Fake Marriage with the CEO (A Billionaire Romance)
Page 3
“Shit!” Simms said weakly. “If it hadn’t been for your reflexes...”
Wolfe realized that he was frozen in place. He took his foot off the brake, sending the car back into traffic. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened if he hadn’t stopped in time.
***
Miranda pushed open the glass doors leading to the center. She was drenched. Her clothes clung to her body like wrinkled skin, and her hair hung limp and heavy on her shoulders. She thought she could outrun the impending storm by taking the bus and be at the center before the rain came. She was so wrong.
Miranda shook her head. Should have heeded the warning signs. She’d seen the sky turn overcast. And that lightning! Though the storm was a lot less scary than her near-escape from New York traffic. Her legs still trembled and her heart pounded. If that driver hadn’t slammed on his brakes, I’d be dead! Miranda suppressed a giggle. Being hit by a BMW... “Talk about a swanky way to go.”
A chorus of greetings demanded her attention. Miranda took a deep breath, focusing on the job in front of her. The center was always full. But today it was jam-packed like sardines. Even those from surrounding areas came to seek shelter from the rain.
“Miranda, you here to cook for us today?” a man called. Miranda recognized Ben. He called Prospect Park his home and lugged his remaining possessions around with him in a beat up suitcase.
“No. Sorry, Ben. I heard some fancy corporation donated the food today.”
“Where is it then? We’ve been here for hours.” A barrage of complaints echoed across the room.
Miranda smiled, projecting calm. “It should be here anytime. Traffic’s really bad because of the rain.” As she looked around the room, tucking her damp hair out of her face, Miranda’s heart sank. She’d never seen the center this crowded before. While she knew her ‘hungry regulars’ at the restaurant, the majority were strangers. Miranda noted bloodshot eyes, angry mutters and faces turned towards the kitchen with trepidation. For many in the crowd, their last ‘meal’ could have been a bottle of cheap whiskey, leaving them nursing a hangover. Any provocation could turn nasty. It was a volatile situation. She needed to watch out for signs of any trouble.
She walked over to the other volunteers. “Any idea where the food is?”
The nearest volunteer shook his head. “No—and I’m starting to get worried. I don’t know how much longer these guys are prepared to wait.”
“There it is!” Someone from the crowd yelled.
There was a mad rush for the door. Miranda and the volunteers fought their way to the front. If we don’t contain the crowd, these hungry folks will swarm the truck! “Form a line! Everyone will get a share,” Miranda yelled at the top of her voice.
Some obeyed. Others pushed and shoved to be first in line.
Miranda looked to the volunteers and nodded. They knew they had to do this quickly while there was still some semblance of order. She barreled her way to the doorway and waited for the truck to begin unloading.
Suddenly two SUVs screeched to a halt beside the truck. Burly men poured out from the vehicle and surrounded the truck.
Not here—not now! Miranda gasped, her chest tightening.
The memory of heavy-set men in uniform seizing her roughly, and forcing her into a van came back to her. She was unable to move, filled with terror at the idea of being deported again.
Then she realized they weren’t after her. Instead, the men had formed a barrier around the truck, preventing the boxes from being unloaded.
Miranda took a deep breath, pushing back the fear she felt. “What’s the meaning of this?”
A man stepped forward. “Are you the head of the center?”
“No I’m not. I’m a volunteer here. But why are you preventing those boxes from being unloaded? These people are hungry and have been waiting for hours just to eat.”
“We have orders to stop the distribution of these boxes.” The man turned his back on Miranda and nodded to his men. “Stay put. Not a single box is getting off this truck.”
Miranda’s eyes flashed. “Answer the question! We need to know why.” She gestured to the open door where the crowd could be seen, watching the scene. “Unless you want a riot in your hand, you’d better give us an explanation.”
“Yeah, asshole! Give us the food!” A barrage of angry voices followed.
We’re really close to losing control of the situation! Miranda took a deep breath. She pushed aside the memory of her harsh treatment at the hands of the police and approached the leader. “Mister, please. You and your men can’t possibly stop this crowd once they go berserk. Some of them haven’t eaten in days. Do you know what that does to a person?”
The man glanced at Miranda, then the waiting crowd. “I’m sorry, but I have to do my job. My boss called and said to stop the food truck at all cost.”
That made no sense! “But why?”
The man pointed a finger. “Maybe you can ask him.”
Miranda looked in the direction he pointed. A sleek BMW sidled to the side of the truck. The door opened and the driver stepped out, tossing his keys to the man within.
Miranda gasped.
Oh my god. It’s him and the car that almost ran me down. Shit! Who is he? The boss? Miranda swallowed, watching the man approach. Even from a distance it was hard not to notice his arctic blue eyes as he summed up the situation. His thick lashes couldn’t hide his authority as he nodded to his men. The way he strides on those long lean legs… It’s like he owns this city.
She’d heard about men like this. Dominant men who wield their power like a wand. Even his five o’clock shadow looked like it had been cultivated to complement his squared jaw line. Miranda tightened her hands into fists. He’s probably paying his men exorbitant fees to protect him from this hungry mob!
As the man got closer and Miranda could observe his flashing eyes and the tightly drawn lines of his face, she revised her opinion. Does he ever need protection? He looks like someone who can do a body slam easily.
He was close now, close enough that Miranda could breathe in the scent of his aftershave. Thoughtless asshole! Who wears aftershave and Burberry and drives their BMW to a homeless center? Doesn’t he know that some of these people haven’t bathed in weeks? He came to a halt in front of her, and Miranda was keenly aware of his eyes on her and the flare of his patrician nose. Probably trying to work out if I’m a volunteer—or one of the homeless. She squared her shoulders, meeting his gaze defiantly. If he thinks he can push us around, he’s making a big mistake.
He spoke. “Are you the head of the center?”
Miranda rolled her eyes. Typical rich kid—he hadn’t done his research before showing up and bossing them all around. “Mister, this center has no head. It’s a cooperative effort, led by volunteers.”
He blinked, clearly more used to being greeted with obeisance than sarcasm. “I donated these food boxes. But I got a call from my staff member who thinks the food might be spoiled. That’s the reason I asked my men to prevent the truck being unloaded.”
Miranda’s eyes widened. “Spoiled? How?”
“I haven’t got the whole story but I couldn’t risk people getting ill. I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Miranda breathed out. The man was right. If something was wrong with the food, chances were high many of the people present would land in the hospital. Most of them had no insurance. It would be a catastrophe.
Word traveled fast. Murmurs of ‘there is no food today’ spread through the crowd. Those fortunate enough to have eaten something during the day left. Those who were hungry stayed behind, throwing belligerent looks at the volunteers.
“We have to do something,” Miranda said. “Talk to them. Tell them what happened. It may not help with the hunger, but at least they’ll know this wasn’t deliberate.”
The man nodded. His eyes studied the crowd with what looked like sympathy. “Is there anything I can do? I hate to deny people who are hungry.”
He stiffened at the accusation in her voice. “This wasn’t deliberate. I came as soon as I heard.”
“Worried about the backlash?” Miranda knew that was unfair.
He frowned. “Yes, I was, but that’s not the only reason I came. I do care about these people… even if you find that rather hard to believe.”
That confession was surprising, but something in her believed it. We can’t just leave without trying something. “There’s a kitchen at the back. I can scrounge around for something to eat. It may not be enough but at least everyone will get something.”
“You can cook?” He asked with a look of surprise.
Miranda snorted. “I was born with an apron around my waist. Tell me what you want, and I’ll make it.”
His steely eyes glittered and he nodded. “Something that goes far, like a bowl of soup, or porridge…”
“I can do that. We have a sack of rice someone donated. There must be onions, ginger, and other condiments I can find.” Miranda’s face fell. “But I’ll need chicken meat and liver.”
“That’s all?” The man straightened. “Leave it to me.” He turned, barking rapid-fire instructions to his men.
Miranda blinked. Before she’d taken in what had happened, two of the burly men were dispatched with instructions to bring back as much chicken as they could find. They shot off down the street.
The man turned, mingling with the waiting crowd. Miranda’s warning died unspoken on her lips. She stared as the hungry crowd responded to his air of authority, listening to him speak. Miranda made her way to the kitchen without obstacle. Gotta hand it to him. The man gets things done. She took a deep breath, sizing up the kitchen. The rice and condiments were there, exactly where she needed them. Good.
Miranda reached for the largest pot. After her disconcerting encounter with the rich kid, she looked forward to getting to grips with something she was familiar with. Cooking never lets me down. But cooking never sent her heart into overdrive either.
Miranda filled the pot with water, trying to ignore her curiosity about the man who’d appeared out of nowhere, calming the chaos, but as she caught his voice from outside, her heart fluttered. Delayed reaction. After all, his fast rich kid car almost killed me!
Miranda soon had the pot boiling briskly. As she set down her chopping board, there was a knock at the door. The men who stopped the truck filed into the kitchen. They had a distinctly sheepish air. The leader cleared his throat. “Mr. Hawkins sent us here to help.”
Miranda raised an eyebrow. Have any of these muscle men ever set foot in a kitchen? “Anyone know how to prep onions? What about ginger?” They shook their heads. Miranda rolled up her sleeves. “Then you’re about to learn.”
She demonstrated, and soon the men were peeling, dicing, and slicing the ingredients. Miranda walked around the kitchen, checking on their progress. They might not be experienced, but they’re working hard, that’s for sure. She caught sight of the leader, crying into his shirt, and turned away to hide her laughter. Should I have warned him about peeling onions? ... Nah!
It was all quiet from the dining room. Miranda decided to take a quick peek.
A circle had formed around the boss man as the homeless listened to him. She leaned in the doorway to watch. It looked like he was exchanging stories. He looked perfectly at home, with no sign of apprehension or disgust on his face. Suddenly, he looked up. Miranda flushed as their eyes met. She lowered them immediately finding it hard to meet his gaze.
A sound behind her called her attention back to the kitchen.
“The chicken’s here!” The two men set it down and she hurried over to look. It had already been diced into bite size pieces. “Perfect!” Miranda felt a burst of exultation. We’re going to save this situation yet!
Soon the savory rice-porridge was bubbling away, the smell filling the kitchen and wafting to the others waiting patiently outside. Miranda searched for bowls and utensils. She sent her assistants to do a headcount, as she lined bowls up on the kitchen counter ready to be filled.
“Miranda, need any help?”
Miranda jumped.
The man stood beside her. He frowned at her surprise. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you that. They told me that’s your name.”
Miranda suddenly felt extremely conscious of her damp clothes. If only I could brush my hair! Inwardly, she was surprised at herself. Since when do I care about my appearance? “Yes, I’m Miranda Okafor, your designated cook for the day.”
His eyes locked on hers. “I’m sorry for putting you through all this. You probably didn’t expect to be here now, going to all this effort.”
Miranda fought the urge to tug at her hair. “I’m sorry for barking at you earlier. I know that’s a hungry crowd out there. Ben would probably eat an old shoe if you placed it on a dish.”
He laughed at her remark. “You seem to know them well, and they like you, too.”
“I used to be one of them till someone saved me.” Miranda snapped her mouth but it was too late. The words were out before she’d realized what she was saying.
He stared at her in surprise. “I’d like to hear that story someday.”
Miranda stiffened. I bet you would. It would be an amusing anecdote to pass around his high-society friends. True, he didn’t sound condescending. But what did she know about him really? She didn’t even know his name.
As if reading her thoughts, he cleared his throat. “My name is Wolfe Hawkins.”
Something clicked in Miranda’s brain. Donated food…working in the area? “Hawkins? As in… Hawkins Pharmaceuticals?”
He nodded. “Guilty.”
“My assistant manager was just talking about you this morning.”
His eyes widened in mock-alarm. “I didn’t date her, did I?”
“No! She suggested I come to you for assistance. There’s this building…” She trailed off. If she wanted Hawkins Pharmaceutical to take her seriously, she had to do this the right way.
“A building?” Wolfe prompted.
Miranda met his gaze and shook her head. “This isn’t the time or the place.” She really wasn’t sure it would work anyway. Asking help from someone like him made her feel too exposed…too vulnerable. She’d already let slip more than she wanted.
“Tomorrow then. My office?” He whipped out a card and scribbled on the back. “Here’s my card and phone number in case you get lost.”
Miranda stared at him.
Wolfe pressed the card into her hand, “It sounds like a business proposition. I’m always open to those. ” He glanced toward the dining room. “I think there’s a hungry horde waiting to be fed.”
***
Why can’t I stop thinking about her? Wolfe lay in the master bed of his ritzy residential condo in the heart of Manhattan, his silk sheets a crumpled mess. Usually, he dozed off in a snap. But tonight, the struggle to sleep was real. It was like wrestling an octopus.
Miranda... For what had to be the hundredth time that night, his first glimpse of her flashed through his mind. He saw her body freeze as she thought the car would hit her, the relief written all over her face when it didn’t, and her smile—her glorious, larger than life smile.
Seeing her... It was like I’ve been blind for so long and am seeing for the first time. She’s so beautiful—so determined. Wolfe remembered how she’d argued with his men over the food. Gutsy as hell. His smile softened as he remembered how Miranda had sat down with the homeless to eat, greeting them by name. She really cares for those people.
The same couldn’t be said about his intentions. Wolfe frowned. He’d offered to bring her home, suggesting he buy her a drink as a thank you for the inconvenience he’d caused. Instead, she’d turned him down with a polite but firm refusal.
/> That’s a first. Maybe that was why it was so hard to get her out of my head? She’s not even my type — or is she? Dark hair and brown eyes that flashed like obsidian when angry. Passionate. Wolfe wondered how that passion would translate to the bedroom, and caught himself. Really, Hawkins? Really?
A casual hook-up felt wrong. One look from her and he’d found himself sharing his suspicions the food was spoiled. He lowered his guard and placed the company in danger. Something inside said he could trust her, even capitulating to her demand that he explain his actions to the crowd. No one commands me that way. But it had been the right call, and they’d averted a crisis—together. I need to know more about her.