Public Relations Read Online Free PDF Page B

executive escorts?” Toast crunched, and Carl chewed, speaking around the food. “You? The man voted most eligible bachelor three years running?”
    “Jesus!” When put that way, it sounded worse than bad. Maybe Leno would… No. No way. “I’m going to have that gossip columnist’s head on a silver fucking platter.”
    “Who is she? Or he?” Newspaper rustled over the receiver as Carl searched for the answer to his own question. “Huh. No byline?”
    Peter crossed the room and snatched up the somewhat sodden paper. God, he needed a cup of coffee. Screw what his nutritionist said. In ten minutes he was having a double espresso. This was what came of hiring people for everything in his life—headaches. He was a goddamned grownup and could choose his own goddamned food. Scanning the article again, he saw no byline.
    “Looks like it’s a regular column.” Tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder, he reached for last Sunday’s paper from the stack he kept on his credenza and flipped it open. Another column, this one skewering a visiting dignitary on his free-roaming hands. Again, no byline. Given the tone of the pieces, however, he’d have put money on a woman. “Find out who she is. You have one hour.”
    He hung up. A red light blinked at him as he thumbed the Off button on his cell. Immediately the device began to vibrate, and a name he recognized as belonging to one of the entertainment news show executives flashed on the display. Silencing the phone, he slipped it into his robe pocket and stalked to the kitchen. Emma, his personal assistant, and Miles, his butler-cum-valet sat at the table.
    In place of his customary good morning, he snarled, “Coffee.”
    The two exchanged glances before Emma rose to make the coffee and Miles raised one brow in his direction. Peter didn’t bother to answer the unspoken question. He leaned back against the counter and folded his arms.
    “There’s a woman newly on my private payroll,” he said to Miles. From the corner of his eye, he saw Emma pause midpour. “Pay out her contract. Tell her that her services are no longer required.”
    “Very good, sir,” Miles intoned, but not without a little sniff.
    Peter suppressed an eye roll. The man was twenty-six going on sixty with his overly starched collars and prep-school manners.
    “And from you,” he said as he took the mug of coffee from Emma’s hands, “I want the name of every Daily Dispatch employee before ten a.m.”
    “Sure.” She paused on her way out the door to look over her shoulder. “You do know it’s Sunday, right?”
    Usually they jogged together on Sunday. Kibitzed and shared breakfast while they talked over the work week ahead. Relaxed and friendly were not on his menu today, however.
    He managed to force the snarl off his face, but the glare he shot across the room still made her flinch. “Just get me the information.”
    Shock and hurt mingled behind studious glasses he knew she’d adopted as a shield from the world.
    Pride stinging, he waved his hand at her. “Go. When you’re done, we’ll talk about that vacation you wanted.”
    Alone again, he sat and placed his mug and elbows on the table. Face in his hands, he breathed deep. He’d come so far. Done so much. Without a whiff of scandal. The world’s last honest businessman , they’d dubbed him. The debonair billionaire . He snorted. Yeah. Right. One stupid decision and he’d let everyone down. Again. Shoving aside regret, he went to the study, grabbed his laptop, and decided to do what he always did when he wanted to forget. He worked.
    An hour later, he was elbows-deep in financial statements when Carl strode into the kitchen and dropped his laptop bag on the table.
    “What do you have?” Peter asked without lifting his gaze. All he’d been able to discover was a flaky deal inked by a subsidiary of Wells Industries’ financial group, giving the paper a substantial loan.
    Carl poured a cup of coffee. “Not much. Just that