To Catch a Billionaire (4 page)

Erin dialed Giorgio’s number and left a message when he didn’t pick up. She needed more than an extraordinary outfit now. She desperately needed him to accompany her to the opening and he hadn’t agreed to go with her. With a light sigh, she hung up and shut off all the lights but one that she left on for Mrs. Hardy’s return.

She dozed off with a folder of photos spread halfway across her bed. Somewhere in the middle of an erotic dream about Tristan Forsyth, of all men, Erin sat up with a jerk. It had seemed so real. Breathless and sexually aroused, she knew that if he’d been there at that moment, she would be ready and willing to have Tristan – every inch of him.

He’d worked his way up her legs, his lips and tongue caressing her inch-by-inch. When he reached the sensitive spot between her legs, his tongue did amazing, crazy, and wild things to her.

Erin squeezed her legs together, unwilling to go there, but unable to stop thinking of snippets of the fading dream. It had seemed so real.

“
Damn, damn, damn him,”
she muttered as she flopped back against the pillows, her pictures crushed and fluttering to the floor.

Moments later, she slowly made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Hardy’s coat dangled from the peg near the door. She’d returned from the cinema without Erin hearing a sound.

A hot cup of tea, some cookies and a magazine lay spread out before her, Erin’s thoughts kept jumping from the magazine, to the dream, to her meeting with Tristan. From one to the other they went, until she could have screamed in frustration. She sensed the only way to get him out of her head would be to get him out of her life for good.
But, how?
How could she force him to leave her, and her gallery, alone?

Rubbing her hands over her face, Erin brushed the hair off her forehead and slapped the magazine shut. Her tea and cookies were left behind as she once again climbed the steps to her bedroom and sank into the soft mattress.

She tossed and turned until dawn, then got up to wander the room. Eventually, she flung the drapes aside and gazed out the window. Fog swirled low to the ground, as she gazed at flower beds that seemed to float above it. With her mind muddled, Erin sighed, showered and readied for the day. “No sense wasting any more time worrying,” she muttered.

In the kitchen, Erin dumped the cold tea from her midnight sojourn, into the stainless steel sink. While coffee perked, she picked through the remaining mail from the night before.

A letter with her attorney’s return address stopped her dead.
What did he want?
She opened the envelope and pulled out the three-page letter. Her hands trembled as she read the words. She flipped a page, scanned it, flipped to the last one and then began all over again.

“No way,” she murmured. The rotten scoundrel had approached her attorney. He’d made an offer for the business, the house and all that went with it.
How could he? Why would he?
She slapped the papers onto the table, poured a cup of coffee and paced the kitchen.
Was his visit to measure her response to selling because he thought she’d already received the offer?
Erin flicked the papers with her fingernails.

Rather than do a slow burn over Tristan’s arrogance, Erin scanned the computer in her home office and studied her findings. Forsyth had a family history that stretched back generations in the Scottish highlands. His education was exceptional... He’d attended Cambridge University in England, then completed a couple years at Harvard, in Boston. His business acumen was formidable.

Could she get rid of him the same as those others who’d tried to purchase her gallery since her parents’ deaths? Was Tristan’s interest merely in her business or was there something more? She’d gotten the impression the evening before that he’d decided to take their so-called business relationship to a more personal level.

His list of galleries included one in Spain. Rick Garcia, a valued friend, had been bought out by Tristan. Could he shed light on Tristan’s reasons for continuing to acquire galleries?

Within seconds, she’d dialed Rick’s phone number and waited for it to connect. While it rang she figured out the difference in Spain’s time of day compared to that of the US. Assured of the time, Erin heard Rick’s voice.

“This is Garcia,” Rick ground out.

“Rick, its Erin Cameron. Have I caught you at a bad time?” she asked

“Erin, how are you, my dear? I was thinking of you just yesterday. I’m glad to hear your sexy voice,” Garcia said with a chuckle.

Erin grinned and asked, “I’m calling to ask your opinion. The last time we spoke, you said Tristan Forsyth purchased your gallery two years earlier. How have your dealings been with him? He’s here in the States and is nosing around my gallery. Made an offer to buy me out and he said he hoped I’d stay on and work for him afterwards.”

“That’s what he’s been up to, eh? He was here two weeks ago, asking questions concerning American galleries. I didn’t have much to tell him at the time. Even though I didn’t want to sell out to him, Tristan made an offer that was too good to pass up.” Garcia was silent for a moment and then said, “The collaboration has worked out well. Marie is happier than ever, and I’m home more to enjoy the family.”

Skeptical, Erin asked, “That’s the reason you accepted? For a better family life? Honestly?”

A deep chuckle crossed the line. “I know it’s hard to believe, but think about how much time and effort you put into your work, Erin. Gallery owners eat, sleep and breathe art. Am I right? I was away so many hours a day my kids were telling their mother a stranger was at the door.” Garcia’s laughter rumbled like thunder. “It was me.”

“In your case, you made the right decision. I have no family, so why not be absorbed in work?” she murmured.

“Tell me, has Tristan made a good offer?”

“He’s been at the gallery, then came to the house last night and talked about it. He never said a word about money, but this morning I found he’d been in touch with my attorney with a financial offer for the gallery. It was generous, but I’m not interested. To say I’m unhappy about the whole thing is an understatement.” Erin groaned.

“There’s something to be said about the way Tristan runs his businesses. He treats the sellers more like affiliates than owner and employee, Erin. When I agreed to Tristan’s takeover, it was with the stipulation that I’d still be in charge of the everyday operation. We work together to promote and schedule exhibits. He’s brilliant... lonely, but brilliant.” Garcia snickered. “He’s a bachelor. Did you know that?”

“I do.”

“He’s also very rich and while he’s competitive, he’s a decent sort,” Garcia said.

“Rick, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to wish Forsyth on me. You’re beginning to sound like my housekeeper. She thinks he’s the best thing since popcorn. Honest to God, I’m not interested in romance. I just want him to go the hell away. Far away.”

Listening to Rick chortle, Erin wondered what he found so hilarious. When he simmered down, Erin said vehemently, “This isn’t funny. He seems determined to wiggle his way into my gallery, to take what’s mine, and I’m not having it. That’s why I called you.”

“What can I say, Erin? He’s a good man, an astute businessman, and detached. Have sex with him, marry him if you wish, but consider selling to him. A word of warning, my dear. He doesn’t give up when he wants something badly. And his persistence always pays off.”

“Gee, thanks. I already figured that out,” she said with a sigh. “I thought you’d be more resentful at having your gallery swept out from under you, Rick. He must have made you a helluva deal.”

“I admit, at first I was leery about selling something I’d worked so hard to establish. You knew that. Then I saw the benefits of having more time with my family and letting someone else carry the ultimate responsibility. The ability to take a step back was too good to let pass. Don’t get me wrong, I still work hard, but Tristan has made my life easier.”

Irritated that she hadn’t gotten the answers she wanted, Erin said, “I refuse to allow that to happen to my gallery. It’s been in the Cameron family far too long to let it go now. I’m not in dire financial straits, though things are tight in the market, and I don’t need or want someone to take over the reins. Thanks for listening to me rant, Rick. I appreciate it.”

She rang off and turned toward the open door. Mrs. Hardy waited with a cup of hot coffee and a croissant on a tray. “You’re up early, Miss Erin. Didn’t you sleep well?”

“I’m fine, I had to make an overseas call and wanted to get a head start today since I’m meeting Giorgio later. I’ll be stopping by the gallery and my attorney’s office before I head for New York.” Erin nibbled the croissant and sipped the strong brew Mrs. Hardy set on the desk. “You’re supposed to take the day off today, remember?”

Mrs. Hardy nodded, and went out the door. Over her shoulder she called, “How was your meeting with Mr. Forsyth last night?”

Her hand stopped halfway to her mouth. Erin dropped the croissant and scooted after her. She watched Ms. Hardy amble toward the kitchen.

“How did you know he was here?”

Mrs. Hardy turned to Erin with a sweet grin. “Why, I met him in the driveway as I was leaving. He asked if you were home and I said you were. Did it go well?”

Her hands on her hips, Erin snapped, “He wants my business, our home and everything else I own. How do you think it went?”

Erin watched Mrs. Hardy’s face pale and her brows rise in surprise.

“Surely you’re mistaken? He was so polite and charming. Mr. Forsyth wouldn’t throw us out on our ear, would he?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it, he won’t. In fact, he may find he’s taken on the wrong owner. His inability to take no for an answer is most annoying. Now go and enjoy your day. Leave the housework. I’ll put the dishes in the dishwasher before I get going.”

Erin returned to the desk and connected to the Internet once more. She scrolled down the screen, looked at pictures of Tristan with several different women and the dates and locations that were noted below each. He was popular with women. Erin smirked. They probably just wanted to catch a billionaire. “Not me,” she muttered under her breath. “I have no use for him – other than I bet he would be great in the sack.”

The chair creaked when she hunkered down and tipped it back. Tristan, in her bed, was an appealing thought. The visual brought heat to her lower parts, quickened her breathing and hiked her pulse. With a soft chuckle, she wondered what it would be like to
have
him, all of him.

With a shake of her head, Erin shut down the computer and prepared for her next meeting with the handsome charmer. Cam would have the day off.

*  *  *

The red Porsche careened around corners, hugging the inside. Glued to the ground in a gooey bubblegum way, the fast, powerful car held steady as Erin drove like the wind toward Greenwich. Her first stop would be Starbucks, then on to the gallery.

Parked in the usual spot, Erin strode into Starbucks. Stuart served her a macchiato and asked if she wanted anything else.

“Nothing more, thanks,” Erin said with a wide grin.

Behind her, a familiar voice asked, “No breakfast, Erin?”

Stuart took the money she offered while he watched Erin and then stared at Tristan.

With a quick glance over her shoulder, Erin remarked, “Not that it’s any of your concern, but your newfound friend, Mrs. Hardy, made breakfast for me this morning.” Mrs. Hardy’s part in setting her up for Tristan’s visit still stung a bit. The housekeeper hadn’t realized what the sale of the gallery could mean to both of them should Tristan succeed with his ambitions. The loss of Cameron Gallery was unthinkable, but to try and forge a new life elsewhere for her and Mrs. Hardy was definitely not on her to-do list. Would he consider keeping Cam on if he took over the gallery? Would they lose their home or would he leave that for them? She remembered the written offer in which the estate and the gallery were connected. She gritted her teeth over her great grandfather’s idea of deeding the two properties as one.

“Out of sorts today, are we?” Tristan said with a grin.

A step away from him, Erin shook her head and lied, “Not at all, it’s about to be a busy day.” On the way to her car, Erin heard footsteps close on her heels. The heady scent of his cologne reached her as she turned.

“By the way, Tristan, why would you contact my attorney with an offer instead of making it directly to me?”

“When you were unreachable, I thought another avenue might catch your attention. Its business, not personal,” Tristan said with a sharp-edged tone.

In an effort to get the last word, she remarked, “Remember that.” One thing she knew for sure, she would try to keep this from becoming personal, though to Erin, the gallery was already that and so much more. Her car tires squealed as she drove from the parking lot. Anger burned deep in the pit of her stomach while she worried over her next move with the enigmatic, handsome rake. All she seemed able to think of lately was him, in the nude, in her bed... Good grief.

Erin left the car and approached the reception area.

“Cam won’t be in today. She’s taking care of other things for me. Are there any appointments booked?” Erin asked, knowing the answer.

“You’re in luck, Erin. We have a clean slate today. Other than a few phone calls, Cam was free to roam the gallery as she often does,” Meredith said sweetly.

Erin nodded. “I can’t blame her for that. As a kid, I visited my favorite artists here every chance I got. These walls were always filled with the best artwork in the world.” Erin smiled. “I’ll be in the ‘dead and buried’
wing.”

Laughter followed her as Erin sauntered away. She heard the phone ring and Meredith’s sunshiny answer before she rounded the corner, heading toward the security guard.

“Good morning, Erin,” Guy Blakely greeted her. “Visiting today, are you?”

She nodded and said, “Cam is off, so I thought I’d better check in. Are things going well here? Nothing walking out of here that shouldn’t?”

Guy stared at her, his face serious. “No ma’am. We’re in good shape.”