Accidentally Yours

by Susan Mallery

  “A desperate mom?” Jason asked. “You have nothing to say to her.”

  “I’m going to make her stop. No one holds me hostage.”

  “You’re going to make the situation worse. You have a very competent staff. We want to do our job. Let us deal with her. You don’t need any more negative publicity.”

  “I want her ass in jail,” Nathan muttered.

  “Not going to happen. Let’s imagine that headline. She’s got the sympathy factor. I don’t like what she’s doing, either, but let’s be logical.”

  Logic? Nathan wasn’t interested. Whether it was a well thought-out plan or just dumb luck, Kerri Sullivan had gotten plenty of play from her bogus statement. He’d actually been contacted by someone at the research facility in Songwood, asking about the particulars for the donation. They were, she’d informed him, ready to begin hiring. Two other parents of kids with Gilliar’s Disease had also tried to get through to him. Just to thank him, their messages had said.

  “How the hell does one hairdresser get all this done?” he demanded.

  “She’s got balls,” Jason said, a hint of admiration in his voice.

  “Remember whose side you’re on,” Nathan told him.

  “You don’t have to remind me. Being on your side is the reason I’m telling you to turn around and come home. Let me handle her.”

  Nathan grimaced. “You’re breaking up,” he said into the perfectly clear connection. “I’ll call back when I’m on my way down the mountain.”

  “Dammit, Nathan. Don’t you hang up. And don’t do anything either of us will regret.”

  Nathan disconnected the call.

  Thirty minutes later he was in downtown Songwood, letting his GPS system direct him to the Hair Barn. When he found it, he parked and walked directly inside.

  The place was filled with women. Conversation stopped the second the glass door closed behind him. A dozen or so pairs of eyes settled on him, but he ignored everyone except the blonde he remembered from the restaurant.

  Last week he’d been too pissed off to notice anything about her. Now he compared the real, live Kerri Sullivan to the picture in her folder.

  She was fairly average. Blond hair, blue eyes, medium height. Pretty enough, in a corn-fed kind of way. There were a million women just like her in the Midwest, which wasn’t a good thing. If he had her arrested and she got the kind of press coverage he knew she was more than capable of generating, every one of those million women would relate to her. She’d come off as pure as Snow White and he’d be the damned evil stepmother.

  He ignored everyone else in the place and walked directly to her.

  “We have to talk.”

  She paused in the act of sweeping up hair from the floor and glanced at him. “I don’t think so.”

  “Maybe I’m here to tell you what you want to hear.”

  “You look way too angry for that to be true. I’m guessing you want to threaten me. I don’t accept threats during work hours and I’m on the clock for another hour.”

  He swore silently. Jason was right—she had balls. Giant ones.

  “Ms. Sullivan,” he began, aware of every other person in the place listening to their conversation.

  “I said no,” she told him, squaring her shoulders and trying to stare him down. “I make minimum wage plus tips. The fact that you know who I am and where I work tells me that you’ve done your research. That probably included a copy of my last couple of tax returns. You know what I make. I’m a single mom. I can’t afford to miss time off work because you’re in the mood to talk.”

  He wanted to crush her like the insignificant insect she was. But he also respected her ability to negotiate like a pro. Under other circumstances, he might find himself respecting her.

  “Fine,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “How much do you want?”

  “About fifteen million. I thought that was pretty clear.”

  “I meant for our conversation.”

  “I’m not taking your money for that.”

  He glanced around, then returned his attention to her and lowered his voice. “What if I just tell them the truth? That you made it all up.”

  Her blue gaze never wavered. “I’ll burst into tears and demand to know how you could be so cruel as to crush the hopes of an entire town.”

  He swore. “We’re going to talk.”

  She nodded slowly. “Fine. Have a seat. I’ll cut your hair.”

  “You mean scalp me. No thanks.”

  She leaned the broom against the wall and put her hands on her hips. She was trying to look tough, he thought, and failing miserably.

  “Look,” she said. “I’m good at what I do. I’m relatively new in town and I’m still building my clientele. I’m also interested in convincing you to donate fifteen million dollars to save my son’s life. Why on earth would I want to risk all of that by scalping you?”

  “You know I don’t want to give you the money and I’m willing to do just about anything to stop you. That doesn’t make us friends.”

  “Maybe not, but whoever’s been doing your hair isn’t doing a very good job.” She patted her chair. “Come on. I’ll turn you into a chick magnet.”

  “I’m already a chick magnet.” But he reluctantly lowered himself into the seat.

  Behind him, conversation resumed in the salon. Several women pulled out cell phones. Great. Soon he’d have an audience.

  She covered him in a black plastic cape, then reached for a spray bottle and wet down his hair.

  “How’d you do your research?” he asked.

  “Internet. I can only type about twenty words a minute, but I’m tenacious.”

  “And talented. The letter from my company looks authentic.”

  She smiled at him in the mirror and reached for scissors. He held in a wince when she made her first cut.

  “It is authentic. You agreed to pay the money.”

  “And if I hadn’t?”

  “Someone who had nothing to lose might have a form letter from your office. Form letters, although rude and thoughtless, do come with letterhead. A good scanner, a little creativity, the right software and there we are.”

  “You contacted me before?” he asked, knowing he shouldn’t be surprised.

  “Of course. I sent in a grant proposal. Your committee didn’t even consider it. Evil bastards.”

  “We get a lot of requests,” he said absently, wondering why she’d been turned down. The report in his car also contained some information on Wallace’s lab. According to all accounts, he’d been close to a cure before the explosion.

  “How old was your son when he died?” she asked.

  The unexpected question cut through him like a laser. He stiffened, then consciously forced himself to relax.

  She wanted them to connect over shared pain, he reminded himself. To convince him to give her the money.

  He said nothing.

  She combed several strands together, then trimmed the ends.

  “Cody’s nine. In the fourth grade. He’s bright, which helps, because sometimes he has to miss school. You remember what that was like. He likes all sports, but baseball is his favorite. I swear, we’ve seen every televised baseball game since he was three. Now that we’re in Washington, he’s a Mariners fan.”

  Daniel had liked football, Nathan thought, then pushed the memory away. Damn Kerri Sullivan.

  “I have a very expensive team of lawyers,” he said, his voice as conversational as hers had been. “They’re going to take care of you. You can go away quietly or with a lot of noise, but you will go away.”

  She stepped back to study the cut, then moved in close again and picked up her scissors. “What are you going to do? Throw me in jail?”

  “If necessary.”

  She leaned closer. “Coldhearted billionaire throws mother of dying child in jail. Zoning commission refuses zoning petition. They kind of go together, huh?”

  “Blackmail is illegal.”

  She stepped back and
smiled. “Blackmail. Oh, right. Because I have the power. I couldn’t even sleep with your chauffeur when I tried.”

  “Tim is gay.”

  “I found that out. But he was very nice about it, which I appreciated. The man has style. You could learn a lot from him.” She trimmed more hair. “Face it, Mr. King. I’ve already won. You can’t go back on your word. You’ll look like the villain most people think you are. Write the check and walk away. Consider it your good deed for the month.”

  “I will not be manipulated by some hairdresser.”

  “Of course you will. You got to the top by doing what has to be done. Think of me as an unexpected expense.”

  He narrowed his gaze. “You don’t care what you do, as long as you get your money.”

  The chair spun so fast he started to slip. He grabbed the arms and found himself facing Kerri directly. Her blue eyes were the color of the ocean during a storm.

  “You want to build your fancy-assed condos, have at it. I don’t care. But let me be completely clear. I am fighting for my son’s life. So you’re right. I will stop at nothing. I will march into that zoning commission, place my hand on a Bible and lie. I will tell everyone who asked that you promised the research facility the money and now you’re trying to get out of it. I don’t care if I go to hell, Mr. King. I care if my son lives.”

  He recognized her desperation. He’d felt it once. He’d been just as determined and it had all been for nothing. He’d lost and the morning he’d buried his seven-year-old son, he’d vowed he would never care about anyone ever again.

  The door of the Hair Barn opened and a teenager with a camera walked in. He marched over to Kerri’s station, aimed and took a picture.

  “The local paper?” Nathan asked when the kid left.

  “Uh-huh. I’m guessing one of the other customers called the paper to say you were here. I’m doing this for Cody, but there are other lives on the line. This town is dying, and opening the research facility again will bring it back to life.”

  He swore under his breath. He didn’t give a damn about the town or her or her kid. He just wanted his permit to build his towers. The ones with his name on them so he could show the world what he’d done and who he was.

  Kerri turned him back to the mirror, rubbed something sticky into her hands, then through his hair. She smoothed and squished and then whipped off the cape and stepped back.

  “I’m done.”

  He studied himself. The cut was good. Damn good. Unless the crap she’d put on his head gave him a rash, she’d been totally professional.

  He stood and reached for his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Seventy dollars, plus tip.” She smiled as she spoke.

  His gaze strayed to the sign hanging over the mirrors. The one that said a man’s haircut was seventeen-fifty.

  He handed her a hundred-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

  She took the money without blinking. “I will.”

  “I can sue you,” he said. “Drag you into court.”

  “Interesting. There is the problem of perception,” she told him. “And oral agreements. I’m not a lawyer, of course, but for all intents and purposes, you’re here to firm up the final details. We have a picture to prove it. Do you think after all the promises you made, if you back out and the town takes you to court, we can get punitive damages?”

  Shit. Who was this woman?

  He sucked in a breath. “You use me, I use you.”

  It was as if someone had turned a light on inside of her. Her eyes brightened, her skin flushed and he half expected her to glow.

  “Use away,” she said. “Pictures, interviews. I’ll tell the world you’re a god. I’ll even sleep with you if you want.”

  He looked her up and down, then smiled slowly. “I just might take you up on that.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  KERRI PULLED into the driveway in front of her tiny garage and wondered if maybe offering to sleep with Nathan King had been a mistake. He was just cold-blooded enough to take her up on the idea, if only to prove her determination had limits. Which meant she was going to have to prove him wrong by saying yes.

  The man was good-looking enough to be appealing under other circumstances, assuming she was into tall, dark and ruthless. But he wasn’t her type. She preferred a man who had a heart. Like Brian, she thought as she got out of her car and waited for Nathan to pull up behind her and do the same.

  Her late husband had been perfect—or at least perfect for her. Funny, caring, giving, loyal. Oh, sure, he’d been male, so there were times when he’d made her crazy, but not crazy enough to ever regret marrying him. She knew she’d gotten lucky when they’d met and fallen in love—something she wasn’t expecting to happen again. Lightning didn’t strike twice. Besides, all she cared about these days was getting Cody better. There was no time or energy left over for anything else.

  “A strange man in the middle of the day. What will the neighbors think?” Nathan asked as he followed her up the steps and into her small two-bedroom house.

  The rental was much like all the other places she’d found over the past few years. Run-down and cheap. The latter was her only requirement. Unfortunately, it usually came attached to the former.

  Kerri smiled at him, then led the way into her kitchen. “The neighbors all know who you are. They’re going to think the truth—that you’re here to talk about the money you’re giving to Dr. Wallace’s research facility.”

  “I’m here to talk about our deal.”

  “Same thing.”

  She motioned to the chairs flanking the narrow table in the corner. “I’ll make coffee. It’s that or water. I save the milk for Cody. He needs it more than you do.”

  “I didn’t realize there was a milk shortage.” He shrugged out of his jacket and sat at her table.

  “There isn’t. Have you priced milk lately? Do you know how much a boy Cody’s age can drink in one sitting?”

  “No—to both.”

  Right. Because it would never occur to him to check the price of anything. She would bet that he had someone to do his grocery shopping for him. She focused on that because it was a whole lot easier to think about than to remember that Nathan had already been through what she was desperate to avoid—the loss of a child.

  “Coffee is fine,” he told her.

  She nodded, then dumped the old grounds in the trash, put in a filter, new ground beans, water and flipped the on switch. Unable to put off the inevitable, she turned to face him.

  Even sitting, Nathan was a big guy in a relatively small room. She had a feeling he was one of those people who used up an unfair amount of air. He had to be, because it was oddly stuffy in here.

  “I’ll have my lawyer draw up the paperwork,” he told her, his expression determined. “Everything will be explained in detail, including the fact that you won’t tell anyone about our deal. You and your son will be available whenever I ask, to do whatever I ask. Charity events, press functions. From now until the zoning commission meets in six weeks. In return, I’ll give Dr. Wallace and his lab fifteen million dollars.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I have terms.”

  He glared at her. “No, you don’t. This is not negotiable, Ms. Sullivan.”

  “Of course it is. Everything is. And if you’re going to use your money to get me to sleep with you, you should probably call me Kerri. It makes things more special.”

  He stood. There was no mistaking his temper. Anger burned hot and bright in the room, making her think that if she could harness a little of that energy, she could cut down on her electric bill.

  “I am not using my money to get you to sleep with me.”

  “That’s what you said. Before. At the salon.”

  “You offered.”

  “I was making a point. I will do whatever it takes to get Cody better. Even deal with the devil.”

  “You mean me?”

  “You’re not the devil.” She tilted her head and stared
at him. “You’re a powerful, egotistical man who is too used to getting his way and doesn’t care about other people very much, but you’re not the devil.”

  The anger turned icy. “How flattering. Have you considered that you may want to hold off on insulting me until after the money has been transferred?”

  She smiled. “You’re not going to change your mind. For what it’s worth, I am grateful.”

  “That’s not immediately obvious.”

  “Would you be more comfortable if I fawned?”

  “No.”

  “Then think of me as refreshing.”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  She smiled. “Some people find me very charming.”

  “They see you as a steamroller and move fast to get out of your way.”

  “I’m a mother on a mission.”

  “The same thing.”

  He wasn’t going to back down and she could get a serious cramp in her neck if he continued to loom over her like some annoyed, threatening, tall person.

  “I can’t totally be at your beck and call,” she said, changing the subject. “I have a job and a life.”

  “You have a job and now I’m your life. I’ll respect your work hours.”

  “Why do I doubt that?” She walked to the cupboard and pulled down two mugs. They were both chipped. She looked through her selection, but none of them were in great shape.

  Nearly as bad as the chips were the gaudy logos on the front. Every one of them had been a freebie. Billionaire Nathan was just going to have to work around that, she thought as she poured coffee and handed it to him.

  “I’ll take it black,” he told her, “what with milk being so scarce.”

  “Don’t mock me. I’m poor.”

  “Don’t assume about me. I’m rich.”

  She sighed. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

  “You’re blackmailing me. Why should I?”

  “It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  He put down the coffee untasted. “I’m not interested in being a gentleman, Kerri. I’m interested in winning. I will honor my part of the bargain—see that you do the same. If you don’t, I promise you’ll regret screwing with me.”