The Rented Bride (Highland Billionaires Book 1)

by KyAnn Waters

  Trent’s gaze caught on one of the article headlines on the folded Journal.

  Horizon Media contracts Lindsey Fremont for Vicky Harris Detective Series.

  For an instant, his mind went blank. Then he snatched up the paper and read.

  In an unexpected merger with Horizon Media, Blood Silk Studios revealed a new three-movie contract with mega-star Lindsey Fremont for the Vicky Harris Detective series by Gordon Mars. Production is to begin immediately in New Zealand, with the first movie slated for the blockbuster summer release schedule. Horizon Media declined to name the actor who would play Vicky Harris’ love interest, Jason Mackenzie.

  Trent’s mind jumped. Filming and production right away? Had the studio agreed to suspend filming during Lindsey’s pregnancy? They had planned, shared their hopes and, like any good negotiators, reached an understanding of expectations. What about the two-year sabbatical from acting, until their baby was old enough to be left with a nanny? They’d agreed. Kissed and made love to celebrate. What the fuck was she doing signing a movie deal? They’d even picked out a girl and a boy name for their child.

  Trent’s gut churned. He balled his hand into a fist, crunching the paper as he thought about the words trust, marriage, family.

  There had to be an explanation. He tossed the paper onto the bed. He was a smart man—smart enough to recognize when he was getting screwed in a deal. This time, however, he hadn’t seen it coming. With Lindsey, he’d let himself believe.

  “Trent, you all right, lad?”

  Trent jarred from his thoughts.

  “What is it?” his grandfather demanded.

  Trent stiffened his shoulders. “Nothing, Granddad.” Nothing he was going to discuss with his grandfather. Damn her.

  “You can’t fool an old dog,” his grandfather said.

  Trent forced back the emotion that further tightened his chest. “Not this time, Granddad. It’s business, which has nothing to do with tonight.”

  “The look on your face wasn’t a man dealing with business.”

  Trent gave him a grim smile. “There are some things about me that even you don’t know. Come on, we have a party to attend.”

  Annie followed as Trent escorted James down the corridor.

  “Tell me if you get tired,” Trent said.

  “I’ll be close by if he needs anything,” Annie said.

  James whirled and poked a finger at her. “Keep your distance, woman. I don’t need a babysitter. I don’t want you hovering.”

  Trent chuckled. “I pay her to hover. Thank you, Annie. But I want you to enjoy yourself, as well. You can mingle at the party. I’ll be nearby.” And he had Celina and Greg on patrol. It was just a couple of hours at most. Trent took a deep breath and released it. He had other issues to deal with tonight, and he had no idea how he was going to tell his grandfather he had no bride.

  Minutes later, they stepped from the corridor into the ballroom. The orchestra played a soft Debussy tune.

  “Annie, get a drink,” his grandfather ordered. “Leave me be.”

  She glanced at Trent and he gave a slight nod.

  James wondered into the room and shook hands with a business associate. Tent followed but his thoughts dwelt on Lindsey. Production is to begin immediately. New Zealand. Three-movie deal. The article’s highlights played though his mind like bad cinema. How was it possible? Lindsey had held him tight when he’d told her about his grandfather’s illness. She’d cried and told him everything would be all right.

  Trent needed answers and he knew just who might have them. He laid a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder. “I see a friend I need to speak with.”

  “No work tonight, lad.”

  Trent lifted his hand in the Boy Scout’s three-fingered salute. “No work. I promise.”

  The all too familiar curiosity flickered in his grandfather’s eyes. The wheels in his head were turning. How the hell was Trent going to explain— He cut off the thought and smiled.

  “I’ll be back in a wee bit,” he said in a soft Scottish burr, then winked at his grandfather to indicate that he wanted to meet his girl when she arrived.

  “You won’t soften me with that accent,” his grandfather said, but the pleasure in his eyes elicited a combination of joy and sadness that pierced depths Trent hadn’t known existed in his soul.

  He glanced at Celina and gave her a tiny nod toward his grandfather, and she nodded acknowledgement that she would keep an eye on him until Trent returned.

  Then he stepped away. He wasn’t just afraid his grandfather would read the truth in his expression. Just how deep did Lindsey’s lies and manipulations go? Trent wound his way through the guests, scanning for the man who could help him.

  ***

  Cassie pushed open the large oak door of the front entrance, bundled up in a down coat Meg had leant her. Until tonight, she hadn’t known the true meaning of cold. Meg said the thirty-two-degree dip was pretty common for early spring. Cassie had known the weather would hover just at freezing today, which was why she’d ordered an ice sculpture that had failed to be delivered at the contracted time.

  Her luck seemed to be running a little thin. She had thanked her lucky stars that she hadn’t told anyone about the sculpture. At least this way she wouldn’t have more mishaps to explain. Two hours ago, she’d called the company and told them that since they hadn’t delivered the sculpture prior to guests arriving, to simply not deliver it at all. This was the third substantial problem on this job, and she felt certain Gallagher Event Planning was behind all three.

  A commotion from the drive drew her attention. Two parking valets were arguing with a delivery truck blocking the lane used to park cars on the north side of the property.

  “Dammit,” she cursed. Bright lamplight illuminated the steps and Cassie hurried down and along the path where two men were unloading the sculpture from their truck.

  “Hold on,” she called.

  Cassie sprinted toward them, then cried out when she slipped. She caught herself and took two steps with the momentum, then stopped. Heart racing, she glanced back at the stone walkway behind her and saw nothing she could identify as ice. She blew out a breath and walked a bit more slowly toward the two men, who were lowering the sculpture to the ground in the center of the drive.

  “Wait,” she said.

  The man facing her flicked a glance her way, then looked back at the sculpture as he and his partner settled it on the ground.

  Cassie reached them. “You need to take the sculpture back. It’s too late for delivery. You were supposed to deliver it this afternoon.”

  The two men straightened and the one nearest her turned. “Our invoice says one ice castle by eight pm. We have fifteen minutes to spare.”

  “Your invoice is wrong.” No surprise.

  The man frowned and pulled a tablet from his back jeans pocket, then tapped the screen. “You can call the office tomorrow. I need you to sign for delivery.” He handed over the tablet. “Just sign here with your finger.” He pointed to the bottom of the screen.

  She read the delivery information and shook her head. “No, I’m not signing. The sculpture was supposed to be here by 4:00 pm. Before guests arrived.”

  “Please, ma’am. I’m just the delivery guy,” the man said.

  She shook her head. “No. Load it back into your truck and move your vehicle…now.”

  Headlights cut into the darkness beyond the yard and a large sedan appeared on the road ahead.

  “See,” the guy said, “you still have guests arriving. The sculpture can be seen as your guests leave, too.”

  Cassie whirled on him. “I’m not arguing with you.” She didn’t have time. Dinner was scheduled for eight-thirty. “Take it or leave it but I’m not paying for it.” Ugh, another catastrophe.

  She started at a quick pace back to the house, then remembered her near fall and slowed. A silver Bentley passed on her left and disappeared through the far arch into the inner court where guests were entering through th
e courtyard door. Behind her, truck doors slammed. She glanced over her shoulder at the deliverymen who had gotten into their truck. The engine turned over and the truck lurched into motion and started around the circular drive where the sculpture now sat in the center of the circle.

  The ground lights she’d had set up to surround the ice replica of Brettonwood illuminated the sculpture to perfection. Guests were sure to notice that the sculpture hadn’t been there when they arrived. In all her years as an event planner, she’d never had so many issues. One mix up, she expected. But to have problem after problem was more than coincidence. She hated to think she was paranoid, but what other explanation made sense than sabotage? Was she the target or Trent Weston?

  Cassie climbed the steps to the porch and reentered the foyer. Warmth bathed her cold cheeks and nose. She hurried across the foyer and by the time she turned down the hallway she was stripping off the down coat. She turned left down another corridor, then right. In the two days since she’d been at Brettonwood she’d seen about a quarter of the massive structure and had been forced to keep her bearings or end up lost for what surely would have been a week.

  She turned down another hallway and hurried down half a dozen steps to the hallway on the level with the kitchen and ballroom. She wondered if Mr. Bernard of Frozen Accents was still in his office. No, she decided. He would—Cassie collided with a large figure. She caught the familiar scent of cologne and registered the memory of the good looking waiter, Sam, as she felt herself falling.

  She seized his jacket lapels and tensed in anticipation of them crashing to the floor, him on top of her. He hugged her to him and she buried her face in his shirt. It took two heartbeats to realize they hadn’t fallen.

  “Are you all right, Ms. Adams?”

  Cassie snapped her head up and stared into intense dark eyes. His grip tightened on her arms and she jarred from the stupor.

  “I’m fine. You can let go,” she said.

  That damn brow lifted again, but he released her, and said, “Excuse me,” then started past her.

  “Whoa, hold on there,” she said.

  He stopped and looked at her.

  “The kitchen is that way.” She pointed the way she’d been headed.

  “I know where the kitchen is,” he said. “I’m headed that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction, toward the private section of the castle, and started to turn.

  Cassie grabbed his arm. “Hey. I need your help. Dinner is about to be served. So no, this is not the time to wander around the castle. Let’s get back to the kitchen.”

  “Ms. Adams, it’s time you understood that you’ve made a mistake.”

  “A mistake?” Cassie narrowed her eyes. “Catering staff, whether employed by Mr. Weston or hired in, is limited to the kitchen and ballroom. So please,” she held her arm toward the kitchen, “I need you to do your job.” Her mind registered the jacket he now wore. “And I specifically asked for black pants and white shirts. Lose the jacket. I don’t want you mistaken for one of the guests.” Her gaze narrowed. “Or are you up to something?”

  Could this be yet another strange coincidence? Dressed like one of the guests? Of course. “You—look here, you can go back and tell Teri Gallagher that this little game is over. If she has a problem with me, come to me directly. Don’t sabotage this party. And if the problem is with Mr. Weston, tell her she’s not going to use my event to settle the score. I won’t have it. So whatever you’re planning, forget it.” She lowered her voice. “Do you want to make this ugly? If you don’t get your well-dressed ass out of here, I’ll have security throw you out.”

  “Security?” he repeated.

  “That’s right.” She poked him in the chest. “I’ll sue for damages. So tell Teri that we can settle this in litigation, or you can leave now. If this goes viral, I’ll make sure she doesn’t host a five-year-old’s birthday party. She’ll be lucky if she serves hot dogs and potato chips at a tractor pull.”

  “Ms. Adams, I don’t have time for this. I—”

  “I just bet you don’t,” she cut in.

  His expression darkened. “Look, it was funny when you mistook me for the delivery guy, and I went along with being a waiter. But this has gone far enough.”

  “You’re damn right it’s gone far enough,” she snapped. “Another thing, you can tell your boss she’s going to compensate me and Mr. Weston for the damages already done.”

  “Believe me, I know who pays the bills.”

  “I’m glad we understand each other. You can leave through the delivery entrance in the kitchen.”

  “Ms. Adams, I applaud your tenacity, but—”

  “That’s it.” Cassie pulled her phone from her back pocket and tapped the number twelve for security.

  “Ms. Adams,” Sam began.

  The phone picked up on the first ring. “Security,” said a deep male voice on the other end of the line.

  “This is Cassie, I have a problem in the—” she glanced at the hallway “—dammit, which hallway is this?”

  “The rear east hallway,” Sam said.

  “The rear east hallway,” Cassie repeated into the phone. “I have an intruder who—”

  “Dammit,” the waiter cursed and snatched the phone from her ear.

  Cassie seized the wrist of the hand holding the phone, and twisted it into a wrist lock. She was a single woman from Miami with two sisters and four brothers. This guy didn’t have a chance.

  “What the hell?” he muttered.

  “Ms. Adams,” the security man’s voice boomed through the phone as it slipped from the waiter’s fingers.

  Cassie yanked Sam over her shoulder as the phone thudded to the carpet. He landed on his back with an audible whoosh of air from his lungs.

  Cassie scooped up the phone, then said into the phone, “Please send someone to the rear east hallway.”

  She jerked her head around at the pounding of booted feet approaching from the kitchen.

  The waiter drew in a slow breath, then shifted onto an elbow.

  “Don’t move,” Cassie warned.

  A tall, muscular man came into view, followed by two equally muscular men.

  “Hiring you was just another mistake in a string of mistakes,” Sam said. “You’re fired.” He heaved onto his side and Cassie took a step back as the men neared.

  “Are you all right?” The security guard demanded, as he extended a hand to the waiter.

  “Yes,” Cassie said in unison with the waiter’s reply, “I’ll live.”

  The head of security looked from Cassie to the waiter. “What happened?”

  “I caught this man trying to gain access to the private section of the castle,” Cassie said.

  The man frowned, then shifted his gaze to the waiter. “I’m sorry, Mr. Weston. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

  “That’s okay, Blakely. I think we can safely say the only danger is to me. And possibly of missing dinner.”

  “Mr. Weston?” Cassie echoed. She jerked her gaze onto the man rising from the carpet. He gained his feet and Cassie lifted her gaze as he rose to his full height. “Mr. Weston?” she said. “Trent Weston?”

  He cupped the back of his neck and rubbed. “Yes.”

  “Oh no.” Cassie frowned. “I don’t understand. Why are you working as a deliveryman?”

  “You assumed I was a deliveryman. You needed help and I was available.”

  “And when you stepped in as a waiter,” she cut in. “What the hell was that all about?”

  He stopped rubbing his neck and turned his gaze to her. “What that was all about was you not bothering to ask who I was.”

  Cassie blinked. “Give me a break. You looked like hired help.”

  His gaze bore into her. “That was your assumption. In my experience, you learn more about a person by remaining silent.”

  Ire shot to the surface. “I arrive to plan your party, to salvage this party at the last minute, which I have done. Yet in the two days I’ve been here you failed to in
troduce yourself. Instead, you let me believe you were a deliveryman, then a waiter, and now you expect that I should somehow deduce you were the man who hired me?”

  Something flickered in his eyes—there, she had him. He knew she was right.

  “Maybe the mistake was mine,” he said.

  “Maybe? You aren’t supposed to be mingling with the help. Unless perhaps you enjoy serving your own guests.”

  “Enough. I didn’t wait on them. I set the tray on the bar,” he said and a small smile curled the left side of his lips.

  Cassie shook her head. “By all that is unholy,” she whispered.

  His smile turned to a hard line. “What does that mean?”

  “You’re an ass.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You just fired me, so you might as well know my real thoughts. Good looks don’t give you a right to manipulate people. I deal with wealthy clients every day. None have ever made me feel the way you just did. You enjoyed watching me make mistakes. Will your recommendation for Daley Enterprises include ‘laughs at no extra charge’?” she demanded.

  His expression darkened. “My recommendation is more likely to include ‘aggravation at no extra charge.’”

  Cassie stared, her fury warring with the dozen retorts that were struggling to let loose like stampeding cattle. “I guess that says it all. We’re done.” She whirled and strode down the hallway toward the kitchen.

  “Blakely, stop her. I’ll be right back. I have some business requiring my immediate attention.”

  ***

  Trent growled as he strode toward the ballroom. Perhaps he’d acted in haste when he’d fired her. She had been attempting to protect his home. But before he could speak with her and smooth things over, he needed to speak with Tomas. He was about to make an announcement to three hundred of his and Lindsey’s supposed closest friends and business associates. An announcement about a woman he wasn’t sure he knew at all.

  If Trent needed insider answers, Tomas would have them.

  Trent reached the ballroom and scanned the crowd, smiling at those who greeted him, but moving with purpose. Tomas sat across from Matt Bolten, a young up-and-coming director. He’d worked on a film with Lindsey. Trent took a deep steadying breath and tried to relax his shoulders. Was Lindsey planning another film with him, too? She had insisted he be invited.