Secrets Of The A-List Complete Collection, Episodes 1-12. Cat Schield

think about the Fixer?” He turned to face Thom.

      Thom was completely caught off guard. He’d never expected that he would be asked about the inner workings of the family. He’d always been a silent observer. He slid his hands into his pockets. “Wow.” He shook his head. “Tell you the truth, from the little I overheard, it’s like something out of a made-for-television movie. I mean, some unknown person behind the scenes pulling strings.”

      “Yeah, all very cloak-and-dagger.” He angled his head to the side. “Could be you.”

      Thom’s eyes widened, then he burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding. Me?”

      “Hey, why not you? You’re always around, been around for years.” Rafe gave a nonchalant shrug. “Anyway, I gotta run.” He clapped Thom on the shoulder. “Hopefully my sister will show up at some point.”

      “At some point,” Thom murmured, still off center by Rafe’s question. Did he or anyone in the family really think it could be him?

      Rafe strode toward the door then stopped. “Hey,” he said and pointed a finger at Thom. “I haven’t forgotten your promise to beat me at tennis. As soon as things settle down, we’re on.”

      “You got it. Just say when,” Thom called out to Rafe’s retreating back. Him, the Fixer? If only. There was plenty in his life that needed fixing.

      Thom drew in a breath and stared at the doorway. Snippets of his conversation with Rafe replayed in his head. It was true what Rafe had said about how being who you truly were was hard—especially when you’d rather marry your bride-to-be’s brother than the woman you pretended to love.

       Chapter Three

      “Yes, fifty thousand. Transferred today.” The Fixer ended the call and tossed the cell phone on the desk. It had been a busy morning, and things didn’t seem as if they were going to slow down.

      The deal with the news anchor had had the desired effect—for the moment—but there was still the reality that Harrison remained in a coma. There was only so much that stalling and hints of blackmail could do to keep that news off the airwaves. But one crisis at a time.

      Now the Fixer had to smooth the way for a renegotiation. The latest client had signed on the dotted line for a property he now no longer wanted. The contract was rock solid, but everyone had a price, and once it was determined that the lawyers for the property were amenable to some creative paperwork, the Fixer put the plan in play. Problems like this one were what the Fixer lived for. The thrill of the veiled threat, the power of bending a person’s will by using inside knowledge was a turn-on. Time spent on building alliances and securing confidences were the centerpieces for success. By the end of the week, the client would be free and clear, and the lawyer’s boss would never know how he’d been skimming from the firm with his billable hours.

      The Fixer’s tentacles were long and far-reaching, stretching from the corridors of politics to the boardrooms of Wall Street. The Fixer preferred creative methods to any kind of strong-arm tactics. That wasn’t the MO. The Fixer’s skill was the ability to be seen and not seen, to constantly keep an ear to the ground, to build confidences and alliances. Having countless people in debt was the lifeblood of the operation. The Fixer knew things, knew secrets and knew when and how to leverage that knowledge. More importantly, the Fixer knew how to uncover those secrets with the right questions and the perfect incentives—favors. The business flourished because of the Fixer’s innate instincts to spot weakness in the prey, and now the well of favors owed was bottomless.

      The Fixer leaned back against the thick cushion of the Italian leather executive desk chair and stared off into the distance. What had started out as simple favors for Harrison’s friends in need had morphed into a lucrative business, far beyond anything they could have imagined. The Fixer was the brains behind the operation and moved all the puzzle pieces into place, yet forever remained in Harrison’s shadow. It was best that clients believe Harrison was the master puppeteer, although there were times when the Fixer wanted to stand in the light and take the bows.

      At the moment, however, the biggest concern for the Fixer was the family. Between Joe and his meddling and then Mariella finding the bank statement...what were the odds of that happening? But none of this would be an issue were it not for that fucking accident! Harrison, what were you thinking? The Fixer fumed, concern and frustration mounting, one fist slamming on the desk. It was Mercury retrograde in full effect. Now instead of focusing on business as usual, extra precautions had to be taken to ensure that the family never discovered who the Fixer was. All hell would break loose if they did. For the first time since venturing into this line of work, the Fixer was at cross-purposes with the family. While they were on the hunt to uncover the identity of the Fixer, all efforts must be used to make sure that didn’t happen. Whatever it took.

       Chapter Four

      The private party room in the back of El Acantilado had been set up for Mariella and Elana to make their selections for the engagement party. Even though the restaurant was closed until dinner, the elegant establishment bustled with activity. Deliveries were coming in from florists, linen companies, stationery businesses and everything in between. Mariella and Gabe had agreed to allow one of the top team members to handle the arrangements, but in light of Harrison’s accident, Mariella was unable to fully let go of the reins.

      Mariella picked up the white coquillage linen sample and rubbed the fine fabric between her fingertips. There were two other choices, but so far this was her favorite. Although Gabe insisted that Mariella focus on Harrison, working on her daughter’s engagement party was the only thing that kept her sane. The mere thought of spending hours sitting at the bedside of her comatose husband chilled her to the bone.

      “Mrs. Santiago-Marshall, the champagne flutes and the floral samples have arrived.”

      Mariella placed the fabric on the table and turned her attention to Teresa St. Claire, the engagement party planner from MSM Event Planning. She and her team were responsible for all the ordering and vendor deliveries. As much as Mariella was hesitant to admit, Teresa was beyond efficient. She ran her team like a master drill sergeant, albeit in her standard classy black pantsuit and white silk blouse.

      “Thank you. Have them brought in. And be sure that the delivery people do not leave until the packages have been approved by me.”

      “Yes, ma’am.” She tucked a lock of blond hair behind her ear and spoke into her headset. She referred quickly to her iPad and hurried off, her stilettos clinking rhythmically across the floors.

      Mariella took a sip of champagne and checked her watch. Late, as usual. This was for Elana’s engagement party. Even though she’d told Mariella to do whatever she wanted, Elana needed to take some interest in its preparations. But her flighty daughter could barely keep her mind on one thing at a time, and clearly her impending wedding wasn’t one of those things. Who the hell knew where she was, and Mariella didn’t want to give voice to what she was thinking.

      Three of Teresa’s assistants brought in boxes on hand trucks, unloaded and set up the samples on the table. Teresa was right behind them to give a quick inspection of the contents and check off the items from her list.

      Mariella lifted one of the flutes and held it up to the light. The delicate Baccarat crystal flute was a work of art. She flicked her glossy pale pink nail against the glass and smiled at the tiny ping. She set that one on the table and went to the next box that held the Swarovski flutes. This sample had a faceted clear-crystal base that sparkled like diamonds. Hmm, tough decision.

      “What do you think, Teresa?” Mariella was testing her, curious to see if she would offer a decision or defer to her.

      Teresa stepped closer. She lifted the Baccarat then the Swarovski. “I prefer the Swarovski,” she said without hesitation. “Feels a bit more substantial in your hand.” She picked up the bottle of champagne