"Oh, come on, Thorne! Don't be such a stick in the mud. We deserve a little time to get to know each other. And the public deserves their fairytale romance. In a few weeks, everyone will believe we're so in love, that we can't wait to marry. If we play it right, we can become famous for no real reason at all. In the big scheme, what's a fortnight?" I was throwing in a little British to throw him off and make him comfortable.
Haley backed me up. "We'll merge our bloodlines soon enough." She gave me a questioning look.
I laughed uncomfortably. "Thorne explained to me. You're a descendent of the Dead Duke's first wife?"
"Yes. Dear old auntie." She stood, too. "It's fate. Kismet. Two unlikely lovers meet in sad circumstances. Two great bloodlines collide again in true love."
She paused. "Your DNA yearns for mine. Ardently." She laughed. "Be sure to use ardently when you propose. I like that word. It's very British. Very Mr. Darcy."
I nodded. "As long as it's in a public place. With the eyes of the world on us."
She clasped her hands in front of her chest. "My knight in shining armor."
I was beginning to enjoy myself. I slid the ring box into my pocket without looking at it.
"I hate to interject business into this lighthearted conversation about faking love," I said, "but I'll need you to sign a prenup."
She nodded. "Naturally. I expected nothing less. You'd be a dumb businessman not to. I don't like stupid men."
I liked her more and more. "Just so we're clear. You won't get any of my assets."
She seemed too calm and casual about it.
She shrugged again. "I stand to inherit over one hundred million. Keep your billions. I won't need them. And just so we're clear, I'll need you to sign a prenup, too."
I looked at her, startled. What could she possibly have that I would want part of?
She read the question on my face. "I get custody of any child or children we create. I promise to raise him, or her, in the most appropriately dukely fashion an American duchess can possibly manage. But the child is mine."
"You want me to give up my firstborn? You know you sound a lot like you're rehearsing a scene from Into the Woods?" I raised an eyebrow now, amused. And impressed. She had guts and she liked kids.
If I was going to be saddled with a wife, those were two good traits for her to have.
"Not just our firstborn. Our second and third, if that's what it takes to produce an heir. I get sole custody of all the progeny we make. And I will insist on child support for them. A father should contribute to their care. Even if I don't personally need it."
"Joint custody," I said, with no room for negotiation.
The whole point was moot. We weren't having any children together. We weren't getting married. Not if I could help it.
But if I had to be stuck with someone in this situation, she seemed like a good ally. Smart. Adventurous. Sharp enough to help me break the Dead Duke's impossible blackmail demands?
Even though there weren't going to be any children, she didn't know that yet. She had no idea what my intentions were.
I didn't want to look like a deadbeat douchebag. The kind of guy who wouldn't care about his children. If there were any children, I wouldn't be an absentee dad, like mine had been. That was a bunch of crap and damaged a child's psyche. So I put up a fight, partly for show. Partly to test her.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied me. She was obviously primed for battle. But there was admiration there, too. Finally she broke into a smile, like I had passed some kind of test. "Good! I wouldn't marry any guy who wouldn't fight for his kids. No matter how much I was coerced." She slid a glance at Thorne.
"It's all settled, then," Thorne said. "Everyone gets their lawyers to put the appropriate paperwork together. You two conduct a showy, short public romance, and everyone lives happily ever after. Just like in the storybooks."
Haley and I rolled our eyes and grinned at each other.
"Splendid!" Thorne said. "We'll reconvene in, let's say, a week? And get all the paperwork out of the way."
Chapter 6
Haley
That went absurdly, I thought as I walked out of Thorne's rented office with Riggins. I'm going to be a duchess? Riggins' duchess?
I kept expecting to wake up. Someone pinch me.
Riggins was ten years older than I was, but ridiculously hot. And rich. Which didn't really matter now, did it? I was going to be wealthy in my own right. And take care of Sid. And find her cure. One way or the other. And then the two of us, Sid and I, would be set for life. And we could help others. Or do whatever we wanted. After this little episode and adventure with Riggins ended.
I pushed all the uncomfortable thoughts about marrying a man I didn't know aside as we strolled through the lobby, laughing and joking with each other, putting on a show. Chatting with him, teasing him, even almost flirting with him, felt amazingly natural and easy. It shouldn't have. But it did. That was a good sign.
We drew attention. More accurately, Riggins drew attention. No one cared about me. He was a local celebrity. The second hottest, most eligible bachelor in the city. People were trying not to gawk. But who wouldn't? How many hot billionaires did you see in everyday life?
"Haley?" he said as we reached the reception desk and the door.
He spoke in a voice that was just loud enough to be heard by the general vicinity. But not loud enough to be obviously loud and a plea for attention.
"Do you have to run?" His smile made me go soft in the knees.
I opened my mouth but no sound came out. I was dazzled. Star-struck. My pulse raced. I shook my head. So much for talking with him being easy. It was more like a rollercoaster ride.
"Excellent." His face lit up.
If only it were real.
"Let me buy you a cup of coffee?"
I nodded. First date, coffee date. I approved. On many levels, I was a simple girl. In my opinion, one of the must-do dates for every relationship was the basic, low-pressure coffee date. Though I doubted this public viewing would be anything other than stressful. Still, the thought was there.
I loved it when a guy wanted to get to know me first. Especially before an arranged marriage—haha. But, in general, if a coffee date went badly, no one had wasted much time, money, or effort. It was an easy way to see if there was any spark, any chance of a real relationship. Of course, in our case, we were going to have to proceed no matter what. Lack of chemistry or dark of night, nothing stopped the Dead Duke's maniacal marriage plans for us!
Riggins took my arm. "I know of a little place just around the corner."
He guided me outside, his hand still on my arm. And so warm and obvious there was no way I could ignore it.
He glanced back at the office building as we walked away, and leaned in close to me. "Good job! People were definitely listening. I think they bought our act."
Had they? I hadn't been paying attention. His nearness rattled me. I couldn't think of anything stellar to say. "So. Where are we going for coffee?"
Now that was brilliant, sparkling conversation. Yes, I could take the prize when I tried.
He smelled delicious. Scrumptious in a clean, sexy, masculine way. I would have asked him what cologne he was wearing, but I felt shy and the question seemed suddenly personal and probably out of the blue.
"Just around the corner." His voice was deep and sexy, smooth and sophisticated. "To the right."
Next to him I felt young and awkward. He was dressed in stylish, expensive clothes. I was dressed in jeans. I looked nice. For me.
But who could have predicted I was going to a lawyer's office to catch a husband and come out a duchess-to-be? I was hoping for an antique ring. Not an antique engagement ring. It was practically like being a princess. And just as surreal.
Riggins smiled at me and gave me an appreciative up-and-down. "I like your cape."
A compliment! Not as good as "you are devastatingly beautiful and take my breath away," but good enough. I liked compliments. Who d
idn't? Maybe now I should compliment his cologne…
"We sold one like it recently."
Oh. I see.
"Thanks." My voice was flat. "My sister bought it for me. From Flashionista." I rambled at the worst times. "She's a huge fan."
So it was only my clothes he was appreciating. And even then, only in a professional manner. As in, his company had made a sale. Maybe he'd been admiring the fact that I patronized his company. And I'd just blown it by confessing Sid was the fan, not necessarily me.
Sid! She would laugh so hard about me becoming a duchess. And the wife of Flashionista's biggest shareholder. If I hadn't been next to Riggins, I would have rubbed my hands together evilly. Now there would be no stopping Sid if she still wanted a job there after my marriage. Nepotism and all that.
Riggins and I walked side by side to the coffee shop, The Taste Test. I'd actually been to it once. It was locally owned. Not a ubiquitous chain. One of those places that made every single beverage they served by hand. They measured, frothed, and heated the milk individually for each drink, rather than in batches. So each batch of frothed milk was entirely fresh. No scummy old milk skins in any of their drinks.
They made all their own syrups from scratch—the whiskey-caramel sauce, the hazelnut puree, the dark fudge sauce. It was heaven, really. Nothing here was prepackaged or premade. All natural. Organic if possible. Freshly made. They bought their pastries from several sources, including the Blackberry. Because of our "freshly baked daily from scratch" policy and commitment to using high-quality, locally sourced ingredients.
Riggins put his large hand in the small of my back as he ushered me in the door. It felt possessive and intimate. And scorched where it rested.
There was something about a guy with big hands. Was I right? I was hyperaware of him.
The counter, pastry case, and coffee kitchen were in an island in the middle of shop. The menu hung in the middle behind the serving counter. We stood side by side, staring at it in awkward silence.
"Everything's good here," Riggins said, finally. He smiled at me and I thought I might melt.
This was dangerous territory. I was an impressionable girl who'd been looking for a hero for too long. And now, totally against his will, Riggins was looking more and more like one. Or maybe the Dead Duke was. Anyway, Riggins was my ticket to everything I wanted and needed. Being with him could save Sid.
The guy behind the counter was probably late twenties, and friendly. "What can I get for you today?"
A server leaned in and whispered a question to him. From the way the staff deferred to him, he had to be one of the owners.
On another day, I would have noticed him. He was cute and he wasn't wearing a ring. I might even have flirted. But he paled in comparison to Riggins. I realized with a start that I was suddenly a taken woman.
Riggins deferred to me.
"I'd like a macchiato. Can you make it with whiskey-caramel sauce?"
The guy behind the counter grinned, proud of his place. "We can make it any way you want." He held up two cups in two different sizes.
"Small." My eye wandered over the pastry case as Riggins ordered a hazelnut mocha. I recognized some of the Blackberry's baked goods.
"We make those!" I pointed to a tray of scones. "I'm a baker at the Blackberry."
"We love the Blackberry!" The guy behind the counter lit up. "And we love your mission. The other owner, my business partner, has years of culinary training and experience. If we had the facilities, she would do our baking. But you guys are great. She has great respect for your baking."
"That's awesome!" I said.
We broke into an animated discussion about baking philosophies. Until Riggins politely cleared his throat.
"Sorry." Cute guy smiled apologetically. "Name for the order?"
"Riggins." Riggins cast a quick glance at me. As we walked away from the counter, he whispered to me, "Were you flirting with that guy? Right in front of your soon-to-be fiancé?"
The warmth of his voice made my heart soar. The complete lack of any jealousy was somewhat alarming, though.
"Absolutely not. Just talking shop with a fellow professional and enthusiast."
"So that's what you call it?"
I rolled my eyes at him. "You should have given your name for the order as the Duke of Witham. That would have scared him off."
We took a seat at an intimate two-person table by the window. Maximum visibility.
Riggins grinned. "You think he would have been impressed?"
"He would have expected a bigger tip, that's for sure." I grinned at Riggins. He was way too easy on the eyes.
And speaking of eyes, his were dark and expressive. The corners around them creased when he smiled, and made him look rugged.
"You don't tip the owner of an establishment," he said.
The coffee shop was busy, and hummed with the white noise of dozens of voices talking. The buzz and thrum made eavesdropping on other conversations difficult at best. Which was good for us. We were cloaked in relative conversation privacy. We drew a few interested stares, but people were too polite to approach us. Riggins seemed oblivious to the looks and whispers. I assumed he was used to them. They both fascinated and frightened me.
Riggins leaned across the table, staring deep into my eyes. My heart raced wildly and unevenly and the world spun slowly. I could melt in a gaze like that. In fact, I was. Or, at the very least, I was slumping.
I reminded myself to sit up straight. Future duchesses never let their backs touch the back of chairs. I think that admonishment generally applied to all aristocratic ladies.
Riggins spoke in a low, intimate tone that could turn a girl like me to jelly. "How the hell are we going to get out of this marriage? What does that damned Dead Duke have on you?"
Way to shatter the illusion, Duke.
Before I could answer, the barista called Riggins' name and set our order on the counter. We both rose out of our chairs. The automatic waitress in me.
Riggins motioned me back down. "I'll get it."
"Don't trust my waitressing skills?" I tried to sound flippant and flirty.
He grinned and went to the counter. The barista had filled the cups to the very top, so full that only surface tension kept them from spilling over. That was a common trick. Small cups filled to the top made the patron feel like he was getting his money's worth.
I almost laughed as I watched Riggins walk very slowly and carefully back to our table, trying not to slosh our coffee. I think I would have laughed if my heart hadn't been broken by his immediate desire to get out of marrying me. So much for my vanity.
"Waitressing isn't as easy as I make it look, is it?" I teased.
"The cups are too full." He grinned back at me.
"Excuses, excuses."
He set my coffee in front of me and his in front of him.
Baristas in shops like this one considered themselves artists in milk frothery. The barista had made a heart pattern in the foam of each of our cups. A little heart in my smaller cup. A bigger one in Riggins'. What a cute matched set!
I pointed to our cups and leaned in to Riggins. "Our act is working already. The barista thinks we're lovebirds."
"Or it could be because it's close to Valentine's Day." He raised an eyebrow.
I laughed. "Killjoy."
Riggins laughed, too, and made a point of giving me another intense, almost adoring look as he took a sip of his coffee, destroying both the coffee heart and mine. He was a master of that seductive expression.
Experienced, I thought. Way more than I was. If I'd been given three wishes, I would have used one wishing for sophistication.
I matched his expression, looking at him with awe and adoration. Or trying to, at least.
"You were saying?" I said, coolly, trying out a duchess-like voice. Without the British accent.
"What does the Dead Duke have on you?" he repeated. "And don't play coy with me. I know he has something. The Dead Duke left nothing to chance. Or s
o I've been told."
I hesitated, wondering how much to reveal. As far as I remembered, there was no nondisclosure attached to my inheritance. I took a minute to collect my thoughts and didn't answer immediately.
Riggins stepped in, filling the void in conversation. "I'll tell you what he's using against me. He's blackmailing me. Threatening to ruin me if I don't 'sire an heir.'"
Riggins glanced out the window as calmly as if he'd been talking about the weather. His gaze returned to me. "With you. After a lawful wedding. Bastard children can't inherit."
A tall, thin, beautiful woman was walking by. I jealously wondered if she had been what had caught his attention.
"That sounds very old-fashioned," I said. "Siring, I mean."
"It's archaic. Despicable. I wouldn't agree to his terms without coercing." He studied me. "You aren't curious how he's blackmailing me?"
I shrugged. I was dying to know. I figured that sooner or later it would come out. "It's your business."
His smile deepened. He liked my answer. "So? You?"
There was no reason to hide it from him. He could easily find out anyway.
"My sister is sick." I explained about Sid. Told him the whole longwinded story. "He can help."
Riggins nodded. "I have money. I can help."
"You would pay me not to marry you?" I asked, looking at him pointedly. My vanity was almost fatally wounded now, limping along on its last legs. Not that I should have been surprised.
He studied me. "There's something you should know. But before I can tell you, you have to swear not to tell anyone. Ever."
"Intriguing," I said.
He arched an eyebrow. "It's important and affects you."
"Well, then. What can I do? Your secret is safe with me."
He smiled softly and stared into his coffee before looking up at me with a heart-melting, earnest look. "I don't want to be duke. I don't want the estate. I'm trying to find a way out. I won't stop until I do."
He paused. "I thought you should know. Before you marry me. If I have my way, one of two things will happen—either you won't be a duchess long. Or you won't be a duchess of much long. Not more than a duchess in title only."
The Billionaire Duke (The Billionaire Duke #1) Page 7
