The CEO's Accidental Bride (2 page)

It was distaste. At least she was pretty sure the feeling was distaste. With any other man, she might mistake it for arousal.

“Mrs. Zach Harper.” She pretended to ponder, warming to
her stubborn stance as she purposely slowed to note her half-packed apartment. “Don't you have a roomy penthouse on Fifth Avenue?”

He clicked the end of his pen, slowly lowering it to his side. “Are you daring me to call your bluff?”

She cracked her first genuine smile in three months. He wouldn't do it. Not in a million years. “Yeah,” she taunted boldly. “Go ahead. Call my buff.”

He stepped closer, and an annoying buzz of awareness tickled its way through her stomach. They stared each other down.

“Or you could leave the divorce papers,” she offered with mock sweetness. “I'll have my lawyer read them over next week.”

“Two million,” he offered.

“Next week,” she retorted, trying not to show her shock at the exorbitant figure. “Summon up some patience, Zachary.”

“You don't know what you're doing,
Katie.
”

“I'm protecting my own interests,” she told him.

And there was something to be said for that. Seriously. Who could guess what his lawyers had hidden in the divorce documents?

They were both silent. Horns honked and trucks rumbled by five floors below.

“I don't trust you, Zach,” she informed him tartly. Which was completely true.

His expression hardening by the second, he stuffed the pen into his pocket, then deliberately tucked the checkbook away. He closed and latched the briefcase, and sharply straightened the sleeves of his jacket.

Seconds later, the door slammed shut behind him.

 

Zach slid into the passenger seat of the black Porsche Carrera idling at the curb outside Kaitlin's Yorkville apartment building and yanked the door shut behind him.

“Did she sign?” asked Dylan Gilby, as he slipped the gearshift into First.

Zach tugged the seat belt over his shoulder and clicked the latch into place. “Nope.”

He normally prided himself on his negotiating skills. But there was something about Kaitlin that put him off his rhythm, and the meeting had been a colossal failure.

He didn't remember her being so stubborn. To be fair, he hadn't known her particularly well. They'd met a few times before the party, but it was only in passing while she was working on the renovation plans for his office building. He remembered her as smart, diligent, fun-loving and beautiful.

He had to admit, the beautiful part certainly still held true. Dressed to the nines in Vegas, she was the most stunning woman in a very big ballroom. Even today, in a faded baseball T-shirt and jeans, she was off the charts. No wonder he'd gone along with Elvis and said “I do.” He was pretty sure, in that moment, he did.

“You offered her the money?” asked Dylan.

“Of course I offered her money.” Zach had wanted to be fair. Well, and he'd also wanted the problem solved quickly and quietly. Money could usually be counted on to accomplish that.

“No go?” asked Dylan.

“She's calling her lawyer,” Zach admitted with a grimace, cursing under his breath. Somehow, he'd played it all wrong. He'd blown his chance to end this neatly, and he had nobody to blame but himself.

Dylan flipped on his signal light and checked the rearview mirror on the busy street. He zipped into a tight space between a Mercedes and an old Toyota. “So, basically, you're screwed.”

“Thank you for that insightful analysis,” Zach growled at his friend. Harper Transportation could well be on the line here, and Dylan was cracking jokes?

“What are friends for?” joked Dylan.

“Procuring single malt.” If ever there was a time that called for a bracing drink, this was it.

“I have to fly today,” said Dylan. “And I get the feeling you'll need every brain cell functioning.”

Zach braced his elbow against the armrest as the car angled its way through traffic on the rain-dampened street. He reviewed the conversation with Kaitlin like a postgame tape. Where had he messed it up?

“Maybe I should have offered her more,” he ventured, thinking out loud. “Five million? Do people say no to five million?”

“You might have to tell her the truth,” Dylan offered.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Clinically, no.”

“Tell her that she's inherited my grandmother's entire estate?”

Hand the woman control on a silver platter? Did Dylan want to guarantee Zach was ruined?

“She did, in fact, inherit your grandmother's estate,” Dylan pointed out.

Zach felt his blood pressure rise. He was living a nightmare, and Dylan of all people should appreciate the outrageousness of the situation.

“I don't care what kind of paperwork was filed by the Electric Chapel of Love,” Zach growled. “Kaitlin Saville is not my wife. She is not entitled to half of Harper Transportation, and I will die before—”

“Her lawyer may well disagree with you.”

“If her lawyer has half a brain, he'll tell her to take the two million and run.” At least Zach hoped that was what her lawyer would say.

The two of them were married. Yes. He'd have to own that particular mistake. But it couldn't possibly be a situation his grandmother had remotely contemplated when she wrote her will. There was the letter of the law, and then there was the spirit of the law. His grandmother had never intended for a stranger to inherit her estate.

He had no idea if New York was, in fact, a joint property state. But even if it was, he and Kaitlin had never lived together. They'd never had sex. They'd never even realized they were married. The very thought that she'd get half of his corporation was preposterous.

“Did you think about getting an annulment?” asked Dylan.

Zach nodded. He'd talked to his lawyers about that, but they weren't encouraging. “We never slept together,” he told Dylan. “But she could lie and say that we did.”

“Would she lie?”

“What do I know? I thought she'd take the two million.” Zach glanced around, orienting himself as they approached an entrance to Central Park. “We going anywhere near McDougal's?”

“I'm not getting you drunk at three in the afternoon.” Dylan shook his head in disgust as he took a quick left. The Porsche gripped the pavement, and they barely beat an oncoming taxi.

“Are you my nursemaid?” asked Zach.

“You need a plan, not a drink.”

In Zach's opinion, that was definitely debatable.

They slowed to a stop for a red light at another intersection. Two taxi drivers honked and exchanged hand gestures, while a throng of people swelled out from the sidewalk in the light drizzle and made their way between the stopped cars.

“She thinks I got her fired,” Zach admitted.

“Did you?”

“No.”

Dylan sent him a skeptical look. “Is she delusional? Or did you do something that resembled getting her fired?”

“Fine.” Zach shifted his feet on the floor of the Porsche. “I canceled the Hutton Quinn contract to renovate the office building. The plans weren't even close to what I wanted.”

“And they fired her,” Dylan confirmed with a nod of comprehension.

Zach held up his palms in defense. “Their staffing choices are none of my business.”

Kaitlin's renovation plans had been flamboyant and exotic in a zany, postmodern way. They weren't at all in keeping with the Harper corporate image.

Harper Transportation had been a fixture in New York City for a hundred years. People depended on them for solid reliability and consistency. Their clients were serious, hardworking people who got the job done through boom times and down times.

“Then why do you feel guilty?” asked Dylan as they swung into an underground parking lot off Saint Street.

“I don't feel guilty.” It was business. Nothing more and nothing less. Zach knew guilt had no part in the equation.

It was not as if he should have accepted inferior work because he'd once danced with Kaitlin, held her in his arms, kissed her mouth and wondered for a split second if he'd actually gone to heaven. Decisions that were based on a man's sex drive were the quickest road to financial ruin.

Dylan scoffed an exclamation of disbelief as he came parallel with the valet's kiosk. He shut off the car and set the parking break.

“What?” Zach demanded.

Dylan pointed at Zach. “I know that expression. I stole wine with you from my dad's cellar when we were fifteen, and I remember the day you felt up Rosalyn Myers.”

The attendant opened the driver's door, and Dylan dropped the keys into the man's waiting palm.

Zach exited the car, as well. “I didn't steal anything from Kaitlin Saville, and I certainly never—” He clamped his jaw shut as he rounded the polished, low-slung hood of the Porsche. The very last element he needed to introduce into this conversation was Kaitlin Saville's breasts.

“Maybe that's your problem,” said Dylan.

Zach coughed out an inarticulate exclamation.

“You married her,” Dylan said, taking obvious satisfaction in pointing that fact out as they crossed the crowded parking lot. “You must have liked her. You said yourself you haven't slept with her. Maybe you're not so much angry as horny.”

“I'm angry. Trust me. I can tell the difference.” Zach's interest in Kaitlin was in getting rid of her. Anything else was completely out of the question.

“Angry at her or at yourself?”

“At
her,
” said Zach. “I'm just the guy trying to fix the problem here. If she'd sign the damn papers, or if my grandmother hadn't—”

“It's not nice to be mad at your grandmother,” Dylan admonished.

Zach wasn't exactly angry with Grandma Sadie. But he was definitely puzzled by her behavior. Why on earth would she put the family fortune at risk? “What was she
thinking?
”

Dylan stepped up onto the painted yellow curb. “That she wanted your poor wife to have some kind of power balance.”

An unsettling thought entered Zach's brain. “Did my grandmother talk to you about her will?”

“No. But she was logical and intelligent.”

Zach didn't disagree with that statement. Sadie Harper had been a very intelligent, organized and capable woman. Which only made her decision more puzzling.

After Zach's parents were killed in a boating accident when he was twenty, she'd been his only living relative. They'd grown very close the past fourteen years. She was ninety-one when she died, and had grown increasingly frail over the past year. She'd passed away only a month ago.

Zach thought he was ready.

He definitely wasn't.

He and Dylan headed into the elevator, and Dylan inserted his key card for the helipad on top of the forty-story building.

“She probably wanted to sweeten the deal,” Dylan offered, with a grin. He leaned back against the rail, bracing his hands on either side as the doors slid shut. “With that kind of money on the table, you'll have a fighting chance at getting a decent woman to marry you.”

“Your faith in me is inspiring.”

“I'm just sayin'…”

“That I'm a loser?”

The elevator accelerated upward.

Dylan happily elaborated. “That there are certain things about your personality that might put women off.”

“Such as?”

“You're grumpy, stubborn and demanding. You want to drink scotch in the middle of the day, and your ass isn't what it used to be.”

“My ass is none of your business.” Zach might be approaching thirty-five, but he worked out four times a week, and he could still do ten miles in under an hour.

“What about you?” he challenged.

“What about me?” Dylan asked.

“We're the same age, so your ass is in as much danger as mine. But I don't see you in a hurry to settle into a relationship.”

“I'm a pilot.” Dylan grinned again. “Pilots are sexy. We can be old and gray, and we'll still get the girls.”

“Hey, I'm a multimillionaire,” Zach defended.

“Who isn't?”

The elevator came smoothly to a halt, and the doors slid open to the small glass foyer of the helipad. One of Dylan's distinctive yellow-and-black Astral Air choppers sat waiting on the rooftop. A pilot by training, Dylan had built Astral Air from a niche division of his family's corporation to one of the biggest flight service companies in America.

Dylan gave a mock salute to a uniformed technician as he and Zach jogged to the chopper and climbed inside.

He checked a row of switches and plugged in the headset. “You want me to drop you at the office?”

“What are your plans?” asked Zach. He wasn't in a hurry to be alone with his own frustrations. He had a lot of thinking to do, but first he wanted to sleep on it, start fresh, maybe forget that he'd screwed up so badly with Kaitlin.

“I'm going up to the island,” said Dylan. “Aunt Ginny's been asking about me, and I promised I'd drop in.”

“Mind if I tag along?”

Dylan shot him a look of surprise. Aunt Ginny could most charitably be described as eccentric. Her memory was fading, and for some reason she'd decided Zach was a reprobate. She also liked to torture the family's Stradivarius violin and read her own poetry aloud.

“She has two new Pekingese,” Dylan warned.

Zach didn't care. The island had always been a retreat for him. He needed to clear his head and then come up with a contingency plan.

“I hope your dad still stocks the thirty-year-old Glenlivet,” he told Dylan.

“I think we can count on that.” Dylan started the engine, and the chopper's rotor blades whined to life.

A
week later, Kaitlin met her best friend, law professor Lindsay Rubin, in the park behind Seamount College in midtown. The cherry trees were in full bloom, scenting the air, their petals drifting to the walkway as the two women headed toward the lily pad–covered duck pond. It was lunchtime on a Wednesday, and the benches were filled with students from the college, along with businesspeople from the surrounding streets. Moms and preschool kids picnicked on blankets that dotted the lush grass.

“I finished reviewing your papers,” Lindsay said, swiping her shoulder-length blond hair over the shoulders of her classic navy blazer while they strolled their way down the concrete path.

Kaitlin and Lindsay's friendship went back to their freshman year at college. Social Services had finally stepped out of Kaitlin's life, and Lindsay had left her family in Chicago. On the same floor of the college dorms, they'd formed an instant bond.

They'd stayed close friends ever since, so Lindsay knew that Zach had ruined Kaitlin's career, and she applauded Kaitlin's desire for payback.

“Am I safe to sign?” asked Kaitlin. The sunshine was warm against her bare legs and twinkled brightly where it reflected off the rippling pond. “And how soon do I have to let him off the hook?”

Lindsay grinned in obvious delight. She pressed the manila envelope against Kaitlin's chest, and Kaitlin automatically snagged it.

“Oh, it's better than that,” she said.

“Better than what?” Kaitlin was puzzled

Lindsay chuckled deep in her chest. “I mean, you can name your own ticket.”

“My ticket to what?”

Why was Lindsay talking in riddles?

“Life,” Lindsay elaborated in a singsong voice. “What do you want? A mansion? A jet? A billion dollars?”

“I told you, I said no to the money.” Kaitlin hadn't changed her mind about the money. She didn't want what she hadn't earned. “And what do you mean a billion? He was talking about two million.”

“It's more than just two million.” Lindsay shook her head in what appeared to be amazement. “It's Sadie Harper herself.”

Kaitlin lifted her hands, palms up, to signal her incomprehension. She assumed Sadie Harper must have something to do with Zach Harper, but that was as far as she got with the connection. What did the woman have to do with his money?

Lindsay lowered her voice, sounding decidedly conspiratorial as she moved closer to Kaitlin, her gaze darting dramatically around them. “Sadie was the matriarch of the Harper family. She died a month ago at the Harper house on Serenity Island.”

The pathway split, and Lindsay eased Kaitlin toward the route that skirted the pond. Their high heels clicked against the smooth, sun-warmed concrete.

Kaitlin still didn't understand Lindsay's point.

“I read a copy of her will,” said Lindsay. “You, my girl, are in it.”

“How can I be in it?” This conversation was making less sense
by the minute. Kaitlin didn't know Sadie Harper. Up until this minute, she'd never even heard of Sadie Harper.

“In fact,” Lindsay continued, a lilt of delight in her voice, “
you
are the sole beneficiary.”

Kaitlin instantly halted, turning to peer at Lindsay with narrowed eyes. Traffic zipped past on Liberty, engines roaring, horns honking. Cyclist and pedestrian traffic parted around them, some people shooting annoyed looks their way.

Lindsay tugged on Kaitlin's arm, moving them off to the side of the pathway. “She left her entire estate to Mrs. Zachary Harper.”

“Get out,” Kaitlin breathed.

“I am dead serious.”

Kaitlin stepped farther aside to make room for a pair of cyclists skirting the edge of the path. “How did she even know about me?”

“She didn't.” Lindsay gave her head a shake. “That's the beauty of it. Well, part of the beauty of it. The whole thing is truly very beautiful.”

“Lindsay,” Kaitlin prompted with impatience.

“The will holds her estate in trust until Zach gets married,” said Lindsay. “But he's already married so, in the eyes of the law, you own fifty percent of Harper Transportation.”

Kaitlin's knees went weak.

No wonder Zach had seemed desperate.

No wonder he was in such a hurry to get rid of her.

“So, what do you want?” Lindsay asked again, a giggle at the end of the question.

Speechless, Kaitlin shoved the envelope back at Lindsay, overwhelmed by the thought of what was at stake. She took a step away and shook her head in silent refusal.

“I don't want anything,” she finally managed to reply.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Lindsay cajoled.

“The wedding was a joke,” Kaitlin reminded her. “It was a mistake. I didn't mean to marry him. And I sure don't deserve half his company.”

“Then take the money instead,” Lindsay offered reasonably.

As if that made it better. “I'm not taking his money, either.”

Lindsay held up her palms in exasperation. “So, what do you want? What's the payback?”

Kaitlin thought about it for a moment. “I want him to sweat.”

Lindsay chuckled and linked her arm with Kaitlin's, turning her to resume their walk. “Trust me, honey.” She patted her on the shoulder. “He is definitely sweating.”

“And I want a job,” said Kaitlin with conviction. That was what she'd lost in this debacle. She needed her career back.

“I don't want free money,” she told Lindsay, voice strengthening. “I want a chance to prove myself. I'm a good…no, I'm a
great
architect. And all I want is a fair shot at proving it.”

The path met up with the sidewalk, and Lindsay tipped her head and stared up at the Harper Transportation sign on the pillar-adorned, ten-story concrete building across the street. “So, ask him for one,” she suggested.

Kaitlin squinted at the massive blue lettering. She glanced to Lindsay, then again at the sign. Suddenly, the possibilities of the situation bloomed in her brain.

A slow smile grew on her face. “There's a reason I love you,” she said to Lindsay, giving her arm a squeeze. “
That
is a brilliant plan.”

And it was exactly what she'd do. She would make Zach Harper give her a job. She'd make him give her the job that should have been hers in the first place—developing designs for the renovation of his corporate headquarters.

She'd pick up right where she'd left off. In fact, she'd come up with an even better concept. Then, once she'd proven to him and to the world that she was a talented architect, she'd sign whatever papers he needed her to sign. He'd have his company back, and she'd have her life back. And, most importantly, she wouldn't have to leave New York City.

The light turned green, and she tugged on Lindsay's arm. “You're coming with me.”

Lindsay hesitated, staying on the curb. “I have a class now.”

“We'll be quick,” Kaitlin promised.

“But—”

“Come on. I need you to spout some legalese to scare him.”

“Trust me, he's already scared.” But Lindsay started across the street.

“Then it'll be easy,” Kaitlin assured her, stepping up on the opposite curb then mounting the short concrete staircase.

They made their way across the small serviceable lobby of the Harper Transportation building. Kaitlin had been in the building many times, so she knew Zach's office was on the top floor.

While they took the groaning elevator ride up twenty stories, she straightened her short black skirt and adjusted her sleeveless, jade-green sweater, anchoring the strap of her small handbag. She moistened her lips as they exited the elevator. Then she determinedly paced down the narrow hallway to Zach's receptionist.

“I'm here to see Zach Harper,” Kaitlin announced with as much confidence as she could muster.

Her pulse had increased, and her palms were starting to dampen. She was suddenly afraid the plan wouldn't work. Like a drowning woman who'd been tossed a life vest, she was afraid her chance would float away before she could grab on to it.

“Do you have an appointment?” the young brunette woman asked politely, glancing from Kaitlin to Lindsay and back again. Kaitlin had seen the woman from a distance while working on the project for Hutton Quinn, but they'd never been introduced.

“No,” Kaitlin admitted, realizing the odds were slim that Zach was available at that particular moment.

Lindsay stepped forward, standing two inches taller than Kaitlin, her voice telegraphing professionalism and importance. “Tell him it's a legal matter,” she said to the receptionist. “Kaitlin Saville.”

The woman's head came up, curiosity flaring briefly in her blue eyes. “Of course. One moment, please.” She rose from her wheeled desk chair.

“Thanks,” Kaitlin whispered to Lindsay, as the receptionist walked down the hallway that stretched behind her desk. “I knew you'd come in handy.”

“I'll send you a bill,” Lindsay responded in an undertone.

“No, you won't.” Kaitlin knew her friend better than that. Lindsay had never charged her for anything in her life.

“Ten minutes from now, you'll be able to afford me,” Lindsay joked.

“Send Zach the bill,” Kaitlin suggested, a nervous sense of excitement forming in her belly. If this worked. If it actually worked…

“Will do,” Lindsay promised.

The receptionist returned, a practiced, professional smile on her face. “Right this way, please.”

She led them past a few closed doors to the end of the hallway where a set of double doors stood open on a big, bright, burgundy-carpeted room.

She gestured them inside, and Kaitlin entered first.

If she thought Zach had looked impressive standing in her apartment last week, it was nothing compared to what his office did for him. The fine surroundings reeked of power, and he was obviously in his element.

His big desk was walnut with inset cherry panels. A matching credenza and hutch were accented with cherry wood drawers, and a bookcase opposite showcased leather-bound volumes and nautical carvings. The desk chair was also leather, and high-backed with carved wood arms. Two guest chairs flanked the front of his desk, while a meeting table stood in an arched window alcove.

As Kaitlin crossed the thick carpet, Zach came to his feet. As usual, he wore a perfectly pressed, incredibly well-cut suit. His usual white shirt was crisp and bright. The necktie was gold this time, with a subtle silver thread that picked up the sunlight.

“Thank you, Amy.” He nodded to the receptionist, who closed the doors as she left the room.

His gaze flicked to Lindsay and he quirked a questioning brow in her direction.

“My lawyer,” Kaitlin explained to him. “Lindsay Rubin.”

“Please sit down.” Zach gestured to the leather guest chairs.

But Kaitlin chose to remain standing. “I'll sign your papers,” she told him.

Zach's glance went back to Lindsay, then returned to Kaitlin. The barest hint of a smile twitched his full lips, and there was a definite flare of relief in his gray eyes.

“But I want two things,” Kaitlin continued.

Though she knew she ought to enjoy this, she was far too nervous to get any pleasure out of watching him sweat.

This had to work.

It simply
had
to.

Zach's brow furrowed, and she could almost feel him calculating dollar figures inside his head.

“One—” she counted on her fingers, struggling to keep a quaver from forming in her voice “—our marriage stays secret.” If people found out she was married to Zach, the professional credential of renovating his building would mean less than nothing. The entire city would chalk it up to their personal relationship.

“Two,” she continued, “you give me a job. Renovation design director, or some similar title.”

His eyes narrowed. “You want a job?”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

He appeared genuinely puzzled. “Why?”

“I'll need an office and some support staff while I finish planning the renovations to your building. Since you already have those things available here…”

He was silent for a full three seconds. “I'm offering you money, not a job.”

“I don't want your money.”

“Kaitlin—”

She squared her shoulders. “This is not negotiable, Zach. I get free rein, carte blanche. I do your renovation, my way, and—”

He leaned forward, tenting his fingers on the polished desktop. “Not a hope in hell.”

“Excuse me?”

They glared at each other for a drawn-out second while a thousand emotions skittered along her nervous system.

He was intimidating. He was also undeniably arousing. He was both her problem and her solution. And she was terrified this chance would somehow slip through her fingers.

Then Lindsay spoke up, her voice haughty and authoritarian as she stepped into the conversation. “You should know, Mr. Harper, that I've provided Ms. Saville with a copy of Sadie Harper's will, as filed with the probate court.”

The room went to dead silent.

Nobody moved, and nobody breathed.

Kaitlin forced herself to straighten to her full height. She crossed her arms over her chest, letting his stunned expression boost her confidence.

“I'll divorce you, Zach,” she told him. “I'll sign the entire company over to you. Just as soon as I have my career back.”

His furious gaze settled on Kaitlin. His tone turned incredulous. “You're
blackmailing
me?”

Sweat prickled her hairline, anxiety peaking within her. “I'm making you a deal.”

Several beats ticked by in thick silence, while her stomach churned with anxiety.

His expression barely changed. But finally, he gave a single, curt nod.

Her heart clunked deep in her chest, while a wave of relief washed coolly over her skin.