by Rachel Lyndhurst; Carmen Falcone; Ros Clarke; Annie Seaton; Christine Bell
They both stared at the gum between them. “Ms. Knight?”
“C-call me Lindy, please.” She jammed it toward him and the package nearly hit his nose. “Gum?” she squeaked.
He shook his head, bemused. “No thanks.” Good sense told him he should call it a day and write the last few minutes off as a loss, but considering the pool of candidates he had to work from so far, she wasn’t even close to the worst. The weirdest? Maybe. But she was attractive and did look the part. She’d claimed some acting experience. Maybe she could act a little less weird and they’d do fine.
Ah well. Another half hour wasn’t going to kill him.
He pulled the papers from his briefcase and set them on the table between them. Lindy’s wide eyes filled with relief and she slumped forward. Letting out a long breath, she released the stranglehold on her bag. What was she expecting, a hacksaw?
“Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself? Your resume indicated that you had some acting experience with your last business venture. The…” He glanced down at the sheet in front of him. “Brothers Grim?”
Her cheeks glowed a pretty shade of pink, and she wriggled in her seat. “Well, uh, it wasn’t really acting, per se. When the real estate market took a dive and I couldn’t sell any houses, I had to look for unique ways of riding out the downturn. I enjoy working for myself, so I set my sights on creating a niche business, something small and different that I could run myself, with maybe a couple part-timers.”
He nodded encouragingly. Her thought process made a lot of sense. A good sign.
“I’d walk around making lists of things that would make my own life easier in hopes of stumbling onto the next Google or Post-it notes or something. That’s when I came up with The Brothers Grim. My whole life, I’ve always had a hard time hurting people’s feelings. I once dated a guy for three months because I couldn’t bring myself to break up with him. Nice enough guy and all, but…moist, you know? Like his palms were always cold and damp. Every time he touched me, it reminded me of my creepy Uncle Donny and I’d get all skeeved out. But how do you tell somebody that? So I got to thinking, what if you could hire a company to break bad news for you? Need to fire an employee? Leave your lover? Tell your spouse you were going to jail on fraud charges? The Brothers Grim will do it for you.”
He eyeballed her hard, trying to determine whether she was serious or not, but she gazed back, solemn-faced.
“If you hate giving people bad news, then why—”
“Oh, God no! I didn’t do that part. I handled marketing, booking, etcetera. My brothers, Malcolm and Nathan, were the actual news-bearers. Hence the name of the company.”
“So why did you stop?”
She shifted her gaze away and let out a sigh. “Well, that’s kind of a long story. See, on our last job Mal and Nate both came down with a terrible stomach flu. We had a contract with a guy and he said it was an urgent matter that couldn’t be postponed. So, I bit the bullet and agreed to do it myself, this once. I was supposed to tell Mr. Nicholas McElroy’s wife that he was leaving her.”
Her eyes swam with sudden tears and Owen found himself stuck, unable to look away.
“I dressed up in a suit, went to the MacElroy house and knocked. Melba MacElroy came to the door. She was…” Lindy paused, dug into her purse, and pulled out a tissue. She let out a long, honking blow before continuing. “She was s-so c-cute. This tiny old lady in a purple housecoat. I wanted to run away, but I had made a commitment and signed a contract, so when she invited me in, I went. I explained that I was there on behalf of Nicholas, and he wanted a divorce.” Her lips curled in a half-smile then. “I thought she was going to cry, but instead she flipped out. ‘That bastard!’ she said. ‘Probably wants to shack up with Roberta Finkelstein. Floozy. Figures he’d go for a young chippy like that. Look at me, married for sixty-two years and I’m a statistic.’”
Owen realized he was leaning forward in his chair, riveted by this ludicrous tale, and sat back. “What happened next?”
“Turned out Roberta was the MacElroy’s seventy-year-old neighbor, and Nicholas did plan on making time with her once he got rid of poor Melba. Long story short, Melba decided she wasn’t going to stay in that house a second longer, so she packed up her stuff. She didn’t have any place to go so she came home with me. I closed down the business the next day. Didn’t have the heart for it. It was a bad idea from the start. People should have to face the person they’re hurting.”
The last part gave him pause and made him slightly uncomfortable. Ms. Knight was making rock-solid sense. By moving forward, he’d hoped to make his sister’s conman ex-boyfriend Nico pay, but wasn’t he, in effect robbing Cara of the chance to face him down herself, if and when she was ready? The thought faded as quickly as it had come. At the rate she was going, his sister was never going to confront the bastard. Owen had counseled her to get a civil attorney and at least get Nico’s face splashed all over the news, win or lose, but she didn’t have the heart. Someone had to make him pay.
Lindy seemed to be of the same mind as he was. If a person did wrong, they should have to own up to it. She’d said it with such conviction, he wondered if maybe she could work out after all.
“So what ever happened to old Melba?”
Lindy gave him a sheepish look. “She should be home in a couple of hours.”
That stopped him cold. “Wait, she still lives with you?”
“Uh huh. It’s only been a few months.” She released the death grip on her purse to run a hand through her short, dark hair. “She doesn’t have anywhere else to go right now. Once the divorce is finalized, and the house is sold, she can get a place on her own.”
Owen pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache that had been skulking around his cranium all morning. So far, he was batting a thousand. After two weeks of interviewing, he’d met nothing but nutters, sleazeballs, and people who were in the country illegally. It was like some twisted version of “The Twelve Days of Christmas”, except his rendition would be more like “Six hookers hooking, fiiiive homeless drunks! Four illegal immigrants, three ex-cons, two exotic dancers, and a bleeding-heart flake with seven puppies.”
“I do have some acting experience, though. Right now, I’m between businesses, so I got a job waitressing at Medieval Days. I spend my shift pretending the mutton’s delicious.”
He must be getting used to her quirks because this time her unconventional response didn’t even faze him. He felt a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Glancing at her neat little figure in jeans and a wooly cardigan, he tried to picture her at Medieval Days serving food in trenchers, wearing long skirts with a corset. The image sent a surge of blood pumping south, and he bit back a curse. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. There was too much at stake to allow biology to sway him from making the right choice, but she also had a guilelessness about her that might turn out to be a great asset. Could Lindy Knight possibly be the right choice for the job?
He did a mental rundown of the other applicants and grimaced. Who was he kidding? With ten days left, she was his only choice.
“Miss Knight, I need a wife and I’d like to hire you. How would you like to be my wife for three weeks?”
Chapter Two
The blood buzzed in Lindy’s ears, and she stared at him, aghast. What did he think, people just went around buying up three-week sex buddies à la Richard Gere in Pretty Woman? She held his gaze and slowly slid her hand to her purse, mentally crossing her fingers that she came up with something more threatening than gum this time.
“Listen, Mr. Phipps. I’m not sure exactly what that’s supposed to mean, but I know one thing. I’m definitely not the girl for that kind of job. I want you to leave right now, please.”
His brow wrinkled and he reached into his briefcase. “No, no. That’s not what I—”
“Don’t take anything else out of your briefcase!” she shouted, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Now that she’d refused his salac
ious request, he was going to chloroform her or something. She was sure of it.
He ignored her and continued rifling through his case. She reached blindly into her bag and yanked out the first thing she could get her hands on. A bottle of body spray. Not ideal, but it would have to do.
“I’m warning you. Get your stuff and go, right now!” The puppies had risen and were barking like mad, adding to the chaos.
Owen looked up and frowned. “What are you—”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence because she sprayed him right in the mouth. She’d aimed for his eyes, but at least it was something. Sputtering, he bolted to the sink. As he turned on the faucet, she rushed at him from behind, pummeling his muscular back with her fists. She couldn’t run away and leave the puppies behind to face his impending psychotic rage, but it seemed like he didn’t even feel her blows.
“What the hell?” he growled, turning to capture her hands in his, hauling her into his chest. He scowled down at her, dark brows collapsing into an even darker frown and she stared at him in abject terror. Water sluiced down his chin, icy droplets landing on her neck. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”
His cucumber-melon scented breath washed over her face, and her fear melted under the heat of her fury. “N-no. Have you?” she said, raising her chin defiantly. Might as well brazen it out now. She wasn’t getting away. His body was like a wall of granite, the hold on her wrists like two iron manacles. Not too tight, but entirely unyielding.
“I’m not the one spraying people in the face with perfume.”
“Yeah, well I’m not the one coming into a woman’s house, tossing around lewd propositions, and not leaving when asked.”
His frown deepened for a moment, then faded. “If you’d let me finish, you would have known my proposition was anything but lewd. The contract specifically states that, if you did get the job, we would definitely not be having sex. Now, can I let you go or are you going to keep trying to hit me?” His gaze was wary, but his grip was already loosening. “I only want to talk to you.”
She hesitated.
“Lindy, if I wanted to hurt you, I could have done it any time. Even now.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked. But for some reason, it did. She drew her hands away from his and stepped back, suddenly aware of their proximity in a whole other way.
“I don’t know what will make you feel better, but I can promise you this. I’m not going to hurt you.”
His stormy gray eyes were sincere, his expression earnest, and she blew out a sigh. “Okay, okay. Sorry for the whole spraying your mouth thing. I’ve been a little on edge since you got here, and I think my imagination got the best of me.”
“It’s fine. I should’ve gone about explaining it differently. Can we start again?”
“Sure,” she said with a nod. He still put her on edge, but it was different now. Not fear, but an awareness that was almost as terrifying.
Owen rinsed his mouth out a few more times and they settled back into their seats.
“All right, now for some background information. About six months ago my sister was conned out of her life’s savings by a man named Nico Stephanopoulos. Since she basically handed over the money, no charges were ever filed.” His jaw clenched and he continued. “But her money wasn’t enough. He’s now doing business in Colorado running a married couple’s retreat. I believe it’s a scam, but I need to get proof so he can pay for what he’s done to people.”
She nodded, the puzzle pieces falling into place. “So you need someone to go there with you and pretend to be your wife.”
“That’s the plan. As I said, I don’t expect…anything from you in the way of wifely duties. We would, however, need to keep up appearances in public and participate in various retreat activities that require a level of intimacy.” He held up a hand at her suspicious glare. “We don’t have to fawn all over each other, and I promise to be as respectful as possible, but there are sure to be embarrassing moments for both of us. I like to think an all-expense paid trip to Telluride and the twenty grand would take the sting away for you. Needless to say, getting justice for my sister is worth any amount of embarrassment for me.”
His gray eyes grew steely and she realized that, although he’d seemed unflappable in the face of the world’s strangest interview, he was not a man you wanted to cross. In spite of her distaste for charlatans, she felt a twinge of pity for Nico Stephanopoulos. Then another thought occurred to her. “What does your sister think of this idea?”
“She doesn’t know. No one knows. That’s why I had to resort to all this cloak and dagger nonsense. Normally, I wouldn’t be interviewing candidates for a job myself, nor would I place an ad in Craigslist. This has to be kept as far away from my usual circles as possible.”
She thought of her own brothers and how she might react in the same circumstance. “Do you think it’s a good idea to hide this from her, though? She might not appreciate you interfering. Maybe she needs to lick her wounds and put it in the past. Forget it ever happened.”
“Frankly, I don’t give a rip whether she appreciates it or not. She’s family, and I won’t allow his misdeeds to go unpunished. It’s more than that, though. He started off as a petty card shark, and his crimes have only escalated. If three quarters of a million was his last scheme, what’s next? Now that he’s had a taste of the good life, I’m guessing he’ll go to any lengths to keep it. If I let him walk away scot free, what’s to say the next victim won’t end up with something far worse than a broken heart and a crippled bank account? He needs to be stopped. Tell me you agree with that much, at least?”
The man was a criminal, and it really would be a shame to see more people hurt by him. Especially if Owen was right, and his behavior was escalating. Still…
“You could get a really nice couch with twenty grand,” he said.
Her head was reeling. Between the rush of adrenaline and the subsequent overwhelming relief at not having been serial murdered, she felt shaky and out of sorts. Not a recipe for good decision-making.
“What’s your time frame?” she asked.
“We’d need to leave ten days from today. The sessions are three weeks long, but if I get what I need sooner, then we would naturally cut the trip short. Should that happen, you’d still be paid the full, agreed upon amount.”
“Boy, you’re cutting it kind of close, no?”
“I began the interview process a couple weeks ago. If I don’t find someone this week, I’ll have to cancel and find some other way. You’re my best shot.” His expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of desperation in his voice that seemed out of character for such a confident, aloof man. Like he really needed her. Her heart squeezed.
Crud.
When was the last time she’d walked away from someone in need? Here was a man willing to put his life on hold in order to try and make this right for his sister, spend tens of thousands of dollars and saddle himself with a stranger for three weeks. She knew about that kind of love. That’s how she felt about Mal and Nate. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for her brothers.
“It’s not about the money he took,” Owen said. “I’m fortunate enough to have been able to assist her in that respect. He stole something far more precious. She was a sweet and rare soul. Believed in true love, silly as that notion is, and thought she had it. Always saw the best in people. That’s gone now, and he’s going to pay for taking it from her.”
The last was spoken with a grim determination. Not a statement, but a vow.
The words were out before she could stop them.
“I’m in.”
Chapter Three
The ten days sped by like a locomotive and Owen Phipps was the conductor. Once they’d signed the contract, he’d taken the reins and before she could even settle down to regret her decision, the day had come. They’d seen each other twice during that time, once to deal with the financial aspect of things and some additional paperwork, and a second time so he co
uld brief her on their backstory and get her measurements for a few items he felt the wife of an affluent businessman should have. On both occasions, she’d gone to bed at night only to be woken by the most intensely erotic dreams, whispered words of passion spoken in a husky Irish accent still ringing in her ears.
She shook off the memories and paced the hallway, waiting for Owen but unable to sit still a second more. Six of the puppies mimicked her motions while Sleepy nipped playfully at her heels. And what heels they were. She paused to stick out a limb and admire them once again. Nude Jimmy Choo t-strap stilettos. Her stubby little legs looked a mile long in them and she was in love. She loved the whole outfit from the chocolate cashmere jacket to the designer jeans that fit like a dream. A few days earlier, a man in a sleek black car had dropped off two suitcases and four garment bags filled with clothes. He’d handed Melba a sumptuous, ivory-colored envelope before backing out of the door with a bow.
“Feel this paper, would ya Lindy? It’s softer than a baby’s bottom. I bet it’s from your dreamy Mr. Phipps,” she’d said with a delighted cackle.
“He’s not my Mr. Phipps. I don’t want you getting ideas in your head. This isn’t a real marriage, Melba. I’m helping him out with a job. That’s all.”
The older woman waved her off. “You keep saying. Still, it’s so romantic. It’s like he’s James Bond or something and you’re Octopussy.”
Lindy had winced. “Please don’t share that sentiment with Mal or Nate.” The last thing she needed was is a new nickname.
Melba had forced her into an impromptu fashion show, which Lindy pretended was a hardship. She’d never owned such gorgeous clothes and couldn’t wait to show them off. They must have cost her new employer a small fortune. She’d wrestled with her conscience on and off since receiving them, but one more glance at his note had reassured her.
