Free The Cinderella Murder by Mary Higgins Clark, Alafair Burke Page B

declared, rising from his desk. “Look who we have here.”
    The second man also stood, and then turned to greet her. It was Alex Buckley. A former college basketball player, he rose at least four inches taller than Brett. She hadn’t seen him for at least a month, but he was as gorgeous as she remembered. No wonder juries and television cameras loved him. She took in his dark, wavy hair; firm chin; and blue-green eyes behind black-rimmed glasses. Everything about his appearance made him seem strong and trustworthy.
    She was glad that Brett was now positioned behind Alex so her boss could not see the way Alex was looking at her. It was the way he always looked at her when she walked into a room. Though he was clearly happy to see her, there was a tinge of sadness—almost longing—in his eyes. That look made her feel like she needed to apologize—both to Greg for somehow making another man feel that way about her, and to Alex for not being able to return the feelings he so obviously had for her (at least, not yet).
    She looked away before either Alex or Brett could sense her thoughts. “What a nice surprise,” she said with a smile. She held out her hand for a shake, and he leaned in for a quick hug.
    She pulled her pencil skirt to her knees before taking the unoccupied chair across from Brett’s desk.
    “I know I’ve kept you on pins and needles all day, Laurie. But I wanted to make sure I had all the facts on your pitch for the Cinderella Murder. Your summary was helpful. But it also made it clear that your budget’s going to skyrocket.”
    “Our costs are low compared to what we can bring in in ad revenue—”
    Brett held up a palm to silence her. “I don’t need you to explain the economics of television to me. You’re planning to interview people who are sprawled all over the state of California, one of the most expensive places to film, by the way. Not to mention that last-minute trip you already made yesterday, just to get Madison Meyer on board.”
    She opened her mouth to speak, but up went his palm again.
    “I get it. The trick worked, so good job. My point is that this isn’t like talking to a dead guy’s wife, mistress, and business partner, who all live in Westchester. You’re going to be hopping from UCLA to the Hollywood Hills to Silicon Valley to who knows where. You’re not going to keep some guy like Frank Parker on board if you’re shooting from some dingy hotel conference room with tuna fish sandwiches from room service. You’ll need a nice place to film, complete with the kinds of luxuries the Hollywood crowd is used to. You’re going to be spending some serious dough.”
    This time, he held up the palm before she even got her mouth open.
    “And that’s why I wanted to talk to Alex. Every critic, every focus group said his hosting was the key to our first special.”
    “I understand that, Brett. But Alex has a law practice to run. He might not have that kind of time.”
    “The he you’re speaking about in the third person,” Brett said impatiently, “is sitting right next to you, and—great news!—he already agreed.”
    Alex cleared his throat. “Well, yes. But he was told that you specifically asked for me.”
    Typical Brett. Anything to get what he wanted.
    “It’s perfect timing,” Brett announced. “He was just explaining that he had a major case that was supposed to be a one-month trial suddenly disappear. How did you explain it again?”
    She could tell that Alex wanted to speak to her privately, but there was no way to extract themselves from Brett’s office. “I convinced the prosecutor my guy had a legitimate alibi. I found security camera footage placing him in the VIP lounge at a club in Chelsea when he was supposedly shooting a rival gang member in Brooklyn. Not to mention the cell phone pings that placed their supposed eyewitness on the Lower East Side when the crime was happening.”
    “There you have it,” Brett said, slapping his desk for emphasis.