Bravo Unwrapped Read Free Page B

didn’t.
    He said, “‘Manhattan Man-Eater.’ That’s my girl. Tough, smart and always on top. Takes after her old man, and that is no lie.”
    â€œGee, L.T. I never thought of it that way.”
    â€œDo I detect a note of sarcasm? Stand tall. Be proud. Let the Waldos of the world whine and whimper.”
    â€œWyatt. The weasel’s name is Wyatt. And I’m sorry. But I don’t see it that way. That article just happens to be a total invasion of my privacy.”
    Her father swore. Eloquently. “B.J. You shame me. You’ve got to do something about that Puritanical streak.”
    That was way below the belt. B.J. was no Puritan, far from it. But she wasn’t an exhibitionist either. She wanted the details of her private life to remain exactly that: private.
    She said nothing. She told herself she was exercising the power of silence on L.T. for a change, though in reality she was simply too frustrated and miserable at that moment to speak. Her head pounded and her stomach kept threatening to eject its contents all over her desk pad.
    She hated to admit it, but maybe she should have stayed home today, after all.
    L.T. moved right on to the next item on his agenda.
    â€œI heard about the Three Wise Men.” Again, nosurprise. Arnie would have called him. “Too bad, so sad. And I’ve got it covered.”
    She sat a little straighter. “Meaning?”
    â€œI’m on top of the problem. I’ll tell you all about it. Tonight. Dinner at eight. Be here. We’ll put this situation to bed.”
    â€œA story?” She sounded ridiculously grateful—and she didn’t even care that she did. “You’ve got my Christmas feature story?”
    â€œI have. And it’s good. Very good. Puts those puny Wise Men to shame—if I do say so myself.”
    â€œThe story. What is it?”
    â€œTonight.”
    â€œL.T., I can’t. Not tonight. I’ll be here at the office until nine, at least. I have a mountain of work to…” She heard the click, right there in the middle of her sentence. Her father had hung up.
    Â 
    During the limo ride upstate, B.J. tried to work. Her queasy stomach wasn’t going for it. She ended up staring out the window, tamping down her frustration and resentment that L.T. just had to step in, that he’d ordered her presence upstate and refused to listen when she tried to tell him she didn’t have time for the trip. The loss of the Wise Brothers was her problem, her challenge to handle as she saw fit.
    Or at least, it should have been.
    Then again…
    I’m a true professional, she reminded herself—which meant she’d take any help she could get. And as autocratic as he could be at times, her father was a genius when it came to knowing—and getting—what was needed for Alpha. So if L.T. said he had her cover story, he probably did.
    She shouldn’t be so put out with him—and she wasn’t, not really.
    Not any more than she was put out with her life in general in the past five days. Or maybe not so much put out as freaked out. Since the stick turned blue, as they say. Since the panel said pregnant.
    Six years since she called it quits with…B. She’d moved on. He’d moved on.
    And then, seven weeks ago, she’d run into him. Your classic Friday night at that great club in NoHo, the underground one with the incredible sound system. Fabulous music and one too many excellent Manhattans and they’d ended up at his place. She wasn’t careful—with B, that had always been her problem: a failure to be careful.
    Or one of her problems, anyway. To be painfully frank, there were several.
    So she’d slipped up, she’d reasoned, feeling like a drunk off the wagon, a junkie back on the stuff. Once in six years. That wasn’t so bad she kept telling herself. Oh, no. Not so bad. Not to worry. She wasn’t taking his calls. He was out of her