Читать книгу Hired Bride - Jackie Merritt - Страница 8

“Z ane, I’m so sorry to leave you hanging like this, but I have to fly to Fort Worth this weekend. My sister Glenda just phoned, and our mother is in the hospital again. Apparently she’s had another heart attack. Glenda said Mother’s doctors told her that the attack was rather mild, but Mother is frightened and wants her children around her. I know I promised to attend Mr. Malone’s wedding with you this weekend, but as things stand now I have to back out. I hope you understand.”

Zane Fortune was seated behind his massive mahogany desk, and given his secretary’s plaintive expression and his own compassion for anyone in danger of losing a parent, he had no choice but to say, “Heather, of course I understand. Don’t give it another thought. In fact, leave today.” It was Friday afternoon, and he certainly could manage without Heather for one afternoon, even if she was his right arm at the office.

Zane was executive director of marketing at Fortune TX, Ltd. It was a title of no small importance as the corporation’s ventures were so diversified—real estate development, plastics, computer manufacturing, to name a few—that marketing was a high-priority department. Zane headed a team of marketing experts that were the best to be had, and not just in Texas, either.

Heather was a calming influence for Zane when things got hectic in his department. She was a top-notch secretary who could juggle a dozen important jobs at the same time without becoming unhinged, or even ruffled. Zane felt very fortunate to have Heather Moore for his private secretary, and he would do just about anything to keep her happy with her job. “Really, Heather, I mean it. Leave right away. And please take all the time you need.”

“Thank you, Zane. I was hoping you’d say that,” Heather murmured. “I checked your calendar, and the rest of your day is relatively free.” She laid the papers she’d been holding on Zane’s desk. “If you’ll sign these letters, I’ll put them in the mail before I leave.”

Zane scanned the letters he’d dictated that morning and scrawled his name on each of them. He handed them back with a kindly, “I sincerely hope your mother recovers, Heather.” Zane’s own mother had died when he was sixteen, and every so often that awful, empty sense of loss would still sneak up on him.

“Thank you. From what Glenda told me, I’m sure she will.” Heather took the letters and added quietly, “This time.” She brightened her countenance. “I’ll see you on Monday, Zane. I left a list of Fort Worth phone numbers on my desk, just in case you should need to talk to me during the weekend.”

“Thanks, Heather.” Watching his secretary hurry out, Zane sat back in his chair and frowned. He’d been counting on Heather’s company during the upcoming weekend to throw his matchmaking sisters and sisters-in-law a curve. For some reason the women in his vast family had decided it was time he settled down, and lately they had started parading their single female friends in front of him with what Zane believed was a hope that he would be struck dumb by Cupid’s arrow.

It wasn’t Zane’s nature to tell them with unequivocal conviction to lay off so he’d come up with the idea of attending the most current get-together—the wedding of his friends Parker Malone and Hannah Cassidy—with an attractive woman on his arm. The members of his family knew that Heather was his secretary, of course, but he had explained his predicament to Heather and she had agreed to put on a little show for any of the Fortunes who might be interested in Zane’s love life, to act as though their relationship had gone beyond what it really was. As attractive as Heather was, she’d had a steady boyfriend for a long time, and her relationship with Zane was strictly business.

Now he’d have to go to Parker’s wedding alone, Zane thought with a put-upon sigh. He’d come up with Heather as his date because she wouldn’t have read anything into his plan that he hadn’t intended, whereas the ladies in his little black book might get all sorts of ideas from a weekend affair with the Fortunes. Why couldn’t the females in his family just leave him be? So what if he was the only unmarried child of Ryan Fortune, the last holdout? His brothers Matthew and Dallas were married, as were his sisters Victoria and Vanessa. But was his bachelor status anyone’s business but his own?

Memories suddenly assailed Zane, and his frown deepened. He had almost reached the altar himself one time, with a beautiful young woman, Melanie Wilson. Melanie had changed her mind at the last minute—declaring with a pretty pout that she just wasn’t ready to settle down—and, ever since, Zane had been very cautious with his feelings. He liked women, he enjoyed their company, but he rarely dated the same woman more than a few times.

Women liked him. Zane knew that he’d broken more than one female heart in and around San Antonio, but the second that he felt a woman was looking for more than friendship or an affaire d’amour, he dropped her. He wasn’t particularly proud of his track record, but he simply could not bring himself to behave any other way. Commitment was a serious step; he’d taken it once and gotten badly burned. It was an experience he didn’t wish to repeat.

Pulling himself out of the past, Zane made a few business calls, then decided to quit for the day. He rarely left the office early, but it had been a rough week, so today he’d go home, change into comfortable clothes and while away the rest of the day in quiet relaxation. It would be a pleasant change of pace. He might even be able to stop resenting his matchmaking family for a few hours. The weekend wedding celebration was, after all, scheduled to begin tomorrow, and now he wasn’t looking forward to it at all. Damn shame too, because he had been, until Heather backed out.

After making one more phone call to let David Hancock—the person who acted as marketing director when Zane was out of the office—know that he was leaving for the day, Zane took his briefcase and departed.

During the elevator ride to the first floor, Zane checked his watch. It was only a little after two, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d left that early without a darn good reason. Today he had no reason at all, merely a disquietude in his gut. He actually thought of faking illness—a bout with the flu would be enough—and calling Parker to tell his friend that even if he happened to feel a little better in the morning, he shouldn’t be spreading germs at the wedding. Parker would be disappointed, of course, but Zane could almost hear him saying, “Hell, man, stay in bed and get well. If you can’t make it, you can’t make it.”

In the parking garage, Zane loosened his tie and walked to his car. During the drive to Kingston Estates, the upscale community where his large, beautiful home was located, he changed his mind fifty times. One minute, he knew that he had to attend the wedding; the next, he knew that he’d have such a miserable time avoiding all the traps set by his sisters and sisters-in-law that he could hardly bear thinking about the weekend.

Zane loved his big family, but sometimes they drove him up the wall. One or more of them also worried the hell out of him at times, but other than the unsolved kidnapping of his nephew Bryan, the child of Matthew and Claudia, Zane’s brother and sister-in-law, things had pretty much settled down in the family. It sure had been a mess for a while, though, what with his father’s fiancée, Lily Cassidy, having been charged with the murder of Ryan’s second wife, Sophia, whom he’d been trying to divorce, so he could marry Lily. Zane couldn’t believe they’d discovered the real murderer was his uncle—Clint Lockhart. But with Clint in custody, Lily had been exonerated, and even while her daughter Hannah had been planning her own wedding to Parker, she had been working on preparations for Ryan and Lily’s wedding as well. From what Zane had heard thus far, it was going to be a very special occasion.

So Hannah was going to be Zane’s stepsister, which made her and Parker’s upcoming wedding no trivial event. Zane knew he should be there, in spite of the personal misgivings that cast a dark shadow on the affair. He was only twenty-nine years old, for crying out loud, certainly not so old that Claudia and his sisters should take up a crusade to get him married. The whole thing just rubbed him wrong, no matter how he looked at it.

Disgruntled and out of sorts because he couldn’t seem to reach a decision he felt he could live with, Zane finally pulled into the wide circular driveway of his home and parked at the front door. Fat lot of relaxing he’d be doing with this problem on his mind he thought cynically as he got out of the car.

Taking his mail from the mailbox, he unlocked his front door and stepped into the elegant foyer. Zane’s Australian shepherd, Alamo, always greeted him at the door, no matter what time of day or night he came home. But today he wasn’t there. Then Zane heard Alamo barking and running through the house, toe-nails clicking on tile, obviously a little late today, but on his way, nevertheless.

Alamo suddenly rounded a corner and, barking happily and loudly, took a flying leap at his master. Zane recoiled, because the dog was dripping water and soapsuds, and now he was wet and soapy, as well. Or rather, his expensive tailor-made suit was.

He had only a second to think about it before a young woman skidded and slid around the same corner, shouting, “Alamo! Darn it, what’s wrong with you today?” At the sight of Zane standing there, her eyes got big and she ground to a halt, mumbling, “Uh, you’re Zane Fortune.”

Zane wasn’t exactly polite. “If you count Alamo, that makes three of us who know who I am. What I’d like to know is who are you, and what in hell is going on in here?” he growled. However unnerving this little scenario was, Zane couldn’t help admiring the figure defined behind the sopping wet T-shirt and old jeans. Whoever she was, she had a drop-dead body. Her face, even crimson with embarrassment, was startlingly pretty, and her long, sun-streaked light brown hair, though flying every which way, was fabulous.

The lady obviously got her wits together because she lifted her chin almost defiantly and said, “I’m Gwen Hutton. I was bathing Alamo, and he must have heard you come in because he suddenly jumped out of the tub. I tried to hold him back, which is why I’m so soggy, but he got away from me, and now you’re all wet too. I hope your suit isn’t ruined.”

Alamo tried to climb Zane’s legs, and Zane issued a quiet command. “Down, boy.” The dog instantly obeyed and lay with his nose on his front paws.

“Let me get this straight,” Zane said. “You’re the person who’s been bathing my dog for the past several months?”

“Among other things, yes,” Gwen replied evenly. “Your secretary, Heather Moore, employed my company, Help-Mate, to do some of the things you apparently don’t have time to do yourself.”

“Never even heard of a company called Help-Mate.”

“Yes, well, as I said, I’ve been dealing with your secretary.” Gwen was catching on to Zane Fortune’s interest in her wet T-shirt. Maybe more unsettling than that, though, was finally standing face-to-face with a man she’d known only through photographs, which wouldn’t amount to a hill of beans if she hadn’t thought him to be the best-looking guy she’d ever seen.

Actually, the photos she’d run across in his house and in the society pages of the newspaper didn’t do him justice. He really was too handsome to be believed, with his perfect features, dark blond hair and electric-blue eyes. And he was taller than she’d expected, at least six feet tall, with broad shoulders and an athletically lean build.

Small wonder he had such a fast reputation, Gwen thought with an inner sigh. Any man who looked like this probably had to beat women off with a stick.

“And you have a key to my house?” Zane asked.

“I’m licensed and bonded, Mr. Fortune, and there is no way I could do what I do without having access to a client’s home.” Gwen plucked the wet fabric of her T-shirt away from her chest, hoping it wouldn’t immediately adhere to her body again. Zane Fortune couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her bosom, and she knew that her nipples were showing right through her bra and T-shirt.

“Uh, what else do you do besides bathe dogs?” Zane was getting a glimmer of an idea, but he needed to know more about Gwen Hutton before advancing it.

“For you, or for clients in general?”

“For clients in general.”

“Mr. Fortune, I’m very willing to discuss my company with you, but don’t you think you should get a towel or something and at least try to save your suit?”

“Forget the suit. Tell me about your company. And let’s get out of the foyer. I’d like something cold to drink, so let’s continue this discussion in the kitchen.”

“I really should finish bathing Alamo.”

“Makes sense. Tell you what. I’ll go and change clothes, and you finish up with Alamo. Then we’ll meet in the kitchen and have a cold drink together.”

Gwen took a look at her waterproof watch. “I have another appointment in about thirty minutes, so I don’t have a lot of time to spare.”

Zane grinned, and Gwen’s heart actually skipped a beat at the sight of his incredible smile and snowy white teeth.

She instantly chided herself for such a foolish reaction to a simple smile. What the heck is wrong with you? He’s a client, and even if he wasn’t, he is not your kind of man. He’s filthy rich and probably spoiled rotten, and he is exactly the sort of man that a decent, hardworking woman should stay completely away from.

“I’m sure you can squeeze a ten-minute conversation into your busy schedule,” Zane said as he started away. “Meet you in the kitchen.”

“Come on, Alamo,” Gwen said with a frown caused by what had sounded like amusement in Fortune’s comment. If he thought her dedication to duty was funny, then there was no way she could even let herself like him as a person. She was a widow with three small children to support, definitely not a laughing matter. In fact, she would bet anything that she put in more hours a day to earn a living than Zane Fortune did.

Of course, he didn’t need to earn a living. Everyone in this part of Texas knew that the Fortunes had been wealthy for generations. Actually, Gwen had to give Zane points for working at all, when he could simply slide through life on old money, should he choose. Still, she and everybody else knew that executives in large companies had it pretty cushy, what with golf and tennis games during working hours, two-hour lunch breaks and secretaries up the kazoo to do the real work.

Well, that was none of her business she told herself while urging Alamo back into the tub so she could rinse away the soapsuds clinging to his coat. She worked fast, and when the suds were gone she turned the dog into the massive indoor pool room so he could shake away the water to his heart’s content without spreading it all over the house.

When Gwen first started her business, she’d been in awe of some of the homes belonging to wealthy clients. For instance, Zane Fortune’s home had two swimming pools, one outside and one inside. It had a tennis court and a putting green, and the grounds were lavishly landscaped. The house itself was a dream, contemporary in style, very large and professionally decorated.

Now, after almost a year of visiting luxury homes to do various chores, Gwen still admired but was no longer awestruck. She would never rub elbows with San Antonio’s rich and famous, and it didn’t bother her a bit. Her entire life was focused on her kids, on earning enough money to give them the necessities in the present and on trying very hard to save some for their future. It seemed, however, that whenever she accumulated any amount of cash, something came up that forced her to spend it. Gwen often worried about how she would pay for a college education for each of her children.

With handfuls of paper towel, she hurriedly wiped up the puddles left by Alamo during his race to the front door. She also used paper towels on herself, sopping up some of the water from her clothes. Untying the ribbon that held her hair back from her face—or was supposed to—she finger-combed straying strands back into place and retied the ribbon. She had just finished doing what she could to make herself more presentable when Zane returned to the kitchen. He was wearing baggy gray sweatpants, a mismatched blue top and old tennis shoes without socks.

His apparel surprised Gwen. Now he looked very much as she did. No, that wasn’t true. He was still so handsome that she found it difficult to look directly at him. It was a discomfiting feeling, one she didn’t much care for. Men didn’t daunt her, for Pete’s sake. Not normally, they didn’t.

“Oh, good, you’re still here,” Zane said, and he opened the refrigerator door. “So, what would you like to drink?”

“Nothing, Mr. Fortune, but thank you. I really don’t have the time to—”

“I’m only asking for a few minutes, Gwen. And for heaven’s sake, darlin’, call me Zane. Now, how about an orange juice? Or a soda?”

That darlin’ had rolled off his tongue so smoothly that it never occurred to Gwen that Zane might mean something by it. And obviously, he wasn’t going to let her leave without his “ten-minute” discussion, though she couldn’t imagine what he wanted to talk to her about. Unless there was something else he would like her to be doing for him as Help-Mate. He was a client, after all.

“All right,” she said, giving in gracefully, though she should already have left this house and been on her way to her next appointment. “I’ll have a bottle of water, if you have it.”

“Sure do.” Zane took their drinks from the refrigerator and let the door swing shut. “Let’s sit down.” He carried her water and his orange juice to the table. “Would you like a glass?”

“The bottle is fine, thanks.” Gwen took the chair that was directly across the table from the one Zane chose. He loosened the bottle cap and handed her the water.

Immediately she was uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny. He seemed to be trying to see beneath her skin. What was he hoping to do, read her mind? She certainly had no secrets. This whole meeting struck her as strange.

“Tell me what you do for your company,” Zane said.

Gwen frowned. “I’m not sure I understand what you’d like to know.”

“I’d like to know the scope of your duties. Besides bathing dogs, what else do you do?”

“Aren’t you aware of the other things I do for you?”

Zane sat back, thought a moment, then looked slightly startled. “I think I’m beginning to get the picture. Besides bathing Alamo, you’re the person who’s been cleaning my house, tending to my laundry and dry cleaning, buying my groceries, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Yes, there are a number of etceteras,” Gwen said dryly. “With most of my clients, to be honest. Help-Mate was designed to assist busy people with chores they have no time to do themselves. Things a wife or husband might do if the client had a spouse with extra time.”

“Are all of your clients unmarried?” Zane asked, and took a swallow of his orange juice while looking into Gwen Hutton’s lovely blue-gray eyes.

Her gaze didn’t waver, though she did wonder why he kept looking at her so intently. “A few of them are married, or living with someone, but most are single.”

“Like me.” Zane took a breath, and Gwen sensed it was a preamble to something—probably his reason for delaying her departure. “Gwen,” he said, “I have a problem, and I think you just might be the answer.”

She became wary, concerned about the personal note she heard in his voice, but she said slowly, “I’m listening.”

“I’m going to ask you something, and I hope you won’t be offended, but have you ever done any escorting?”

Her eyes widened, and she started to get up from her chair. “Mr. Fortune, if I’ve given you any reason to think—”

Holding up a hand, Zane broke in. “I’m not suggesting anything immoral or illegal. Please don’t rush into an erroneous opinion before you give me a chance to explain my question.”

Gwen slowly sank back to the chair. “All right,” she said flatly. “Explain.” And make it good, because if you don’t I’ll be crossing you off my client list! It wasn’t a pleasant thought. She needed every client she had worked so hard to obtain. Spent money to obtain, as a matter of fact. Advertising was costly, and she was always grateful when a potential new customer mentioned phoning Help-Mate because he or she had seen one of her little ads.

“What I’m going to propose to you is a simple business arrangement. I need an attractive lady to escort to a wedding this weekend. I realize there are women for hire out there, but I wouldn’t insult my family and friends in that manner. Here’s the situation. The females in my family have decided that I should be married, or at least committed to one woman. They have taken it upon themselves to find me a wife, and I know that there’ll be at least a dozen unmarried women at that wedding just waiting to pounce on me.”

“Why don’t you just tell the females in your family to leave you alone?” Gwen asked, suspicion and distrust in every syllable. She had never heard a more lame story in her life. If that was Zane Fortune’s favorite line, it was a wonder he got anywhere with decent women. The thing was, she enjoyed reading the society section of the newspaper and knew that Zane did attract decent women. So what, really, was this all about?

Zane heaved a sigh. “I wish I could do that. Actually, I’ve tried to do that, but it never comes off the way I’d like it to. My sisters think I’m kidding around with them, they kid back and the whole thing falls apart.

“Anyway, I came up with an idea to at least get me through the weekend relatively unscathed. Heather, my secretary, was going to attend the wedding with me, and we were going to lead everyone to believe that she and I had become an item. It’s not true, of course. Heather’s practically engaged. But she agreed to help me out, and then today she received a phone call from her sister in Fort Worth. Their mother is in the hospital, and naturally Heather had to go and see her.”

“And you…you’d like me to take her place?” Gwen was still guarded, but she was beginning to believe that Zane wasn’t handing her a line.

“Exactly. I’m not asking you to give up your weekend for nothing, Gwen. I’ll pay you a thousand dollars if you go to that wedding with me and act as though we are very good friends.”

She managed not to gasp, but she couldn’t prevent a weakly parroted, “A thousand dollars?”

“Make it two thousand,” Zane said quickly, reading her reaction as reluctance. “This is important to me, Gwen, and I’m willing to pay for two days of your time. Is two thousand enough?”

“Uh…yes. Two thousand is, uh, sufficient.” Was accepting money for spending time with a man immoral, even though she would be committing no definitively immoral acts? Goodness knows, she could use the money. She lived from day to day, working herself into an early grave to make ends meet, always with that nagging worry about her children’s future. With a windfall of two thousand dollars…well, there was so much she could do with it, she really wouldn’t know where to start.

But just what did Zane Fortune expect for so much money?

She said what she’d been thinking, keeping her voice at an even pitch though her pulse was racing. “Before I give you an answer, Mr. Fortune, tell me exactly what you expect for your money.”