Mr Destiny (17 page)

“You were already pissed off,” Joey reminded him, “because the blonde's marrying someone else.”

“I said drop it.”

“I wouldn't drop it,” Joey said. “If I liked some chick enough that she made me feel all sick inside, I'd do something about
it.”

Tony laughed. “Okay, Romeo. Let's hear it. What would you do about it?”

“You could always send her a present. Chicks really like presents.”

“Great idea, Einstein. I'll send her a wedding present.”

Tony jerked upright in his seat.

“What?” Joey said, sending him a nervous look. “I'm being careful, Tony. I'm not stupid.”

Tony looked at him for a second, then grinned.

“Believe me kid, the
last
thing you are is stupid.”

T
he crowded terminal at JFK was impossible as usual, but anyone could have picked Grace Anderson out in the crowd without any
problem. Even at seventy, Grace was the type of woman who demanded a second look. She was stunning, wearing her signature
color, red—the smart-looking pantsuit a perfect complement to the silver hair she wore in a chic bob stopping just beneath
her chin. Her stride was brisk, her statuesque frame held straight and erect, her figure trim.

Grace saw Kate and waved.

Kate waved back, took a deep breath, and hurried forward to meet her grandmother.

She'd decided she would go ahead and confess everything to Grace and get it over with. But seeing her grand-mother's smiling
face made her rethink that decision. Grace had been gone for an entire month, and Kate had missed her. Was there really any
reason to ruin her grand-mother's homecoming the second she stepped off the plane? Especially since Harold would be away in
Chicago for the next two weeks?

I'll wait
, Kate decided.

She grabbed her grandmother in a big hug.

The second Kate released Grace from their embrace, Grace said, “Now what's this nonsense about you and Harold having your
first lover's spat?”

Kate was stunned.

“You've talked to Harold? When?”

Grace linked her arm through Kate's, leading her along as they headed through the narrow hallways of the terminal to the baggage
claim area. “Don't be upset with Harold for telling me about it. He called me before I left Paris. He's worried about you,
that's all.”

The big liar
, Kate thought, fuming.

Harold only worried about Harold.

“We think you should take a few days off,” Grace said. “It will do you good, Kate. All brides get a little stressed the closer
it gets to their big wedding day.”

We
think?

What a jerk!

And what wedding day?

How
dare
he use her grandmother to do his dirty work for him.

“I don't need any time off, Gram,” Kate said, sounding every bit as pissed as she felt. “And I really don't appreciate Harold
running to you with our problems. Besides, you just got home from your trip. You have to be worn-out.”

“Now, Kate,” Grace said again, squeezing Kate's arm. “Harold didn't run to me with your problems. He only called me to wish
me a safe flight home. I'm the one who pressed the issue. When I asked if everything was okay he hesitated for a second. That's
when I knew something was wrong.”

“You don't know Harold like I do,” Kate grumbled. “He was counting on you to press the issue, Gram, or he wouldn't have hesitated
for a second.”

“Oh, really, Kate,” Grace insisted. “Harold adores you, and you know it.”

Kate almost laughed at that statement.

Except it wasn't funny.

“And as far as my being worn-out from my trip,” Grace went on to say, “that couldn't be further from the truth. I've spent
the last month living the life of luxury in Paris, while you've been holding down the fort. It's your turn for a little R&R.”

“I do
not
need any time off,” Kate repeated.

Grace stopped walking and turned Kate around to face her. She took both of Kate's hands in her own and smiled. “My precious
Kate,” she said, “can't you take a hint? You need the time off. You have plenty to do. The type of last-minute things all
brides do just before they go on their honeymoon.”

Honeymoon?

Kate's eyes narrowed.

“Okay, Gram. You're obviously trying to tell me something, without telling me anything. What's going on that I don't know
about?”

Grace let out a long sigh. “Harold is going to be so disappointed if I tell you.”

“To hell with Harold,” Kate vowed.

“Kate!” Grace scolded. “If you had any idea what that dear boy is planning for you.”

“Tell me, Gram. I mean it.”

Grace frowned. “You have to promise first that you'll never tell Harold I've betrayed his confidence.”

“I promise,” Kate said, trying to keep the anger out of her voice.

“Harold has a huge surprise for you, darling,” Grace said, all excited. “When he comes home from Chicago.”

“And what's Harold's big surprise?”

“He's already busy arranging everything himself,” Grace gushed on. “And I promise you, it couldn't be more romantic. I'm supposed
to get you to the Cocktail Terrace at the Waldorf Thursday after next, in the pretense that we're meeting Margaret there for
afternoon tea. Harold will surprise you by showing up himself. And then he'll tell you he can't wait another minute to marry
you. That's when he'll ask you to marry him right then, right there.”

What?

Not then. Not there. Not ever!

“Thanks to me,” Grace said with pride, “your bridal suit will already be waiting in a hotel suite upstairs. Once you're dressed,
we'll head to the legendary Conrad Suite where Princess Grace and Prince Rainier had their engagement party.” She squeezed
Kate's arm again. “Don't you just love it? Judge Rowlings will be waiting there to marry you. And then, Harold is going to
whisk you away to some fabulous villa he's rented in the south of France.”

Kate was beyond furious.

The very nerve of him.

First, going behind her back and making her grandmother his unsuspecting coconspirator. And second, thinking the same don't-disappoint-Grace-and-Margaret
trick he pulled when he proposed, would work with her again—even in the freaking legendary Conrad Suite— after she'd already
told him there wasn't going to be a wedding!

A surprise wedding.

Harold was proof evolution
could
go in reverse.

It was on the tip of her tongue to confess everything. Instead, Kate held herself back. She couldn't risk Grace's panicking
and calling Harold. Better to catch
him
off guard, this time.

“Aren't you excited?” Grace bubbled.

“Speechless,” Kate said, and she meant every word of it.

“So,” Grace said as they started back down the corridor. “Now that you know how busy you're going to be, which bridal suit
did you finally choose, darling? The one you and I both liked best?”

Kate actually smiled.

“That's going to be
my
big surprise, Gram.”

After what Harold was trying to pull, Kate didn't even feel guilty about the double meaning of her statement.

She'd show up at the Waldorf, all right.

And she wanted Grace and Margaret to be there.

She wanted them to be there when she told Harold she wasn't going to marry him—ever—to his arrogant don'task-don't-tell face!

Harold glanced at his watch—11:30 A.M. New York time. By now, Kate would have met Grace at the airport. If Grace didn't let
him down, it would take her all of ten minutes to tell Kate about his plans to move up the wedding.

Women he knew.

There was no way Grace was going to let Kate be ambushed. Grace would want Kate to have the next two weeks to prepare herself—hair,
manicure, pedicure, the works—even have her honeymoon wardrobe all picked out and ready to pack.

Women stuck together that way.

He was counting on it.

Kate would pretend, of course, that she never suspected a thing. And that was fine with him. Then they could go on their honeymoon
and start their new life according to his
new
schedule.

He polished off the last bite of the brunch he'd had sent up from room service. But as he blotted his mouth with his napkin,
he couldn't stop thinking about the other woman he could count on to do exactly what he expected.

Harold smiled again, pleased with himself.

Once he'd gotten over the shock of having Carla Matthews show up at his hotel suite, he'd taken control of the situation.
He'd never been a fool. He'd had no intention of being played for one, either.

He'd turned the tables on his would-be blackmailer.

He'd shocked
her
speechless when he'd calmly written her a check for twenty-five thousand dollars. Good-faith money, he'd told her, proving
he was willing to do whatever she wanted as long as she didn't use the photos on the disc against him.

Then he'd handed her another check—a reality check.

He'd reminded her politely that if respectability really was her price, making the man she was going to marry the laughingstock
of New York City certainly wouldn't serve her purpose.

Such stupid creatures, women.

She'd seemed so surprised when he'd willingly given her his cell phone number, even given her his private office number in
New York without her having to ask. Besides, what was the point? Since she knew who he was, he wouldn't have been able to
hide from her anyway.

Miss Carla Matthews had actually turned quite agreeable once he'd duped her into believing she had the upper hand. Her whole
demeanor had changed right before his eyes, just as he knew it would. Silly woman. She didn't have a clue that her own admission
that marriage was the name of her game had ultimately been her downfall.

Call girl or not, Carla Matthews was still a woman— all about fairy-tale wishes and little-girl dreams.

Unfortunately for her, he was still a man.

A very smart man, even if he had to say so himself.

He'd dropped the tough-guy act the second he realized it wasn't working for him and fixed them both a drink. He'd led her
to believe he had a softer side—one he knew she'd have a harder time resisting. His battle plan had worked perfectly. They'd
talked for over two hours, as if her threat to blackmail him didn't even exist.

She'd even dropped her guard and told him a little bit about herself when he made it a point to ask. It was the kind of story
he'd expected—rotten parents, hard life, her admitting her beauty had always been her only real asset.

Never once during those two hours had he come on to her, either, something else he knew would surprise her. He could tell
his approach was working when she kept looking at him in a way she never would have looked at a paying customer. She evidently
realized she was losing her edge, too, because she abruptly got up and declared she was ready to leave.

That's when he'd played his final trump card.

He'd told her he needed to finish his business in Chicago over the next two weeks and go back to New York before he sent for
her. He'd asked for one month to get his affairs in order, that was all. She'd agreed.

Harold smiled.

I'll be a married man by then.

Carla certainly couldn't marry a man who was already married, now could she?

But that didn't mean he wanted Carla out of his life completely. He'd realized what a perfect opportunity she was actually
giving him as they'd sat there talking. The scare of her showing up at his hotel room had opened his eyes real quick to the
fact that his days of cavorting with call girls needed to come to a quick end.

He would bring Carla to New York, just as he promised.

To offer her a consolation prize.

Being a mistress fell short of being a wife, yes, but it was still a big step up from her top-dollar career as a call girl.
Especially if she was going to be mistress to a man who would buy her a luxury apartment, give her a staggering monthly allowance,
and provide her with anything her heart desired.