Читать книгу Cinderella and The Playboy - Laura Wright, Laura Wright - Страница 9

“You need a wife.”

It was a ridiculous piece of advice and C. K. Tanner barely raised an eyebrow before responding, “You’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me.” Jeff Rhodes grinned widely. “I’m too valuable…your CFO and your friend.” He slid a fax across Tanner’s massive desk. “And speaking as both, I see no other way. Two other corporations are chomping at the bit for this deal, and both CEOs have wives. It looks to me like Frank Swanson wants an honest, good old-fashioned family man. So if you’re hell-bent on acquiring the Swanson Sweets Candy Company, you’d better consider producing a Mrs. Tanner ASAP.”

Swiveling around in his chair, Tanner turned to face the floor-to-ceiling windows. From his offices on the thirty-first floor, he stared out across the city of Los Angeles and beyond to the ocean. It was a crystal-clear Wednesday in October—no smog, perfect sunshine—but he barely saw it. His mind raced to find another solution to the problems plaguing what should have been an easy purchase. He wanted that candy company. Hell, he wanted every company that posed a challenge to him. Acquisitions seemed to fill a hole in him, even if the feeling was only temporary.

Jeff was right, though. Acquiring Swanson Sweets was going to take more than quick thinking, clever strategies and Tanner’s trademark never-say-die negotiating style.

Friday morning he was flying to Minneapolis. He was the last of the competitors to stay with the Swansons for the weekend. It was a chance for each man to see how the company was run, tour the plant, and get to know the family behind the chocolate.

“I spoke with Harrison this morning,” Jeff said, breaking off Tanner’s thoughts.

Tanner inhaled sharply. Mitchell Harrison was as ruthless a businessman as they came. He also wanted to own Swanson Sweets—and would be willing to pay top dollar for the honor. Harrison’s own candy company was a longtime rival to Swanson Sweets, and he was looking to eliminate the competition. But the man was three times divorced and a notorious womanizer. Tanner had heard through the acquisition grapevine that Swanson wouldn’t even review a bid from Harrison—no matter how high he went. And Tanner couldn’t help but assume that the reason was rooted in Harrison’s spotty reputation.

Jeff cleared his throat. “He’s willing to pay a hefty premium to buy Swanson Sweets from you once you get it from Swanson.”

“I’m still considering it,” Tanner answered tightly.

Tanner ground his teeth. What the hell was he considering anyway? Buying and selling. It was his standard M.O. But in this case, taking a man’s life’s work and selling it to the highest bidder—to someone who only wanted to dissolve the company—well, for some reason this time that wasn’t sitting very well with him.

For forty-two years, Frank Swanson had poured everything he had into his candy company, built it from the ground up, with his family by his side. He was ready to retire and had two married daughters who weren’t interested in taking over. He was willing to sell, but his actions seemed to verify Jeff’s assumption that Swanson would only sell to someone with values similar to his own.

Tanner rubbed his jaw. Why any man would choose to settle down, get married and have children was beyond him. All investment and no return. Perhaps if you could see into someone’s heart, know their motivations, predict their actions, it might work. But you couldn’t. Family was trouble with a capital T.

He had little room for opinions in this matter. If a wife was what it was going to take to win, Tanner would sure as hell do it.

He leaned back in his chair. “So the question now becomes who.”

“How about Olivia?” Jeff prompted.

“I don’t think so.”

“Karen?”

“Too aggressive.”

“What about that actress you were seeing?”

Tanner chuckled and stood up. “And have every conversation reduced to liposuction and fat grams?” He walked over to the bar and poured himself a glass of water. “This woman can’t be anyone I see socially, Jeff. I don’t want my female friends thinking marriage is ever an option with me. I need a simple woman, sweet, elegantly dressed. Educated, but not snobbish. No party girls.”

Jeff muttered an oath. “This is L.A. Where are you going to look? The library?”

Tanner drained his glass. “Why not? I can turn a sparrow into a swan if I have to.”

Jeff laughed. “Hell, if you’re looking for a sparrow, why not try your mail room?”

Tanner’s head came up with a snap. “What’s in the mail room?”

“My secretary informs me that the hardworking ladies down there run a sort of daily Tanner Watch. Most of them have quite a crush, apparently.” With a snort, he added, “Well, all except for one, she says.”

Tanner sat down on the edge of his desk, fascinated by Jeff’s knowledge of the downstairs machinations of Tanner Enterprises. “Oh, really? And who does your secretary say that one is?”

“Abby something-or-other.” Jeff chuckled.

A redhead with killer green eyes and a soft mouth snaked through Tanner’s mind. Polite and shy, the pretty lady who brought him his mail never tried to catch his eye like most of the women in the office. She wore frumpy, conservative clothes to hide whatever she felt she had to hide, but Tanner had always had a sneaking suspicion that what she was hiding was worth a look.

But he’d never know. The woman had a demeanor—a look he could spot with accuracy—that had “home and hearth” written all over it. And he stayed a million miles away from women like that.

“You know,” Jeff began, a light glowing in his eyes that made Tanner nervous. “She’d be perfect, boss.”

“Perfect for what?”

“To play the role of your wife. I hear she’s sweet and simple and smart. And she’s definitely not someone you see socially.” Jeff’s grin widened. “There’s also no chance of her wanting more from you because, hey, according to the office scuttle, she doesn’t like you at all.” He chuckled. “Hot damn, I never thought I’d see the day when a woman could resist the great C. K. Tanner. I think I might be in love with this girl myself!”

A scowl found its way to Tanner’s face. “I’ll tell you what, Jeff. How about if I give you two minutes to get back to work before I fire you?”

Jeff laughed, stood up and headed for the door. “All right, all right. It was just a thought. I guess you don’t need my help if you’re going on a wife hunt, anyway. You’ve always done just fine with the ladies on your own.”

“Damn right I have,” Tanner muttered as the door closed. But still, the idea lingered.

He leaned back in his chair. How about enlisting a woman who didn’t like him? No strings, no calls afterward. Strictly business. That would make things pretty neat and tidy when it was time for a “divorce,” wouldn’t it?

His gaze flickered to the Swanson file that lay open on his desk. Challenges made a great life even better. If his first challenge was to persuade the head of Swanson Sweets to sell him his company, why not enlist the help of the second challenge to do it?

With a satisfied, confident smile, Tanner flipped through the file as he awaited the arrival of his daily mail with grossly uncharacteristic anticipation.

Funky Latin music reverberated off the cold, white walls in the mail room of Tanner Enterprises. Abby McGrady salsa’d her cart, piled high with packages and letters, toward the elevator, grazing the edges of a few desks on her way, mumbling a “sorry” to the chipped paint.

“Say hi to my boyfriend,” Dixie Watts called from the sorting area. “Let Mr. Tanner know that he can pick me up on the loading docks at seven for our date.”

Balancing several cups of coffee on a tray as she walked past Abby, Janice Miggs put in her two cents. “And since he changes women every week, tell him I’m available next Friday.”

“Every week?” Mary Larson laughed. “Try every hour on the hour.” Then she waved over at Abby. “That certainly doesn’t mean I’m not free next hour or the hour after that.”

“Stop teasing her,” Alice Balton said. “You know how she feels about him.”

Dixie raised an amused brow. “And she knows how we feel about him.”

Laughter filled the large, windowless room. Several of the girls hooted and catcalled, while John, the mail room’s manager, rolled his eyes.

Abby danced into the elevator with a good-natured grin, calling back, “I’m here to save you from yourselves, ladies. He’s just not good enough for you.” But as the doors closed and she depressed the button for the penthouse, her smile faded.

Admittedly, C. K. Tanner was one of the most gorgeous men she’d ever seen, but he was also one of the most arrogant. He barely acknowledged anyone who didn’t have a title attached to their name, and probably hadn’t spoken more than two words to Abby in the year and a half she’d been bringing him his mail.

But her opinion of him came from more than just his lack of polite communication. C. K. Tanner was a grown-up version of Greg Houseman, the terribly charming rich kid who’d stolen a poor girl’s teenage heart, taken her virginity, then dumped her flat. She knew from painful personal experience that men like C. K. Tanner could be Sir Lancelot one moment and Blackbeard the next. And she would never forget that one rarely came without the other.

She sighed heavily. Lord, she had bigger things to think about than the workaholic Midas who hardly knew life existed below the thirty-first floor. Like how on earth she was going to open her art school on the shoestring her budget would afford her. Granted, her job in the mail room paid her full benefits and allowed her flexible hours—she was out of the office and working on her canvas by two o’clock each afternoon—but the amount of savings she’d amassed wasn’t even close to what she needed.

Every day she was receiving more and more calls from parents who desperately wanted their children in an art class but couldn’t afford the steep tuition at any of the art schools in town. The community center where Abby taught didn’t have programs for kids, and they’d told her emphatically that if she wanted to start one it would have to be held somewhere else. Now she had a waiting list a mile long and only a few thousand dollars saved.

It was beginning to look as though her dream would just have to wait a little longer.

The elevator dinged and she pushed the cart down the hall. No spirit-lifting music played on the executive floor, only the low tones of deals being made came from behind the closed doors and throughout the busy hallways. She paused in front of Mr. Tanner’s corner office, plastered on a smile, smoothed her hair back, then cursed her Irish ancestry for giving her the thickest, curliest red hair on earth as she knocked lightly on his door.

“Enter,” came that same husky command that she’d heard every morning for the past year and a half.

Briskly and with purpose, Abby opened the door and moved into the room. “Good morning, Mr. Tanner.”

He glanced up and smiled. “Good morning.”

She hesitated, her brows knitting together. She couldn’t remember him ever looking at her before, let alone smiling. Swallowing the lump that had just come into her throat, she placed his mail in the wire mesh In basket on the edge of the desk and tried to ignore the spicy scent of his cologne, which always seemed to throw her for a loop whenever she got too close. “Your mail, sir.”

His smile widened and warmed. “Thank you, Abby.”

She froze. Abby? She had no idea that C. K. Tanner even knew her name. What was going on here? And why was he giving her that smile—that unnerving, sexy and very Lancelot-like smile?

Blackbeard, Abby. Think Blackbeard.

“Well, have a good day, sir,” she said, turning quickly to go. But the sleeve of her blouse had other plans, catching itself on the wire basket. Laughing nervously, she tugged on the stubborn fabric, trying to free herself. But it wouldn’t budge. She gave it one last swift pull, but only managed to send the basket of mail flying. On a gasp, she lunged to catch it, hearing her shirt tear as she landed gracelessly.

With her heart slamming against her ribs and a shaky smile plastered on her face, she raised the basket up in a sad show of victory, only to catch C. K. Tanner’s more customary hawk-like stare. Ah, that was more like it, she thought as she leveled her gaze with his own. Trying to pretend that she was calm and unruffled, she stood and set the basket down firmly.

Right onto the lip of his coffee cup.

Suffocating her gasp behind her hand, she watched the dark stain spread menacingly across his desk.

“Ohmigod,” she breathed, hearing him rush up beside her. “I’ll clean this up right away.”

“It’s not a problem.” His strong hands were on her shoulders, pulling her close to his side and away from the hot liquid, even as he rang for his secretary with the push of a button. “Helen, send housekeeping with some paper towels.”

Forgetting who he was and who she was for a moment, Abby glanced up at him—all six feet, two inches of him. Thick black hair, just a little wavy, licked the edges of his starched white collar. Olive skin, chiseled features, full lips and eyes the color of chocolate.

It was a stubborn, arrogant face, but drop-dead gorgeous nonetheless. With that half smile and bedroom gaze, he was the cover of a men’s magazine and the star of every woman’s fantasy. And he fitted his gray pinstripe suit like nobody’s business, while displaying an imposing confidence that permeated the air around him.

She could see why every woman in this building had a crush on him. And why her best course of action was to get as far away from him as possible—as soon as possible.

But she didn’t move.

He held her loosely against his side, those bedroom eyes now filled with concern. “Are you all right?”

The warmth of him, his strength against her, sent currents of heat zipping through her blood. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tanner. I must’ve taken a clumsy pill with my vitamins this morning.”

Finally he released her and she felt as though she could breathe again. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’ll be cleaned up momentarily.”

As he walked back behind his desk, a woman from housekeeping entered and silently mopped up the mess. She was gone in seconds, and Abby turned to make her own hasty retreat. She wasn’t about to hang around and give him time to fire her.

“Please stay for a moment, Abby.” His words stopped her and she looked over her shoulder to see him smiling at her—again—his deep-brown eyes roaming her face. I’ll bet he’s one great kisser.

Before she could scold herself for such an outrageous thought, he asked, “Can I get you a safety pin or…”

Abby put her hand over the tear in her white blouse. “It’s nothing. I can take care of it.” And I should go.

“I insist. If you tell me the name of the boutique where you shop, I’ll have a new one here in an hour.”

Abby tried not laugh. Mostly because it might come out as a wheeze, but also because he’d said “boutique.” She’d gotten that blouse for ten dollars at a discount store. “It’s not necessary, I have another shirt in my locker, but thank you.” Of course, she didn’t have anything in her locker but chewing gum and an extra pair of nylons, but she wasn’t going to share that with him. All she wanted to do now was get out of C. K. Tanner’s office before he gave her two weeks to clear out that locker and never come back.

“How long have you worked for me, Abby?”

Oh, here it comes. “A little over a year, sir.”

As he eased into his brown leather chair, he motioned for her to take the seat opposite. “Why don’t you sit down for a moment.”

Abby bit her lip. “Uh…yes, sir.”

“I’d like to talk to you about something.”

She perched at the very edge of the seat and blurted it out. “Am I being fired? I’m very sorry about the coffee. And that small fire in the mail room last week really wasn’t my fault.”

She thought she saw a hint of laughter behind his eyes, but it passed as he said, “I’m going to Minnesota for the weekend to spend some time with the head of a certain candy corporation. I’m interested in buying his company.”

Abby cocked her head to the side. Why in the world was C. K. Tanner sharing this information with her? And, Lord, what was the proper response? She opted for a short congratulatory speech. “How…nice for you, sir. I’m sure it will be a very good invest—”

He stopped her with just a lift of his brow. “The catch is, I’m fairly certain he wants the company to go to a family man. And as I’m not married or even in the market to be, I find myself in a disconcerting position.” He leaned back in his chair. “Abby, I need you to pretend that you’re my wife.”

Abby hesitated, blinking with bewilderment, not at all sure she’d heard him correctly.

“Don’t misunderstand me. This is strictly a business trip. I need you to act the part of my wife just for the weekend.”

Okay, she had heard him correctly, but that knowledge brought little comfort.

He crossed his arms over his rather broad chest. “I’m afraid I’m one of those abrupt, come-to-the-point kind of businessmen.”

She nodded and managed to choke out, “To say the least.”

“You’re not married—”

“No, I’m not, but—”

He nodded. “Good. Then I would be honored if you would accompany me to this function.”

Abby just stared at him. “Is this some kind of joke, sir?”

He shook his head slowly. “No.”

“You want me to pretend to be your wife for the weekend?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s just business?”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” she repeated, laughter erupting in her throat. She couldn’t help it. It was all so ridiculous. She came to her feet and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but I have to decline.”

He studied her for a moment. “Believe me when I say that you will be well compensated.”

She stood there, blank, amazed. “You’re asking me to go away with you for the weekend and lie about who I am.”

He nodded casually, confidently, as though he’d asked this of a million different women—a million different times—and every one of them had said yes. Well, she wasn’t like other women and she wouldn’t help C. K. Tanner with his deceitful little plot in a million years.

“My answer is no.” She turned and pushed her cart out the door, calling back in the most professional voice she could under the circumstances, “Good day, Mr. Tanner.”

Abby McGrady sure had spunk, Tanner mused a few hours later as he opened his door and ushered the private detective into his office. And he didn’t know too many women like that. He was rarely surprised by people—even more rarely rejected by them.

And in less than ten minutes Miss McGrady had accomplished both.

She intrigued him. And there was certainly no denying his attraction to her—in spite of that “I just baked fresh cookies and you need to call me if you’re going to be late” home and hearthiness. Spending three days and nights pretending they were man and wife would only be possible if he kept reminding himself how much like oil and water they truly were.

Of course, first he had to get Abby to agree to come with him.

Tanner motioned for the detective to take a seat. He’d given the man just three hours to find out as much as he could about Abby McGrady. Tanner already knew she had the right qualifications—smart, quick and attractive—all musts for a good corporate wife. She needed some help with her wardrobe, but that could be taken care of in an afternoon. But her most valuable asset was the fact that her personal—and inexplicable—dislike of him would keep their arrangement totally professional, and that’s what he needed more than anything—no strings.

“Her full name is Abigail Mary McGrady,” the detective began, his gaze focused intently on the paper in front of him. “She’s an aspiring artist. Graduated Los Angeles School of Fine Art in 1998. Teaches an art class Tuesday and Wednesday evenings at the Yellow Canyon Community Center. Miss McGrady has a small apartment close by in West Hollywood where she grows roses in pots on her deck. She buys mint-chocolate-chip ice cream every Friday night after work and she turns twenty-five October the seventh.”

“That’s this Sunday.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anything else?”

“Actually I did find out something that might be helpful.”

As he listened to the detective, Tanner felt the corners of his mouth lift into a smile.