by North, Paige
With that, our magically romantic first meeting ends.
Grayson
I leave my most unwelcome mail-order bride behind and take the stairs to the east wing where my suite is located. I walk into my bedroom with its floor-to-ceiling view of the river behind my property and the white, nondescript walls and sleek beige bedroom furniture that surround me like sentries. I close the door.
It should be that easy to shut Harlow Turner out too.
She is not even remotely my type. I normally go for highly polished, high-profile women who use personal trainers, nutritionists, and surgeons to look good. Hell, ever since I came in to so much money after partnering with Rick Vangelis after my scholarship days at Harvard, I’ve been blowing off steam with those upscale women at every party and wild event imaginable, and I have never fooled myself about the reason — collecting them and fucking them has been a compulsion, a huge middle finger to those who used to look down on me. A smirking “kiss my ass” to all the kids I went to school with who ever taunted me about not having the kind of nice clothes and houses they did.
Although Harlow Turner does not conform to my usual sort, my body reacted the second I laid eyes on her. My cock started to throb, and it shouldn’t have. But then again, she is beautiful — and I don’t mean in the way the women I usually date are. Harlow is all natural, with loosely curling golden hair, big innocent blue eyes, and pouty lips. The way she dresses reminds me of a free-and-easy flower child from the sixties, and not only can I imagine her with flowers in her hair as she smiles underneath the sun in a meadow, but that outfit she had on was...
Hot. After all, this is a woman who sold herself on a website, and she makes a printed skirt and a white crocheted top look like an invitation to strip everything right off of her. And when her blouse slipped down from her shoulder, showing me some tanned, smooth flesh, her practiced move only made me resist her more than I was already doing.
Yes, I had already been fantasizing about what she would look like without anything on, and my lust flared even higher at that point. All I could think about was what it would be like to run my hands over her silky soft skin, to see her big eyes get bigger as I slip off her top then her skirt, revealing every curve that was only hinted at before. Even now, I hunger to use my fingers and mouth to get her wet, to get her ready for my cock, then to slide into her balls deep until she groans with a pleasure she has obviously never had before.
But she is not here for pleasure, just business, and I will give this to Rick — he chose her well, because, with a minimal amount of work, she will look the part of the sweetheart he says I need for my image overhaul. Meanwhile, even if she gets my cock hard whenever I even think of her, I will not touch Harlow. My body might crave her, but I am not about to buy in to this whole damned mail-order bride thing.
Hell no.
I go to the French doors, flinging them open to get a little air in here. Shit, what does my business partner Rick think I am anyway — some hick from 1850 who needs a frontier bride? And I am not exactly a desperate man who is incapable of finding a wife on his own just to please the uptight bean counters who want me to play nice for the shareholders.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it? My “overactive playboy lifestyle,” as Rick would say, has put me in this quandary. You need an image overhaul. Otherwise, you’ll be out the door soon, no matter how talented you are. Our investors are losing faith in you by the day, and I’ve decided to make a bold move to get you back on track...
When Rick first told me about what he had done, I responded that I could manage a reputation makeover myself. I could find my own damned spouse, but Rick nixed that idea. The women I party with and date don’t have the pure disposition that will turn my reputation around. Besides, I have never been truly taken with any of the pampered and beautiful women who come and go in and out of my life. Honestly, I have never related to any of them, so why would I marry one of them? And how can I relate when they were born with silver spoons in their mouths and I sure as fuck wasn’t?
No one but my mentor and family know who I really am at my core, and that is the way it is going to stay. At least it will be easier to keep the truth from a bride for hire.
I yank at my silk tie, loosening it just as my phone rings from the inside pocket of my Versace jacket. I grasp it and discover Rick’s number on the screen.
I answer. “Yes, Dr. Fix-It-All. The mail-order bride arrived right on schedule.”
“And...?” His mild voice has an undercurrent of hope.
“And what? She rode in on her unicorn singing ‘When You Wish Upon a Star’ and then promised to use her magic fairy wand to change my life.”
“Grayson. This is serious. I know you’ve got your pride. You’re a self-made man and you don’t want to bow and scrape to the shareholders— ”
“I still don’t agree with this. Hell, as long as I keep leading the charge for drugs that save people’s lives, it doesn’t matter how many women I fuck. I shouldn’t have to change for anyone.”
“But the board is going to have me fire you if this doesn’t work out. You know that it wouldn’t just be a blow to me — it could permanently hobble the company! Your kind of notoriety isn’t good for a conservative business like ours.”
“I know that, Rick.” So I clam up now, because I had already decided — very reluctantly — to go along with this. Plus, I have always had a soft spot for Rick. I admire and respect him too much to give him more shit than he deserves. He is only watching out for me, and besides — it is not as if Harlow is going to stick around anyway. I can handle this situation for the month I promised to devote to this image overhaul, just for the sake of pleasing our nitpicky investors.
Neither of us says anything for a few moments, then Rick sighs.
“Grayson, I’m just stunned you didn’t scare Miss Turner away from the get go.”
“She just got here, Rick. Give me some time.” I toss my tie away and start undoing the buttons of my jacket with one hand.
He sighs again. “Do you know how much of a bloody pain it was to have those lawyers scrub that sex tape from that porno website? That’s the kind of woman you usually date — one who would put something like that up for public consumption!”
I run a hand through my hair as he goes on in that professorial way that won me over back at Harvard.
“Listen, son — I know how hard you try to hide certain things about yourself behind this wild façade. People assume that a man with your education and pedigree grew up with all the advantages. But I know your history is more complicated than that.”
He’s right. Rick knows I grew up in a small working-class town in Western Massachusetts with a father who pumped gas and drove a truck and a mother who worked the second shift at a Dunkin Donuts. He knows how I was the oldest of four siblings and how I took it upon myself to help my parents dig ourselves out of the shithole of a life we had. Some nights we didn’t even have food in our house, but I fucking tried. I started working when I was just twelve, delivering newspapers on my bicycle, then going to school while attempting to stay awake through my classes. When I was a teen, I worked after school with a building contractor, hauling bricks, drywall, breaking my back and doing the dirtiest of the dirty work for three hours a day after I went to school and then up to ten hours on weekends.
All my money went to helping my family survive.
All my life I worked like a dog as everyone around me turned up their noses and thought I was not good enough.
It was fear of poverty that drove me so hard. Luckily, I discovered I was damned good at science, so I gained early admission to Harvard and received a full scholarship. Even then I sent every dime I made home. Yet my family continued to struggle, and that just made me even more determined to help them.
Then I met Dr. Vangelis, my professor, my mentor, my self-appointed savior...
My friend who gave me every chance in the world to give my family the good life they deserve, allowing me to buy them a beau
tiful house upstate and making sure they never have to hungry another day in their lives.
I cannot let Rick down. Ever.
“Are you still there?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Just give Miss Turner a chance, would you?” he says in an exhausted tone. “You have her dossier, so you know she’s a prime candidate for the good press you need. She’s involved with charity work, and she’s a smart scholarship student. The only challenge she presents is the fact that she had to leave college when her— ”
“Rick, I agreed to this charade, but that doesn’t mean I want to hear anything about the girl’s history. And I mean it.” Aside from finding out that Harlow is twenty-two, I didn’t bother reading the rest of her dossier. I don’t want any personal attachment. I just want this to be over.
“You will read that dossier,” Rick says. “And you will talk to her so you can get to know her. We’re playing a high stakes game here.”
I move toward my walk-in closet to get some workout clothes. What I need more than anything right now is to hit the rowing machine and weights downstairs in my gym to work off this steam. Maybe it will help me to calm the fuck down the next time I start thinking about Harlow more than I should. “I have made it clear to my mail-order bride that we will be living separate lives until her work agreement ends. Don’t get any funnier ideas than you have already had.”
He sighs yet again.
“Rick, don’t worry. I am going to find a way to make this work without having to get close to some woman who sold herself on a website. I am not going to fail.”
If there is any hoarseness in my voice, it is only because I am goddamned sick of talking about this. Since I became rich and powerful, I never fail. It is not even an option, so I will escort my counterfeit honey bunny around town and show everyone how much I have changed. I will do what I need to do for Rick and Colossus Pharma.
And, after a month, Harlow Turner will be out the door.
Harlow
For the rest of the evening, I go a little crazy.
I’ve never experienced anyplace like this mansion — I mean, I grew up without a dollar to my family’s name, after all — and it’s like Disneyland in here. When I have dinner, it’s extravagant and so very delicious. Chef LeFevre, a stocky, energetic man with a big smile, even waits on me himself in the empty dining room, serving me Shrimp Cocktail to start, Caesar Roma Salad, then Wild Blackened Scallops with some fancy Truffle French Fries and Roasted Brussel Sprouts. I revel in the wine as well as the Chocolate Mousse for dessert. Of course, I eat alone at the long dining table, but truthfully, I enjoy my own company way more than having the demon master of the house here with me.
But I would love to get to know Chef and the other staff who’ve clearly been instructed to keep their conversations with me to a minimum.
Afterward, in my quest to stay as far away from Grayson as possible, I wander around the west wing. Chef LeFevre told me that Mr. Royal usually sticks to his side of the mansion, so I take my time poring over the first editions and fancy books in his study. Then I dabble on the baby grand piano, even though I don’t play it. But when will I ever get to touch a piece of art like this ever again? I finally go to the game room to play some vintage Ms. Pac-Man, and it’s almost enough to make me forget the reason I’m here.
Almost.
Eventually, I start thinking about my mom in jail again, and that puts a damper on the fun.
Somehow I manage to compartmentalize those thoughts, but just the same, sleep still doesn’t come easy tonight.
Now that everything is quiet, I’m thinking about Grayson.
The guy I’ve been hired to adore.
I run my fingers over my body, and even if I’m wearing one of my totally unsexy nightgowns, my breathing quickens as I imagine him slipping into this big, luxurious bed next to me, never saying a word. I bite my lip as I fantasize about him inching his fingers into the front of my panties and parting my lips, rubbing me, getting me wet and pounding and so hot that I have to stifle a long, yearning moan into my pillow.
Then I finally fall asleep, and when I awaken the next morning, I try to forget that fantasy. I’m served breakfast in bed, and it’s just as scrumptious as dinner was — Banana and Nutella Crepe with freshly squeezed orange juice, fresh fruit, and a buttery croissant. It’s only after I shower with the decadent bath products that I find in the huge marble restroom and get dressed that I hear a very purposeful knock at my door.
My heart jackhammers, and something naughty gives a great big tug in my gut. I think about how I got so hot and bothered last night while fantasizing about the jerk, and I flush like crazy.
But I know Grayson won’t want to be kept waiting, so I go to the door and open it, holding my breath and preparing myself for the sight of him. And there he is, the prick of my dreams, glowering down at me with that dark, fathomless gaze.
I go even hotter while trying not to remember last night.
“I trust you slept well?” he asks.
Any minute now I’m going to remember that I do not like this man, even though I need to live with him and pretend that I do adore him for the duration of this month. “I slept very well, thank you.”
“Good.”
He steps aside to reveal that someone else is with him — a tall, middle-aged woman with black-framed glasses, smartly bobbed red hair, and a killer white suit that fits her like a glove. She smiles at me.
Grayson looks just as bored as usual. “Miss Turner, meet your personal assistant, Jayne Portman.”
Jayne marches right past him and into the room, looking me up and down just as thoroughly as Grayson himself did yesterday. But there’s nothing dismissive about her gaze. “Well, aren’t you just a little doll all ready for me to dress right up?”
Like the stone statue that he is, Grayson doesn’t even crack a smile as he imperiously speaks to me. “I have informed Jayne that she needs to dress you in less revealing clothes. She will be taking you shopping for a new, very conservative wardrobe.”
“Less revealing?” I wasn’t aware that I was dressed up like a tart when I met him yesterday. Yes, my top was crocheted, but I was wearing a camisole underneath it. And, yes, I did flash my shoulder to him when my duffel strap slipped, but that was an accident. And certainly he can’t be talking about this breezy spring dress that I pulled out of my duffel bag to wear this morning.
All right, maybe the dress is a little thin because I’ve been wearing it for years, but it’s certainly not revealing.
“That is what I said,” Grayson says. “Less. Revealing.” He’s speaking to me as if I’m just learning English. “Since I am expected to be seen around town with a very demure woman of taste, you will be dressed accordingly.”
Jayne must see the steam coming out of my ears, because she steps between us. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Royal. I’ll take Eliza Doolittle here and make her into an even fairer lady than you see before you now.” She winks at me. “There shouldn’t be much work involved at all!”
He gives me one of those slow looks that almost feels like what my friends at school call a “proper eye fucking.” But I doubt he’s doing something that would require him to appreciate me in any way. Even so, I can’t help the shiver that travels my skin, making me hot and cold at the same time. Then he blankly nods at Jayne, who gives him a perky smile and a little wave.
“Have a great day at work,” she says. “I’ve got this firmly in hand!”
And with that, the jerk is gone. I give Jayne the side eye, gauging her reaction to Grayson, wondering if she’s maybe secretly in love with him like half the clueless female world seems to be. If only they really got to know him!
But Jayne doesn’t seem to be mooning over his departure. She rests her hands on my shoulders, all of her attention on me.
“Grayson Royal might seem like a big old meanie,” she says, “but he isn’t all that bad, so wipe that frown from your pretty face.”
“Sorry.” I didn’t mean to
be obvious about what a jerk he is, but Jayne doesn’t seem to mind. Phew. “How long have you worked for him?”
“Years. I’m his longest lasting female relationship.”
Something oddly territorial races through me. Was I wrong about Jayne’s place in the household?
She laughs, and it’s a slightly unhinged, carefree sound that comes from deep inside of her. She makes me laugh too.
“If you’re thinking that Mr. Royal and I have any kind of relationship but a professional one, bitch slap that thought aside right now, honey. I’m very happily married, and even if I weren’t, Mr. Royal wouldn’t be my cup of lust. He’s as handsome as the devil himself, but I’ve been in love with my hubby since college. I only have eyes for my woobie.”
I laugh again because the last thing I expected was to meet someone in this house who talks like Jayne.
She grins at me and adjusts her glasses. “See? We’re already getting along just like old friends.” Her expression softens ever so slightly. “And, as your old friend, I’m going to be honest right up front with you, Harlow. I know all about why you’re here.”
Oh, God. Of course she read my dossier.
“Honey,” she says, “there’s no shame in your situation. You’ve been drowning for at least the last few months, hell, maybe even for the last ten or fifteen years of your young life. I know that you’re here as a mail-order bride because you want to take care of your two younger sisters and your younger brother. I even know that you arranged for a neighbor to take care of them while you’re here for a month. You’re determined to make everything right for them and your mother.”
My throat tightens, and I look down at the designer carpet. I love my family more than anything. We’re a tight-knit clan, and we’ve suffered together throughout the years, and not just because we’re as poor as church mice.
And that’s nothing compared to the abuse we faced at the hands of our cruel father.
