Читать книгу Inconveniently Wed! - Jackie Braun - Страница 10

SERENA woke late on Monday morning. According to her sorry excuse for an alarm clock she was already forty minutes behind schedule. Even so, she sat on the side of the bed and contemplated the state of her life. The day before she’d awoken in a deluxe Vegas honeymoon suite next to a virtual stranger who was also her husband. This morning she was alone on the lumpy bed of her San Diego studio, but the man in question was very much on her mind.

How was Jonas?

The question sneaked past her defenses and brought along a couple of friends. Was Jonas angry with her? Or was he relieved that she’d offered him an uncomplicated way out?

Serena was relieved, or so she told herself. Maybe she was a little disappointed that she hadn’t heard from him, but only because she wanted to know his plans. Still, it made sense that he hadn’t called yet. It had been barely twenty-four hours, and even in Vegas she doubted the courthouses were open on Sundays. Surely first thing today Jonas would go and file whatever paperwork needed to be filed to get the ball rolling to dissolve their marriage.

Maybe she should call him and make sure they were of the same mind. The office where he practiced law would be easy enough to locate through directory assistance, or she could always ask for the number for his campaign headquarters.

As she picked up the phone, Serena imagined a well-mannered receptionist asking, And who may I say is calling, please? She set the receiver back in its cradle with a click. She didn’t have the time or, she admitted, the courage to talk to him right now. What she did have was someplace to be. And she needed to get there before her boss, the highly regarded but annoyingly high-strung Heidi Bonaventure, blew a gasket.

Twenty minutes later, with a silver travel mug of high-octane java in hand, Serena flung open her apartment door, intending to make a mad dash for the stairs. She didn’t make it past the welcome mat. Indeed, she stopped so abruptly that despite the mug’s protective lid some of her coffee spewed through the small opening. It hit Jonas Benjamin in the center of his sedately striped tie. Counting the silk number she’d mutilated in her haste to undress him two nights ago, this made two she’d ruined.

She grimaced. “What are you doing here?”

“Hoping to have the conversation we should have had yesterday morning,” he replied. He didn’t look happy.

They eyed one another from opposite sides of the welcome mat. Neither one of them moved.

Serena cleared her throat and broke the silence. “You came all the way to San Diego to talk about our…our…”

“Marriage,” he supplied.

Annulment was the word she’d been thinking.

“About yesterday—sorry for taking off like that, but I…I…” In lieu of an excuse Serena motioned with her hand.

Unfortunately it was the one holding the travel mug. More java splattered out. Jonas jumped back in the nick of time, and the welcome mat was the only casualty. She pushed at one of the brown marks with the toe of her faux snakeskin flat. It was easier to concentrate on the stain than the man whose head had rested on the pillow next to hers twenty-four hours earlier.

“Can I come in?” Jonas asked.

“I’m just on my way out. To work.”

“Can you be late?”

“Actually, I already am.”

“Can you be later?” Jonas tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. The pose took away some of the formalness the pricy suit added to his persona. “This really can’t wait, Serena.”

“I know.” She stepped back to allow him inside and motioned toward the couch. This time she remembered to use the hand that wasn’t holding her coffee. “Make yourself at home. It will just take me a moment to call my boss.”

While he took a seat on the couch, Serena stationed herself in the kitchen and pulled out her cellphone. Her apartment measured just over four hundred square feet. It was basically one room, with a bathroom tucked between the kitchen and bedroom areas. This created some separation, as well as a degree of privacy, for her boudoir from the door. But from Jonas’s vantage point he could see everything—including the pile of dirty clothes that was heaped next to the still-down bed with its rumpled sheets and her discarded cotton nightie.

She hadn’t worn a nightie, cotton or otherwise, in Vegas. Even if she’d had one with her in the honeymoon suite, what would have been the point? None of their clothes had remained on for long. They’d been too hungry, too eager, too desperate to touch flesh.

“Oh, God,” she moaned.

“No. It’s Heidi Bonaventure.” A woman’s crisp voice shot through the phone line like a bullet.

“Mrs. Bonaventure, hi. It’s Serena.”

“I hope you’re not calling to say you’re ill.”

Her boss was a whiz when it came to crafting lifelike fruit from marzipan, and her piping work was unrivaled, but no one would accuse Heidi Bonaventure of being warm and fuzzy.

“No. I’ll be there. Just not for another hour.” Serena glanced over at Jonas, who sat on the edge of her red leather sofa. One wingtip tapped impatiently on the floor, and he hadn’t so much as loosened his stained tie. “Or so.”

Heidi’s voice no longer sounded like a bullet. It boomed with the force of a bomb as she reminded Serena, “You have an appointment with a client at eleven o’clock. Katherine Bloomwell requested you specifically to create her daughter’s sweet-sixteen cake.”

“I won’t miss the appointment,” Serena promised. “But something important has come up.”

“What could be more important than your job?”

She glanced over at Jonas again. This time their gazes met and, just as she had in Las Vegas, she felt that wild jolt.

Heidi’s voice snapped her back to the matter at hand. “Given your serious lack of experience and formal training, I took a huge chance when I hired you.”

Actually, she’d hired Serena as a glorified gopher slash receptionist. She’d only given Serena her current responsibilities out of necessity nine months ago, when her assistant had quit without notice, leaving Heidi in the lurch. Serena had shown promise and an eagerness to learn, staying late without pay if it meant acquiring new skills. Indeed, she was still paid the same lowly amount she’d made coming in. She wisely chose not to point any of this out as her boss’s tirade continued.

“Since then I’ve offered you the sort of opportunities that many a culinary arts student would kill for. Don’t make me regret it.”

“I won’t.”

“See that you don’t.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, and I promise I’ll arrive before the client does.”

Heidi snorted. “See that you do. In the meantime, I suggest you rethink your priorities.”

“Everything okay?” Jonas called from the couch as Serena dropped her cellphone on the counter.

“Fine. Just my boss.” She rolled her eyes. “She’s better at making me squirm than my mother is. And, believe me, that’s saying a lot.”

His smile was awkward. Because he’d gotten her into hot water at work? Or because she’d mentioned the woman who was, for the time being at least, his mother-in-law? Serena wasn’t sure which. She only knew she felt awkward now, too.

“So…” She took a seat on the thick-armed chair that was perpendicular to the couch, discreetly brushing aside a stray popcorn kernel.

“So…” he repeated, and folded his hands over one knee.

Two nights ago the conversation had flowed endlessly, seamlessly. Now neither of them could string together a complete sentence. Clearing her throat, Serena attempted it again. “How long…um…will it take to, you know, undo what we did?”

Though the question was far from eloquent, she figured her meaning was clear. Jonas frowned, though, as he repeated, “Undo what we did?”

“Yeah. Undo the…um…the ‘I do’ part.” She laughed nervously.

He studied her a moment, before rising to his feet. Then he paced to the sliding doors that led to the studio’s small balcony. When he turned to face her he was no longer frowning, but his expression was far from pleased.

“I’m afraid there’s a bit of a situation—a hitch.”

“To our getting unhitched? Sorry.” She scrunched up her face. Nerves had her saying stupid things. “Go on.”

“I’m not sure how to put this.”

“Well, whatever it is, say it fast—like you’re pulling off a bandage,” she suggested. Between his hesitation and turned-down lips her stomach was starting to churn like one of the commercial-grade mixers at the bakery.

“Okay, here it is. I want to stay married to you.”

She couldn’t have heard him right, Serena decided, which was why it took her a moment to realize that her mouth was gaping open.

Jonas tried to determine Serena’s reaction to his words. Beyond flummoxed, he couldn’t be sure. He took the fact that she wasn’t smiling, however, to mean she wasn’t thrilled with the idea. After the way she’d ditched him in Vegas the previous morning, he hadn’t exactly expected her to be. He ignored the vague sense of disappointment he felt, and assumed what one of his law school professors had called the litigator pose. Clasping his hands behind his back, he paced in front of the balcony doors.

“We don’t know one another well, but as you may recall from our conversations the other evening I’m currently running for election in Las Vegas.”

“Mayor,” she said.

He nodded. Good. She remembered that much.

“A lot of people, especially in the business community, believe your opponent lacks the imagination and vision to expand on the revitalization efforts that are currently underway.”

Jonas blinked. “I…yes.”

Her green gaze locked on him. “Surprised I was paying attention?”

He shrugged. “Politics can be dry—and, well, other parts of our evening were far more memorable than discussions of my candidacy.”

One side of her mouth quirked up. “Now, there’s an understatement.”

Serena was seated demurely enough, her legs crossed at the ankles. But for a moment a vision of her wearing nothing but his crumpled tie, with those long legs clamped around his waist, blasted free from his memory.

“Yeah.”

He took a step toward her, then remembered why he was there. He needed her to do him a favor. His political life could very well depend on it.

“Anyway, marriages are a matter of public record. As such, ours is guaranteed to become fodder for my opponent in pretty short order. This isn’t your problem, but once it’s out things could get ugly for my campaign.”

“How so?”

“Well, for starters, no one has ever met you. Nor have we ever been seen together. Add in the fact that my bachelor status has been duly noted in all of the previous profiles the media have done on me and…”

“It gets ugly,” she finished.

The afternoon before, his campaign manager’s face had turned a worrying shade of purple when Jonas had told him about Serena and their impromptu nuptials. The two of them had come up with an idea to salvage his political ambitions. It had seemed plausible then—reasonable, even. Right now, as he stared at Serena’s full lips, it not only seemed absurd but self-serving.

He blurted it out anyway. “I need for us to remain married.”

“For political purposes?”

“Yes.”

Serena was wearing a bright yellow silk tunic with elaborate beading and embroidery around the neckline. The rich flecks of green, purple and red suited her. She ran one hand over it absently now, apparently weighing his words.

“But we would go our separate ways eventually, right? We wouldn’t stay married…till death do us part.”

They’d already made that promise. He’d been sincere at the time. He wasn’t the sort to make a promise knowing he would break it. In the cold light of day, however, it seemed ridiculous to think either one of them could keep it. Sincerity aside, they barely knew one another.

“No. Not that long,” he assured her.

“How long?” She nibbled that plump bottom lip.

He remembered her doing the same just the other night.

“Jonas?” Her voice interrupted the memory. She didn’t look pleased with the prospect of remaining his wife, even if their stint of matrimony came with an early get-out clause.

“That depends.”

A pair of green eyes narrowed. “On?”

“The outcome of the general election. In the past the Mayor’s race has been decided in June, but this year the clerk’s office opted to go with an election cycle similar to a lot of other municipalities.”

“November,” she said. “So, if I agree, we would remain married until November.”

He cleared his throat. “Again, that depends. If I lose—” he shrugged “—that can be the end of it. We go our separate ways. An annulment, especially since we both want it and I’m already a resident of Las Vegas, can be handled quietly. By the time it’s public record I’ll be old news.”

“And if you win?” Her gaze remained direct.

“We would have to stay married a little longer. It would look pretty suspect if my bride ditched me the day after I was sworn into office.” He offered a charming smile to cover his desperation and the uncomfortable realization that she’d already ditched him once.

“How long, Jonas?”

“For…For…”

Forever. That was how long he’d asked her to stay the other night. He shoved the thought away now, no longer sure that was what he wanted, even if it were possible, and given the way she’d dashed from their hotel room it didn’t look likely.

After clearing his throat, he said, “I don’t have a timeframe etched in stone. A few months or so.”

Actually, Jameson had insisted on at least a year. That length of time, he’d said, would help silence the skeptics and create sympathy for Jonas when the marriage dissolved, upping his chances for a successful first term and re-election if he chose to run again. Since Serena appeared to be on the fence, Jonas decided a little vagueness was in order. The length of time was negotiable.

“What would I have to do? A few public appearances? Kiss a baby or two?”

There was more to it than that—press interviews and the like—but he nodded. “Sure.”

“I guess I could fly up on weekends, and maybe here and there during the week if you had a special engagement that you need me to attend in the evening.” She grimaced, glanced away. “I’d…um…need some help covering travel expenses, though. My budget is pretty tight right now, and I’m not due a raise for a while.”

Jonas scratched his cheek. “Here’s the thing. To make it believable, you couldn’t stay in San Diego and commute up now and then. You’d have to live in Las Vegas. With me.” He swallowed. Only after saying it aloud did he consider all of the ramifications and disturbing possibilities of setting up a household with her.

Serena blinked a few times in rapid succession. “Let me get this straight. Not only are you asking me to put off our annulment, you want me to move to Las Vegas and live with you as your wife for the foreseeable future?”

“Yes.” At her raised eyebrows, he added, “It’s a lot to ask, I know.”

“A lot? Gee, you’re just full of understatements today. What about my apartment, Jonas?” She motioned wide with her arms. “What about my job?”

“I’ll continue to pay the lease, or if you’d prefer you can sublet it.” The job was more difficult, but he’d anticipated it being a stumbling block so had an answer ready. “As for the job, I think you should quit.”

He hadn’t known Serena long, but in their short time together he’d seen her experience dozens of emotions. Rage was new. And, damn, it looked good on her.

“So you think I should quit?” she began slowly, softly. Both the pace and volume of her words picked up considerably when she continued. “Because you find yourself in a bind, and because your dream job is on the line, you think I should be more than happy to throw in the towel on the only job I’ve ever found that I can see myself doing five years, hell, twenty years from now?”

“Serena—”

She talked over him. “I don’t suppose any of that matters to you. Decorating cakes isn’t rocket science. Certainly it’s not as important as running for public office,” she drawled.

“Serena—”

“Or maybe you share my parents’ attitude that this is just a fad and will wind up as one more gig on my long and eclectic résumé?” She exhaled sharply and her eyes turned bright. “When I told them I wanted to open my own cake shop someday they laughed.”

“I’m not laughing.” Jonas crossed to her, and though he knew it wasn’t wise he touched her, cupping her elbows and drawing her closer. “You told me your dream the other night. I didn’t laugh then. I’m not laughing now. It’s important to you. That’s obvious.” She was wearing the same perfume she’d had on when they met. No florals for her. It was citrusy, bold. It made it hard to think. Jonas forced himself to stay focused. “I’m not asking you to give up your dream.”

“Good, because I won’t.” Her chin notched up. “Even in the short time I’ve been at Bonaventure I’ve made a name for myself. Today I’m meeting with a client who specifically requested me, and that’s not the first time it’s happened—despite my lack of professional training. If I quit now, it would be like starting from scratch.”

“Your current position and the business you’d like to one day own are not mutually exclusive, Serena.”

“One leads to the other.”

“Not with the right financing and contacts.”

That got her attention. Wary green eyes studied him. “What do you mean?”

“What if I could guarantee access to both at the end of our…arrangement?” The word left a sour taste in his mouth, but he plodded ahead. “What if, between now and then, you were able to—I don’t know—maybe take some classes and get some of the training you say you’re lacking? After we…um…wrap things up, I could set you up with a list of potential clients and the capital to start your own shop.”

“That sounds like…” He waited for the word heaven, or something along that line. Serena’s take on the matter was, “Prostitution!”

She shook free of his grasp and marched half a dozen steps away. Rage was back, and though it looked good on her he didn’t want to see it now.

“I realize the oldest profession is legal in some parts of your state, but if I wanted to sell myself in order to open my own cake shop I could do that here, Jonas. No pimp necessary.”

She wasn’t the only one angry now. He wrenched at his tie, since it seemed to be constricting his windpipe. “That’s not the kind of arrangement I’m suggesting!”

She crossed her arms and blinked slowly in challenge. “No?”

“No! What I’m suggesting, what I’m offering, is a business opportunity. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

The shouted words echoed in the tiny apartment. If Jameson, the self-proclaimed king of spin, were on hand to witness the exchange, he would be sorely disappointed in his protégé. Jonas had botched this, and badly. He fully expected Serena to tell him to go to hell and then show him the door.

“Let’s be clear on one thing. I don’t want your money. I’m not looking for a shortcut to a big payday—especially one that involves selling my soul or anything else.”

“I know.” He shoved a hand through his hair and expelled a breath. “I apologize if what I’m offering sounded like payment for services rendered. That wasn’t my intention. It’s just that I felt that since I was getting something of obvious value out of the proposed arrangement, you should, too. And I know how much you enjoy having free creative reign when it comes to decorating cakes.”

“You know?”

“You aren’t the only one who was listening the other night.”

That took the wind out of her sails. “How is it possible that you get it?” she asked softly.

“Excuse me?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I…it’s madness.”

“Would offering you a low-interest loan make the offer more palatable?”

“Jonas, I…I don’t know. God! I can barely think.” She rested her fingertips against her temples. “And here I thought my life had been turned upside down in Vegas.”

“It’s chaotic right now,” he agreed. “But I think we can make it work. In the end, this doesn’t need to be a huge mistake.”

“A huge mistake?” She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I need time to be sure I’m not making another one if I agree.”

“Of course.” The vise around his heart eased its grip.

“How long are you in town?” The question was slightly muffled by her pose.

“I just flew down for the morning. I have meetings this afternoon, some radio spots to tape. If you…if you decide to come back to Las Vegas I’ll return for you Friday.”

Her hands dropped away at that. The green eyes regarding him were wide and incredulous.

“This Friday?”

“I wish I could give you more time, Serena. But a civic group called Las Vegas Citizens for Change is putting on a dinner Saturday evening, and my opponent and I have both been invited to attend. Jameson thinks—”

“Jameson?”

“Culver. He’s my campaign manager. He thinks you and I should go to the dinner together and make the big announcement of our marriage there. Take the offensive, so to speak, before anyone else gets wind of it, twists it around and makes more of it than there is.” He felt his face heat. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Her gaze shifted to the wall. “I know what you mean.”

“I’m sorry, Serena. I wish…” Jonas left the thought unfinished. No sense getting into what he wished, since he wasn’t sure he knew.

“It’s not your fault,” she said.

“Yours either.” Most definitely none of this fell on her shoulders. Even so, she tried to take the blame.

“I don’t know about that. I’m pretty well known for acting on a whim and dragging others with me.” Serena motioned toward his conservatively cut suit. “Despite that first…um…crazy kiss in the Bellagio, you still don’t strike me as the sort of man who does anything impulsive.”

“Not usually, no. But I’m an adult, Serena. You didn’t drag me anywhere I didn’t want to go. At the time.”