I take a hard look at the headline, rereading it a few times, then hand my phone to Jaclyn.
Mystery Tycoon Liam Cooper Byrne storms from negotiations with Long Multinational
Deep in thought, I stare off, my gaze unfocused. “I can’t believe he did this,” I say quietly.
“You mean Coop?”
Suspiciously, I catch the glint in her eye. “You know Coop?”
“No,” Jaclyn says, letting a laugh break free. “Nobody knows Coop. And that's the way he likes it.”
“But you know something.”
“Mm-hmm. I sure do.”
Unamused, I raise a brow. “And you’re not telling me.”
“Nope.”
“Can you throw me a bone?”
“What can I say? Payback’s a bitch.”
Cupping Jaclyn’s face in my hands, I study her eyes like they’ll give me access to every secret in her mind. “Okay, Little Miss CEO. Do me proud. Make me work for it. But remember . . . I did eventually toss you a life preserver.” So what if I kept a tiny little secret about Richard on the downlow for months? It all worked out in the end.
“You did,” Jacklyn says, holding both my hands close on her cheeks. “Eventually.” She punctuates her word with an eye roll. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall all the way on your ass. But a wobbly step here and there reminds you of your footing, and no one’s better at landing on their feet than you. But never mind what I know. I want to hear more about you . . . and why a man has you so frazzled that you walked out of a meeting that important.”
“Well, if you know all that, you can probably guess the reason.” Fighting my own feelings is a minute-by-minute exercise in restraint. Jaclyn’s cheesy grin annoys me. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Margot Long getting worked up over a man? You bet your ass I’m looking at you like this. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this side of you. But in your defense, he’s hot. Smart. Hard-working, building his way up from the bottom. Just like Dad.”
I scoff. “Not all his traits are endearing. He’s a player. A master manipulator. A manwhore of epic proportions. And the unequivocal biggest idiot of all time.”
Jaclyn gives me a confused look. “The first three I get. And part of me thinks that’s just the sort of man who can hold your interest longer than an egg-timer. But an idiot? I’d bet both mine and Richard’s Aston Martins that Coop's no idiot. How about this? We head down to the executive suites, grab a drink, and you can tell me what the alleged idiot did.”
“Deal.”