together.
"Thank God," she muttered, staggering to her feet.
She grinned engagingly at the couple.
But the woman merely scowled and yanked her husband a step back. "Well, I
never
." She elbowed her man when he peeked around her fingers in order to get another look at Olivia.
Olivia hissed at them.
Hey, it seemed like a Cat Woman thing to do. Actually, most of her actions this evening were spurred on by courage in a bottle. After bawling her eyes out, she’d raided the suite’s tiny fridge and divested it of its entire stock of mini liqueurs. Now, feeling loose and free, she tossed back her shoulders and tilted up her chin, then strolled toward the elevator where the attendant, hanging his head out to gawk at her, held the door open with a white-gloved hand.
Feeling suddenly uninhibited and mischievous, Olivia winked at the guy in the elevator and swatted the old married fart on the butt as she passed. She felt him jump and spin around, but she didn’t bother to give him a backward glance.
She was on the prowl.
It was a new and odd sensation, this sudden loss of inhibitions. But the proverbial camel’s back had been broken and the straw that had done it was tucked neatly in its safe foil container inside Olivia’s bustier—just waiting to be used on the right man.
Vivian Donavon had gone too far this time, and her obedient daughter wasn’t going to allow it.
Olivia had actually scanned the report about Cameron Banks. There was no picture or age listed in the information, but what she’d learned made her cringe.
Cameron Orville Banks, president of EarnNet spent his time buying and selling other companies in order to gain a profit. If that detail, which mirrored her mother’s occupation right down to the dotted I’s and crossed T’s, hadn’t turned Olivia off, then the rest of the information certainly finalized her distaste. Banks was supposedly a recovering alcoholic whose wife had committed suicide and left him a millionaire widower.
No, it definitely didn’t make her heart go pitter-pat with the warm fuzzies. The rage skimming her bloodstream was barely leashed and growing more uncontrollable by the minute, and in effect, making her crazy plan sound even more sane.
Her mother wanted her to marry a lousy alcoholic. Fine. She’d marry a lousy alcoholic. In fact, she planned to snatch up the first alcoholic moron she came across. And then she was going to use the condom meant for Cameron Banks, and she was going to make her new alcoholic husband beg for mercy.
The elevator stopped on the first floor. Grinning one last come-hither
smile at the attendant, Olivia trailed her nails over the chest of his uniform as she stepped out into the foyer.
Suck on this, Vivian.
She lifted her chin again and sauntered out the front doors, where the cab she’d called was already waiting.
She let the doorman open the back door for her. The driver asked where she wanted to go, and when she answered, "Just drive," he complied.
From the backseat, Olivia scanned her options. There were so many places to husband-hunt. Cruising the Vegas Strip opened numerous options. Not that she felt picky at the moment.
"This looks good," she told the driver about ten minutes later.
The taxi pulled to the curb, she paid her fare, and out she slid, only to wrinkle her nose at the seedy-looking bar and swallow nervously. Good God, was she really going to do this?
Maybe she should just go back to the hotel, wait for her mother, and calmly explain she wasn’t going to sleep with some stranger, no matter how much Vivian insisted.
But then Olivia thought about how swell that announcement would go over. There was a good reason she’d never defied Vivian before. Vivian was a cruel, powerful woman. Those two qualities totally sucked when one made an enemy of her—sucked for the enemy, that is. Olivia had seen Vivian’s opponents fall under her metaphoric sword, and Olivia never wanted to get on her mother’s bad side.
Of course, there was also the option where she actually went to the dinner, met Cameron Banks, and did her damndest to seduce him. But, no. That wouldn’t work either. She didn’t want to be anywhere near one of Vivian’s crusty, old cronies, and she certainly didn’t want to invite the geezer into bed with her. Two years ago, Vivian had married the most available millionaire around. If this Cameron Banks fellow was anything like Olivia’s eighty-two-year-old stepfather, Nolan Roark, she’d gag if Banks even tried to kiss her. The mere thought made her shudder. Gross.
Forcing her rebellion to take precedence, Olivia fisted her hands and entered the bar. But she hadn’t even made it all the way inside before she was ready to leave. There were some truly scary-looking people hanging around, and they all turned to ogle her as soon as she stepped over the threshold. The door shut at her back and swatted her in the butt as it closed, making her yelp and jump a foot further inside.
Olivia sent the roomful of gawking eyes an innocent little smile as she eased a step in reverse. She might’ve been looking for the worst candidate Vivian could imagine, but she had to be able to stomach the guy too.
No one present looked to fit that bill.
As she reached behind her, she sent one last fleeting glance around the slime-infested joint, and that’s when she finally caught sight of him. Paying no attention to her, he exited the bathroom and made a beeline toward the bar. As he neared a stool that had an empty shot glass in front of it, he went to sit and missed his seat, tripping and slipping off the side. He caught himself just in time. Laughing at his own clumsiness, he ordered another drink as the bartender approached to ask if he was all right.
Intrigued, Olivia watched. She waited until he turned slightly in her direction to glance up at the television over the bar. The breath snagged in her chest when she finally caught a view of his side profile. The guy was positively gorgeous. He was dressed in a ratty pair of jeans and a holey T-shirt, yet he looked so yummy Olivia decided she could go grunge after all.
She’d always been a sucker for well-defined facial features. Pronounced cheekbones, square jaw, deep-set eyes, and a high forehead.
As the bartender set the tiny glass in front of him, he grinned at the man, thanking him. Olivia’s stomach filled with butterflies. He looked, well, he looked kind of lovable, like a happy-go-lucky drunk who didn’t care if he didn’t have a cent to his name just as long as the alcohol kept coming.
Her mother would hate him, absolutely despise the very sight of him.
"Hey, sexy," a tall, burly man said, approaching Olivia and getting so close his bulging pecs brushed her arm. "Can I buy you a drink?"
She didn’t bother to glance over. Her eyes were fixed on the bum at the bar. The drop-dead sexy bum at the bar.
"I’m with someone," she answered and proceeded to stroll her four-inch heels toward the bum.
Biting her lip as she approached, she studied his back. Even with his shoulders hunched over his shot glasses, she could tell they were nice and wide. From the side view she’d had of his face, she noticed there was at least some kind of intelligence in him. Despite the fact he was plowed, there’d been a modicum of lucidity in the ornery curve in his smile, like he knew some kind of inside joke about the rest of the world.
From her standpoint, he appeared too good to be true. Dreamy men like this just weren’t available. They—oh, hell. He was probably married, or at least taken.
Coming up directly behind him, Olivia glanced around his shoulder as he picked up his glass to swallow yet another shot. Must be a lefty, she mused as he lifted the glass with his left hand—his left hand that was completely bare of rings.
She continued to stare as he set the empty cup down. She was left-handed. He was left-handed. She figured it was a sign.
This was her guy.
Now, how did one go about asking a total stranger to marry you? "Hey, will you marry me?" sounded about as straightforward as she could imagine. So, before she could lose her nerve, Olivia tapped him on the shoulder.
He was slow to turn, but when he did, he looked at her with a set of
penetrating dark green eyes that made her swallow.
"I take your chair?" he said, slurring his words a little.
She blinked. Huh?
It took her a moment to realize he was asking a question. "Oh! No," she answered, glancing toward the bar stools on either side of him. Even if he had taken her seat, she could’ve settled for any of the ten free stools surrounding him.
"Want a drink?" he asked next.
"Um, sure," Olivia answered. Why not? Yes, a drink would help segue her into a proposal.
He motioned to the stool at his left. "Grab a seat."
So far, so good.
She gingerly seated herself, noticing he wore a nice-smelling yet subtle cologne as she brushed by. Another plus.
"What’ll you have?" he asked as he swept out an arm to display the vast array of liquor displayed along the wall in front of them.
"Well…" Olivia licked her lips and glanced at all the drinks. "A Mountain Dew with a cherry in it sounds wonderful."
The man gave her a funny look. Then he turned to the bartender and grinned. "Give her a bourbon and coke." He tapped his drained glass against the countertop before adding, "And I’ll have another one of these."
The bartender nodded and Olivia’s prospective husband turned back to her.
He set his elbows on the countertop as if he were ready to chat. "So, what’s up?" he asked, as if she were some friend he’d had for years, and they were getting together for their weekly gossip session. It was strange how personable he acted.
Olivia folded her hands and set them lightly on the edge of the bar. She stared at them as she opened her mouth and tried to say, "Will you marry me?" but the words wouldn’t come. Finally, she bolstered herself and blurted out, "I have to get married."
He studied her for a moment and then dropped his eyes, only to lift them a moment later. "When’s it due?"
Olivia blinked a few times. "When is what due?"
"The baby."
Frowning, she shook her head. "Whose baby?"
Their drinks arrived. The guy paused to chug his shot. He set the glass down and sighed in satisfaction. Then he turned back to Olivia, picking up their conversation where they’d left off. "Your baby."
She floundered. "I don’t have a baby."
"You’re not pregnant?" he asked, looking utterly confused.
Olivia threw him a dirty look. "No!" She had to glance down at her skin-tight bustier to make sure no fat rolls bulged out. But her belly was as flat as ever.
The man also glanced at her bare stomach. He lifted his eyes. "Then why do you have to get married?"
Her shoulders slumped. "Oh," she said in relief. Thank God he wasn’t calling her big. She’d been about ready to give Mr. Green Eyes a black and blue one. Olivia wore a size four, and she worked hard for it. She wasn’t about to let anyone call her chunky. She smiled. "To escape my mother."
The guy shook a finger at her in a drunken manner. "Well, what do y’know. That was my second guess. Actually, I was going to say father. But a mother will do jus’ as good."
He picked up his drink and realized the glass was empty. Frowning at it, he promptly waved the bartender over for more.
Growing anxiously impatient, Olivia said, "Well?"
Green Eyes glanced curiously at her. "Well, what?"
She sighed. "Will you marry me or not?"