Stephen Frey Read Free

twenty-five thousand dollars,” she said defiantly. “Now Wall Street calls me.”
    â€œI’m sure. The I-bankers rarely care whose money it is as long as they can take their crumb.”
    Her chin quivered slightly. “I’ve hated every minute of it.”
    â€œWe all make choices, Melissa. And there are challenges down every path.”
    She rolled her eyes. “With a billion dollars, what challenges could you possibly have?”
    He took a deep breath. “From the time I was a child, I’ve never known why someone wanted to be my friend. Was it me, or what we have? Nine times out of ten they were using me. It took a while for me to figure that out, but once I did, I was better off.” He heard her low, unimpressed groan. “Money changes the rules, Melissa, and not always for the better. Until I graduated from Yale, I had a chaperon wherever I went. My parents called him a bodyguard, but he was really there to watch me and make sure I didn’t take liberties with the family name. A girl had to be screened carefully before I could see her.”
    â€œWe all know that the elite must stick together,” Melissa said sarcastically. “God help us if there were ever a mixing of the gene pools.”
    â€œHey, I didn’t say I liked it,” Bo countered quickly. “My parents were preoccupied with maintaining our family’s good reputation in society as well as in the press. Actually,
obsessed
is a more accurate description.”
    â€œWhy did they care so much?”
    â€œThe press is always looking to trash prominent families. Always after the blood of the rich and famous because our scandals sell more copies. You know that.”
    â€œSo your parents were obsessed with maintaining the family’s good reputation, but I’m the reality. A woman kept in the shadows.” Melissa’s eyes narrowed. “Does Paul’s wife know about me?”
    Betty Tweed Hancock, Paul’s wife, was a plain, pale-skinned woman whose father was the managing partner of one of Manhattan’s most prominent law firms. He had many valuable contacts inside the Washington beltway, and those contacts would prove invaluable to Paul as he progressed onto the national political stage. As a bit of political maneuvering, Paul and Betty’s marriage was a triumph. In the bedroom, however, it was less than satisfying. So a year ago Melissa had entered the equation. Paul made it a point to see Melissa at least once a week. Sometimes for fifteen minutes, sometimes, when he could arrange it, all night.
    Bo shook his head, thinking about the fact that Betty was less than a mile away in Paul’s mansion just over the hill from the playhouse. “Betty has no idea about you. She thinks Paul is attending a political function in another part of the state tonight. Paul has his staff well trained.”
    â€œYour family is so concerned about the public image, but the reality is much darker.”
    â€œIt wasn’t when my mother was alive,” Bo answered. “Ida Warfield Hancock ran a tight ship. Without her around things have been different.”
    â€œWhen did she pass away?”
    â€œAbout a year ago,” Bo said softly.
    They were silent for several minutes before she spoke up again, trying to recapture their earlier mood. “So, do you have a day job, Bo?”
    â€œI’m one of those Wall Street guys who weren’t impressed with your résumé. I work in Goldman Sachs’s corporate finance group. In a few years I’ll be brought in-house to run Warfield Capital, the family investment fund.” Bo took another swallow of scotch. “I’m the blocking-and-tackling guy of the family. Paul is the quarterback. The one everyone is watching.”
    â€œDoes that bother you?”
    Bo’s posture stiffened. “No.”
    â€œIs Paul worried that you’ll tell his wife about me?” she asked. “Is that why he