The Tycoon's Bought Fiancée (15 page)

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Authors: Sandra Marton

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“Yeah.” David let out a deep sigh. “She said they would.”
“She was right.” Jack nodded toward a file on David's desk. The name “Stephanie Willingham” was scrawled across the cover. “Have you taken her on as a client? I thought we'd agreed—”
“We didn't ‘agree,' Jack. You said this case wasn't to our liking. Anyway, I've only been doing some research.”
“And?”
“And, Willingham and his sister dotted all the i's and crossed all the t's. Her chances of getting a piece of that estate are nonexistent.”
“Well, then…”
“She's broke. Penniless. I couldn't turn my back on her.”
“Yes.” Russell smiled faintly. “Just as I said, do you remember? There's a certain vulnerability to her. But you can't take her on as your private charity, David.”
David's expression turned cool. “Are you trying to tell me whom I can and cannot employ?”
“No. Of course not.”
“That's good. That's damn good.”
“I'm telling you that I think you've shown an error in judgment, moving this woman into your home.”
“When she can afford another place, she'll get one.”
“You're making a mistake, David.”
“It's my mistake to make, Jack.”
“Slow down, will you? I'm not trying to tell you how to run your life.”
“Aren't you?”
“David, I'm not a fool. I know you're the reason half of Washington thinks of us first when they think of a topflight law firm.”
“Don't patronize me, Jack. I don't like it.”
“I'm not patronizing you, I'm speaking the truth.”
“What is it, then? You can't have grown so complacent that you're afraid the firm will be embarrassed—”
“Dammit, David! You're not talking to a wet-behindthe-ears kid here, with his eyes fixed on the Holy Grail!” Jack shook his head. “I'm concerned about you. You, the man. Not you, the attorney.”
“There's nothing to be concerned about.”
“I think there is. And I feel responsible. I was the one who got you into this mess. Why, you'd never have laid eyes on this woman if I hadn't—”
“I'd already laid eyes on her,” David said abruptly, “two weeks before you mentioned her name, and before you ask, no, I do not want to explain what I'm talking about.”
“David, my boy—”
“I'm not your boy, Jack. I'm not anyone's ‘boy.' I'm a grown man, and while I appreciate your concern, what I do with my life is my affair.”
“Oh, hell. Mary warned me I'd do this all wrong. Look, I don't care about cheap gossip around the coffee machine. I care about you. David. I love you like a son. I just don't want to see you hurt by a woman who—a woman who—” Jack threw his arms wide. “Dammit, man, I don't even know how to describe Stephanie!”
David looked into the face of his old friend and mentor. Suddenly his anger drained away. He got to his feet and came around his desk.
“That's all right, Jack.” he said quietly. “I don't know how to describe her, either.”
The two men looked at each other for a few seconds. Then Russell smiled and clapped David on the shoulder. They walked slowly toward the door.
“Just don't get yourself in too deep, okay?”
David almost laughed. How deep was that? he wanted to say. Any deeper, he'd drown.
“Not to worry,” he said lightly. “I'll know when it's time to bail out.”
“You want some last advice?”
David smiled. “No. But that won't stop you from giving it.”
“The lady's beautiful, bright, and broke. And okay, maybe she got a raw deal. But do yourself a favor. Write her a glowing letter of recommendation, hand her a copy of the employment ads, and say goodbye.”
“I'll consider it.”
“That's the spirit.” Russell smiled. “I'm glad you'll be getting your mind off all this for the weekend.”
“What about the week…” David clapped his hand to his forehead. “Damn! The Sheraton house party. I'd almost forgotten.”
“Check your calendar. I'm sure the efficient Mrs. Willingham has it listed.”
“Oh, hell. The last thing I feel like doing is taking on Mimi Sheraton.”
“Interesting choice of words,” Jack said, chuckling.
“An entire weekend, avoiding that barracuda.”
Jack opened the door. “I keep telling you, my boy. What you need is an excuse even our Mimi can't ignore.”
“Yeah. Like my name on the obituary page.”
“Or on the society page. An announcement, that you're to be married.” Jack winked. “Mary's advice, but I tend to agree.”
“Tell Mary, thanks a bunch.” David grinned. “Women just like to see men lassoed and branded. Well, not me. Once was more than enough.”
Russell laughed. “Too bad you can't just phone that rental company we used for that Fourth of July party last year. You know, the one that rents dishes, chairs, tables… see if they have a division called Rent-A-Fiancée.”
“Thanks, counselor,” David said, smiling. “Be sure and send me a bill for your sage advice.”
He was still smiling when he shut the door.
“Rent-A-Fiancée,” he said as he strolled back to his desk. Too bad there wasn't such a thing. But he could try another approach. He could call one of the women he'd been seeing, invite her to go to the Sheratons with him. Yes, there was a down side to that. With his luck, the lady in question might end up thinking his intentions were more serious than they were, but it was worth a shot. Anything was better than spending the weekend trying to avoid Mimi and dark hallways—
“Mr. Chambers?”
David turned around. Stephanie looked at him from the doorway. God, how beautiful she was!
“Sir? Do you—can you spare a minute?”
He sighed. It was just as well. He supposed he had to tell her that the gossip had begun. She had the right to know.
“Of course,” he said. “Come in and sit down, Mrs. Willingham.”
Stephanie nodded, shut the door behind her and stepped into the room.

* * *

She hadn't wanted to do this.
David had done enough for her. A job, a place to live, a loan. She couldn't ask him. She couldn't. On the other hand, what choice was there? Rest Haven had phoned again last night. The director had been pleasant, but firm. She was already a month behind in payments. They couldn't wait any longer.
“Your brother's care is costly, Mrs. Willingham,” the director had said.
As if she didn't know that already.
She knew it was useless but, during her lunch hour, she'd gone to the bank where she'd opened an account, and asked for a loan. To his credit, the loan officer hadn't laughed in her face. In desperation, she'd phoned Amos Turner. He hadn't been as kind. She'd hung up the phone, face burning, the sound of the lawyer's laughter ringing in her ears. And then she'd suffered the worst humiliation of all. She'd called Clare, who'd listened, let her talk on and on until she was near begging before Clare had laughed hysterically and hung up the phone.
So Stephanie had steeled herself for what had to be done. There was no other choice. She had to ask David to lend her the money.
“How much?” he said, with the kind of smile that suggested this was a joke.
“Five thousand,” Stephanie said, with no smile at all. “I know it's an enormous amount of money, but I'll repay you the second you get me my share of Avery's—”
“Why in heaven's name do you need five thousand bucks?”
She hesitated. The bank loan officer had asked her the same question, in just the same tone of voice.
“I—I don't think that's important.”
David laughed.
“You've got a lot of brass, Scarlett, I'll give you that much. Five thousand bucks, and it's not important?”
“It is. I mean, the amount is. And the reason I need it is. But—”
“But it's none of my business. Right?”
The tip of her tongue snaked out between her lips. He tried not to notice.
“I understand that you'd like some answers, David. But—”
“It doesn't matter.” He sat down, leaned forward across his desk and folded his hands on the polished cherrywood surface. “I've gone over your case a dozen times, and I have to tell you, I can't see any way around the judge's decision.”
Stephanie blanched. “But you said—”
“I said I'd give it my best shot. Well, I have. We could petition the courts, make a case for your having been left destitute.” His eyes fixed on hers. “I could probably get you a couple of hundred a week for a year or two, long enough for you to get back on your feet.”
“It isn't enough!” She could hear the thread of panic in her voice and she swallowed hard before she spoke again. “I need—”
“Five thousand dollars.” His smile was remorseless. “I heard you the first time. Well, Scarlett, I'm afraid you're just going to have to accustom yourself to a simpler lifestyle.”
“Dammit! I don't want the money to—to… I need it.”
His eyes went flat and cold. “For what?”
“I can't—”
“You can,” he said, and he reached out, clasped her wrist and rose to his feet. Defiance glittered in her eyes but her mouth was trembling. Jack was wrong, he thought. Vulnerable wasn't the word to describe her. He remembered the feral kitten, how it had spit and refused to be stroked…and yet, how clearly it had needed the gentling touch of a loving hand. He looked into Stephanie's beautiful face and thought, just for a moment, that he could see straight into her wounded soul.
“David?” she whispered, and then she was in his arms. She gave a soft cry as he gathered her to him; her body sank into his. Her slender arms looped around his waist in a gesture that seemed equal parts desire and despair.
His heart hammered. He knew he had only to caress her, lift her into his arms, carry her to the love seat, and she would be his. But she had been Avery Willingham's, too. Would she belong to any man, for the right price?
He reached behind his back, grasped her wrists and drew her arms to her sides. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. Knowing that made him even angrier.
“Okay,” he said, his voice harsh. “I get the message. You're broke, you need a bundle of cash, and you don't know how to get it.”
He heard the indrawn hiss of her breath. “That's an over-simplification.”
“Let's not argue the semantics of this, Scarlett, all right?” He cocked his head and looked at her. “Did you ever do any acting when you were in school?”
Stephanie stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. Hell, he thought, maybe he had.
“Acting?”
“Yeah. You know, playacting.”
“I don't see what that has to do with anything.”
“Humor me. Just answer the question.”
“No. Well…” Her brow furrowed. “Well, once. In sixth grade. We did
Sleeping Beauty
, for spring assembly.”
“Okay,” he said briskly, as if what he was about to propose wasn't completely, totally, absolutely insane. “Okay, then, here's the deal.” He walked away from her, to his desk, sat down behind it as if putting distance between them could make what came next sound like the rational suggestion of a rational man. “I'm going to a house party this weekend, in the Virginia countryside. A client's hosting it. Lots of people networking, pretending to have a good time.” He shot her a humorless smile. “It's hard to explain, unless you've been to one of these things.”
“Buffet breakfasts on the sideboard,” Stephanie said. “Drinks around the fireplace. You don't have to explain. Avery was big on trying to impress the right people. But I still don't see—”
“My client's wife will have one other item on the agenda.” David sat back, his eyes on Stephanie's. “She's on the make.”
“David, I'm sorry, I'm just not following you.”
“She'll seat me next to her at dinner,” he said bluntly, “and while her right hand's holding her salad fork, her left will be searching for my lap.”
He thought, just for a second, that she was going to laugh. Her eyes widened; her mouth twitched. He remembered the last time—the only time—Stephanie had laughed, how wonderful it had made him feel, and he almost smiled…and then he remembered that she had just come to him for five thousand bucks, with no explanation other than that she needed it, and his smile faded before it began.

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