Samantha started to pack up her things as she spoke. “His name was Drew Falsworth. You were two months past your seventeenth birthday when you broke his nose at a polo match at the prep school you both attended. Drew had a reputation for dating girls long enough to get them into bed before dumping and moving onto the next. Your sister was smart to stay away and if you hadn’t hit the bastard to protect your sister, and I’d found out about it, this interview would have been over before you even sat down.”
“How the hell—”
“I have a very extensive list of contacts. Most of which I’m sure you’ll know about before this day is out.”
Damn right. He’d be on the phone with his assistant before he reached the car.
“What’s this going to cost me, Ms. Elliot?”
“Consider me an agent. When your lawyer draws up the prenuptial agreement bear in mind that twenty percent of what you offer your future wife will be paid to me up front.”
“And if I only offer her a small stipend?”
“The women I work with have a minimum spelled out in that stack of papers.”
“And if the woman doesn’t hold to her end of the deal? If she fights the contract after a year?”
Samantha stood, giving Blake no choice but to stand beside her.
“She won’t.”
“You sound so certain.”
“The predetermined amount of money, her share, goes into an account. If the woman fights for more, that money pays your attorneys to squelch her. Anything left over is yours to keep. The only time this would change is if a child was brought into the picture and paternity tests proved it was yours. Family courts with kids aren’t something I agree to deal with. It will be up to you to keep it in your pants, Mr. Harrison. That is of course if you intend to end the marriage after the agreed upon year. If not, then enjoy your happily ever after and name your child after me.”
She’d thought of everything. To say he was impressed was an understatement.
“I need those papers by three this afternoon. I’ll be in touch by five with a list of prospective women. We’ll set up meetings as soon as tomorrow if your schedule allows.”
Blake reached down, lifted her bag, and handed it to her.
She shoved a lock of unruly hair from her eyes and swung the handle over her shoulder. “Do you have any more questions for me, Mr. Harrison? Or should I be calling you, Your Grace?”
The slow way she rolled his title off her tongue with her hypnotic voice was something he could get used to. He wouldn’t mind hearing it again, over the phone… “How about Blake?”
****
As soon as Sam knew she wasn’t being watched, she slid behind the wheel of her car and allowed the Cheshire cat grin she’d been feeling deep inside her to spread over her face. An undignified Snoopy dance had her wiggling her butt in the soft leather. “About friggin’ time,” she whispered to herself.
The dashing Duke was her ticket to the big leagues. From the inception of Alliance, she’d pictured clients like Blake Harrison lining up for her services, rich men in need of finding a wife to check off their bucket list. She’d found wives for men who didn’t have time, or the desire to go through the dating game. They weren’t looking for love, but companionship. Some men wanted to claim a wife so that their lovers would stop bugging them for a ring. To date, she’d kept a steady income and personal referrals that built her business to sustain her.
With Harrison, and his estimated profit potential, she’d be able to pay her largest expense for a good two to three years, or so she hoped.
A millionaire on his own, Harrison didn’t need his late father’s money. But to allow a bank account that could buy out small countries to disappear into the melting pot of charity, or to the cousin Blake had mentioned, would be a shame. Especially with all the corruption and scandal associated with charities. There was no telling where that money would end up and whose pocket it would fatten.
Sam knew first hand how do-good money often fell into greedy hands.
Harrison’s situation would bring up distractions she’d not faced before. His title might be the biggest problem to overcome. She’d have to screen the prospective women to make sure they didn’t have fairytale dreams of being a Duchess. Years of Disney videos were hard to combat. Combine that with Harrison’s over-the-top good looks, and the women she’d introduce him to would have to be blind not to want more from the man than his money.
The pictures she’d seen of him didn’t do him justice. She’d always looked up to men, had to with her five foot five frame, but Blake was six one on a bad day with shoulders rippling with muscles. She’d seen tabloid pictures of him on a beach in Tahiti that hinted at the physique he hid under his suit. When he’d walked into the coffee shop, all eyes turned to him yet he didn’t even notice. He simply scanned the room looking for her. With any other client, she’d have taken to her feet the second he hit the door, but with Blake, she needed a minute to compose herself. His firm, rugged jaw and striking grey eyes penetrated her normally calm disposition and made her heart leap.
His looks would be a distraction. It would be best for all involved if the woman he picked to be his wife lived in one country while he lived in another. Spending long amounts of time with him would tempt any woman with a pulse to sleep with him.
Sam removed her cell phone from her purse and called her assistant.
“Alliance, this is Eliza.”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“How did it go?” Eliza jumped right in with her query.
“Perfectly. Did you pull the files and make the calls?”
“I did. Joanne was the only woman not available at this time.”
Sam pictured the tall brunette. “Really, why?”
“Has a boyfriend, apparently.”
That did tend to mess up marriage to another man. Without Joanne, there were three other perfect candidates. Unless Blake had a problem with beautiful women, she’d have the man a wife by Wednesday. It was only Monday.
“Her loss.”
“Are you coming in?”
“I have an errand to run and then I’ll be there.”
“Bring lunch.”
Eliza and Sam had been friends for some time, long before their business relationship had taken off. “As your boss, shouldn’t you be picking me up lunch?” she teased.
“Not when my slave-driving employer isn’t in the office long enough to man the phones.” The office, what a joke. Sam used the spare bedroom in the townhouse.
Laughing, Sam said, “I’ll be there in a half an hour.”
“You might want to call Moonlight first.”
Sam sat a little taller. “Why is something wrong?” Worry wiggled around in her stomach, producing a familiar sense of panic.
“Nothing urgent. Jordan isn’t eating as much as they’d like. They thought you should stop by and talk to her.”
Samantha blew out a long-suffering breath and forced her shoulders to relax. “Okay.” Her plans for the afternoon would now be complicated with a side trip to the long care facility that took care of her younger sister. The last time she’d stopped eating she ended up in the hospital suffering from an infection that spread throughout her whole bloodstream. Sam hoped her sister was depressed and not ill. Sad that those were the top choices as to why Jordan wasn’t eating.
But what else was there? Depression had led to Jordan’s attempted suicide, which resulted in a stroke instead of death. “I’ll be late, but if you can wait, I’ll bring lunch.”
“Let me know if you get tied up.”
“I will. Thanks.”
Sam hung up and started her car before pointing it toward Moonlight Assisted Living. The exclusive home cost over a hundred grand a year and was the reason Samantha needed the income that Blake Harrison would bring. She was a month behind on her personal bills and always cutting the checks to Moonlight a week or two late. The last thing Sam wanted was to crumble under the financial pressure and end up having to put Jord
an in a state run facility, homes where she’d be ignored and likely end up with bedsores and untreatable infections within a month. No, she’d live out of her car before she let that happen.
Picturing the Duke, Sam knew things wouldn’t end up so dire. He stood to lose close to three hundred million from his father’s estate if he didn’t marry by the end of the month. Blake would likely pay the woman walking down the aisle a nice chunk and therefore pay Alliance enough to float for some time. All Sam had to do was fluff up the women in line and make sure none of them hit any panic buttons.
Easy squeezy… or so she hoped.
Chapter Two
Blake fingered the photographs and files of the three women Samantha sent his way. Each one was perfect. They were educated, cultured, and beautiful. So why the hell were they registered with a dating service to find a temporary husband? There had to be a link between them and Miss Matchmaker herself, but Blake wasn’t seeing it.
Candidate one, Candice… no last name. According to the portfolio, she was a second year law student with typical educational loans. She loved the arts and spent her off time running marathons. Blake glanced at her picture again. Her resemblance to Jacqueline was scary. Samantha thought of everything, she’d even put the ladies’ measurements and weight at the bottom of the page. In captions, Sam wrote a note about how dating services often use old, photo-shopped high school pictures but Alliance updated their photos every six months.
Candidate two, Rita… again, no last name. A physician’s assistant taking classes for pre-med. She loved boating and spending time in exotic locations. She’d done her share of traveling, but Sam’s papers didn’t say how she afforded her hobby.
Candidate three, Karen… Blake didn’t bother looking for a last name, he knew it wouldn’t be there. Karen should have been a model. Stunning blue eyes and snow blonde hair knocked a man’s breath out of his lungs. Karen wasn’t in school and didn’t have any student loans. She managed some type of nursing home and mentored kids at a boys’ and girls’ club.
The women were perfect, so why did Blake have a sinking feeling that they were all wrong?
Blake pushed forward in his chair and picked up his phone. When his assistant picked up, Blake said, “Well, Mitch?”
“I still have a couple of calls unanswered, but I’ve found some interesting things about Miss Elliot.”
“Great, bring them over.”
Blake walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office and looked down at the city below. Running his shipping business from four points on the globe gave him the upper hand over his competitors. He’d built the business from a meager beginning, despite his father’s disapproval. Blake’s desire to prove to his father that he didn’t need the man’s money, or his title, fueled his drive. However, the Harrison name had opened many doors over the years and pissing away the bulk of his inheritance wasn’t something he was willing to do, especially since the old man was long dead.
Mitch knocked on the door to his office before he let himself in.
Turning on his heel, Blake nodded to the coffee table in the corner of his office where he could view the files Mitch had in his hand. “Let’s do this over here.”
Mitch sat and wasted little time spreading papers out for Blake to see.
“Samantha Elliot, twenty seven years old, born in Connecticut to Harris and Martha Elliot.”
Blake took his seat. “Why do those names sound familiar?”
“They should, Harris was center stage in the media several years back when he was charged with tax evasion and embezzlement. He and his family lived in a twenty million dollar mansion, with vacation homes in France and Hawaii… the whole big piece of the American Pie.”
Blake remembered it now. Big New York businessman who had funneled his funds through glorified ponzi schemes. He’d given out insurance policies for homes, land, business, and property to unsuspecting victims, with no intention of paying them off. If memory served him right, Blake recalled the Feds having a hard time nailing him for corruption and instead managed to imprison him for not paying his taxes. His accounts and property were frozen and his family fell apart.
“Martha, the wife, couldn’t handle the drop in status, took a bottle of pills with a pint of gin, and never woke up.” Mitch relayed the details of Samantha Elliot’s family life as if it were a soap opera.
“According to the media, Samantha’s sister, Jordan, tried to follow her mother’s example, but ended up with a lack of brain function. I’m still waiting on the details as to where the girl is now. Samantha survived the ordeal, but ended up picking up the family pieces. She dropped out of college, where she was studying business, and socked the small amount of money the government didn’t take into her sister’s care.” Mitch took a breath and handed Blake a list of names.
“What’s this?”
“These are people Miss Elliot has connections to. Growing up among the rich and connected resulted in some lasting friendships. The adults severed all ties to the Elliot family when they went down, but Samantha’s friends didn’t. There’s a senator’s daughter on that list and two rapidly progressing lawyers. I’m still not sure how she found out about your prior, but I have a call in back home.”
Blake shifted through the papers and found a photo of the Elliot family during happy times. The small family stood aboard a yacht. Martha was pencil thin, and her daughters stood beside her in one-piece bathing suits. Samantha’s hair was tied back in a ponytail but it still had managed to blow into her face when the picture was taken. Jordan, much younger than Sam, had her mother’s dark hair and tiny frame. Harris, a good fifty pounds overweight, rested a hand on his wife’s shoulder and smiled for the camera.
Pictures were deceiving. His mind drifted to a similar family portrait of his. Blake’s father stood behind his mother with a hand on her shoulder. His mother’s white knuckles tensed on the armrest of the chair in which she sat. Blake remembered the day the picture was taken. He and his father had argued about Blake taking a summer internship to better his college applications. Edmund refused to discuss Blake working for anyone, especially for free. Edmund believed an education was necessary for bragging to one’s friends. Work, however, was a four-letter word. One no Harrison would touch so long as he had a say in their lives.
“I thought my family was dysfunctional,” Blake whispered.
“I think Miss Elliot wins the prize.”
Funny, Blake didn’t think the prize was worth winning. “Where does Samantha live?”
“She rents a townhome in Tarzana.”
“Roommates?”
“Hard to say.”
Then, without knowing why he asked, he said, “Boyfriend?”
Mitch’s eyes rounded to him. “I didn’t look, but I will.” Just then, the phone in Mitch’s pocket rang. He removed it and glanced at the number. “This is about the sister,” he explained before he answered the call.
Mitch spoke into the line while Blake studied the names on the paper in his hand. Samantha had a lot of friends. He wondered if any of them helped her out financially.
Mitch made a whistling noise into the phone, grabbing Blake’s attention.
“Okay, thanks,” Mitch said before he disconnected the call.
“What is it?”
“Miss Elliot truly needs your business.”
“Really, why?”
“Her sister is a patient of Moonlight Villas. Nice name for a fancy home for adults in her condition. The place racks up a six figure bill every year.”
Blake felt his eyes pinch together. “And no one is helping Miss Elliot with it?”
Mitch shook his head. “None that I’ve found. Her friends might give her advice, but there isn’t a steady stream of money coming from anywhere but her business.”
A business that Blake had already researched and knew all about.
“Interesting.”
“So, what’s she like?”
It was the first personal question Mitch had asked.
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Blake pictured her alabaster skin and the determined set of her jaw. And that voice. Damn, just thinking about it made him want to talk to her again.
“She’s all business,” Blake told his assistant. “You’d like her.”
****
Being in control was her gig. So when Blake Harrison insisted on a dinner meeting to go over the potential wife candidates, Samantha started working out scenarios as to what Harrison was going to talk about.
Perhaps he’d recognized one of the women, or placed a last name to a face. She purposely left off the surnames of the women so her male clients had to rate the merits of the women on their attributes, not their families. Sam knew all too well how people judged her by her parents’ actions. After her parents fall, she’d considered changing her name and even her hair color. She settled for moving to the west coast and avoiding the media. The tabloid attention was short lived. Once the newest scandal burst onto the scene, hers was forgotten. Living close to Hollywood constantly put the light on someone else. Her face hadn’t been in the paper since her mother’s funeral.
Maybe if Samantha had been a beauty and a media whore, the papers would have followed her. Dodging reporters proved easy when Sam started dressing like a wallflower.
So what did Harrison want to discuss? Maybe he’d already talked with his lawyer and needed details her papers hadn’t covered. She’d thought of every conceivable loophole when she started her business. Her taxes were always paid, thank you, dad, and her contacts always kept close to the chest. Nothing she’d ever done by way of background checks or private investigators was illegal. The primary gender she turned to for information was women. Sam wasn’t naive enough to believe that women weren’t capable of illegal acts, but she had a hard time with trust and men. There weren’t many in her life that hadn’t let her down. In truth, she couldn’t think of any.
The sun was still shining as she pulled her car into the parking lot of the most expensive beachfront restaurant in Malibu. Unable to avoid the valet to park her car, Sam left her compact American-made sedan running as she stepped out of it. She thanked the attendant and watched him take the wheel only to park it a few feet away. Her GMC looked completely out of place parked among all the Lexus, Mercedes, and Cadillacs.
Wife by Wednesday Page 2
