“I’m trying, mate.”
“Don’t you own the damned tabloid?”
“Ever heard of media censorship laws? I can’t get involved on editorial.”
“It’s going to kill my mother.”
“All I can say is that you should think about warning her. Do it your way, in your own time, so it’s not such a bolt out of nowhere.”
“You have no doubt it’s true?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t.”
Anastasios frowned. Then why did he? Nothing had happened to exonerate Phoebe and yet, in the last two days, he’d started to question his original conviction. He’d started to wonder—to hope?—that he’d been wrong.
He ground his teeth together as that hope died a savage death.
“The one thing they’re waiting on is a quote from the girl. No one can find her though. I suppose that’s your doing?”
Anastasios ground his teeth. “I need you to kill this. Think of whatever loophole is at your disposal.”
“Give me a denial to pass before legal. That’s your best bet.”
“Shedenies it.”
“No, you have to be the one. Your family. Your clout.”
Anastasios considered that. “And then they’d stop it?”
“Perhaps. Leave it with me?”
He squinted into the sunlight. “Do I have any other choice?”
Tommy was silent. “I’ll do my best, Tasso. You have my word.”
He hung up, but with a growing sense of impatience. He didn’t like things going against him. He sure as hell didn’t like losing his grip on control. This story didn’t belong in the tabloids. It was a private matter, nothing that warranted the gossip hungry papers latching onto.
His father was gone and his mother—she’d be devastated. But what about Phoebe? Photographers invading her life, sleazy journalists hounding her for grimy tell-all interviews. She’d hate that. Three days ago, he wouldn’t have cared, but now he’d gotten to know her better, and the idea of her life being upended because she’d chosen to get involved with someone high profile?
The story couldn’t be published.
He ground his teeth, the threat of new ‘evidence’ making it harder to control. But Anastasios thrived on a challenge.
He turned his mind to the situation at hand, even as there was a constant drag on his attention. Knowing Phoebe was out there, bobbing along on the yacht, split his focus, so he worked harder to concentrate, to ignore her, to resist her. Control was paramount.
“Hey, stranger.”
Cora smiled as she strolled into his office.
He blinked up at his cousin, a frown etched across his face as, two hours later, he was still torn between pondering the Phoebe conundrum and dealing with a mountain of work.
“What are you doing here?”
“A little birdie told me you’d flown into town. I wanted to see how you’re doing.”
He lifted a brow. It could only be his assistant—a friend Cora had recommended to the job.
“I was about to leave.”