The Billionaire’s Handler by Jennifer Greene

What?”
    â€œMaguire…I can tell you why people didn’t notice what was wrong with Tommy. People in my field are programmed, we’re trained, to work with the problems that we understand the children to have. Most of the classes are understaffed and underfunded—but that’s not the whole problem. Money never is.”
    â€œMoney never is? How can you be an American and think money isn’t the solution to every problem? But go on. I have to hear where you’re going with this.”
    â€œWell…this is the thing. We have some great programs for special kids. But we also miss things because we have to be concerned with the diagnosis of what’s wrong. No child totally fits a pattern. Even a child with limited IQ can have spots when he’s brilliant. Even a child with a definite diagnosis can have other sides to his health, his character, that aren’t defined by what’s wrong with him. I’d like to take that to D.C.”
    â€œOkay. Now you’re starting to scare me.”
    â€œOh, I realize I don’t have the power to do anything myself. But…I do have money now. I could bring some of the best minds together on my dollar. Look at the best of programs we have, how to work with the multiple dimensions of each child. Being an advocate for special kids… I could actually do that. With some money and some power. I could actually makea difference at a higher level than just an individual classroom.”
    Maguire shifted, straightened up. “All right. I admit it. I didn’t dream you’d get here this fast. You’re starting to get it, how you can carve out your own life, now, aren’t you? You’re revving your own engine. This is a good idea.”
    â€œI’m a smart girl, Maguire. You doubted I would come up with good ideas?”
    â€œI never doubted you were smart. I worried that the piranhas out there had beaten you down.” He reached out a hand.
    She took it.
    â€œReady to head back to the hotel? We’ve had a long day.”
    They had, but her heart was suddenly thrumming to bluesy rhythms. Maguire might not know it, but his evening wasn’t completely over yet.

Chapter Seven
    B ack at the hotel, an open-gated elevator sent them to the third floor. Maguire could see that she was beat. He’d wanted her to have that kind of whirlwind day—so busy she didn’t have time to dwell on fears or worries, but not so crazy that she’d get over-exhausted.
    This hotel, like others in Monaco, went over the top on gilt and opulence. Not Maguire’s choice of decors, but he’d be looking for the kind of place where Carolina’d feel pampered. The screw-up earlier in the day had been corrected. He plucked her key, 3543, opened her door and stepped in a foot, just to make sure the setup was correct.
    The peach satin spread was turned down, a spray of Russian chocolates on the pillow, a dressing gown laid out. A light in the bathroom gleamed on the marble floor; soft lamplight pooled a welcoming glow by her bed. Two dozen peach roses spilled from an ivory vase. A basket of goodies—wine, cheese, fruit, snacks—was tucked on the far table.
    Yes. All as ordered. Maguire backed out a step. “Okay, you. To sleep—for as long as you want to sleep. I’m in the next room, 3544.”
    Carolina raised her eyebrows. “You’re not in a suite with me this time?”
    Maguire had gotten smarter in direct proportion to her becoming more dangerous. “I’m right next door, and there’s a connecting door between us that’s locked on both sides. If you need me, I’m a knock away. But I don’t think you need anyone hovering close the way I was before.”
    â€œYou do think I’m stronger,” she said with a tone of satisfaction.
    â€œI do. But you don’t need setbacks.” And he didn’t need to be any closer to that lithe body draped in black that