by Judy Angelo
TO CATCH A MAN
(IN 30 DAYS OR LESS)
JUDY ANGELO
The BAD BOY BILLIONAIRES Series
Volume 8
Copyright © 2012 Judy Angelo
Lyons Publishing Limited
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, electronic or otherwise (mechanical, photocopying, recording or stored in a retrieval system) without the prior written consent of the Publisher. Such action is an infringement of the copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Author contact: [email protected]
The BAD BOY BILLIONAIRES Series
by Judy Angelo
Volume 1 - Tamed by the Billionaire
Volume 2 - Maid in the USA
Volume 3 - Billionaire's Island Bride
Volume 4 - Dangerous Deception
Volume 5 - To Tame a Tycoon
Volume 6 - Sweet Seduction
Volume 7 - Daddy by December
Volume 8 - To Catch a Man (in 30 Days or Less)
BAD BOY BILLIONAIRES, Mega-Collection - Vols. 1 - 8
BAD BOY BILLIONAIRES, Collection I - Vols. 1 - 4
BAD BOY BILLIONAIRES, Collection II - Vols. 5 - 8
(Two free stories in the Mega-collection;
one free story in each, Collection I and II;
purchase collections and save)
COMING IN SEPTEMBER:
The NAUGHTY AND NICE Series
Volume 1 - Naughty by Nature
September 18
HOW DO YOU CATCH A MAN...IN 30 DAYS?
Indiana Lane is in a pickle. She must find a man, fall in love and get married...all within the space of thirty days. How in the world can she pull this off? And then she runs into Stone Hudson - or, more accurately, he runs into her - and that's when the adventure begins.
Stone Hudson has met his match. He is used to women fawning over him and then he meets Indie, a woman who tells it like it is. And worse, she dares to tease him wherever and whenever she desires. Stone is intrigued, to say the least, but then his heart is snagged on a wire from which there is no escape.
Will the wedding bells ring for Indie, and will they ring in time? Thirty days is not a lot of time...
TO CATCH A MAN
(IN 30 DAYS OR LESS)
CHAPTER ONE
“Are you kidding me?”
Randolph Marshall shook his head. “I’m dead serious. You have until October twenty-three or you forfeit fourteen million dollars.”
“Fourteen million…” Indiana Lane’s voice trailed off as she stared across the desk at the attorney. “No, you’ve got to be kidding me.” She looked around the room. “I’m on ‘Candid Camera’, right? Or one of those other crazy prank shows?” She began to chuckle as she turned to look back at him.
“Miss Lane, trust me. I do not have time for pranks.” Exasperation dripped from each word. “I’m an old man with a bad heart. I don’t play games. I tell it as it is. Do you understand me?”
Indie’s smile began to fade as she stared back at the now frowning man. Okay, so he really was serious. He was shaking his graying head and looking at her like he wanted to give her a sharp rap on the knuckles. Ouch.
“Yes,” she said, gripping the arms of the chair, “I understand you but…but he hardly even knew me.”
Marshall looked unimpressed. “He seems to have known you well enough to want to make you a rich woman. Under certain conditions, of course.”
“But…but…” She was spluttering again. Come on, Indie, this is so not like you. You’ve negotiated with guerilla fighters and warlords and you’re thrown upside down by this? She drew in a slow, deep breath then got up and shoved her hands deep into her trouser pockets. Her brain worked better when she was standing.
“So let me get this straight. Based on the stipulations in my uncle’s will I have to find a man in the next…” she frowned, thinking, “…thirty days, fall in love, and get married in order to inherit this fourteen million dollars?”
Randolph cocked a grizzly eyebrow. “Nobody said anything about falling in love.”
“Well, I can’t very well just run off and marry the next man I run into, can I? One would hope I’d at least feel something for him…and he, for me.” She stopped talking when she saw the attorney’s expression. Was the man laughing at her?
“A real idealist, I see.” His smile was broader than the Cheshire Cat’s.
That got her riled up. “And who says I want his money, anyway?” The man was looking too smug and it was pissing her off. Big time. “Money has never been the biggest thing in my life, Mr. Randolph Marshall. And neither has marriage. I can do without both of them-”
“Yes, Miss ‘Save-The-World’. I know. And that’s exactly why your uncle did what he did. Don’t you worry. He filled me in on all the details.”
Now on top of pissing her off he was confusing the heck out of her. “What details?”
“Remember that conversation you had with him right after your mother’s funeral?”
She frowned. “That was nine years ago.”
“Yes,” Randolph said with a nod. "You were twenty-one years old and you sat in the library spouting off your idealistic philosophies to Samuel about not wanting to get married or have children. There are too many homeless kids in the world for you to even think of starting a family of your own. Isn’t that what you said?”
Indie straightened to her full five foot nine inch height and frowned at Marshall. What was he getting at? “Yeah, so what? I still think the same way.”
Marshall nodded slowly. “Ah-ha. And that’s what your uncle was afraid of.” He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the desk. “You’re going to be thirty years old in thirty days, Indiana. Thirty. Think of it. That old, and no man and no kids. No life except for running off to the favelas of Brazil to save orphans or chopping through the bushes and jungles of Colombia to search out drug dealers selling girls as sex slaves. Where were you this time? Africa?”
“Haiti,” she said, her tone sullen.
The lawyer heaved a sigh. “Haiti. And where next? Cambodia?” He shook his head. “Listen. Your uncle wants his bloodline to continue. He never had kids and you, his sister’s child, are his only hope of that. He wants you to get cracking while your eggs are still viable.”
“He what?” Indie almost burst out laughing. The audacity of the man. “He actually said that?”
“Yes, and more, but…” Marshall put his hand up, “you don’t want to know.” He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. “So, are you on board? Can I cross you off my list of things to do this month and consider this sealed and set?”
Indie could only shake her head in disbelief. Between the lawyer and her now dead uncle she didn’t know which one was battier. They’d probably both been smoking the same…prohibited substance.
“Now you listen to me, Mr. Marshall.” She fixed him with a glare of defiance. “I have two things to say to you. Number one, I don’t want a single dime of Uncle Sam’s fourteen million dollars. I’ve gotten along quite well without his help and will continue to survive, I’m sure. And number two,” she raised an eyebrow, “if he’d wanted me to be married, barefoot and pregnant by age thirty he should have spoken a heck of a lot earlier than September twenty-three.”
For a long moment Marshall just stared at her, his lips purse
d, then he nodded solemnly. “Well said, but let me implore you to think about it. You’re so concerned about doing good in the world, do you know how much more you could do with fourteen million dollars?” He paused as if to let that sink in. “And as for the timing, I think I know what happened.” He glanced down, shifted a couple of papers, then picked up the will. He reached for his glasses, put them on then peered at the document. “Yes,” he said with a sigh, “I was right. He miscalculated your age. When he updated this four years ago he had you down as twenty-four years old but you were actually twenty-five.” He looked up at her, peering over the top of his glasses like an old owl. “I guess he was planning to tell you but was biding his time, watching to see if things would work out. Probably thought he had at least a few more months before he had to tackle you on such a touchy subject.” He shrugged. “Who was to know he’d have been taken out by a heart attack at age sixty-six?”
Marshall’s speech had Indie staring at him in shock. She was so worked up she didn’t know what to say. Then she snorted. “Yeah, right. He thought I was a year younger? Do you realize if he hadn’t died when he did I would have soon passed his stupid deadline for me? I’ll be thirty in a month.”
“Yeah, well.” Marshall shrugged. “If he'd lived he probably would have updated the will. The pity is, he never got a chance to realize or correct his miscalculation. And with him being dead, you’re stuck with it.”
“This is so stupid,” Indie muttered as she began to pace the room. “Stupid, stupid.”
“I know. But it is what it is. Fourteen million dollars or zilch. Your call.” The lawyer began to slide the documents back into the case. “You know where to find me, Indiana. I leave everything in your hands. Just remember the date – October twenty-three, by midnight.”
And with that, Indie knew she was being dismissed. The man had other clients to deal with, other more pressing business. He was probably checking the clock to make sure she didn’t run over her portion of his ‘billable hour’ or whatever it was lawyers called it.
And at the same time he was dismissing her he’d thrown her normally well-ordered life into a whirlpool of indecision. Where in the world should she go from here? And if she did decide to fulfill Sam’s condition where the heck should she start looking for a man to marry…in thirty days?
******
Stone Hudson skipped channels, trying desperately to find a station with music that would keep him awake. The evening traffic was brutal, jamming up all the way from Oakville. He wouldn’t make it to Burlington for another thirty minutes at this rate. He heaved a sigh and surfed more channels.
He was one tired son-of-a-gun, up for the past twenty-two hours since leaving Johannesburg the day before. The valet had brought his car and he’d driven out of the Toronto Pearson Airport exactly thirty-eight minutes ago but still he was only a little more than halfway home.
Stubborn brute that he was, he’d insisted on driving his Maserati home. Now he could only shake his head in regret. This was one of those days when he should have let the chauffeur come and get him. Damn him for always having to be in control. He hated being in a vehicle where he wasn’t the one behind the wheel but that ultra-independent trait of his was certainly working against him this evening.
He shook his head and blinked to clear the cobwebs from his eyes then stifled a yawn. He turned the radio up as loud as he could stand it and the air conditioning to full blast. It was going to be rough going, trying to stay awake in traffic that was almost at a standstill.
Maroon five’s ‘One More Night’ was pounding in his ears when traffic got unplugged and began to move. Finally. A slight smile crept across his lips. The images were so vivid now – home, a soothing bath, bed, sliding under the cool sheets, his head sinking into the soft pillows, closing his weary eyes-
Wham!
Stone’s head jerked up and he slammed on the brake. What the-
He blinked. And then he groaned. He'd run into the back of an army-green Land Rover. Christ!
Cursing himself for being such a clutz he began to pull over onto the soft shoulder. The Land Rover was pulling over, too. He groaned. Just what he needed. A rear-ending as a fitting close to his journey of almost twenty-four hours. He’d learned his lesson – no more pretending to be Superman on these long trips.
Stone grabbed his wallet off the front passenger’s seat and slid out of the car. Reaching up to massage the back of his neck he stifled another yawn. God, he was tired. He blinked to clear the gravel from his eyes then walked over to meet the guy who was climbing out of the Land Rover.
A quick glance told Stone his Maserati hadn’t suffered a scratch. The other vehicle was another matter. It now sported a smashed-in back bumper. He steeled himself for the swearing. This was going to be one pissed-off dude.
The other driver was coming toward him now, a slender kid of medium height with short black hair that glistened in the sun. Plaid shirt rolled up at the sleeves, jeans and Timberland boots, he must have been coming from work. Sorry to spoil the end of your work day, kid.
Stone glanced down and began digging his driver’s license out of his wallet. When he looked up again the kid was standing right in front of him, green eyes flashing, soft pink lips set in an angry pout.
Huh? Stone's gaze dropped to the plaid-covered chest and there, pert and pointing straight at him, was his confirmation. The dude was a girl.
“Hey, what’s up with you, fella? Falling asleep at the wheel?”
Stone frowned. Kind of aggressive, wasn’t she? It was when she got closer that he saw that she wasn’t so much a girl as she was a woman, probably in her late twenties, maybe about four or five years younger than he was. And she was tall. Well, for a woman. The top of her head was just shy of his earlobe and he was six foot three.
And her eyes, so like those of a cat, were practically cutting him to shreds. With her high cheekbones, long nose and tanned skin she looked like a Native American princess. But it was those eyes, like green shards of glass fringed with incredibly long lashes, that had him staring like a dumbstruck fool.
“What? Cat got your tongue?”
It took that sarcastic remark to snap him out of his daze. He scowled. He wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of such biting remarks, least of all from a woman. Most of the women he knew would be falling over themselves to impress him. At least, the ones who knew who he was.
He didn’t bother to respond. He could see that this was a feisty one and he wasn’t in the mood for a shouting match. Instead, he held out his driver’s license. “Here’s my information,” he said, his voice all business. “You can make a note while I grab my insurance papers.” When she didn’t take the card from his hand he rested it on the hood of his car then walked around to the passenger’s side of the Maserati where he flipped open the glove compartment and grabbed his documents.
When he went back to the front of his car Miss Brave and Bold was bending over, examining the damage to her back bumper, giving him a pretty good view of her taut derriere. Nice.
As he got closer she straightened. "Not too bad. The bang sounded a lot worse than it looks.” She gave him a bold stare then held out her driver’s license to him. “Here. I’ll go write your stuff down while you do mine.” She dropped the card into his palm and stepped over to where he’d left his driver’s license, her movements smooth and lithe like an athlete’s.
Stone stared after her but she paid him no mind. Strange. His stares were known to set the ladies tittering. But not this one. It was obvious that she was not easily impressed or intimidated.
She picked up the card and stared at it for a couple of seconds. Then she lifted it closer to her face and a chuckle escaped her lips. Then it turned into an all-out laugh.
Stone scowled. It wasn’t his best picture but, come on, it wasn’t that bad. He stepped closer and stared at his driver’s license in her long, lean fingers. “What’s so funny?” he growled.
“Your…your name,” she said, in between lau
ghs. She turned her eyes on him and this time, instead of cutting anger, they were filled with dancing mirth. “Is your name really…” more laughter, “…Gladstone? You don’t look like a Gladstone to me.” And more laughter tumbled from her lips as she staggered back and leaned against the hood, clutching her chest in a fake laughter-induced heart attack.
His face grew as dark as his mood. The woman was laughing at him. “It’s Stone,” he said, his voice cold and hard. “Stone Hudson.” No-one called him by his first name. Absolutely no-one. They knew better. Until this woman came along…
Still laughing, she nodded. “Okay, Gladstone...Stone, I got you.” Then, still chuckling, she pushed up and off the hood and headed for her SUV, the card still in her hand.
Stone stayed where he was, still simmering, and as he watched her through the back glass he saw her pick up a pen and pull a small notepad from the bag on the passenger’s seat. She began to write. And she was still chuckling.
Stone glared at the back of her head, feeling like he could happily wring her neck but, of course, he could not. Frustrated, he growled deep in his throat then looked down at the card in his hand. “Indiana Moon Lane”, it read. And, like him, she had a Burlington address. Twenty-nine years old with a birthday coming up in a month. So he was right. She was four years his junior. And, like most driver's licenses, the picture didn’t do her any justice. In the photo her hair was much longer, falling in a black curtain to her shoulders and her face looked thin. But those eyes could never be hidden. They jumped out at you, sharp as daggers, and that determined set of her mouth told anyone looking that she was a force to be reckoned with.
“Got everything you need?”
He looked up to see her standing beside him. How the heck had she done that? He hadn’t heard a sound but there she was, right by his elbow.
