A Deal With the Devil (5 page)

Chapter Three

ake uttered his on-the-fly proposal at the precise moment Amanda swallowed. She only got part of the wine down. The rest she spat out.

He watched as she grabbed a napkin and held it to her mouth, her eyes watering as quick gulps of air interspersed with deep, rattling coughs. “You okay?” He stood next to her, looking down with concern.

She shook her head and kept coughing.

“Excited about the prospect of marrying me, huh?” Jake smacked her gently on the back with his palm.

“It went down the wrong pipe,” she said, her voice a raspy croak. “Water.”

Jake trotted into the kitchen, filled a glass with water and set it on the table in front of her. She coughed and reached for the water while he settled on the stone hearth. As she sipped at the water, he tried to figure out what had compelled him blurt out a half-baked idea before he’d even begun to think it through.

Jake tapped a thumb on his thigh and wished he could jump in his Escalade and drive until he found himself a few thousand miles away. Unfortunately, with his SUV nose down in a ditch, he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

He rested his head against the stone fireplace and gazed up at the ceiling. No matter the situation, he never blinked under pressure. So what the hell was his problem? Granted, he’d been shocked when the family attorney called on his way up here to tell him about the change to his trust fund. But it still didn’t excuse his behavior. Iraq must’ve been harder on him than he’d imagined.

On paper, Amanda might seem a perfect solution for a fake engagement scheme. It’s not like there would be any messy emotional complications because in the past few hours, she’d made it crystal clear she was over him. Still, actual experience told him anything involving the two of them would likely be difficult, impossible—maybe even disastrous. He had concluded this a year ago, which had been a key driver behind the break-up and which made his dumb proposal even dumber.

His gaze drifted back to Amanda. She appeared royally pissed off. He looked away and tapped his thumb harder, wishing he could take the words and shove them back in his mouth. But now he had to let the situation play out. Who knew? Maybe she’d go along with the idea. Hell, maybe it could even work, though he knew it wouldn’t be easy. Still, after several hours of obsessing about his potential options, he still hadn’t come up with anything better. And, if he wanted to avoid his grandfather’s marital trap and still get his business started as he’d planned, he needed to figure something out; and soon. His entire future now hung in the balance.

Amanda cleared her throat and Jake looked up.

Judging from her narrowed eyes and the set of her jaw, she had readied for battle. He didn’t blame her. If the situation had been reversed, he would’ve thought her crazy. In an effort to avoid the tsunami of questions headed his way, he stood and turned his back. As he reached for the iron poker, his hand brushed the other tools and knocked them so forcefully, they clanged. He grabbed the poker, thrust it into the fire and stabbed aggressively at the logs. With each jab, the self-recrimination grew louder.

It wasn’t like him to say or do stupid things. And as ideas went, this idea ranked at the top of the stupid meter. He sensed her glare, but refused to turn around and the long silence amplified the crackle pop of the logs as they—and maybe his sanity, too—reduced to ashes.

“Wow.” Her tone seared the silence. “You must’ve hit your head harder than I thought.”

He stoked the fire and tried to keep his cool. “My head’s fine.” But privately, he wondered if he’d literally gotten the sense knocked out of him when his head had smacked the window.

“So if your little bump on the head didn’t precipitate the proposal, what did?”

Jake set the poker back in the stand and turned to face her. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and tried to come up with words to explain the unexplainable. “It wasn’t an actual proposal. More like” —he paused and searched for the right word— “an observation.”

Her eyes flashed, suddenly the color of a dark, stormy sea. “Oh
, really.
” She folded her arms and leaned back into the sofa cushions.

He tried to ignore how hot she looked all riled up. “I proposed a business deal.” He kept his voice calm, his words pragmatic. “We’d just
pretend
to be engaged, we wouldn’t actually get married.”

Her expression changed from anger to confusion. “And why would we do that?”

He cleared his throat, hating to make himself vulnerable—especially to her. “My grandfather changed the terms of my inheritance and now I can’t access my trust until I set a wedding date.”

She raised a brow and spoke each word with slow deliberation as she said, “Let me get this straight: you want
us
to pretend to be engaged so
you
can get access to your trust fund?”

An array of potential responses flashed through his mind, but he decided to keep it simple. “Yes.”

She scrunched her face like an angry toddler. “And why would
I
help
you
with
your
trust fund?”

“Well I c—”

She waved a hand and sighed. “Never mind; I’m sure I don’t want to hear the answer.” She drummed her fingers on the sofa and studied his face. “Why do you need access to your trust fund so badly? I thought you wanted to make your own way in life. If you need the money, why not just work for your grandfather?”

He choked back a bitter laugh. He’d go to work for his grandfather about two seconds
after
hell froze over. “I’m starting a company to help veterans. I planned to use my trust to get the business off the ground while I look for investors.” He saw a spark of what might have been curiosity light her eyes, but it extinguished almost as quickly as it appeared.

“Why choose
me
for this grand plan?” She spread her arms wide and her voice grew louder. “We broke up, remember? I do.
I
recall the scene with great clarity.”

He wasn’t about to play into her drama or let her rehash their breakup, so he provided the most logical explanation he could think of. “Because if it’s you, my grandfather will believe it’s real.”

Her eyes widened, her voice just below a shout as she said, “So you want to
use
me to—”

“No!” He said. “No. My plan wouldn’t be using you. It’s just…you know…he’s always liked you.”

She scoffed. “Like I said, you’re
using
me.”

“I’d put it another way. I
chose
you because you’re the only way a fake engagement will look real.” She looked about to let loose a fiery response, but he held up a hand to stop her. “And it’s not
using you
if there’s something in it for you too.” He figured it couldn’t hurt to try some reverse psychology at this point, so he added, “Look, you don’t want to marry
me
any more than I want to marry
you.
So trust me, if you agreed to fake an engagement, I’d make it worth your while.”

Amanda lowered her gaze and brushed her palms on her jeans. A few moments later, calm and composed, she stood and fixed him with an icy stare. “Sorry Jake. The answer’s no.”

“You’d be very well-compensated.” He tried his best to sound persuasive as she started toward the stairs. “Name your price,” he called after her, hating the desperation in his voice. “
Seriously,
just name it.”

She maintained her composure and kept walking.

Jake strode to her side and reached for her arm as he pulled out the only card he had to play. “Mand, this could be your ticket to that year in Paris you always dreamed of.”

She snatched her arm away and anger erupted behind her eyes as she said, “What did you say?”

He swallowed hard, but didn’t blink. He couldn’t back down now. His entire future now seemed to ride on her agreement. “I know how much Paris meant to you and your mother. It’s your chance to live the dream—for both of you.”

She glared at him.

He smiled and tried to sound persuasive. “You have to at least consider it.”

“I have to . . .”

Sparks shot from her eyes. And not the passionate ones he remembered so well. If he’d been within reach, she probably would have slapped him. Instead, she smacked him down with her tone.

“You’re an ass.”

“How does my offer make me an ass?”

“You know how I feel about Paris. Mom and I always dreamed of it.”

He shrugged and spread his arms wide. “I know. That’s what makes this idea so perfect. You had to put the plan aside when your parents died. Now you can live your dream. How often do you think someone gets a second chance like that?”

Her chin lifted and she sniffed, “Paris isn’t important enough to me to fake an engagement with
you
.” Her mouth twisted. “And besides, it’s a dream I’d realize only after I lie to your grandfather and pretty much everyone else I know; a lie that would mean I have to deal with
you
for the next year.” Her laughter sounded harsh and hollow. “Thanks, but I’ll take a pass.”

Amanda stalked up the stairs, her back ramrod straight and with every step, Jake felt his own dream slip farther from his grasp.

At the top, she leaned over the rail. “Your family’s millions can’t buy me! I’ll get to Paris—and whatever else I choose to do in life—on my own dime. I don’t need your help with
anything.
And don’t you
ever
mention my mother again!” She stomped into the bedroom and slammed the door so hard it rattled.

Jake stared at the closed door for several minutes and then flopped onto the sofa.

Smooth Lowell…
real
smooth.

He needed to give the idea more thought. Faking an engagement with Amanda might not be his only option, but it’s the best he’d come up with so far. Granted, she didn’t seem too open to the idea, but he’d figure out how to persuade her. He had to. Whether it made any sense or not, Amanda Wilson now appeared to be his only real option.

* * *

When Amanda woke up, the bedroom looked dark and gloomy. It perfectly suited her mood.

She’d barely slept and exhaustion only added to her bad temper. She snatched her cell off the nightstand and pressed the display button to check the time. Noting the ten missed calls from Kate, Amanda tapped the phone against her lips and contemplated the wisdom of calling her friend back. She shouldn’t. Not until she calmed down a little. Still, she was pretty sure her mood would only worsen until she gave Kate a piece of her mind. It was payback time.

Amanda rearranged the pillows against the chocolate colored padded headboard as she plotted the verbal tongue-lashing she’d deliver. Ever since they’d met freshman year at Northwestern, the girls had been as close as sisters, but Kate’s upper crust southern belle ways frequently clashed with Amanda’s practical Midwest middle class upbringing. It kept things lively to say the least.