I stared after him, watching him disappear out of my hall and into my sitting room.
All my papers on Carraway were in there!
“Hey!” I called, shutting the door and hurrying after him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Lexington stood in the middle of my small sitting room, his back, thankfully, to my desk. His expression was sullen, cool, and calculating. This was not the charming, hedonistic millionaire I’d read about. “I could ask you the same thing, Miss Ray.”
“Excuse me?” Cold sweat prickled under my arms. Did he know? How did he know? If he didn’t know, why the hell else would he be here? Why was he here and not Carraway?
I waited anxiously for Lexington to stop boring through my face with his hard eyes. “I assume you know who I am.”
“You’re Henry Lexington.”
“And you, Miss Ray,” he turned and strode over to my desk, fingering my papers, “are going to let a certain story die.”
My belly flipped unpleasantly.
Goddammit. “What?” I said.
Lexington raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Imelda Worthington.”
Fuck.
“That blank expression isn’t fooling anyone, Miss Ray. I know she said a few unfortunate things to Richard Peters, your boss, and I know you’ve been calling her ever since.”
Despite my guilt, despite knowing I was in the wrong here, this privileged asshole had burst into my apartment to intimidate me. Like hell! “You do, do you?”
His eyes narrowed. “Imelda informed me of what’s been going on and asked me to kindly give you a message.” He prowled toward me and I suddenly felt real fear. I didn’t know this man and he was here to shut me up. How far would he go? I steeled myself, not wanting him to see my fear. If my expression gave me away, however, I didn’t know; all I did know was that Henry Lexington stopped a good foot from me. It still wasn’t enough. He stood at over six feet, his broad shoulders fitted into a perfectly tailored three-piece suit. He had big, masculine hands, one hidden in his pocket, the other resting on his flat stomach over a suit button. Henry Lexington had a swimmer’s build—sleek but powerful—and I could only guess at the strength beneath his suit. I struggled not to feel overwhelmed by his large, magnetic presence, as much as I struggled not to feel fear.
“You’ll leave her alone,” he demanded.
Guessing there was no point in being coy considering he’d seen my desk, I asked, “Why are you here instead of Carraway?”
Lexington flashed me a wolfish grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Because I’m the nice one. Caine scares Imelda. He scares most people. Not you, though.” He took another step toward me, seeming to be cataloguing every little nuance of my face. “And if you’re not careful, that lack of fear could ruin you, Miss Ray.”
If I’d been smarter, I would’ve told Lexington everything there and then. But his threats cut open the wounds Dick had caused. That others had caused. How I was sick of men trying to bully me. “I don’t care how Carraway made his money in his youth, and anyway, there is no evidence to prove he did what Imelda told Dick he did.”
It was a slight movement, so miniscule most wouldn’t have noticed, but Lexington’s shoulders lowered ever so, just enough to tell me he was relieved. Which meant there was probably truth in what Imelda had said.
Interesting.
“But that’s not the story I found.”
Lexington’s jaw clenched and he cocked his head to the side. There was something about being the sole focus of this man that made me nervous and insecure. I put it down to the fact that I was alone with him in my apartment and he’d politely threatened me.
“I’ve seen you in the morning doing the weather reports.” He dropped his gaze for the first time, deliberately raking it over my body, before moving back up to my face. “You’re hard to miss.”
I kept my expression carefully blank, not liking his derisive tone. Not at all.
“How then,” he took a step toward me, “does a weather girl end up chasing tabloid gossip?”
But he didn’t give me a chance to explain, or to tell him what I’d already planned to tell Carraway. “Tabloid journalists are bottom feeders. Lowly scum on the evolutionary chain.” His upper lip curled in distaste and I hated that it was directed at me. Defiance shuddered through me but I held it together. Who was he to judge me? He’d had money and power his whole life. He didn’t know what it was like to be made to feel like a victim.
I flinched, goddamn him.
And he saw it. His brows drew together as he studied me and his tone softened ever so slightly. “Caine doesn’t know you’re digging, and he doesn’t need to know. Stop.”
He seemed to take my non-answer as agreement because he walked past me to leave.
What was I doing?
Just because this man was an asshole didn’t mean Carraway wasn’t still the answer to my problem with Dick.
I hurried after Lexington, and as he opened my door, I called out, “The story is about his mother’s death and whether the Hollands are connected to it. Alistair Holland. Was he there when she died and did someone cover it up? Is Carraway’s PA Alexa related to the Hollands? And if so, why is she working for him?”
Henry whipped around and barreled me back into the wall before I could even blink, anger emanating from every part of his body as he trapped me. Infuriating heat and expensive cologne engulfed my senses. “How much do you want?” he seethed.
Shock and fear quickly turned to disgust and disappointment.
How stupid was I to think this guy could help me?
How stupid was I to think any man could help me?
I was right before.
I needed to fix this myself. Like always.
“You people think you can do whatever the hell you like, don’t you,” I said, my voice hollow in my ears, “Throw money at the problem and it’ll go away.”
“Don’t pretend like I’m the bad guy here, Miss Ray. I’m not the cruel woman playing journalist, plucking guesses out of rubble and trying to put them together like a puzzle to wound strangers who don’t deserve the consequences of your poisoned pen.”
I wasn’t trying to do that, you arrogant bastard!
I gave him a hard, mocking smile. “How poetic of you, Mr. Lexington.”
“Don’t think seduction will work here,” he bit out, staring at my mouth, surprising me because seduction was the last thing on my mind. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not swayed by every pretty face I see.” He pushed off the wall and stepped back. “You will bury this story or I will bury your career.”
Hurt kept me pinned to the wall. “And here I was led to believe you were the most charming man in Boston.”
“Oh, I am. But some people aren’t worth the energy.”
And on that last well-placed parting shot, he marched out of my home, slamming the door behind him.
Feeling exhausted, I hurried to lock my door. Slumping against it, tears of anger pricked my eyes.
I hated Dick.
And I hated Lexington.
To spite him, I should give Dick the story. Clearly from Lexington’s reaction there was truth in it.
But I wasn’t a spiteful person and it wasn’t Carraway’s fault that his friend was a dipshit. And it certainly wasn’t Alexa Holland’s fault.