Triple A Arts Academy. There’s your name.
Excitement shivered through her, and in that moment, she knew. Without a doubt. She had to accept Gregor’s offer. It’s the only way.
She scrambled for her phone, fumbling to type out the message to Gregor. “I’m in. Just tell me where to go from here.”
Kara stared at the phone, hardly daring to breathe, waiting for a response. When none came, she checked the time. It was after midnight. Maybe he was asleep already. She shouldn’t stare at the phone like a crazy person waiting for an immediate response.
But soon her screen lit up with a text message. It was Gregor.
“You’re sure?”
She could practically hear him saying it in that sinfully sexy British accent. “Yes.”
“Do you have a passport?”
She blinked, thinking about where it might be stowed. This was sounding a bit like a Bond movie suddenly. “Yes.”
“I’ll send a car for you tomorrow morning. Pack a bag, your computer, your passport, whatever essentials you want for a trip. We’ll be gone for a while.”
Her insides lit up like a fourth of July fireworks display. What did “a while” mean? And where the hell were they going?
It didn’t even matter. She’d figure the details out later.
She was ready for the adventure.
* * *
Kara woke up extra early the next morning to pack. Even in the light of day, this decision still felt like the right one. That’s a good sign. She threw a bag together hastily, extracted her passport from its hiding spot, and tried to tidy up as much as she could before the car arrived.
The buzzer rang at nine thirty. Kara’s belly flopped, and she breezed over to the intercom. “Hello?”
“This is Bridgette Anderson, assistant to Gregor Beaumont.” A smooth, cool British voice came through the intercom. Kara’s insides fluttered again. “I’m ready down here when you are.”
“Great. Be there in a sec.” Kara flicked off the intercom and let out a squeal. Shit, did she have everything? She made a last sweep of her place, gripped her rolling luggage, and then closed her apartment up behind her. Downstairs, a narrow-nosed blonde woman waited for her, eyeing her with something between suspicion and amusement.
“I’m Kara.” She offered a hand, and Bridgette took it.
“Pleasure,” Bridgette said. “Let’s be on our way, shall we?” She helped her put the luggage in the trunk, and they climbed into the back seat of the waiting sedan. The driver wordlessly put the car into gear and whisked them off. Bridgette turned to face her. This woman was all business.
“We’re heading for the airport,” she began, pulling out her phone and swiping through screens while she spoke. “Don’t worry too much about your things—the plan is that you’ll have a personal shopper while you’re in Barcelona.”
Kara blinked, hardly able to believe it. “Barcelona?”
“That’s the first stop on the racing circuit,” Bridgette said. “In case you didn’t know, Mr. Beaumont is a top competitor. He’s already en route to Spain and will be preparing for the upcoming Formula One race.”
Kara’s gaze drifted toward the window. This all felt and sounded like a surreal dream. “Okay. And what should I do about my apartment while I’m gone?”
“Write out a list of what needs looked after. Mr. Beaumont’s house sitter has already been alerted.” Bridgette produced a pen and paper, offering it to her. “You should also detail here who needs to be called, anything that will help wrap up your affairs during your absence. I will assist with your business affairs.”
“And how long should I expect to be gone?”
“About a month. For now.” Bridgette sniffed, glancing back at her phone.
Kara’s head spun. This was unfurling so suddenly, so methodically. Maybe Gregor had tricked other women into this same ruse before. He could be a practiced seducer of fake spouses. Maybe he had a whole basement full of fake wives, feeding off their energy. Kara smirked. That would make for an interesting play once this was all said and done.
She clutched the pen and paper for a bit, staring at the passing Seattle suburb as they wound their way toward the airport. And then she got to work, making out her list. Somewhere between Send our mass apology to drama students and pitch all the perishables in the fridge, she remembered something she’d wanted to clarify last night. With Gregor only.
Kara tapped out a quick message to her new fiancé. “Hey Greg. Can I call you Greg now that we’re betrothed? I’m going to need to see some proof that you’re moving on my theater. Time is running out.”
Really, she’d prefer that he already had the deed in hand, but that was a bit much for less than twelve hours.
His response came through a few moments later. “I’ve been on the phone with a Mr. Henry Walton. He is very intrigued by my offer and inclined to take it. You shall have your theater soon, dearest.”
Kara smirked at the unexpected pet name. At least the man was proactive.
* * *
The trip to Barcelona was as uneventful as a first-time private jet experience could be. Wood trim edged the seats, a personal attendant brought both her and Bridgette mimosas, and Kara spent the majority of her trip fully reclined in the plushest leather seat she’d ever experienced in her life. If this was the stuff of Gregor’s life, she might not have a hard time adapting.
By the time the plane landed in Barcelona, Kara was well rested but lost in space and time. Her body felt like it was evening, but the bright and bustling airport in Spain suggested it was early morning. Bridgette led them to a waiting car nearby.
As they settled into the backseat of this similar sedan halfway across the world, Bridgette said, “I hope you got enough sleep. We’ll be stopping off at the garage first to see Mr. Beaumont. He would like to have a word with you. And then I’ll show you to your hotel room.”
“Great. I, uh…” The question withered on her lips. Suddenly, it became real. Was the ruse live now? Should she show up and embrace her supposed fiancé? There were a lot of details to be hashed out still. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Barcelona blurred by in a stream of early morning pedestrians and bright buildings. Already the air felt different, and when she listened hard enough at stop signs she could catch quiet Catalan wafting from the streets or the th-th sound of Spanish. They drove away from the city center, down tree-lined streets that wound around gothic buildings sprawling for a block or longer. Kara tried to absorb as much as she could until the car made a sharp turn and pulled through gates in a stone wall, cutting off her tour of the city.
The car bumped and rumbled over cobblestones, following a curved path toward a long series of garages. Up ahead, Kara could see stacks of odd, round tires, seemingly too bulbous and small for a regular car. They eased to a stop, and Bridgette turned to her, offering a quick smile.
“Here we are.”
Kara pushed out of the car at the same time Bridgette did, taking a sharp inhale of the sweet, summer morning. How strange—she had no idea where she was, really, other than Barcelona. She hadn’t even told her friends she was making this trip, much less weighing the decision of selling her hand in marriage. Maybe this had been a rash decision…albeit a very interesting one.
“Kara.”
Gregor’s smooth vowels made her skin prickle. She’d heard his voice for the first time only yesterday, yet it already felt familiar. She spotted him coming toward her out of the garage, a lopsided grin on his face. Her heart twisted strangely at the sight of him. Had he really been so handsome yesterday? She remembered him being gorgeous, but not so...normal, too.
He wore stained coveralls and wiped his hands off with a stained rag as he approached. Hair mussed, grease on his neck, his eyes shining with mischief. He wore the look of a man who liked to tinker in his garage in his spare time. Not at all the glossy, perfect image of a millionaire celebrity who gathered notches on his bedpost for fun.
“Wow. Hey.” She
blinked hard, trying to see past the veneer of manliness. The scent of grease and Burberry cologne reached her with something refined underneath, like expensive wood.
“Thanks, Bridgette.” He nodded at his assistant. She wandered away a moment later, buried in her phone. “Good to see you, Kara. I’m glad you made it.”
“I can’t believe this is real,” Kara said, shoving her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “Woke up in Seattle, took a nap, and then woke up in Barcelona.”
“It’s important to move quickly on opportunities,” he said with a wink. Something in his tone made her feel warm, but she couldn’t tell why. Something in his tone also made her want to take her clothes off.
“Well, this is certainly an opportunity.” It was hard to keep eye contact with him. When she did, she wanted to gaze into those blue eyes forever. “I have a lot of questions, though.”
“Right.” His face hardened at the mention of business. “I’m sure. And I will answer all of them later today. For now, I wanted to touch base before you go off to relax and buy clothes.”
“Clothes?”
“I’ll have a personal shopper meet you whenever you’re ready. Maybe once you settle in at the hotel and have breakfast.”
Kara nodded, gaze snagging on a man heading their way. He was tall and lanky, similar in build to Gregor, but with darker hair.
“Ah, Christian.” Gregor smiled, clapping the newcomer on the back. “I’d like you to meet Kara.”
Kara smiled, taking Christian’s hand when he offered it. The same crush of questions entered her head as with Bridgette—How do I introduce myself? Should I start acting now? Is it appropriate to make some joke about being this man’s fiancé?—but she silenced them. “Nice to meet you, Christian.”
“Christian is my racing partner,” Gregor said, stuffing the dirty rag in his back pocket. “Sometimes he’s even my stand-in.”
“Only when the boss permits it,” Christian cracked.
“Let’s show Kara the car,” Gregor said suddenly, his tone almost reverent. “She hasn’t seen it yet.” Gregor jerked his head toward the garage, placing his hand on the small of her back to guide her. She jolted at the unexpected touch, feeling weightless as she followed his lead.
They stepped into the massive garage, which was almost sepulchral in its silence and size. Spotlights illuminated the star feature: the Formula One race car, a sleek red and black thing that looked more like a futuristic fantasy sketch than a real, functioning car. The wheels looked comically large compared to the level of the car, which sat so close to the ground she couldn’t imagine it negotiating even a simple curb.
“Here she is.” Gregor grinned, a childlike giddiness seeping from him as he led her around the car. The glee was evident in his voice as he pointed out certain features, the size of the engine, the important performance-enhancing tweaks they’d been implementing over the past few weeks. Christian stood off to the side, gazing at the car as though it were his son. The excitement intrigued her…Gregor was more like a kid showing off his prized Matchbox car than she’d expected of someone so refined.
Just goes to show…you know nothing about this man.
She had plenty to learn about Gregor Beaumont. That was for sure.
Besides, how could she not learn more about the patron of her dream? Their arrangement demanded it.
But more than that, she wanted to.
4
Gregor paced the suite outside Kara’s room. Life since her arrival had felt like more of a whirlwind than usual, but he supposed it had to do with the fact that he was coordinating for two now. There was more to think about, more to plan: where she might eat, what she might like to do, whether or not she was comfortable in her role.
He didn’t for a second doubt his offer to her, but now that she’d taken him up on it, he realized there was more to it than he’d initially planned for. They had spent their first night together talking about their lives, what would be expected of her, how each stage of their “relationship” would progress. And really, the plan was more or less simple: she’d accompany him around Europe for the first half of the Formula One race tour, a full month, while attending events and telling the world they were a couple.
Somewhere along the line, Gregor would propose. She would accept. His family would be curious but receptive. Friends would fawn. Tabloids would dig up dirt, as they always did when he was involved. He warned Kara strongly about this. And they’d wed by the end of the year, remaining married until he and his brothers regained control of the company before they could divorce and move along with their lives.
Simply genius.
Gregor sighed, running a hand through his hair. Kara should have been ready by now. This was their first big formal night out, and he’d made sure she had plenty of wardrobe options. She’d been out twice with a personal shopper while he finished up the modifications to his car for the upcoming race. More than clothing, he made sure to provide whatever she could possibly need. Anything. If she wanted glacier-filtered water, he would find a way to procure it.
The money spent on her and this deal was the least of his worries. The favor she was doing him was worth any sum. Because Kara, though it might not appear it, was saving his life.
His life as he knew it, at least. The life that he had built for himself, with his brothers, painstakingly. Together, the three of them had struck out on their own path, divesting themselves of the family name and business only to develop a brand and identity entirely different from what their grandfather had expected. Using every last penny of their trust funds, they began B3 Motors as a way to follow what they truly loved and believed in…high-performance racing and technology.
Not the tech company that had been bogged down in red tape and bureaucracy that their grandfather had wanted to hand over to the three of them.
B3 was the most important thing in Gregor’s life, the only child he’d ever need. And if he and his brothers didn’t satisfy the conditions of his grandfather’s will, he could lose it all. He’d never been more certain of anything in his life: he didn’t want to lose his company or his freedom.
Though even a fake wife will inhibit your freedoms a bit.
The thought returned to him as he fidgeted, forced to wait for the literal embodiment of his new life. If he were going to the opera alone tonight, he might return with the phone number of a lovely lady or two. But tonight? You have a girlfriend now. Remember it.
The doorknob turned, and Gregor paused, straightening his back. Kara had the far bedroom in his penthouse suite where he always stayed in Barcelona. She poked her head out, her eye makeup smoky and meticulous.
“Ready?” He cocked a smile, though his heart began beating crazily fast. That sultry glance of hers was enough to send him to his knees.
“I think so.” She bit her perfectly plumped and red bottom lip, then pulled the door open all the way. A tight, floor-length gown showcased her curves, highlighting the salacious dip in her waist, the tantalizing roundness of her breasts. These were sides and angles of her that he hadn’t seen yet, hadn’t even been able to glimpse through her regular clothes. He blinked, unable to rip his gaze from her.
“Is this okay?” Her voice was timid, like maybe he’d waited too long to react.
“Jesus.” He cleared his throat, forcing his eyes to meet hers and stop their careening path over her lush body. “Yes. You…wow. You look stunning.” Words clanked together in his brain. He had so many other words for her than these. And if she were a stranger at the opera house tonight, he would have beelined toward her in a heartbeat. “Wh—? Did your personal shopper pick this out?”
“We both did,” she said, tugging at the shimmery black fabric over her hips. “She said it would be perfect for the opera. I made sure.”
He blinked again, unable to look away from the fascinating arc of her ass as she exited the bedroom, pulling the door shut. He wetted his bottom lip, feeling his neck heat up. Unwittingly, he’d picked the most gorgeous woman in
the world. The perfect leading lady for his con.
Except he desperately wanted to suspend the con and have an authentic night out with her.
“Excellent choice,” was all he could say without revealing the fierce buzz of desire inside him. It seemed somehow inappropriate to pin her against the wall here and now, when they’d so recently discussed the few romantic gestures that would be required of them. Holding hands in public, hugging, cheek kisses. Simple stuff that would appease the press. Nothing at all like the hip grinding and French kissing he was suddenly so keen on trying out.
Gregor led the way out of the penthouse, his legs wobbly and weak as they rode the elevator down. Kara fidgeted with her handbag while he soaked up the hint of her cleavage, the creamy lines of her arms.
“Are you nervous?” he asked when the doors slid open.
“Sort of, yeah. This is my first huge formal night out.” She laughed a little. “Outside of prom, that is.”
“Prom?” Gregor pressed his hand to the small of her back as they walked across the lobby, drawing stares. “Is that like the May Ball?”
She creased a brow. “What’s the May Ball?”
“I suspect the only equivalent we Brits have to your prom,” he said, grinning as they breezed through the main sliding doors. Their private car waited outside. Gregor held the car door open for her as she slid carefully into the back seat. “It’s a formal affair, gowns and all, held yearly in June.”
She snorted. “So why is it called the May Ball?”
“To confuse foreigners like you,” he stated wryly, easing into the seat next to her. They shared a smile, one that made him feel like they’d known each other for much longer than three days. The car eased into motion, and Gregor relaxed, slinging his arm over the back of the seat.
“I have some good news on the property front,” he said, watching as her sultry pout turned into a hopeful smile. “The owner has accepted my offer. He wants to enter into contract.”
The Beaumont Brothers: The Complete Series Page 3
