KILLIAN: A Mafia Romance (The Callahans Book 2) (95 page)

              “Meaning...” Taylor didn’t need to wait for his father’s explanation. He had made his point all too clear. “You think I’m going to be suspected of this?”

              “Why wouldn’t you be?”

              Taylor glared at the man, who was taking all of this so lightly, he even found moments to gaze at the landscape through the blinds as though this was nothing more than a pleasant Thursday morning.

              “I’ll tell you why,” he asserted, stealing his father’s attention. “Because Rose and I are on the same side.”

              “That’s a joke.”

              To drive his point home, Taylor yelled, “As of this moment, the Starlight Energy Project will begin digging a trench eight miles out.”

              “You wouldn’t dare—”

              “I’ll have the necessary permits in place by this afternoon. We’ll begin moving the materials tomorrow, and we’ll start building the day after that.”

              “You’re going to waste millions of dollars to avoid attempted murder suspicions?”

              He held his father’s gaze and grinned. “You didn’t leave me any other option.”

              Launching to his feet, Porter advanced on him, and when they were nearly nose to nose, he shouted, “I didn’t do a thing to that woman.”

              “No, I’m sure you sent someone else to do your dirty work. I’ll find out who. I’ll get them to spill. You’ll go down for this. And in the meantime, you’ll have to watch me take full control of this pipeline, and you won’t be able to do a thing to stop me.”

              “You’re wrong about that,” he said, sneering through his teeth. “I’ve notified the board of your mental instability, which I’m sure the media will corroborate as soon as your medical records hit the news.”

              Taylor held his ground, but couldn’t deny his father’s threat was striking him like a fist to his solar plexus.

              “They’ll vote you off the project. I’ll be reinstated. You’ll be nothing more than a memory.”

              “I won’t go down without a fight.”

              “I’m not concerned with fighting you, Taylor. You aren’t very strong.”

              “Get out.”

              Porter raised his brows as though this entire exchange had been amusing before making his slow way to the door.

              “I’ll give you some time to reconsider your choices,” he said after opening the door. “Don’t forget about your press conference at noon. You might want to use the few hours you have to compose your explanation for those medical records, because no one on my PR staff is going to help you. Not now. Psychosis,” he mused. “That’s a hard one to talk your way out of. And with your girlfriend having been attacked, why...I would be worried people are going to think you snapped, went into a psychotic rage, and tried to kill her. She doesn’t know who did it, after all…because she’s blind.”

              As soon as his father left and he was alone, Taylor collapsed onto the couch, planted his elbows on his knees, and plowed his fingers through his hair, beside himself. He had known about the press conference. It had been organized by the Montgomery Press Relations Department. The strategy was to invite the press in so that Taylor could disclose his time at the hospital. By introducing the fact before Carter could, he would be able to control public perception and hopefully preserve his reputation. All told, it was a good plan, but Taylor had been so focused on Rose that he hadn’t given a second thought to what he might say, since his father had assured him the PR staff would compose his speech.

              He didn’t want to have to be dealing with this right now.

              He felt crippled. This wasn’t even an uphill battle. It was a losing one, and he couldn’t help but feel like he had already lost.

              Rising up from the couch, he told himself he had to be strong. He had to follow through with his threats. He had to show his father he was stronger than steel and just as impenetrable. So when he reached the desk, he dialed Detective Tavaras’s cell number.

              The line opened up and he wasted no time explaining to the detective that he had every reason to believe that his father, Porter Montgomery, had been behind Rose’s attack. He detailed the threat Porter had made to him privately about how she needed to “disappear,” and if she didn’t leave on her own, Porter would see to it that she did. He also mentioned the likelihood that whoever had been working in the security room last night would’ve left the booth unattended should Porter suggest it.

              The detective took the information down in stride and didn’t comment, and when Taylor got off the phone he launched into his next task—alerting Davey Construction that it would be moving the pipeline eight miles out.

              The hours flew by and soon members and associates of the press were filling up outside where the Starlight executives had organized a team to set up a table and rows upon rows of folding chairs to stage the press conference.

              Finally, Taylor had the impulse to call Rose.

              She picked up on the first ring, since he had helped her set a unique ringtone to all of his contact numbers.

              “Taylor?” she asked, concerned to be hearing from him while he was at work.

              “Hey, you okay?”

              “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?”

              “I don’t know.” After a brief pause, he said, “I’m going to have a limousine pick you up. Can you be downstairs in five minutes?”

              “Five?” she asked, daunted.

              “Ten? I have an important announcement, and I need you here with me. If you could get the other members of One World to the site, that would be great. I know how I might be able to steer this press conference in my favor, but it won’t be easy.”

              After he hung up, he quickly dialed his limo driver and instructed him to pick up Rose and drive her out to Starlight, then returned his cell to his suit’s inner pocket and pulled Rose’s contract out of the lap drawer on his desk.

              If his father wanted to fight dirty, then he would hit him where it hurts.

              When Rose stepped out of the limousine, she was confronted with how loud the crowd was. A drone of echoing voices billowed across the dusty construction site, indicating the press conference was twelve yards up the trench.

              Intimidated and having refused the white cane that Dr. Fitzpatrick had offered her during her last appointment where he sealed her fate that she would never see due to the most critical optical nerves having been damaged beyond repair, Rose hesitated to venture towards the commotion. Thankfully, Hector and Jenny, two trusted members of One World, approached, calling out her name.

              “I’m glad you both could make it,” she said.

              “Of course,” said Hector, taking her arm. “It looks like everyone is gathered this way.”

              “What’s all this about?” Jenny asked curiously.

              “Truth be told, I’m not sure,” she said, as they made their way towards the crowd. “How many people are here?”

              After a brief moment, he said, “It looks like five media outlets, and I’d say about two hundred people.”

              Jenny then interjected, “I’d peg them as residents of Bellevue. Oh, there are some vacant chairs up in the second row.”

              “Is Taylor up there?” asked Rose, as Hector helped her into her seat then Jenny sat beside her.

              “Yeah,” she said. “And a few executives, it looks like.”

              Hector leaned in close to her ear and said, “Carter and Layla are across the aisle.”

              Rose drew in a deep breath. Of course they were here. It wasn’t enough that Carter had disregarded her and gone to the press with Taylor’s medical records. The self-serving couple had to show up and see the fruit of their destruction. How any of this would help One World’s cause was beyond her, but something told Rose that Carter and Layla’s motivation had less to do with their organization and more to do with themselves, but just precisely how, she had yet to find out.

              Seated at the conference table, Taylor tapped the microphone and thanked everyone for coming.

              “I’ve invited all of you here today, because recently it came to my attention that some highly personal information was leaked concerning my brief medical stay at Seattle Mercy, a hospital where I used to work as a surgeon. In order to mitigate inaccurate perceptions that would surely result if the media were to interpret those records without the input of medical professionals, I’m offering an explanation.”

              As Rose listened to Taylor’s well-thought-out and brilliantly composed story, which detailed his amnesia of that fateful night and suggested that the drugs found in his system had stirred up psychological problems that he wouldn’t have otherwise had, she couldn’t help but catch the periodic murmuring of people in the crowd, whether from members of the press consulting one another on the questions they would ask, or residents ultimately alarmed that the man behind the pipeline destroying their home might perhaps be certifiably insane.

              What bothered her most was the fact that on the whole, it didn’t seem like anyone was listening to Taylor, but rather fretting to themselves, and drawing the very conclusions Taylor had voiced he was concerned they would succumb to if they didn’t first hear him out.

              Taylor came to the end of his speech then asked the press if they had any questions.

              A fiery looking journalist in her thirties launched out of her seat, asking, “Do you still use drugs recreationally?”

              Rose cringed for Taylor’s sake. Had the woman not been listening?

              “Well, I never used drugs recreationally.”

              “And you expect us to believe that?”

              “There’s no evidence of drugs having been in my system before or after the incident, so yes, I expect you to believe me.”

              Another journalist, a man, rocketed out of his seat in the fourth row, asking, “How can the people of Bellevue trust your decision-making abilities are sound when you have a history of drug use?”

              Taylor didn’t even get a chance to address the outlandish question, because a third journalist hit in with, “According to the medical definition of psychosis, it’s not possible for someone suffering with it to stay stable without medication. Are you taking antipsychotics?”

              “I can’t speak to the medical definition, but when I was released from the hospital, I was not considered psychotic any longer.”

              “So are you taking antipsychotics?” she demanded.

              “No—”

              “Then how can you be mentally sound enough to make the important decisions behind managing the Starlight Energy Project?”

              Rose could hear in Taylor’s tone how frustrated he was becoming, though she thought he was doing a fairly decent job of keeping a level head. The members of the press were attacking him outright, and soon he had no chance to answer as their questions turned into a rapid-fire assault on his sanity.

              “Whoa, whoa!” Taylor called out. “One at a time, please! You there.”

              As soon as he called on the man standing across the aisle, Layla and Carter stood up on either side of him. 

              “Isn’t it true,” he began in a confident voice that made Rose nervous for what might come next, “that you suffered a psychotic break last night and tried to murder Rose Cole?”

              “No! Absolutely not! I was at the Hyatt—”

              “Alone,” the man pointed out.

              “This is ridiculous!”

              “We received word that the security cameras at the Escala—your building—had been shut off so that the attempted killer couldn’t be caught on camera.”

              “That’s accurate, but I didn’t do that!”

              “Would you be willing to go in for psychological reevaluation as a measure of good faith before returning to work for Starlight?”

              “Absolutely not! I had nothing to do with Rose’s attack, and there’s nothing wrong with my mind! I was drugged that night! I was the victim—”

              “So it’s a conspiracy,” the reporter pointed out, implying that a symptom of Taylor’s psychosis was paranoia.

              Unfortunately for him, he was so outraged that he didn’t pick up on the insinuation, but instead blurted out, “Did my father put you up to this?!”

              “Calm down, Mr. Montgomery,” the reporter said smugly. “You’re starting to sound psychotic.”

              The crowd chuckled and Rose didn’t know if she’d be able to stand this much longer. She wanted to scream or cry, but neither would help. She felt powerless in the face of stopping this, and though it crossed her mind to jump up and insist that Taylor hadn’t attacked her, she wouldn’t be able to argue against the fact that she was blind. How could she prove Taylor hadn’t done it when she hadn’t been able to see who did?

              The reporter pressed on after Carter whispered something in his ear, which Rose knew about only because Jenny was narrating to her quietly all that was happening.

              “You had various members of One World arrested, and when doing that failed to get them to back off, you went after Rose Cole even though she had already been blinded in her effort to stop you, isn’t that right Mr. Montgomery?”

              Taylor sprang to his feet, raising his voice and asserting himself.

              “I am on Rose Cole’s side. The real reason I called this press conference is to announce that, as a result of hearing Rose Cole out and reading through the proposal submitted to me through One World, I have hereby decided to relocate the Starlight Energy Project eight miles out where it will not threaten the Bellevue water tower should there be any mishap, leak, or spill during its construction or in the distant future.”

              The crowd hushed, but no one was more surprised than Rose, who was on the brink of tears, laughing and marveling at the good news washing over her.

              Jenny was whispering in her ear that Carter and Layla were shocked, but she couldn’t hear her over Taylor, who invited her to come up to the conference table.

              As she made her way with Hector’s help, Layla kept shouting, “You only agreed because Carter Simmons threatened to expose you! Give credit where credit is due! How dare you!” She then turned towards the crowd and shouted, “One World didn’t do this. If you’re happy with anyone, it should be with me and Carter who worked so hard to make this town safe!”

              Ignoring Layla, and trying not to feel stung that her former friend could attempt to plow over all of her hard work so easily, Rose focused on the victory she had earned as she stood next to Taylor behind the table and shook his hand, while cameras flashed at them from every which way.

              “Rose Cole, the President of One World, and I will now sign a contract that outlines the Starlight Energy Project’s new route through Eastern Bellevue where virtually no one lives.”

              As Taylor placed a pen in her hand and guided her to the signature line of the contract, Rose whispered, “Thank you.”

              “It’s the least I can do,” he said quietly. “But the fight is not over, Rose. There’s so much more we have to do.”

              That night, after the crowd had vanished and Taylor had driven her out to the stretch in East Bellevue where Davey Construction would begin to dig a brand-new trench in two days’ time, Taylor brought Rose back to the Escala so that she could shower and change into the purple Prada dress and black heels that he had bought her for this very occasion.

              Dressed to the nines and buzzing with the thrill of their mutual victory, Taylor and Rose arrived at the most luxurious, five-star restaurant in all of Seattle, where he ordered a bottle of chilled champagne as soon as they sat down.

              As they waited for their server to fulfill the order, Rose smiled at Taylor then sensed the bay windows to her right.              

              “Tell me about the view,” she asked and listened to Taylor draw in a deep breath.

              “The view overlooks the Seattle nightscape,” he began, speaking in a low and deep tone that stirred up her deepest desire for him. “Beyond it is the canal, its water is reflecting the city lights, and there are a few sailboats out. In the distance you can see the sparse twinkling lights of Bellevue.”

              The town she had finally saved, she thought.

              Taylor took her hand just as their server returned with their champagne, two glasses, and a bucket of ice. After giving her a squeeze, he did the honors, popping the bottle and pouring two flutes, one of which he passed to Rose before lifting the other for a toast. 

              “To you, Rose. I hate to admit it, but you won.”

              She laughed and said, “Oh come on. You like it a little.”

              When his laughter quieted he said, “I did. I didn’t just like it, in fact. I loved it. I love you. I’m in love with you, and I couldn’t be happier.”

              The words nearly took her breath away, and the smile on her face grew wide.

              “I’m in love with you, too.”