Falling For Her Fake Fiancé (The Beaumont Heirs 5) (14 page)

He didn’t like it, that small voice, because it pulled at him, and he couldn’t afford to let her play his emotions like that. “How are you today?” he asked politely. He went back to his desk and sat. It seemed like the safest place to be, with a good fifteen feet and a bunch of historic furniture between them.

She watched him with those big eyes of hers. “I brought you donuts,” she said.

“Thank you.” He realized his fingers were tapping on the envelope Chadwick had sent. He made them be still.

She said, “Oh. Okay,” in such a disappointed voice that it almost broke him because he didn’t want to disappoint her, damn it, and he was anyway.

But then, what was he supposed to do? He’d given her everything he had last night, and look how that had turned out. She’d cut him to shreds. She’d been disappointed that he’d liked her.

So she wasn’t allowed to be disappointed that he was keeping his distance right now. End of discussion.

He stared at the envelope again. He had to know—how deep was she in this? “So,” he said. “How are the plans for the art gallery going?”

“Fine. Are we...”

“Yes?”

She cleared her throat and stuck out her chin, as if she was trying to look tough and failing, miserably. “Are we still on? The deal, that is.”

“Of course. Why would you think it’s off?”

She took a deep breath. “I—well, I said some not-nice things last night. You’ve been nothing but wonderful and I... I was not gracious about it. About you.”

Was she apologizing? For hurting his feelings? Not that he’d admit to having his feelings hurt.

Was it possible that, somewhere under the artifice, she actually cared for him, too?

No, probably not. This was just another test, another move. Ethan made a big show of shrugging. “At no point did I assume that this relationship—or whatever you want to call it—is based on ‘niceness.’” She visibly winced. “You were right. Affection is irrelevant.” This time, he did not offer to let her out of the deal or postpone the farce that would be their wedding. “And a deal’s a deal, after all.”

A shadow crossed her face, but only briefly. “Of course,” she agreed. She wrapped her arms around her waist. She looked as though she was trying to hold herself together. “So we’ll need to get engaged soon?”

“Tonight, if that’s all right with you. I’ve made reservations for us as we continue our tour of the finer restaurants in Denver.” He let his gaze flick over her outfit in what he hoped was judgment.

“Sounds good.” That’s what she said. But the way she said it? Anything but good.

“I did have a question,” he said. “You asked me last night why I’d agreed to get married to you. To a stranger.”

“Because it seems normal enough,” she replied. He refused to be even the slightest bit pleased that she recalled their conversation about his parents. “And the workers love me.”

He tilted his head in appreciation. “But when we were naked and sharing, I failed to ask what you were getting out of this deal. Why
you
would agree to marry a total stranger.”

She paled, which made her red hair stand out that much more. “The gallery,” she said in a shaky voice. “It’s going to be my job, my space. Art is what I’m good at. I need the gallery.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure,” he agreed, swiveling his chair so he was facing her fully. His hand was tapping the envelope again. Damn that envelope. Damn Zebadiah Richards. Hell, while he was at it, damn Chadwick Beaumont, too. “But that’s not all, is it?”

Slowly, her head moved from side to side, a no that she was apparently unaware she was saying. “Of course that’s all. A simple deal.”

“With the man who represented the loss of your family business and your family identity.”

“Well, yes. That’s why I need the gallery. I need a fresh start.”

He leveled his stoniest glare at her, the one that produced results in business negotiations. The very look that usually had employees falling all over themselves to do what he wanted, the way he wanted it.

To her credit, she did not buckle. He would have been disappointed if she had, frankly. He watched her armor snap into place. But it didn’t stop the rest of the color from draining out of her face.

He had her, and they both knew it.

“You wanted revenge.”

The statement hung in the air. Frances’s gaze darted from side to side as if she was looking for an escape route. When she didn’t find what she wanted, she sat up straighter.

Good
, Ethan thought. She was going to brazen this out. For some reason, he wanted it that way, wanted her to go down fighting. He didn’t want her meek and apologetic and fragile, damn it. He wanted her biting and cutting, a warrior princess with words as weapons.

He wanted her messy and complicated, and, damn it all, he was going to get her that way. Even if it killed him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” As she said it, she uncurled on the couch. Her legs swung down and stretched out before her, long and lean, the very legs that had been wrapped around him. At the same time, she stretched up, thrusting out her breasts.

This time, he did smile. She was going to give him hell.
This
was the woman who’d walked into his office a week ago, using her body as a weapon of mass distraction.

This was the woman he could love.

He pushed that thought aside.

“How did you plan to do it?” he asked. “Did you plan on pumping me for information, or just gather some from the staff while you plied them with donuts?”

One eyebrow arched up. “
Plied?
Really, Ethan.” She shifted forward, which would have worked much better to distract him if she’d been in a low-cut top instead of a sweater. “You make it sound like I was spiking the pastries with truth-telling serum.”

He caught the glint of a necklace—his necklace, the one he’d given her last night. She was wearing it. For some reason, that distracted him far more than the seductive pose did.

“What I want to know,” he said in a calm voice, “is if Richards contacted you first, or if you contacted him.”

Her mouth had already opened to reply, but the mention of Richards’s name pulled her up short. She blinked at him, her confusion obvious. Too obvious. “Who?”

“Don’t play cute with me, Frances. You said so yourself, didn’t you? This is all part of the game. I just didn’t realize how far it went until this morning.”

Her brow wrinkled. “I don’t—who is Richards?”

“This innocent thing isn’t working,” he snapped.

Abruptly, she stood. “I don’t know who Richards is. I didn’t ply anyone with donuts to tell me anything they weren’t willing to tell me anyway—which, for the most part, was how you were a jerk who didn’t know the first thing about running the Brewery. So you can accuse me of plotting some unspecified revenge with some unspecified man named Richards, if that makes you feel better about not being able to do your own job without me smiling like an idiot by your side. But in the meantime, go to hell.” She swept out of the room with all the cold grace he could have expected. She didn’t even slam the door on the way out, probably because that would have been beneath her.

“Dinner tonight,” he called after her, just so he could get in the last word.

“Ha!” he heard her say as she walked away from him.

Damn, that last bit had been more than loud enough that Delores would have heard. And Ethan knew that whatever Delores heard, the rest of the company heard.

The thing was, he was still no closer to an answer about Frances’s level of involvement with ZOLA and Zeb Richards than he’d been before she’d shown up. He’d thought he’d learned how to read her, but last night, she’d made him question his emotional investment in her.

He had no idea how to trust anything she said or how to decide if she was telling the truth.

A phone rang. It sounded as if it came from a long way away. Delores stuck her head through the door. “I know you said to hold your calls,” she said in a cautious voice, “but Chadwick’s on the phone.”

“I’ll take it,” he said because to pretend he was otherwise involved would look ridiculous.

He was going to get engaged tonight. Frances was supposed to start sleeping over. He was going to get married to her next weekend so he could maintain control over his company.

Because that was the deal.

He picked up his phone. “Who the hell is Zeb Richards?”

Fifteen

F
rances found herself at the gallery—actually, at what would become the gallery. It wasn’t a gallery yet. It was just an empty industrial space.

Becky was there with some contractors, discussing lighting options. “Oh, Frances—there you are,” she said in a happy voice. But then she paused. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Frances assured her. “Why would anything be wrong? Excuse me.” She dodged contractors and headed back to the office. This room, at least, was suitable to hide in. It had walls, a door—and a lock.

Why would anything be wrong? She’d only screwed up. That wasn’t unusual. That was practically par for the course. Ethan had been—well, he’d been wonderful. She’d spent a week with him. She’d let her guard down around him. She’d even slept with him—and he was amazing.

So of course she’d gone and opened her big mouth and insulted him, and now he was colder than a three-day-old fish.

She sat down at what would be her desk when she got moved in and stared at the bare wooden top. He’d said he liked her messy and complicated. And for a moment, she’d almost believed him.

But he hadn’t meant it. Oh, he thought he had, of that she had no doubt. He’d thought he liked her all not simple. He’d no doubt imagined he’d mastered the complexities of her extended family, besting her brothers in a show of sheer skill and Logan-based manliness.

The fool
, she thought sadly. He’d gone and convinced himself that he could handle her. And he couldn’t. Maybe no one could.

Then there’d been the conversation today. What the ever-loving hell had that been about? Revenge? Well, yeah—revenge had been part of it. She hadn’t lied, had she? She’d told him that she’d lost part of herself when the Brewery had been sold. She just hadn’t expected him to throw that back in her face.

And who the hell was this Richards she was supposed to be conspiring with?

Still, a deal was a deal. And as Ethan had made it quite clear that morning, it was nothing but a deal. She supposed she’d earned that.

It was better this way, she decided. She couldn’t handle Ethan when he was being tender and sweet and saying absolutely ridiculous things like how he’d happily put the wedding off because she was worth the wait.

The sooner he figured out she wasn’t worth nearly that much, the better.

The doorknob turned, but the lock held. This was followed by a soft knock. “Frances?” Becky said. “Can I come in?”

Against her better judgment, Frances got up and unlocked the door for her friend. A deal was a deal, after all—especially since Frances wasn’t the only one who needed this gallery. Becky was depending on it just as much as Frances was. “Yes?”

Becky pushed her way into the office and shut the door behind her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Frances lied. Too late, she remembered she should try to look as if that statement were accurate. She attempted a lighthearted smile.

Becky’s eyes widened in horror at this expression. “Ohmygosh—what happened?”

Maybe she wouldn’t try to smile right now. It felt wrong, anyway. “Just a...disagreement. This doesn’t change the deal. It’s fine,” Frances said with more force. “I just thought—well, I thought he was different. And I think he’s really much the same.”

That was the problem, wasn’t it? For a short while, she’d believed Ethan might actually be interested in her, not her famous name or famous family.

Why hadn’t she just taken him at his word? Why had she pushed and pushed and pushed, for God’s sake, until whatever honest fondness he felt for her had been pushed aside under the glaring imperfection that was Frances Beaumont? Why couldn’t she have just let good enough alone and accepted his flowers and his diamonds and his offers of affection and companionship?

Why did she have to ruin everything?

She’d warned him. She’d told him not to like her. She just hadn’t realized that she’d do everything in her power to make sure he didn’t.

She’d screwed up
so
much. She’d lost a fortune three separate times. Every endeavor she’d ever attempted outside of stringing a man along had failed miserably. She’d never had a relationship that could come close to breaking her heart because there was nothing to break.

So this relationship had been doomed from the get-go. Nothing lost, nothing gained. She was not going to let this gallery fail. She needed the steady job and the sense of purpose far more than she needed Ethan to look her in the eye and tell her that he wanted her just as complicated as she was.

Unexpectedly, Becky pulled her into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she whispered into Frances’s ear.

“Jeez, Becks—it was just a disappointing date. Not the end of the world.” And the more Frances told herself that, the truer it’d become. “Now go,” she said, doing her best to sound as if it was just another Friday at the office. “Contractors don’t stand around for free.”

She had to make this gallery work. She had to...

She had to do something to not think about Ethan.

That was going to be rather difficult when they had dinner tonight.

* * *

She wore the green dress. She felt more powerful in the green dress than she did in the bridesmaid’s dress. And she’d only worn the green dress to the office, not out to dinner, so it wasn’t like wearing the same outfit two days in a row.

The only person who would recognize the dress was Ethan, and, well, there was nothing to be done about that.

Frances twisted her hair up. The only jewelry she wore was the necklace. The one he’d gotten for her. It felt odd to wear it, to know he’d picked it out on his own and that, for at least a little while, she’d been swayed by something so cliché as diamonds.

But it was a beautiful piece, and it went with the dress. And, after all, she was getting engaged tonight so it only seemed right to wear the diamonds from her fiancé.

She swept into the restaurant, head up and smile firmly in place. She’d given herself a little pep talk about how this wasn’t about Ethan; this was about her and she had to get what she needed out of it. And if that occasionally included mind-blowing sex, then so be it. She needed to get laid every so often. Ethan was more than up to the task. Casual sex in a casual marriage. No big whoop.

Ethan was waiting for her at the bar again. “Frances,” he said, pulling her into a tight embrace and brushing his lips over her cheek. She didn’t miss the way he avoided her lips. “Shall we?”

“Of course.” She was ready for him tonight. He was not going to get to her.

“You’re looking better,” he said as he held her chair for her.

“Oh? Was I not up to your usual high standards this morning?”

Ethan’s mouth quirked into a wry smile. “You seem better, too.”

She waved away his backhanded compliment. “So,” she said, not even bothering to look at the menu, “tell me about this mysterious Richards person. If I’m going to be accused of industrial espionage, I should at least get some of the details.”

His smile froze and then fell right off his face. It made Frances feel good, the rush of power that went with catching him off guard.

So she’d had a rough night and a tough morning. She was not going down with a whimper. And if he thought he could steamroll her, well, he’d learn soon enough.

“Actually,” he said, dropping his gaze to his menu, “I did want to talk to you about that. I owe you an apology.”

He owed her an apology? This morning he’d accused her of betrayal. This evening—apologies?

No.
She did not want to slide back into that space where he professed to care about her feelings because that was where she got into trouble. She pointedly stared at her menu.

“Do you know who Zeb Richards is?”

“No. I assume he is the Richards in question, however.” She still didn’t look at Ethan. She realized she was fiddling with the diamonds at her neck, but she couldn’t quite help herself.

“He is.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ethan lay down his menu. “I don’t feel it’s my place to tell you this, but I don’t want to come off as patronizing, so—”

“A tad late for that,” she murmured in as disinterested a voice as possible.

“A company called ZOLA is trying to make my life harder. They’re making noises that my company is failing at restructuring and that AllBev should sell off the Brewery. One presumes that they’ll either buy it on the cheap or buy it for scrap. A company like the Brewery is worth almost as much for its parts as it is for its value.”

“Indeed,” she said. She managed to nail “faux sympathetic,” if she did say so herself. “And this concerns me how?”

“ZOLA is run by Zeb Richards.”

This time, she did put down her menu. “And...? Out with it, Ethan.”

For the first time, Ethan looked unsure of himself. “Zeb Richards is your half brother.”

She blinked a few times. “I have many half brothers. However, I don’t particularly remember one of them being named Zeb.”

“When I found out this morning that he was related to you, I assumed you were working with him.”

She stared at him. “How do you know about any supposed half brothers of mine?”

“Chadwick,” he added with an apologetic smile.

“I should have known,” she murmured.

“I asked him if he knew about ZOLA, and he gave me a file on Richards. Including proof that you and Zeb are related.”

“How very nice of him to tell
you
and not
me
.” Oh, she was damnably tired of Chadwick meddling in her affairs.

“Hence why I’m trying not to be patronizing.” Ethan fiddled with his silverware. “I did not have all the facts this morning when you got to the office and I made a series of assumptions that were unfair to you.”

She looked at him flatly. “Is that so? And what, pray tell, was this additional information that has apparently exonerated me so completely?”

He dropped his gaze and she knew. “Chadwick again?”

“Correct. He believes that you have never had contact with your other half brothers. So, I’m sorry about my actions this morning. I was concerned that you were working with Richards to undermine the Brewery and I know now that simply isn’t the case.”

This admission was probably supposed to make her feel better. It did not. “
That’s
what you were concerned with?
That’s
what this morning was about?”

And not her? Not the way she’d insulted him last night, the way she’d stormed out of the hotel room without even pausing long enough to get her dress zipped properly?

He’d been worried about the company. His job.

Not her.

It shouldn’t hurt. After all, this entire relationship was built on the premise that he was doing it for the company. For the Brewery and for his private firm.

No, it shouldn’t have hurt at all.

Funny how it did.

“I could see how you were trying to get your family identity back. It wasn’t a difficult mental leap to make, you understand. But I apologize.”

She stared at him. She’d wanted to get revenge. She’d wanted to bring him down several pegs and put him in his place. But she hadn’t conspired with some half brother she didn’t even know existed to take down the whole company.

She didn’t want to take down the company. The people who worked there were her friends, her second family. Destroying the company would be destroying them.

It’d mean destroying Ethan, too.

“You’re serious. You’re really apologizing?”

He nodded, the look in his eyes deepening as he leaned forward. “I should have had more faith in you. It’s a mistake I won’t make again.”

As an apology went, it wasn’t bad. Actually, it was pretty damned good. There was only one problem with it.

“So that’s it? The moment things actually get messy, you assume I’m trying to ruin you. But now that my brother has confirmed that I’ve never even heard of Zeb Richards or whatever his name is, you’re suddenly all back to ‘I like you complicated, Frances’?” She scoffed and slouched away from the table.

It must have come out louder than she realized because his eyes hardened. “We are in public.”

“So we are. Your point?”

A muscle in his jaw tensed. “This is the night when I ask you to marry me,” he said in a low growl that, despite the war of words they were engaged in, sent a shiver down her spine because it was the exact same voice he’d used when he’d bent her over the bed and made her come. Twice.

“Is it?” she growled back. “Do you always ask women to marry you when you’re losing an argument?”

He stared hard at her for a second and then, unbelievably, his lips curved into an almost smile, as if he enjoyed this. “No. But I’ll make an exception for you.”

“Don’t,” she said, suddenly afraid of this. Of him. Of what he could do to her if she let him.

“This was the deal.”

“Don’t,”
she whispered, terrified.

He pushed back from his chair in full view of everyone in the restaurant. He dropped to one knee, just like in the movies, and pulled a robin’s-egg-blue box out of his pocket. “Frances,” he said in a stage voice loud enough to carry across the whole space. “I know we haven’t known each other very long, but I can’t imagine life without you. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

It sounded rehearsed. It wasn’t the fumbling failure at sweet nothings she’d come to expect from him. It was for show. All for show.

Just like they’d planned.

This was where the small part of her brain that wasn’t freaking out—and it was a very small part—was supposed to say yes. Where she was publically supposed to declare her love for him, and they were supposed to ride off into the sunset—or, at the very least, his hotel room—and consummate their relationship. Again.

He was handsome and good in bed and a worthy opponent and rich—couldn’t forget that. And he liked her most of the time. He liked her too much.

She was supposed to say yes. For the gallery. For Becky. For the Brewery, for all the workers.

She was supposed to say yes so she could make Frances Beaumont important again, so that the Beaumont name would mean what she wanted it to mean—fame and accolades and people wanting to be her friend.

She was supposed to say yes for
her
. This was what she wanted.