Billionaire Bachelor: Lily LaVae Collection (Diamond Bridal Agency)

by Lily LaVae

  He wrapped his arms under her, cradling her head within his hand. He’d protect and care for every inch of her. “That’s good, because I don’t plan on sending you away.”

  She laughed as she raised up her head slightly, thrilling him with a soft kiss. “Well, the agency did say ‘satisfaction guaranteed’.”-+

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  Billionaire Bachelor: Clint

  1

  Dear Mr. Sage,

  After careful consideration of your needs, the Diamond Bridal Agency is pleased to inform you that a bride has been located who matches your unique requirements. All communications have been kept private, as is our policy, and will cease after this missive. We request, for the security of our other clients, that you destroy this message after reading it.

  Your satisfaction is guaranteed. To comply with your request for transparency, your bride will arrive on July 21st, she will be delivered directly to you, and her questionnaire has been included. Please do not hesitate to contact me should there be any issue with your bride. Her name is Margaret Hawk, and she understands the stipulations of the agreement.

  Sincerely,

  Mrs. Alveda Creed, Diamond Bridal Agency

  Clint’s leather chair squeaked as he leaned back and stared out the window on the seventy-fifth floor of One World Trade Center in lower Manhattan. He’d tried many times to pull the head of the Diamond Bridal Agency into talking, with no success. Finally, he’d threatened to withhold future payments if she didn’t agree to meet with him. She’d finally made time for him and agreed to come to his office.

  Sitting behind him, on the other side of the desk, was the very woman who’d been slipperier than some of his contractors and twice as wily. She’d already made him agree to one too many contractual stipulations regarding silence and privacy that he’d had to turn away for a moment before he got angry. Alveda Creed was an older woman, fastidious in appearance, who wasn’t easily cowed by the glare he’d thrown at her a minute ago. Score one for the old lady.

  “Mr. Sage, generally speaking, I never meet with a client. Our bachelors prefer that no one even know our service exists. Just by meeting with you, I put the privacy of many men in danger, including yourself. I don’t wish to lose their business or trust. I’m sure you understand when I tell you that I’ll not be meeting with you again.” Her prim demeanor didn’t falter a bit.

  He did understand, better than most, about privacy. His contracts with the Navy had to be kept under the strictest confidentiality. However, he couldn’t relegate something so important as who his wife would be, to one woman without ever actually meeting the matchmaker. This old woman would change his life, hopefully for the better, but there was no guarantee. He was a businessman. Guarantees mattered. He spun back around to face her.

  “I understand your hesitancy, but you wouldn’t tell me in your letters about your success rates, or anything for that matter. Just your vague form letter with a questionnaire that’s full of…well, nothing. You have no way of letting me see who is available? How do I know this Margaret isn’t a horse’s ass?”

  That wasn’t his real fear, looks could be changed. His real concern with the Agency started when he found they had no website, had refused to even talk by email. The whole agency seemed archaic, and over-secretive. Then he began having concerns about where they farmed their brides. Something didn’t smell right.

  The woman laughed, and her old eyes crinkled, but held no joy whatsoever. “There is no choosing, Mr. Sage. The agency has picked a bride for you who matches your every request. I don’t operate a dating website. Most of our brides know they will marry the very day they meet their husbands.”

  Clint’s high leatherback chair slammed forward as he leaned over his desk, leveling her with an intense stare he hoped conveyed just how stupid her words sounded to his ears. “You expect me to believe that I’m going to want to marry someone the first time I meet them? On the very day?”

  Her smile and confidence didn’t falter. “Yes, I’m saying that exactly.”

  The roiling in his gut intensified. “If this agency is so secret, how do women know to apply?” He hoped he hadn’t been engaged in some undercover slave trade company. If any of his competitors got wind of that… But, he could read people, and would know if she was shady, wouldn’t he? He couldn’t get caught in any scheme. If he did, his government contracts would dry up faster than he could blink.

  “We never have a shortage of women willing to marry wealthy men.”

  That wasn’t what he’d asked, and it made his skin crawl to think he might be marrying some foreign woman looking for a ticket out of poverty. “I think our contract is at an end, Mrs. Creed.” He reached out to shake on it, finished with her and her strange matchmaking business.

  She frowned and, though she only took in a shallow breath, her sigh stretched a mile long. “Very well. If you must know, we recruit by very well-placed and vague ads in the newspaper. Nothing digital. If the paper lists their classifieds online, we won’t use them. It’s much easier to destroy paper evidence than digital. I will email if I must, but only to burner accounts that I can destroy at will.”

  Did women his age even read the paper? Would he end up marrying someone as old as his mother? He certainly didn’t read anything that wasn’t digital. How could they have a plethora of women if no one ever saw the ads?

  “And these women are how old?”

  Mrs. Creed puckered her lips in disgust. “All marriageable aged women are accepted…with one exception. We only accept a handful of applicants who are not virginal. Our goal is to avoid the spread of any disease. Being extra careful about that allows us to maintain our privacy. Those who have been with a man previously are thoroughly screened through an extensive medical testing service before they are matched, the great majority are not accepted at all.”

  Great, like drug testing for a job. He kept his eye roll to himself. “You claimed in your original letter that my satisfaction was guaranteed. What happens when I’m not satisfied? Because I can assure you. I won’t be.” He leaned against his desk looking down on the older woman. He doubted Alveda, or her Margaret, ever could. He hadn’t managed to find a wife on his own after ten years of playing the field, how could one old woman with a limited list do what he couldn’t?

  “So little faith in me.” She clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “As I told you in the letter, I’ve been grooming a bride for you already. It is highly rare for us to ever do this, but if it would put your mind at ease, would you like to see a photo?”

  If she pulled out some air brushed model’s photograph, he’d toss her right out of his office for the fraud she was. “Go for it.”

  She unzipped her purse and pulled a 3x5 picture from inside, not generally the size of a photo shoot picture. She slid the image, with bent and faded corners, across the desk to him. It hadn’t even been taken by a professional. It was of a woman sitting on the back of a horse, her dark hair blowing in the breeze. It had been taken when they were still, there was no blur of her face, only her hair. She had a look of mild surprise on her face, her lips open slightly. Though not exceptional, she was pretty.

  “Where did you find her?” His first thought was some poor nation where she could send back his wealth. He couldn’t pinpoint just what made him think so, but something looked…foreign. Not to mention, the bent photo could be years old, he had no way of knowing. Though maybe he was just too skeptical of Mrs. Creed and her Diamond Bridal Agency.

  “Wyoming.” She eyed him as if she knew his hesitations.

  “How did you find a woman from Wyoming?” Since the agency was based out of Texas, he’d assumed his bride would come from there, if she was from the States at all.

  Mrs. Creed stood and picked up the photo from his desk, slipping it back into her purse, she then held out her hand. “D
o we still have a deal, Mr. Sage?”

  He stared at her hand, taking time to think. While he wasn’t certain about her tactics, his curiosity about the woman in the photo begged for his attention and he still needed a bride that he’d had no luck finding on his own. The only way to crack this was to go for it. He shook her hand. “Fine.”

  “Good. Expect your bride in three days.”

  Margaret stared at her name on the contract in front of her. Though she’d used a close enough approximation to her real name, everything else on the form was an utter lie. Her home had been in Ukraine and her name there had been Marharyta Havryliuk, changed to the English equivalent, Margaret Hawk. She’d never even been to Wyoming, but she’d read an ad about visiting there when she’d gotten off the plane and it had looked beautiful.

  The woman going over the paperwork with her had assured Margaret her name would change soon anyway. Margaret Hawk’s trail would disappear as soon as the agency found her a husband. Her brother wouldn’t be able to find her, and as long as his military connections didn’t help him, she’d be safe. She could start over, be free.

  “Miss Hawk? Do you have a photo that we can keep in our files for identification purposes only? They will be kept strictly private.” The woman kept on writing on her lengthy questionnaire. It had taken them three hours to fill out paperwork, get a physical, and then go through the acceptance.

  “I only have one.” It probably wasn’t safe for her to keep it anyway. It was just more that could tie her to her old life. She pulled the year-old photo from her purse and handed it to the woman. It was her favorite, of a time when she wasn’t running for her life. When joy was still an option.

  “Ah, you like horses?” The woman’s eyebrows rose just barely then she dropped it on the desk and kept writing.

  Margaret controlled her voice to stop her accent from dominating. She hoped she sounded like she’d lived in the US for years, that was her goal. “Yes, doesn’t everyone from Wyoming love horses? I’m sure they do.”

  The woman wrote more in the file, but the slant of her brow left Margaret wondering if she was being marked down for something, or at the very least the woman was skeptical.

  “That’s everything I need for today. Since you’re here for longer than a few weeks, Wyoming being so far away, there’s a dormitory at this address where you can room until we’ve found you a match. When you’re called, one of our agents will buy a new wardrobe for you using the measurements we took earlier. Be prepared to leave at any time. Your groom awaits!” She sounded like she was selling popcorn, not setting her up for life.

  Margaret stood and shook her hand, but felt very little. At least she’d have a place to stay until she could find the man who would make sure she never went back to Ukraine again. Safety had become something even more foreign than the soil she walked on.

  “Thank you.” She pulled the business card toward her and read the address of the dormitory on the back. “Will I have any say in the man chosen for me?”

  The attendant tilted her head slightly and smiled, closing her file and finally paying attention to her. “No, but you needn’t worry. That’s why we spent so much time asking you all those questions. You’ll be set with a perfect match, trust me.”

  She hadn’t trusted anyone in years and wouldn’t start with the bouncy blond who’d just tucked her life away in a file that was under one inch thick.

  2

  Three days later and despite Mrs. Creed’s angry phone call, Clint insisted he meet his new bride in Wyoming, on what he’d been told was her home turf. He’d flown into Cheyenne the day before to get a feel for the area she was from. The wide-open spaces reminded him of Texas. But, the air itself was different. The wind whipped across the plains as it slammed down the mountains. It wasn’t something he’d get used to quickly, practically blowing the door off his car as he got out. Though, it was a nice enough place to visit her family, if she had any in the area.

  He glanced at his phone, he’d done it so often the battery was almost dead, and clicked the screen black once again. At least he’d been able to set aside the suits and ties he had to wear every day for some jeans, a comfortable flannel, and a pair of boots he hadn’t had a chance to wear in years. But even the most relaxed clothes didn’t make waiting any easier, especially not for a bride.

  He’d been sitting there for an hour and still no sign of Margaret. He pulled her profile sheet from his back pocket and unfolded it. It listed a short bio with a brief history for Margaret, where she was from in Wyoming, her likes…but it was all far too perfect, as if someone had made it up just to match what he’d said, and that’s what he suspected.

  A light-weight jet finally touched down and taxied toward the private hanger where he’d been waiting. He’d met foreign dignitaries, and they hadn’t bothered him as much as meeting this woman. If any of his internal warnings went off when she stepped off that plane, he would report the Diamond Bridal Agency. He wouldn’t be an accessory to trafficking women, not with his career on the line.

  It seemed to take forever for the hatch door to open, providing stairs for the passenger to descend. Margaret tentatively stepped out of the plane. That bent up picture hadn’t done her justice. At all. As she descended the three stairs, he came out of the hanger and strode toward her. She wore a light-colored sun dress with a little pink sweater over it that hugged every curve. She was dressed perfectly to complement him, and he wondered how the agency had managed to pull that off. Since he never dressed this way.

  “Margaret Hawk?” He held out his hand to her, though it seemed odd to greet her that way, considering why she’d come.

  She stared at his hand for a moment then slid her palm into his and their eyes met. Hers were a deep brown, like her hair. She was…exotic, at least to his eye.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Sage. I’m sorry my plane was delayed.” She smiled slightly.

  When she spoke, he almost dropped her hand, but managed to cover up his reaction quickly. She had an accent, not much, but she spoke slowly, like she was trying to hide it. His worst fear screamed in his ear to be heard.

  “Where was it you said you were from?” He glanced at the paper, still in his hand.

  Her eyes widened so briefly he’d almost missed it. Another mark against her.

  “I’m from Wyoming, but not anywhere near here.” She brushed her long dark hair behind her ear and glanced over his right shoulder. She was lying, and he wanted to know why. What purpose would it serve, unless the agency was covering something.

  “My car is waiting. My driver will take care of your luggage, if you want to follow me?” He waited for her to take the first step, so they could walk side by side. She didn’t seem in any hurry to speak to him as they made their way to his car. While she kept in step with him, she watched her feet, with little interest in him at all. He wasn’t used to being ignored, and especially not by women.

  “Did you need anything before we go back to the hotel?”

  She stopped, and her dark eyes raked him with what he could label as pure apprehension, then contempt. “Back to the hotel?”

  “Yes, I assumed you’d want to come with me. Did you have other plans?” He chuckled, but wanted to get back to his car instead of the hot asphalt of the runway as soon as possible. There were far too many questions to be asked out in the baking sun.

  “No… I just assumed we’d be married before you took me to some hotel,” she said stiffly, standing still, like she was rooted to the tarmac.

  “It isn’t like I’m going to toss you into my bed the moment we get there. I did get you your own room. The agency arranged a wedding for us tomorrow, in the Grand Teton National Forest. At…” he searched the paper once more, glad he hadn’t thrown it away as Mrs. Creed had bade him, “the Blacktail Ponds Overlook. My driver and a man that the officiant will provide will be our witnesses. They have all the paperwork taken care of.”

  “So I have a room of my own tonight?” She raised her eyebrows and seemed to be fi
rmly against moving until he answered.

  “That is correct.” At least for the first night. He held out his hand to see if that would get her moving. If he decided to pull the plug on this whole thing, he’d have his driver take her to the police station that night to make some sort of statement. He wasn’t in the mood to bust a sex trafficking ring, but the more he found out, the more he didn’t like the Diamond Bridal Agency, and his bride’s accent only worried him more.

  “Can we please continue to the car now?” He reached a little closer to her and she finally started moving again, though much less sure of herself and avoided his hand completely.

  “Is your real name Margaret?” He slid his glance over to her.

  “It is now.”

  That wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear.

  3

  The inside of Clint’s car was cool, and her legs shivered as she slid across the leather. She hadn’t been shown a photo of him, just told that her husband’s name was Clint Sage and he owned a company that did consultant work. She hadn’t been told that her husband would have enough wealth to have such a car, in fact, they’d told her little else.

  He had hair that was a soft brown, trimmed neatly, and clean shaven, almost military short, which had frightened her at first sight. It reminded her too much of home. His eyes were a deep blue like she’d never seen before, and for being as wealthy as he appeared to be, he obviously found time for other more personal pursuits, because she could see his firm muscles bulge under his fitted flannel shirt.

  He ducked into the car after her and sat comfortably, used to the opulent trappings. Though he didn’t sit close, his knee rubbed against her thigh as the driver came around and closed the door for him. The noise outside was immediately silenced as it clicked shut. Soft blue light illuminated the inside of the car, as the windows were darkly tinted and most of the outside light never made it in.