”

      “Thank you.” Settling back into the chair behind his oversize desk while Mrs. Trager closed the door behind her, Ian had a plan already taking shape.

      He had met Lydia on a shared job site a little over a year ago. Working closely together to develop a unique property had meant they spent long hours in each other’s company. Once Lydia realized who she’d be working with, she might very well try to detach herself from the Singer project, but she was too much of a professional to simply walk off a job site.

      Which gave Ian at least a few days to figure out what in the hell was going on with Lydia Whitney.

      She’d taken some anonymous revenge against him, it seemed, and he had every intention of calling her on it. But first things first, he needed to slip back into her world in a way that wouldn’t send her running. Once he had her in his sights, he would figure out how to exact a payback of his own.

      He’d never considered himself the kind of man who could blackmail a woman into his bed. But with the surge of anger still fresh in his veins at this betrayal Ian planned to keep all his options open.

      * * *

      Tilting her head back, Lydia Whitney savored the Miami sun. The weather was still beautiful at eight o’clock in the morning before the real heat and humidity set in. Seated at her outdoor table at the News Café on Ocean Drive, she had a breeze off the water and a perfect cup of coffee to start her day before her first meeting for the new interior design job on South Beach.

      The swish of the ocean waves rolling onto the shore, along with the rustle of palm fronds, was a persistent white noise. Foot traffic on both sides of Ocean Drive was brisk even though June was a quieter time for the tourist area. The tables near her were both empty, so she felt no need to rush through her coffee or her splurge breakfast of almond brioche French toast. No one was waiting for her table. She could linger over her newspaper, catching up on the Manhattan social scene.

      Perhaps, if she was a more dedicated interior designer, she’d be studying the other recent hotel renovations on South Beach so she could ensure she approached her new job with a singular, distinctive style. But she didn’t work like that, preferring to let her muse make up her own mind once she saw the plans and the proposed space.

      Instead, Lydia read the social pages with the same avid interest that other women devoted to watching the Real Housewives series. She soaked in all the names and places, checking to see who was newly single or newly engaged. It was all highly relevant because, in her secret second job, Lydia still did some moonlighting as a matchmaker to Manhattan’s most eligible bachelors and bachelorettes. It was a job she couldn’t seem to give up, no matter that she’d had to leave the high-end dating service that had allowed her to work under the alias of “Mallory West.”

      There’d been a bit of a scandal last winter, forcing Lydia to leave town and take a brief hiatus from matchmaking. Her life had been too full of scandals to allow for another, so she’d buried herself in design work for the next few months, ignoring the tabloid speculation about the true identity of Mallory West. But she’d missed the high drama and the lucrative second income of the matchmaking work, especially since she donated 100 percent of those profits to a charity dear to her heart.

      “More coffee, miss?” A slim blonde waitress in a black tee and cargo shorts paused by her table, juggling an armful of menus and a coffeepot.

      “No, thank you.” Lydia switched off the screen on her tablet by habit, accustomed to protecting her privacy at all times. “I’m almost finished anytime you want to bring the check.” She should be early for her first meeting, even if she hadn’t done a lot of design homework to prep for it.

      Singer Associates, the firm that had hired her to overhaul the interior of the landmark Foxfire Hotel, had been good to her over the years. The firm had hired her for the job where she’d met Ian McNeill, she recalled. Perhaps that had been the only time where a Singer Associates job had a snag attached, since her disastrous affair with Ian had broken her heart in more ways than one.

      But that certainly hadn’t been Jeremy Singer’s fault.

      Stuffing in one last bite of the almond brioche French toast, Lydia СКАЧАТЬ