by Anna Mara
They each held their breaths as the moment stretched to infinity.
Suddenly, Christina's brain synapses began to fire up again. Had William actually said something about her marriage—to his son? And had Bill actually called her 'darling'? And—oh my God—had he actually 'kissed' her with those vile, disgusting, drunken, 'who knows-where-they've-been' lips of his? She stared at Bill in total shock.
Bill was still waiting for Christina to say something. His eyes searched her face and he became frantic at her silence, "Christina?"
And on hearing her sweet name coming out of his filthy mouth, Christina instinctively did the only thing she could think of—
She threw the rest of her martini into his damn, handsome face.
* * *
And there Bill stood—in the middle of his beautiful gardens, beside the glittering, moonlit swimming pool—with alcohol dripping down his face.
Actually with gin and dry vermouth dripping down his face, if you wanted to get specific. And Bill wanted to get specific. He desperately wanted to get specific. In fact, in that instant, he desperately wanted nothing more than to put his tongue out and taste that delicious, enticing, alcoholic concoction—my God—it was all over his face. He could smell it—he could almost taste it.
He hadn't been this close to it since—well—since—
Bill stared hard at Christina who was warily watching him but his mind was on the alcohol instead. Should he put his tongue out and taste it? Just one lick? Who would know? Who would—? He had one millisecond to make a life-altering decision and he knew it. His tongue was so close—so close to it! He only had to—
And that's when it happened. Bill instinctively did the only thing he could think of— he jumped into the swimming pool.
Chapter 14
Christina was flabbergasted. Had that moron actually jumped—fully clothed—into that gigantic swimming pool? Well, what else could you expect from a drunken fool?
She had come tonight to find out about the money she owed and as of yet, she hadn't heard one peep from either father or son. Something else was going on between those two and she wasn't going to stick around to find out what.
To hell with the both of them!
Christina plunked her empty martini glass on a lounge chair and started marching across the lawn. She was getting out of here and they could bloody well sue her for the money.
As Bill came up for air, he saw Christina quickly walking away. Oh crap! Was she going to look for his bastard father?
He had to move and move fast.
With swift, smooth strokes, Bill swam to the edge of the pool and hauled himself out of the water. His Armani suit was sopping wet and—oh great—he'd lost one of his custom-made shoes in the pool. But he couldn't waste any time thinking about that. He just had to catch that woman and plead his case. Or stop her from talking to his father at least, until he could plead his case. If there was one thing he could do right in this world, it was to bullshit talk his way out of anything.
Bill scanned the grounds. There she was—still marching across the property towards the salon doors. Thank God for large estates with expansive grounds.
He started racing after her, moving as fast as anyone could in a drenched suit and one shoe. "Christina, Miss Matteo, wait!" he yelled as he limped after her. "I can explain; please."
Christina heard Bill calling after her but she didn't stop. She was getting out of here and no one was going to prevent her from doing that. God, why did these rich people have to have these large estates with expansive grounds? She felt like she'd walked a mile already.
Bill picked up his pace and was practically running after her. "Christina, just give me a chance," he shouted after her.
If she made it back into his monster-of-a-father's lair, it was going to be all over for him. She would deny Bill's story and he'd be on the streets by midnight. Well, not the streets exactly—but definitely in a very, very cheap motel—the kind one lived in when you didn't have any credit cards or savings or anything. After all, what money he had made or could get his hands on this past year had gone to—but he couldn't think about that now. He just had to stop that blasted woman somehow.
"Fifty-six thousand dollars." Bill suddenly, yelled out.
Christina stopped, rooted to the spot.
He continued, as he limped closer to her. "My insurance company called today with the repair estimate. Quite a chunk of change, isn't it?"
Slowly, Christina turned to face him. Damn the man! She'd been serious about leaving this hellhole but now the enormity of the jam she was in came flooding back to her. She was in deep, deep trouble—the kind of trouble that can last for years and ruin your life.
Bill threw her his most charming, model-perfect smile as he inched closer to her. "My insurance company will be calling you—about the money, I mean."
Christina stared Bill down and did not return his pearly white smile. "I don't have it."
"That's not my problem." Bill leaned into her as if about to share a secret. "It's yours," he whispered into her face. Christina remained silent as she glared daggers at him but he went on. "Let's see, how long would your wages have to be garnished for you to pay off fifty-six thousand dollars? What are we talking here—twenty, thirty, forty—years?" Bill smiled again. "You get the fifty-six thousand dollar picture, don't you?"
Christina had had enough. "Let's cut the cute bullshit. What do you want?"
Bill laughed at her directness. "You scratch my back? I'll scratch yours?"
Christina's eyebrows shot up. "Right now, the only thing I'd be willing to scratch on you, are your eyes out."
Bill laughed again. The woman was quick and witty, and in spite of the mess he was in with his father, in spite of the fact that he desperately needed this woman's help—in spite of everything—he was enjoying himself. He hadn't had this much fun since, well since, the last time he'd met this hot babe when she'd smashed his car days ago. She'd turned him on then and she was turning him on now.
There was just something about her that attracted him so much. She was cool, calculating and strong, not to mention beautiful. She wasn't intimidated by his position or his wealth—he sensed it—and that was refreshing. But until he figured out what was really going on in that pretty, clever little head of hers, Bill knew he'd need to be careful—as careful as a snake charmer, if he wanted her to dance to his tune.
Christina's nerves were now at breaking point. Here he was, laughing at her again. Well, it was time to wipe that goddamn smile off of that handsome, devil face.
"Your father mentioned something about you, me and marriage…" Bill stopped laughing and Christina innocently continued. "I don't know where he got a ridiculous idea like that, but I'll go ask him."
She turned to walk towards the house but took only one step before Bill's hand latched onto her arm and stopped her. "Wait." His tone was imperious as his eyes bore into hers.
Christina returned the stare. "You've got exactly five seconds to explain everything before I march back into that house and get my explanations from your father." Disgusted, she looked down at his hand gripping her arm.
Bill's gaze followed hers and he quickly released her. Running his hands through his still wet hair, he let out a tension-filled breath. It was the moment of truth for him.
"Look… my father and I don't see eye to eye about things, about anything really. And he's very upset with me right now… for certain reasons. A week ago, the day of our accident actually, he threatened to cut me off; out of the will, out of the money, out of his life."
"So what does your dysfunctional family life have to do with me?"
"Bottom line? He wants me to settle down and provide him with an heir."
Christina stepped back, putting space between them. "Wait a minute. I don't like where this is going."
Bill smirked. "Don't worry. It's not what you think."
"Then tell me what I 'should' think and make it fast because I'm two seconds away from getting the hell
out of here."
"Look, Christina, it's just that I needed to stall for time to get back into that old goat's good graces and the only thing I could think of was if I told him I was getting married."
"And you told him you were getting married to me?"
Bill nodded. "I was on the hotspot and he hates all the women I know. The accident had just happened. You were fresh in my memory and your name just kind of popped out. I had no intention of ever producing the real Christina Matteo. I just needed a name I could spin some stories around. I wasn't ever going to involve you in this, I swear."
"Then why am I here?"
"I'm not sure. Why are you here? Did my father ask you to come?" Christina nodded and Bill turned pensive. "That sneaky bastard," he mumbled to himself.
Christina watched him like a hawk. So—Billy boy was in trouble, was he? She continued, "He came to my workplace. I thought he wanted to discuss the money I owed you. Apparently not."
"No, not quite. My father owns the Fido Foods conglomerate and he has a lot of resources at his disposal. He probably had you checked out. That's how he knew where you worked."
"Then he probably knows I'm the one you were involved with in that accident which means he knows everything—that I'm not your fiancée and that you're scamming him." There, that should put a good scare into this bum, Christina thought.
Bill's heart skipped a beat. Did his father really know everything? Was Bill's head on the chopping block?
"Did he say anything about our engagement before I came in? Anything at all?" Bill anxiously asked.
Christina had an impulse to wildly lie and tell him that his father did know it all but she needed to play it cool and see where this evening was going to lead. Maybe she could be the one to spill the beans to William about Bill and watch the creep get thrown out on his sweet, marble-chiseled ass. Now that would be poetic justice. But she did no such thing as she turned her eyes back to his worried face. "No, not until you showed up."
Relieved, Bill let out a deep breath.
* * *
Inside the house, William was at the dining room window watching the show. The two, his son and that girl, had been out there on the lawn talking for a while now. His son was probably begging for her help and would probably use the money she owed him as a bribe to ensure that help—and she, of course would agree.
He didn't blame her or his rotten son, really. It's what he would have done if he were in his son's shoes. But then again, he, William Havenwood Sr. was much too smart to ever find himself in a predicament like the one his idiotic son was in. If he were going to lie, he would have tied up all the loose ends right away and brought the girl on board as soon as possible. He would have left nothing to chance.
"Bentley?" William called out.
A stogy, British butler dressed in a black and white butler's uniform appeared. "Yes, sir?"
"Another martini, please; act two is about to begin."
"Yes, sir."
Bentley quietly disappeared and William returned to his post at the window. He laughed to himself. This evening was turning out to be more fun than a corporate takeover. And he didn't feel an ounce of sympathy for Bill. His rotten, lying son deserved it all.
Chapter 15
Bill was worried. How much did his evil father know? His frantic eyes refocused on Christina. "I need your help."
Christina studied his desperate expression. If she played the upper hand she was holding, she might get out of paying for those damages to his stupid car and might also be able to be the one to spill the beans to dear papa Havenwood about the scam his little boy was pulling. Debt free and revenge—wrapped in one tidy, Armani package. Sweet.
"Okay, Mr. Havenwood, what do I have to do and what's in it for me?" Christina challenged him with a show-me-what-you've-got smile. Might as well play that upper hand and see what he puts in the pot, she thought.
"I need you to pretend to be my fiancée."
She played it cool. "For how long?"
"Six months."
"What?" Outraged, Christina almost yelled the word.
"Four months."
"No way!"
"Okay, okay; one month. I need your help for one month."
Christina pretended to think about it. That was better. She might be able to put up with this jerk for a month. Anymore than that and they'd have to lock her up for murder. His.
"And what exactly would I have to do in that month?"
"Not much, really. Just a few dinners with my father where we'll act like the happy couple." Bill gave a little nervous laugh.
Christina was not laughing. Act like the happy couple??? God, was this going to involve touching—him? It was time to spell some things out to this lunkhead. "I'll put up with some hand holding and maybe a hug or two but no kissing, got that?" When those drunkard lips of his had touched hers earlier, she would have tossed all her cookies if her stomach hadn't already been empty.
"If I don't kiss you in front of my father, he'll think it strange."
"Forget it; I'm outta here." Christina turned to leave. She was banking on how desperate he was and it worked because he balked.
"Okay. No kissing on the lips… but maybe a peck on the cheek every once in a while?" Bill pleaded. "Look, we have to make it believable for the old bastard because he'll be looking for any signs of trouble between us that he can find."
Christina folded her arms across her chest. The scoundrel did have a point—some form of affection was always expected from an engaged couple, even she could see that. "Okay, a couple of pecks on the cheek and that's all but don't make a habit of it."
Bill was relieved. "I won't. You can trust me, Christina."
Christina almost laughed out loud. Trust him? Was he kidding? He was one of the biggest assholes she'd ever met and he was asking her to trust him? That was rich—Havenwood rich.
Christina continued to act cool. "So we've discussed what I have to do; now you tell me 'why' I have to do it?"
"I'll pay for the damages on the Ferrari, fifty-six thousand dollars worth, and we'll call it even."
"I want it in writing," she quickly demanded. If she was going to make a pact with the devil, then she wanted that devil's signature on paper. Christina trusted Bill Havenwood as far as—never.
Bill smirked. Man, she was all business. He admired her for that—and respected her too. "All right, I'll see a lawyer in the morning." Bill extended his hand out. "It's a deal then?"
Christina looked at his outstretched hand as if it was a rattlesnake about to bite her. This was it. The moment she'd been dreading. If she shook on it, she wouldn't go back on her word. She wasn't built like that. She may hate Bill's guts and she may eventually tell his father everything, blowing his rich man's world apart; but for now, she'd pretend to be engaged to him and fulfill her end of this devious bargain.
Christina extended her hand out and placed it in Bill's. "Deal."
They shook on it.
Suddenly, Christina felt as if a cosmic, electrical shock had surged from his hand into hers and for one spilt second, she felt an overpowering physical pull towards him. She hadn't imagined it. It had been real—like the pull the sun exerts on the planets. It frightened her and Christina gasped. She quickly pulled her hand out of his and looked up at him. Arrogant bastard! He'd felt it too. She could tell because he was smiling.
Bill had indeed felt the same physical pull towards her and he'd never felt anything like that with any other woman in his life before. This was going to be a very interesting month, he thought to himself.
* * *
Still spying at the dining room window, William watched the two shake hands.
"So, the appetizers are over and now for the main course," he threatened, as he smiled wickedly.
* * *
Christina faced the still wet-from-his-jump-into-the-pool-Bill.
"Okay, let's get this miserable, god-forsaken evening over with," she announced as she turned and marched towards the salon doors.
Bill quickly caught up to her and suddenly, grabbing her hand, linked his fingers through hers. Christina stopped and looked down at their intertwined hands. She tried to pull free but he wouldn't let her.
"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.
Bill gave her a devilish grin. "I thought we could practice the love thing a little before we go in and face Satan." He was so enjoying this. "Wanna try the pecking-on-the-cheek-thing too?"
Christina had had just about enough of his nonsense for one night. She glowered at him. "Mr. Havenwood, keep your… pecker… to yourself."
Bill burst out laughing. "I don't want to sound conceited but not very many women have said that to me."
With his movie star good looks and money, Christina didn't doubt it.
He continued, "And to hear my wife-to-be say it, well, kind of spells trouble for our marriage, don't you think… darling?"
Christina gave one good yank and broke free of his grip. "Keep laughing. I'm sure your father will see the funny side of this mess too."
Bill stopped laughing. He paused and turned serious. "Okay, here's the plan. I'll do all the talking. Any questions he asks, I'll answer; you just follow my lead."
"Really? So how did we meet and how long have we been dating?" Christina asked.
"Hmmm…" Bill rubbed his chin as he began to think. He had to get this right if he was going to fool that smart old coot.
Christina pressed on, "Come on; we have to get our stories straight if we're going to make this work."
"I'm thinking, I'm thinking." Bill was stumped. "I did tell him we kind of 'crashed' into each other when he asked me last week but I didn't mention the car accident."
Christina rolled her eyes up. Maybe it was about time she took control. "If you told him that we 'crashed' into each other, then we'll say I was coming out of a store… Bloomingdale's… with packages and I didn't see you and I ran right into you. That happened…?" Christina's paused to think, "…let's say that happened three months ago. We've been dating for three months. Now about the car accident, we'll say we'd had lunch together and when we were driving away in our separate cars, I was following you too closely and smashed into you. A quirk of fate. We'll laugh it off.
