Falling For Her Fake Fiancé (The Beaumont Heirs 5) (7 page)

“What about you? Any strings of siblings floating around?”

Ethan shook his head. “One younger brother. No stepparents. It was a pretty normal life.” Something in the way he said it didn’t ring true, though.

No stepparents? What an odd way to phrase it. “Are you close? With your family, I mean.” He didn’t answer right away, so she added, “Since they’ll be my in-laws, too.”

“We keep in touch. I imagine the worst-case scenario is that my mother shows up to visit.”

We keep in touch.
What was it he’d said, about long-distance relationships working?

It was his turn to change the subject before she could drill for more information. “You weren’t kidding about an art gallery, were you?”

“I am
highly
qualified,” she repeated. This time, her smile was more genuine. “We envision a grand space with enough room to highlight sculpture and nontraditional media, as well as hosting parties. As you can see, a five-million-dollar investment will practically guarantee success. I think that, as a grand opening, it would be ideal to host a showing of the antiques in this room. I don’t want to auction off these pieces. Too impersonal.”

He ignored the last part and focused instead on the one part Frances would have preferred to gloss over. “Practically?” He glanced at her. “What kind of track record do you have with these types of ventures?”

Frances cleared her throat as she uncrossed and recrossed her legs before leaning toward Ethan. Her distraction didn’t work this time. At least, not as well. His gaze only lingered on her legs for a few seconds. “This is a more conservative investment than my last ventures,” she said smoothly. “Plus, Rebecca is going to be handling more of the business side of the gallery—that’s her strong suit.”

“You’re saying you won’t be in charge? That doesn’t seem like you.”

“Any good businesswoman knows her limitations and how to compensate for them.”

His lips quirked up into a smile. “Indeed.”

There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Ethan said. Frances didn’t change her position. She wasn’t exactly sitting in Ethan’s lap, but her posture indicated that they were engaged in a personal discussion.

The door opened and what looked like two-dozen red roses walked into the room. “The flowers you ordered, Mr. Logan.” Delores’s voice came from behind the blooms. “Where should I put them?”

“On the table here.” He motioned toward the coffee table, but Delores couldn’t see through that many blooms, so she put them on the conference table instead.

“That’s a lot of roses,” Frances said in shock.

Delores fished the card out of the arrangement and carried it over to her. “For you, dear,” she said with a knowing smile.

“That’ll be all, Delores. Thank you,” Ethan said. But he was looking at Frances as he said it.

Delores smirked and was gone. Ethan stood and carried the roses over to the coffee table while Frances read the note.

Fran—here’s to more beautiful evenings with a beautiful woman—E.

It hadn’t been in an envelope. Delores had read it, no doubt. It was thoughtful and sweet, and Frances hadn’t expected it at all.

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Frances realized she might have underestimated Ethan.

“Well?” Ethan said. He sounded pleased with himself.

“Don’t call me Fran,” she snapped. Or she tried to. It came out more as a breathless whisper.

“What should I call you? It seems like a pet name would be the thing. Snoogums?”

She shot him a look. “I thought I said you should send me flowers when I didn’t come to the office. Not when I was already here.”

“I always send flowers after a great first date with a beautiful woman,” he replied. He sounded sincere about it, which did not entirely jibe with the way he’d acted after she’d left him hanging.

In all honesty, it did sound sweet, as if the time they’d spent together had been a real date. But did that matter?

So what if this was a thoughtful gesture? So what if it meant he’d been paying attention to her when she’d said she liked flowers and she expected to be courted? So what if the roses were gorgeous? It didn’t change the fact that, at its core, this was still a business transaction. “It wasn’t a great date. You didn’t even get lucky.”

He didn’t look offended at this statement. “I’m going to marry you. Isn’t that lucky enough?”

“Save it for when we’re in public.” But as she said it, she buried her nose in the roses. The heady fragrance was her favorite.

It’d been a while since anyone had sent her flowers. There was a small part of her that was more than a little flattered. It was a grand gesture—or it would have been, if it’d been sincere.

Honest? Yes. Ethan was being honest with her. He’d been totally up front about the reasons behind his interest in her.

But his attention wasn’t sincere. These were, if possible, the most insincere roses ever. Just all part of the game—and she had to admit, he was playing his part well.

The thought made her sadder than she’d thought it might. Which was ridiculous. Sincerity was just another form of weakness that people could use to exploit you. Her mother had sincerely loved her father, and see where that had gotten her? Nowhere good.

The corners of Ethan’s eyes crinkled, as if her less-than-gracious response amused him. “Fine. Speaking of, when would you like to be seen together in public again?”

“Tomorrow night. Mondays are not the most social day of the week. I think the roses today will accomplish everything we want them to.”

“Dinner? Or did you have something else in mind?”

Did he sound hopeful? “Dinner is good for now. I’m keeping my eyes open for an appropriate activity this weekend.”

He nodded, as if she’d announced that the sales projections for the quarter were on target. But then he stood and handed her computer back to her. As he did so, he leaned down and whispered, “I’m glad you liked the roses,” in her ear. And, damn it all, heat flushed her body.

She tilted her head up to him. “They’re beautiful,” she murmured. There was no audience for this, no crowd to guess and gossip. Here, in the safety of this office, there was only him and her and dozens of honest roses.

He was close enough to kiss—more than close enough. She could see the golden tint to his brown eyes that made them lighter, warmer. He had a faint scar on the edge of his nose and another one on his chin. Football injuries or brawls? He had the body of a brawler. She’d felt that for herself the other night.

Ethan Logan was a big, strong man with big, strong muscles. And he’d sent her flowers.

She could kiss him. Not for show but for herself. She was going to marry him, after all. Shouldn’t she get something out of it? Something beyond an art gallery and a restored sense of family pride?

His fingers slid under her chin, lifting her face to his. His breath was warm on her cheeks. Many things were warm at this point.

Not for the Beaumonts. Not for the gallery. Just for her. Ethan was just for
her
.

They held that pose as Frances danced right up to the line of kissing Ethan because she wanted to. But she didn’t cross it. And after a moment, he relinquished his hold on her. But the warmth in his eyes didn’t dim. He didn’t act as if she’d rejected him.

Instead, he said, “You’re welcome.”

And that?

That was sincere.

Oh, hell.

Eight

F
irst thing Tuesday morning, Ethan had Delores order lilies and send them to Frances. Roses every day felt too clichéd and he’d always liked lilies, anyway.

“Any message?” the old battle-ax asked. She sounded smug.

Ethan considered. The message, he knew, was as much for Delores’s loose lips as it was for Frances. And no matter what Frances said, they needed pet names for each other. “Red—until tonight. E.”

Delores snorted. “Will do, boss. By the way...”

Ethan paused, his hand on the intercom switch.
Boss?
That was the most receptionist-like thing Delores had said to him yet. “Yes?”

“The latest attendance reports are in. We’re operating at full capacity today.”

A sense of victory flowed through him. After four days, the implied Beaumont Seal of Approval was already working its magic. “I’m glad to hear it.”

He switched off the intercom and stared at it for a moment. But instead of thinking about his next restructuring move, his thoughts drifted back to Frances.

She was going to kill him for the Red bit; he was reasonably confident about that. But there’d been that moment yesterday where he’d thought all her pretense had fallen away. She’d been well and truly stunned that he’d had flowers delivered for her. And in that moment, she’d seemed...vulnerable. All of her cynical world-weariness had fallen away, and she’d been a beautiful woman who’d appreciated a small gesture he’d made for her.

Marriage notwithstanding, she wasn’t looking for anything long term. Neither was he. But that didn’t mean the short term couldn’t mean
something
, did it? He didn’t need the fire to burn for long. He just needed it to burn bright.

He flipped the intercom back on. “Delores? Did you place that order yet?”

He heard her murmur something that sounded like, “One moment,” before she said more clearly, “in process. Why?”

“I want to change the message. Red—” Then he faltered. “Looking forward to tonight. Yours, E.” Which was not exactly a big change and he felt a little foolish for making it. He switched off the intercom again.

His phone rang. It was his partner at CRS, Finn Jackson. Finn was the one who pitched CRS to conglomerates. He was a hell of a salesman. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to let you know—there’s activity,” Finn began without any further introduction. “A private holding company is making noise about AllBev’s handling of the Beaumont Brewery purchase.”

Ethan frowned. “Link?”

“On its way.” Seconds later, the email with the link popped up. Ethan scanned the article. Thankfully, it wasn’t an attack on CRS’s handling of the transition. However, this private holdings company, ZOLA, had written a letter stating that the Brewery was a poor strategic purchase for AllBev and they should dump the company—preferably on the cheap, no doubt.

“What is this?” he asked Finn. “A takeover bid? Is it the Beaumonts?”

“I don’t think so,” Finn replied, but he didn’t sound convinced. “It’s owned by someone named Zeb Richards—ring any bells for you?”

“None. How does this impact us?”

“This mostly appears to be an activist shareholder making noise. I’ll keep tabs on AllBev’s reaction, but I don’t think this impacts you at the moment. I just wanted to keep you aware of the situation.” Finn cleared his throat, which was his great tell. “You could ask your father if he knows anything.”

Ethan didn’t say a damned thing. His father?
Hell no.
He would never show the slightest sign of weakness to his old man because, unlike the Beaumonts, family meant nothing to Troy Logan. It never had, it never would.

“Or,” Finn finally said, dragging out the word, “you could maybe see if anyone on the ground knows anything about this Zeb character?”

Frances.
“Yeah, I can ask around. If you hear anything else, let me know. I’d prefer for the company not to be resold until we’ve fulfilled our contract. It’d look like a failure on the behalf of CRS—that we couldn’t turn the company around fast enough.”

“Agreed.” With that, Finn hung up.

Ethan stared at his computer without seeing the files. He was just starting to get a grip on this company, thanks to Frances.

This ZOLA, whatever the hell it was,
felt
like it had something to do with the Beaumonts. Who else cared about this beer company? Ethan did a quick search. Privately held firm located in New York, a list of their successful investments—but not much else. Not even a picture of Zeb Richards. Something about it was off. This could easily be a shell corporation set up with the express purpose of wrestling the Brewery away from AllBev and back into Beaumont hands.

Luckily, Ethan happened to have excellent connections here on the ground. He’d have to tread carefully, though.

He needed Frances Beaumont. The production lines at full capacity today? That wasn’t his keen management skills in action, as painful as it was to admit. That was all Frances.

But on the other hand...her sudden appearance happening so closely to this ZOLA business? It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?

Maybe it was; maybe it wasn’t. One thing was for sure. He was going to find out
before
he married her and
before
he cut her a huge investment check.

He sent a follow-up message to his lawyers about protecting his assets and then glanced over Frances’s art gallery plans again. He knew nothing about art, which was surprising, considering his mother was the living embodiment of “artsy-fartsy.” So as an art space, it didn’t mean much to him. But as a business investment?

It wasn’t that he couldn’t spot her the five million. He had that and much more in the bank—and that didn’t count his golden-parachute bonuses and stock options. Restructuring corporations was a job that paid extremely well. It just felt...

Too familiar. Like he was hell-bent on replicating his parents’ unorthodox marriage. And that wasn’t what he wanted.

He pushed the thoughts of his all-business father and flighty mother out of his brain. He had a company to run, a private equity firm to investigate and a woman to woo, if people still did that. And above all that, tonight he had a date.

* * *

This really wasn’t that different from what he normally did, Ethan told himself as he waited at the bar of some hip restaurant. He rolled into a new town, met a woman and did the wining-and-dining thing. He saw the sights, had a little fun and then, when it was time, he moved on. This was standard stuff for him.

Which did not explain why he was sipping his gin and tonic with a little more enthusiasm than the drink required. He was just...bracing himself for another evening of sexual frustration, that was all. Because he knew that, no matter what she was wearing tonight, he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off Frances.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she were just another pretty face. But she wasn’t. He’d have to sit there and look at her and then also be verbally pummeled by her sharp wit as she ran circles around him. She challenged him and pushed him to his very limits of self-control, and that was something he could honestly say didn’t happen much. Oh, the women he’d seen in the past were all perfectly intelligent ladies, but they didn’t see their role of temporary companion as one that included the kind of conversation that bordered on warfare.

But Frances? She was armed like a Sherman tank, and she had excellent aim. She knew how to take him out with a few well-chosen words and a tilt of her head. He was practically defenseless against her.

His only consolation—aside from her company—was that he’d managed to slip past her armor a few times.

Then Frances was there, framed by the doorway. She had on a thick white coat with a fur collar that was belted tightly at the waist and a pair of calf-high boots in supple brown leather. Her hair was swept into an elegant updo and—Ethan blinked. Did she have flowers in her hair? Lilies?

Perhaps the rest of the restaurant was pondering the same question because he would have sworn the whole place paused to note her arrival.

She spotted him and favored him with a small personal smile. Then she undid the belt of her coat and let it fall off her shoulders.

This wasn’t normal, the way he reacted to what had to be the calculated revelation of her body. Hell, it wasn’t even that much of a reveal—she had on a slim brown skirt and a cream-colored sweater. The sweater had a sweetheart neckline and long sleeves. Nothing overtly sexual about her appearance tonight.

She was just a gorgeous woman. And she was headed right for him. The restaurant was so quiet he could hear the click of her heels on the parquet flooring as she crossed to the bar.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

What if things were different? What if they’d met on different terms—him not trying to reconstruct her family’s former company, her not desperate for an angel investor? Would he have pursued her? Well, that was a stupid question—of course he would have. She was not just a feast for the eyes. She was quite possibly the smartest woman he’d ever gone head-to-head with. He couldn’t believe it, but he was actually looking forward to being demolished by her again tonight. Blue balls be damned.

He rose and greeted her. “Frances.”

She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “What,” she murmured against his skin. “Not Red?”

He turned his head slightly to respond but just kissed her instead. He kissed her like he’d wanted to kiss her in his office the other day. The taste of her lips burned his mouth like those cinnamon candies his mother preferred—hot but sweet. And good.
So
good. He couldn’t get enough of her.

And that was a problem. It was quickly becoming
the
problem. He was having trouble going a day or two without touching her. How was he supposed to make it a year in a sexless marriage?

She pulled away, and he let her. “Still trying to find the right name for you,” he replied, hoping that how much she affected him didn’t show.

“Keep trying.” She cocked her head to one side. “Shall we?”

Ethan signaled for the hostess, who led them back to their private table. “How was your day, darling?” Frances asked in an offhand way as she accepted the menu.

The casual nature of the question—or, more specifically, the lack of sexual innuendo—caught him off guard. “Fine, actually. The production lines were producing today.” She looked at him over the edge of her menu, one eyebrow raised. “And, yes,” he said, answering the unspoken question. “I give you all the credit for that.”

He wanted to ask about ZOLA and Zeb Richards, but he didn’t. Maybe after they’d eaten—and shared a bottle of wine. “How about you?”

They were interrupted by the waitress, so it wasn’t until after they’d placed their orders that she answered. “Good. We met with the Realtors about the space. Becky’s very excited about owning the space instead of renting.”

Ah, yes.
The money he owed her. “Have you been monitoring the chatter, as you put it?”

At that, she leaned forward, a winning smile on her face. Ethan didn’t like it. It wasn’t real or true. It was a piece of armor, a shield in this game they were playing. She wasn’t smiling for him. She was smiling for everyone else. “So far, so good,” she purred, even though there was no one else who could have heard her. “I think this weekend, we should attend a Nuggets game.”

He dimly remembered her watching a basketball game on Saturday when she’d been pointedly not sleeping with him. “Big fan?”

“Not really,” she replied with a casual shrug. “But sports fans drink a lot of beer. It’d signal our involvement to a different crowd and boost the chatter significantly.”

All of that sounded fine in a cold, calculated kind of way. He found he didn’t much care for the cold right now. He craved her heat.

It was his turn to lean forward. “And after that? I seem to recall you saying something about how you were going to start sleeping over this weekend. Of course, you’re always welcome to do so sooner.”

That shield of a smile fell away, and he knew he’d slipped past her defenses again. But the moment was short. She tilted her head to one side and gave him an appraising look. “Trying to change the terms of our deal again? For shame, Ethan.”

“Are you coming back to the room with me tonight?”

“Of course.” Her voice didn’t change, but he thought he saw her cheeks pink up ever so slightly.

“Are you going to kiss me in the lobby again?”

Yes, she was definitely blushing. But it was her only tell. “I suppose you could always kiss me first. Just for a little variety.”

Oh, he’d love to show her some variety. “And the elevator?”

“You
are
trying to change the terms,” she murmured as she dropped her gaze. “We discussed that—at your request. There’s no kissing in elevators.”

He didn’t respond. At the time, it’d seemed like the shortest path to self-preservation. But now? Now he wanted to push the envelope. He wanted to see if he could get to her like she was getting to him. “I like what you’ve done with the lily,” he said, nodding toward where she’d worked the bloom into her hair. Because thus far, the flowers were by far the best way to get to her.

There was always a chance that she wasn’t all that attracted to him—that the heat he felt when he was around her was a one-way street.

Damn, that was a depressing thought.

“They were beautiful,” she said. And it could have easily been another too-smooth line.

But it wasn’t.

“Not as beautiful as you are.”

Before she could respond to that their food arrived. They ate and drank and made polite small talk disguised as sensual flirting.

“After the game, we’ll have to deal with my family,” she warned him over the lip of her second glass of wine after she’d pushed her plate away. “I’m actually surprised that my brother Matthew hasn’t called to lecture me about the Beaumont family name.”

Ethan was wrapped in the warm buzz of his alcohol. “Oh? That a problem?”

Frances waved her hand. “He’s the micromanager of our public image. Was VP of marketing before you showed up. He did a great job, too.”

She didn’t say it as if she was intentionally trying to score a hit, but he felt a little wounded anyway. “I didn’t fire him. He was gone before I got there.”