The Rich Boy. Leah Vale

said, “Look. I’ll go. You stay here. As long as the lights and camera are where they’re supposed to be, we’ll still technically be keeping our end of the bargain.” She waved a hand at the foyer. “Tape some crowd and endorsement shots. Preston will love it if you can get a senator to say ‘Stay tuned to Entertainment This Evening.’”

      Their producers lived and breathed famous names and faces and the ratings boosts they gave the show. Preston Estcomb in particular didn’t care about real news.

      But unearthing a decent story would be the only way she’d prove to the world she had more to her than the hand-me-down Miss Central USA crown. Which, after seven years, was more than a little dusty.

      Dan sighed again. “They’re more likely to agree to do a promo if you ask them. You’re better at it than I am.”

      “Though not as good as some.”

      Dan snorted a laugh, fortunately appreciative of her self-deprecating humor. Yet she wasn’t sure he realized how much always being second best bothered her.

      Madeline’s claim to fame was hers only because the pageant’s winner that year had been caught in a sex scandal with a congressman and been forced to step down. As first runner-up, Madeline had been called upon to take her place.

      Madeline hadn’t earned the title any more than she’d earned her current fluff reporter job. The knowledge chewed on her self-esteem like a sharp-toothed rodent intent on destruction.

      Understanding warming his dark eyes, Dan jerked his head toward the teeming hall. “Go. I’ll tell anyone who asks that you’re in the powder room. You’re a woman. They’ll understand if it takes you a while to get back.”

      She grinned her thanks. “Especially in this dress.” She tugged at the form-fitting, beaded red sheath. “Is your cell on?”

      He put a hand to the small phone clipped to his belt. “On Vibrate, but yeah.”

      “Good.” She bent and retrieved her clutch, which contained her phone, from Dan’s equipment bag. “I’ll call you if the planets align and a certain someone decides to spill his guts to me on camera. That would be worth abandoning our assigned spot here.”

      “That it would. Normally I wouldn’t bother wishing you luck, because the Maddy Monroe magic keeps you from needing luck, but this time I don’t think it’d hurt. Good luck.”

      “Sheesh. Thanks for the vote of confidence, chief.”

      “Just calling it like I see it. The McCoy boys are too pretty themselves to be swayed by pretty faces.”

      Suddenly thankful she hadn’t confided in Dan after all about the short time she’d dated Alexander McCoy, Madeline turned and hurried down the remaining stairs. If she had, then he’d know just how true that statement really was.

      And maybe even guess how much the fact had hurt her.

      Her high heels clicked as she stepped a little too abruptly off the stairs onto the heavily polished cherrywood floor and eased her way into the crowd. She was instantly engulfed by the headily perfumed heat and excited energy generated by the ultraprivileged.

      She wove her way through the guests toward the back of the huge house, a slow process because of the sheer number of people and how many of them wanted to chat with her along the way. She might have grown up on the other side of the state in St. Louis and had lived in Los Angeles since then, but to most of these folks she’d become a hometown girl the second Joseph McCoy had put his stamp of approval on her.

      A designation that would certainly evaporate if she accomplished her goal here tonight.

      When she finally made it through the French doors that opened out onto the large patio, the cooler air helped resharpen her focus. But even out here the scent of flowers, honeysuckle in particular, tempted her to linger, to breathe in the magic of the evening.

      Until Joseph McCoy’s booming voice caught her attention. He was standing among a group of people collected away from the guests. Madeline didn’t need long to realize it was a family affair. The men were all tall and broad shouldered, the women beautiful and lucky.

      Keeping to the shadows hugging the house, she inched as close as she dared.

      Cooper Anders and his new fiancée, pretty brunette Sara Barnes, were there. For a former small construction company owner, he looked surprisingly at home in a classic black tuxedo. Sara, her petite figure shown off to its best in a beautiful, body-conscious cream gown Madeline recognized as a Dior, had the ease of a woman raised amid the McCoys.

      Cooper owed Madeline an interview about how it felt to go from the big house—meaning the county jail—to the Big House, where he’d found love with McCoy Enterprises’ vice president of operations. But that could wait.

      The other newest McCoy, Mitch Smith, she’d met earlier. He was the only one at the party dressed relatively casually, in jeans, cowboy boots and a brown suede blazer. He also stood out as the only blond man in the bunch. The private investigator who’d found him, Alison Sullivan, was next to him, and the possessive hand Mitch had on the black satin-clad waist of the feisty redhead suggested a human-interest story to be had there, also.

      The only people in the group she didn’t know were the very striking marine officer in full-dress uniform and the tall, attractive woman in a short black sheath, whose long hair was as dark as the marine’s. The guy’s looks and stature made it logical to jump to the conclusion that he was another long-lost McCoy. The way he smiled down at the Catherine Zeta-Jones lookalike spoke of newfound love.

      Yep. Beautiful and lucky.

      The freshly resurrected ghost of that old hurt poked at Madeline, but she refused to acknowledge its existence.

      Based on all the handshaking going on, it seemed that introductions were being conducted around the group. Apparently they’d barely all arrived in time for the party.

      For cripes’ sake, she could make her career on doing nothing but the straight-up, feel-good fluff stories about these men being brought into this family by its patriarch, Joseph McCoy.

      Only, it wasn’t the career she wanted.

      And with Joseph himself spoon-feeding it to her, she’d never have the chance to prove anything other than how gracefully she could jump through other people’s hoops. Her parents would be so proud.

      She moved to slip past the group, because the one notable family member missing was Alexander McCoy. By all rights he should be there to meet his newest, spit-polished nephew. A nephew who looked to be about the same age as his thirty-four-year-old uncle.

      Sure, Marcus McCoy revealing a bunch of illegitimate sons after becoming grizzly chow was a story, one that every Tom, Dick and Harry had already reported. But if the man presented to the world as Marcus’s younger brother really wasn’t…then that would mean Joseph McCoy had been involved and that was something else entirely.

      Something big.

      Behind her, Madeline heard Joseph stop mid-exposition and ask the group, “Where’s Alexander?”

      She froze, then dared to take a couple steps backward to hear better. There was some whispering, and it was all she could do not to turn around and shout, Speak up!

      She’d just started to gnash her teeth, when she distinctly heard Cooper inquire, “Do you think he bailed to the stable?” He’d kept his voice low, but his distinct, deep resonance carried to Madeline.

      “That’s were he usually goes when he’s stressed or upset.” Madeline was pretty sure Sara Barnes had had the answer.

      An answer good enough for Madeline, who was determined to get to Alex first.

      Shrugging off the prickle of concern at the thought of Alex upset because she would not let her former feelings for the man get in the way, she picked up the hem of her dress and hurried for the stairs off the veranda.

      When she