The CEO Buys in (Wager of Hearts #1) (9 page)

“He dumped her, didn’t he?”

Chloe slumped back in her chair. “You are such a cynic.” And she would absolutely not spend another night with Nathan Trainor.

“I thought you came here for a dose of reality.” Judith’s computer pinged. “Sorry, I have to leave for a client meeting. I’ll walk you out. I want to check out the Rolls.”

Nathan massaged his forehead, trying to stop the jabbing pain. “I think it’s time to take a break.” It was four o’clock, and they’d been working steadily since he’d woken up at noon.

Chloe looked up from the computer screen. Her expression went from focused to concerned. “Can I get you some pain meds?” she asked.

He hated his weakness. Despite slogging through his e-mails and sending out a few memos, he could feel the pressure of undone work piling up. But his mind wasn’t clear enough to handle the larger tasks. Like the disaster of the Prometheus project. “Do I look that bad?”

“You look like a man who’s still recovering from a nasty flu,” she said, pushing her chair back from the desk and standing up. “I’ll get you the medicine.”

Nathan watched her walk to the table where Ben had lined up his various medications. She had a nice swing to her hips, probably created by the high heels she was wearing. She’d changed her wardrobe since the first day she’d worked for him, taking it up a notch with the straight skirts and silk blouses. He gave her credit for understanding the nuances of the workplace. She was one smart cookie, Chloe Russell. He suspected that he’d barely scratched the surface when it came to her abilities.

She’d already proven she made a good nurse, and she was more fun to look at than Luis. Ben had agreed to do without the private nurse since Nathan’s fever had not risen again. Although Ben’s staff was carefully vetted and bonded, Nathan felt uncomfortable discussing confidential business matters in front of Luis or any other nurse.

Yet he didn’t worry about the same issue with Chloe. She was bonded as well, of course. Judith Asner at Flexitemps had assured Roberta of that. He examined Chloe’s face as she came back toward the bed. What made him trust her without question?

“What? Do I have spinach stuck between my teeth?” she asked as she handed him a glass of water and two tablets.

“No, you look immaculately professional, as always.”

She gave him a pleased smile even though it was barely a compliment. What would she do if he called her beautiful? She was, in many subtle ways. There was that sway in her walk. Her hair, when it was down, was glossy and thick. She had large, expressive brown eyes and a kissable mouth. He pulled himself up on that thought. “Let’s talk about your schedule for the rest of the day,” he said.

That wiped the smile off her lips. “I’m not staying overnight,” she said, her spine stiffening. “Take your pills.”

He liked it when she forgot to be deferential. As they’d worked together, he’d noticed she made her own suggestions more and more often. In his germ-fogged state, he appreciated the assistance. He tossed the pills into his mouth and washed them down with a gulp of water. “I’ll quadruple your pay for the entire time you’re here.”

She opened her mouth and closed it again, clearly torn. It was an absurdly generous offer, and he was suddenly curious about what would make her even consider turning it down. “What are these obligations at home that require your attention?”

She looked confused for a moment before a frown snapped her brows together. “They’re private.”

“I’m just wondering what I can do to ease your worry,” he said.

“You’re wondering what additional bribe you can offer to get me to stay,” she said, planting her hands on her hips.

Which made the fabric of her blouse pull taut over the curves of her breasts. He added those to the list of her attractions.

“
Bribe
is such an unpleasant word,” he said. “I want to turn this into a situation where everyone wins.”

“I’ll stay late, but I need to go home tonight.” She gave him a level look. “You don’t have to send the helicopter. Oskar can drive me.”

So she wasn’t going to tell him what drew her home so strongly. He had a feeling Ben knew; he’d find out from the doctor. He nodded. “That works.”

It didn’t, though. He wanted her here, in case . . . what? He shook off the irrational urgency of his need to have Chloe nearby. It must be a weird symptom of the flu that his hallucinating brain had somehow become imprinted on the temp.

“I’m going to let you rest for a while,” Chloe said, moving back to the computer and putting it into sleep mode.

The need surged. “Stay,” he said before he could stop himself. “Talk to me.”

Chloe sat down hard on the desk chair and racked her brain. What the heck was she supposed to discuss with the CEO of Trainor Electronics? She cast a quick glance at him. He looked so ill and drawn. She fought back a nearly overwhelming urge to reach out and smooth a curl of his tousled hair off his forehead. The paperback on his bedside table caught her eye. “Why don’t I read your book to you?” she suggested.

“I’d rather you told me what books you like to read,” he said, turning his bleary gaze on her.

She remembered he was reading a thriller. “I liked
The Bourne Identity
.”

“Movie or book?”

“Both. I think the movie did a good job of capturing the essence of the book.” This wasn’t going well. He wanted her to talk, and instead they were playing twenty questions. “Why don’t I tell you about some of my experiences as a temp?”

He shifted so that his head was supported by the pillows. “I’m all ears.”

She always told Grandmillie about the funny or mind-bogglingly stupid things that happened at her temporary jobs, so she had a collection of stories. Of course, she changed the names to protect the innocent, the crooked, and the downright stupid. After about three of them, Trainor’s eyes closed. She stopped talking and stood up to leave the room so he could sleep.

The murmur of his voice stopped her. “Why did he invite me?”

“Excuse me?” she said.

He lifted his head, looking surprised. “Did I say that out loud?”

“You said something out loud.”

He made a gesture of frustration as he stared out the windows. “I haven’t seen my father in two years. I’ve spoken to him maybe half a dozen times in that period. Why would he decide I should be at his shotgun wedding?”

Did he really want her to answer that? She waited.

Trainor turned to her. “Why?”

So it wasn’t a rhetorical question. “You’re family,” she said. “Blood is thicker than water.” She winced at how trite that sounded.

“You can do better than that.”

“Okay, fine.” Chloe flopped into the desk chair again. She was getting tired of its upright ergonomics and looked longingly at the comfortable armchairs in the seating area. Unfortunately, they were too big to drag over to the bed. “Family is one of the constants in anyone’s life. You always have to deal with them, even if it’s to decide you don’t want to deal with them.”

“Now you’re interesting me,” Trainor said.

She made a face at him. “However, most of us continue to stay in touch with our families because there is a history we share with them that we share with no one else in the world. They are the witnesses to our life at all its stages. I would guess your father wants you to be part of this new and probably nerve-racking phase of his life in some way.” This was getting too serious, so Chloe shrugged. “Or maybe he just wants a really nice wedding gift.”

Trainor gave a crack of laughter. “If you’re thinking china, my father considers a US military–issued mess kit a more than adequate table setting.”

Since he had started the personal conversation, Chloe found the nerve to ask, “Why haven’t you seen your father in two years?”

His eyes went cold, and she thought she’d pushed him too far. Then he shook his head. “I don’t like the Marines, and he doesn’t like anyone but Marines.”

“But you’re his son, and you’re not exactly a miserable failure.”

Trainor picked at a fold in the sheet beside him. “I was the first male in my family in five generations not to attend a military academy. The general handed down the prized family sword to the son who will never wear a uniform. He can’t forgive me for that.”

“Seriously? You run a multinational corporation that you started with your own personal invention. How could he not be proud of you?”

“Not good enough. I’ve never risked my life for my country.”

“But your batteries are used by the military. You’ve made soldiers’ lives safer and better, both personally and professionally, by providing reliable, long-term power for their computers and cell phones and gizmos too secret for me to know about.”

“I think you should tell him that. In person.” A calculating smile that she distrusted drew up the corners of his mouth. “Come with me to his wedding.”

She shot off the chair so fast that it scooted backward on its wheels. Her first thought was how thrilling it would be to spend a day as Nathan Trainor’s date. Her second was that he was mocking her. She held a tight rein on her words and managed to come up with, “That’s not funny.”

Annoyingly unruffled, he nodded. “I agree, and because it won’t be at all amusing, I would pay you generously for your time.”

“Why do you think money will overcome my objections to everything you propose?” She was beginning to feel insulted, despite the fact that money motivated her very powerfully because of her worries about Grandmillie’s future care. He’d found her vulnerability and was exploiting it for his own ends. She didn’t like that about him.

He looked vaguely surprised. “Ben told me you agreed to come here after negotiating an increase in your pay. I assumed that would work on other matters as well.”

She bit her lip, upset that he saw her as being so crass. “I’m not as mercenary as you think.”

“
Mercenary
is another one of those unnecessarily judgmental words. You have a realistic idea of your own value,” he said.

“Well, when you put it that way . . .” She shot him an irritated glare.

He returned it with a cool look. “I’d prefer to pay you for your time for my own private reasons, so you don’t need to feel soiled by my offer.”

“It’s still weird. You can’t hire a temp to go as your date to your own father’s wedding.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “I need someone to stand by my side at a social event. You have a responsibility that requires financial support. I thought it was a logical solution to both of our needs, but I’ll accept your judgment that it’s weird.”

“You will?” Chloe had expected a much longer argument.

“For now.” He pulled out several pillows from behind him. “I’m going to sleep.”

She stood transfixed by the long line of his back, by the way his muscled arm lay along the covers over his hip and thigh, by the unconscious curve of his long fingers. The intimacy of it slithered in to weaken her resolve again. She felt like she might have a won a battle, but she was in danger of losing the war.

Chloe stood at the top of the grand staircase, surveying the hall below her. So far she hadn’t ventured off the path between the elevator on the second floor of the apartment and Trainor’s bedroom. The tug of curiosity made her set her foot on the next step down as she slid her palm over the satiny surface of the gleaming wooden banister. Her heels sank into the Oriental runner pinned to the stairs by brass rods running across the back of each step.

She imagined herself in a long, full ball gown spangled with glittering crystals, her arms encased in elbow-length white gloves, as she swept down the staircase, drawing all eyes to her. About halfway down, she added a tiara to her mental image, her head held high on her swanlike neck. As she reached the bottom, she started when the sound of applause echoed through the hallway.

Looking around, she saw Ed standing in a doorway, his face creased in an appreciative smile. “That was quite an entrance,” he said, walking forward.

“How did you know I—? Never mind,” Chloe said. “Mr. Trainor is asleep.”

Ed nodded. “May I offer you an afternoon snack?”

Her stomach rumbled as she remembered she’d eaten lunch early. “I think that’s a yes,” she said. She also hoped Ed might give her some insight into Trainor’s problems with his father. She had a feeling she was going to need help navigating that particular issue.

“Come with me,” he said.

They walked through what Chloe mentally labeled the showrooms—huge spaces meticulously decorated down to the last expensive paperweight—arriving in a more inviting room with a glass wall that looked out onto a terrace like the one upstairs. A round wooden table and four high-backed upholstered chairs stood on one side of the room. The other half held a big plush sectional sofa and large cushiony chairs arranged in front of a giant flat-screen television. The colors were sophisticated taupes and mossy greens, clearly chosen by some master decorator, but still the room felt lived-in, possibly because there were shelves of books that looked like they’d been read, not bought by the foot, and an array of magazines stacked on the embossed tray topping the padded leather coffee table. A sleek desk made of pale wood trimmed with aluminum jutted out into the room from one wall so the person occupying it could look directly outside.