Not the Marrying Kind

by Nicola Marsh

  “I think you’ll do nicely.”

  Relief made her knees wobble a tad, but Poppy couldn’t shake the feeling she was being sized up for more than her presentation skills. She hated how authoritative guys had the power to make or break someone, but for Sara’s sake, she’d kowtow like the rest of his flunkies. “You liked my pitch?”

  He nodded and muttered, “and the rest.”

  Resisting the urge to happy dance after nailing a lucrative account that would go a long way to saving Sara’s business, she sat opposite him and shut down her presentation. “I’ll email you a quote with a complete breakdown of costs your twenty grand will cover.”

  “Fine,” he said, his stare unwavering and seriously starting to unnerve her. “Do you have a venue in mind?”

  Who did he think she was, Wonder Woman? She’d barely had time to put her presentation together after he’d summoned her, let alone research prospective venues.

  She’d have to wing it.

  “I was waiting to get an idea of crowd size before following up with venues.”

  “Smart.”

  Then why did she feel the opposite the longer he continued to study her?

  There was something going on here, something beyond the initial buzz of attraction. His steady stare wasn’t sexual—far from it. It was almost…predatory, as though he was a giant shark eyeing an itty-bitty flounder.

  He stood and beckoned her closer. “We should check out some venues.”

  An order, not a request. Corporate hotshots like him were used to their demands being obeyed. And for the next few weeks, or however long it took to organize this party and run it, she’d have to do what he said. Within reason.

  “I can do that online. Or I can schedule a return visit—”

  “Now,” he said, glancing at his watch. “We can grab some dinner, then check out the hotel function rooms.”

  She didn’t want to have dinner with him, didn’t want to be studied for one second longer than she had to. But it made sense to see the venues firsthand rather than online, and doing it now would save her a return trip. Though it wouldn’t be half bad on that jet.

  “Sounds good.” She slid her tablet into her satchel and stood.

  “I’ll have my executive assistant call ahead and schedule it.”

  He strode toward his desk, power in motion, and she had to admit the combination of determination and authority, and the ease with which he wielded it, was pretty damned hot. She didn’t go for suits, preferred her guys a little rough around the edges, but there was something about Beck Blackwood that appealed on a visceral level.

  He’d be great fling material…if she ever lost her mind and risked sleeping with an important business contact. As if. She’d nailed the first step, winning the pitch. If she could do the same with the party, news would spread and Divorce Diva Daily would be in demand. Yeah, she’d throw a divorce party like this town had never seen before. And that meant keeping her X-rated thoughts about Beck to herself.

  “Done. Simone will arrange some viewing times in a few hours and make a dinner reservation.” He snagged his jacket off the back of the chair and hooked it over his shoulder, looking executive and commanding and sexy at the same time.

  Her hands-off resolution would be sorely tested.

  “Have to say, Poppy, I’m impressed.” He had that penetrating stare going on again.

  She gripped her bag tighter. “Thanks.”

  “So impressed, I have another business proposition for you later.” His mouth eased into a slow grin and rather than easing her tension it ratcheted up.

  “Great.” Her inner diva did an exultant fist-pump.

  “I hope you think so.”

  But as he placed his hand in the small of her back to propel her toward the door, she couldn’t shake the feeling this proposition would be more than she bargained for.

  …

  Beck had impeccable timing.

  He carefully weighed decisions, analyzing all angles, before taking a metaphorical plunge.

  He never wanted to be like his impulsive parents, who’d chased the next thrill, the next high.

  Being rash ended in disaster, so the moment the idea to have Poppy as his wife ignited, he’d mentally listed the pros and cons.

  Pros:

  Amenable to business dealings

  Intelligent

  Attractive

  Articulate

  Professional

  Suburban background

  No skeletons

  Not an acquaintance so no risk of emotional involvement

  Cons:

  ???

  Hmmm…looked like there wasn’t one good reason to keep Poppy Collins from becoming the wife he needed.

  Now he had to convince her.

  “Dinner was sensational, but I’m so full I can hardly move.” Poppy patted her stomach, drawing his gaze to the way the crimson silk draped her torso and clung to her breasts. The ruby color highlighted her vibrancy, deepening the lowlights in the shiny brunette tumble around her shoulders, bringing out the golden flecks in her eyes. It illuminated her like a beacon, drawing the gaze of every guy in the room, and it vindicated his choice. She’d lost the jacket halfway through dinner and his triple-baked goat’s cheese soufflé and anchovy-studded veal loin served with truffle polenta had morphed from sublime to tasteless in a second.

  She was one of those rare women who managed to appear classy yet sexy, elegant yet down-to-earth, and she’d be perfect to convince the investors that Beck Blackwood was trustworthy and responsible.

  “What do you think of this place?” His arm swept wide, encompassing the rooftop bar of the Blackwood, one of his company’s finest hotels.

  “It’s perfect.” Her eyes glittered with excitement as she gripped the metal railing and leaned forward, her hair rippling behind her like russet velvet in the cool night breeze. “Like being on top of the world.”

  “Best place to be,” he said, joining her at the railing, their elbows inadvertently touching.

  She didn’t pull away and he wondered if she felt the sizzle, like an invisible thread tugging them together. He’d dated extensively but hadn’t had this buzz often. It was heady, addictive, the kind of thrill that made a guy want to wind his hands through her hair, tug her closer, and kiss her senseless.

  Later. After she’d agreed to his terms.

  And he had no doubt she would.

  He intended on making her an offer she couldn’t refuse. But first he had to confirm his suspicions. “You mentioned your sister is the party planner and you’re just filling in?”

  “Uh-huh.” Her casual response didn’t fool him, not when she’d tightened her grip on the railing so that her knuckles stood out.

  “Then why isn’t there a mention of her on your website?”

  A long pause, where she probably scrambled for an excuse to throw him off track. Not likely. He wasn’t the type to give up, as she’d soon find out.

  “She’s taking a break.”

  “So you removed her from the website?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “What are you saying?” To her credit, she released the railing and swiveled to face him, chin tilted up in defiance.

  “That you’re hiding something linked to her Party Hard business, and I don’t like signing off twenty grand to a potential charlatan.”

  She puffed up like an outraged bullfrog, managing to look indignant and gloriously sexy at the same time. “What sort of a businessman are you? You said I had the job. We’re looking at freaking venues, and you can’t back out now—”

  “Hold on to your party poppers. I’m just protecting my investment.” He laid a hand on her forearm, felt a tremor, and thought better of it. This deal would be complicated enough without his blood heading south. “If you want this job, I expect full disclosure.”

  “You’re blackmailing me again?” Her lips parted in incredulity.

  Not yet, but the night was young.

  “Up to you. Tell me
the truth or I walk.”

  “Fine.” But it wasn’t, as she glared at him through narrowed eyes. “Sara’s marriage fell apart, she’s suffering from clinical depression, and her business, Party Hard, is on the brink of collapse. I stepped in, but the party planning biz in Provost isn’t so hot these days, especially when word got out about her breakdown. And it doesn’t help that her rat bastard ex is swanning around town like he owns the place, so people assume she did something wrong and that’s why he left, and they back off from the business, too.”

  “Harsh.”

  She nodded, worrying her bottom lip with her top teeth, the first sign of vulnerability. “While Provost is technically outer suburbia, it’s like living in a small town.”

  “With a small-town mentality?” Now he was getting a clearer picture. Marketing whiz from LA steps in to save her sister’s business but needs to keep it low key. Still didn’t explain the lack of contact details and her obsession with anonymity.

  “Exactly.” She hesitated, as if weighing her next words. “Divorce parties wouldn’t be the done thing in Provost—too conservative—so I set up Divorce Diva Daily as a separate entity from Party Hard. It’s a potentially lucrative adjunct but I can’t have anyone discovering my identity and the link to Party Hard.”

  She sighed. “Plus Sara’s gone through a tough time accepting her impending divorce, so I don’t want to rub her face in it. She’s fragile right now and couldn’t handle it.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you? Because if word gets out, Sara’ll freak…” She shook her head, the sudden bleakness twisting her mouth making him want to kiss it all better. “I owe Sara and I’ll do whatever it takes to save her business.”

  And just like that, she gave him the opportunity to outline his plan.

  “Anything?”

  “Within reason.” Her eyebrow raised an infinitesimal millimeter.

  “You’re in luck, because I have another business proposition for you.”

  “What is it?” Curiosity lit her eyes.

  He took a step closer, instantly enveloped in her tempting floral fragrance, enjoying the faintest flicker of inquisitiveness in her eyes. “Simple.”

  He snagged a strand of her hair, wound it around his finger, and tugged gently.

  “Marry me.”

  Chapter Six

  Divorce Diva Daily recommends:

  Playlist: “Fighter” by Christina Aguilera

  Movie: Better Off Dead

  Cocktail: Knockout Punch

  “You’re out of your freaking mind.” Poppy placed her palms on Beck’s chest and shoved, hard.

  Considering the wall-to-wall muscle flexing imperceptibly beneath designer cotton, it was no surprise he didn’t budge.

  “Just hear me out—”

  “No.” She tried to back away but he had her cornered, railing at her back, lunatic at her front. “I’ll scream.”

  He laughed. “Go ahead. I’m sure the gamblers fifty-four stories below will rush to your aid.”

  She swore.

  He laughed harder. “It’s the perfect business arrangement. I need a wife. You need money to save your sister’s business, correct?”

  “I don’t need money that desperately,” she muttered, wishing he’d get the hell out of her way.

  He was too close, too intimidating, too everything, and she couldn’t breathe.

  In the seconds it took to process his outlandish proposal, a small part of her wondered what it would entail.

  “A significant amount of money could make your problems go away.”

  She glared at his throat in response, annoyed when the sliver of bronzed skin visible between his lapels made her wonder if he was that tanned all over.

  “How much do you need to get Party Hard into the black?”

  Damn him for his persistence. Against her better judgment he’d piqued her interest. Hearing those words in the same sentence—Party Hard, into the black—sounded pretty damned good.

  What if she could not only save Sara’s business, but set her up so she wouldn’t have to rush back to work? What if Sara could take her time recovering in the knowledge she had enough money to cover overheads, costs, and then some? She knew Sara worried about the business, even if she said she didn’t. Her sis had always been an overachiever, setting a good example to make up for the emotional shortfalls of their parents. Failure didn’t sit well with Sara, never had, and the fact her marriage had failed had been the catalyst for an underlying chemical imbalance they’d never known about.

  “How much?”

  “Five hundred thousand dollars.” She threw it out there as a taunt, wanting to shock him as much as he’d shocked her with his bizarre proposal.

  “Done.”

  “What?” Dread slithered down her spine.

  He reached out and gripped her upper arms, and she was too shell-shocked to pull away. “Let me make this simple for you. Investors are angsty because of an incident that tarnished my company’s reputation recently. I need their backing for a major deal and they won’t give it because they see me as some lecherous playboy heading a den of iniquity.”

  His grip eased but she didn’t move away, the sincerity in his tone getting through to her like nothing else could. Wouldn’t hurt to hear him out before she told him where he could stick his crazy offer.

  “Being married to an intelligent, beautiful suburban woman will give me the respectability I need to nail this deal.” He splayed his fingers, the brush of his fingertips through the silk of her shirt setting off a static buzz. “And you get to save your sister’s business single-handedly. Win-win.”

  Speechless, she shook her head.

  “My deal gets done. Then we go our separate ways.”

  Damn him for making it sound so logical, so easy, while she still reeled. Hotshot guys were used to wielding power and money to get what they wanted, but marriage? Beck Blackwood was either seriously delusional, seriously arrogant, or a staggering combination of both.

  She rolled her eyes. “That’d be great publicity, throwing my own divorce party.”

  He missed her sarcasm when he smiled, and his lack of superciliousness impressed. “Yeah, think how business would boom.”

  “Except for the part where I need to remain anonymous.”

  “Hey, with the amount of money you’d be depositing in your sister’s account, who cares if the whole damn town doesn’t knock on her door again?”

  Good point.

  “Okay, on the off chance I lose my mind and consider this for longer than one second, how exactly would it work?”

  “Logistics are my forte.” She hated his triumphant grin almost as much as she hated herself for considering this.

  What kind of crazy person married another for money?

  Actually, when she phrased it like that, it didn’t seem so bizarre at all. People did it every day: for the security and high life money could bring. At least she’d be doing it for an altruistic cause.

  But freaking married?

  She was the least romantic person she knew and the whole white dress/man of her dreams had never been high on her to-do list. Marriages made people do dumb things—she’d seen that firsthand with her sister. As for love? Waste of time. Love faded, gave way to antipathy at best, derision at worst. Why take the risk?

  She’d never met anyone who remotely piqued her interest long enough to consider falling in love, never had the ridiculous tummy free-fall depicted in chick flicks.

  In a way, a business marriage would suit her purposes nicely. No fuss, no muss.

  And the kicker, she would save Sara in the process.

  Win-win indeed.

  “I’d take care of everything. Marriage license, ceremony, reception.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “We’d have to go through the charade of a reception?”

  “This marriage has to look real to my investors, otherwise we’re wasting our time.” His quick look away was the first time she’d seen him anything other than one hundre
d percent confident in his outlandish scheme. “We can keep the ceremony quiet but the reception will have to be big.”

  “How big?”

  “I’m a prominent businessman and this deal I’m trying to nail will take Blackwood Enterprises nationwide.” He shrugged. “You do the math.”

  If considering this zany idea didn’t make her belly churn, the thought of pretending in front of hundreds did the trick.

  “You’re really serious about this?” She searched his face for answers to questions she could barely formulate.

  “I don’t propose marriage to every woman I meet.” His wry grin alleviated the tension lines bracketing his mouth but did little for the wariness clouding his eyes.

  She knew the feeling. Wary didn’t come close to how she was feeling. Try floundering, confused, and freaking petrified. “What about living arrangements? The legalities of terminating after a year? Appearing in public together? Would there be other functions with your investors—”

  “Standard pre-nup to facilitate easy termination. As for the rest, this marriage needs to look real in every way.” His gaze locked on hers, mesmerizing and challenging, daring her to ask how real.

  Heat licked her veins at the thought of how far she could go to make this marriage authentic; if she lost her mind. “I guess my assistant, Ashlee, could man the Provost office and I could consult as needed while continuing to run Divorce Diva Daily online.”

  “You’d continue with that?”

  “‘Course. Your cash injection isn’t going to last forever. Besides, I’d be lousy as a trophy wife.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I can see you lounging around poolside in a black bikini…thong, of course—”

  “Dream on.”

  “I’m doing plenty of that.” He stepped into her personal space, crowding her, bamboozling her.

  She couldn’t think with him so close, let alone breathe, her senses bombarded by his nearness, his crisp aftershave, his heat. So much heat, radiating off him like a furnace and making her want to lean into him.

  “You know this marriage won’t be that real, right?” She regretted the question the instant it slipped from her lips as his eyes flared with fire. She should’ve known better than to challenge a go-getter.