by Karen Booth
Alex trailed through the foyer and back into the living room, dialing the number for Paul, the Townsend & Associates Investments staff investigator. His primary duties for the firm involved due diligence on potential mergers and acquisitions, but he was especially good at digging up skeletons. He’d been at the company for a long time, since Alex was a teenager. Alex’s entire family trusted Paul implicitly. In some ways, Paul was like a dad figure to Alex. Alex could speak openly with him and have a real discussion without it turning into a referendum on Alex’s style of leadership.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation?” Paul asked when he answered.
Alex walked to the far side of the room. He didn’t want Joy to overhear him. “I am on vacation. And I’m enjoying myself. But I want you to check into something for me.”
“Something or someone?”
Paul was a smart man. No question about that. “Someone. A woman.”
“Oh, boy,” Paul said. “I hope you aren’t putting yourself into a delicate situation again.”
Alex closed his eyes and blew out a breath through his nose. Paul had every right to be wary. He’d suspected something about Sharon from the moment he’d met her. He’d kept it to himself for quite a while, but when it got close to the wedding day, Paul had taken the initiative and started digging. What he found was a trail of lies. Alex had let his heart cloud the issue when it had come to Sharon, and he’d come close to paying for it dearly.
“It’s not exactly a neat and tidy situation. I met a woman tonight, but only because I hit a patch of ice and nearly ran into her with my car. I’m at her house right now. I just want to make sure there aren’t any surprises I should know about. She’s lovely. I’d like to ask her out, maybe take her to dinner. But there’s also something about her that seems off. I’m not quite sure what it is.”
A few moments of silence played out on Paul’s end of the line, and Alex knew he was thinking, hard. “Off in what way? I don’t want you to be unduly paranoid because of Sharon. The vast majority of people are mostly honest.”
“Mostly?”
“We all tell little lies. The question is how little.”
Indeed. “Do you think you should look into it?”
“It can’t hurt. What’s her name?”
“It’s Joy Baker. She’s from Santa Barbara.”
“California, I take it.”
“That’s what I assumed.”
“Can you tell me anything about her family? Does she own any businesses?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about her family other than she’s not related to the Bakers in Denver. And oddly enough, Joy Baker is a baker.”
Once again, Paul was dead quiet on the other end of the line. “Okay. Got it. I’ll look into her and give you a call tomorrow.”
Three
Joy climbed into the bed she’d been fantasizing about during her trudge up the hill. It was just as heavenly as it had been the night before, and the night before that. This bedroom was gorgeous, and it wasn’t even the master bedroom. Joy couldn’t stomach the idea of taking Mariella and Harrison Marshall’s room. She was already pushing things far enough.
She’d instead chosen their daughter Elana’s room, with its beautiful cherry wood sleigh bed and richly colored tapestry carpet in shades of gold, cream and taupe. There was a gas fireplace in the corner of the room, lit with the simple flick of a switch. The flames would probably cast a golden glow and warm the entire room, but Joy was too nervous to turn it on. Windows spanned one wall overlooking the back of the property, which had a stunning view of the seemingly never-ending mountain vista. Being in this bed felt like being on top of the world.
The snow was still coming down. Joy picked up her phone and pulled up the weather app. They were predicting an unusually heavy snowfall overnight. It took a lot of snow to shut things down in this part of Colorado, but the reality was that the Marshall estate was at the very top of the mountain. Even if life was normal down in town, it would take a while for plows to make their way up here. Rafe had told her as much when he’d given her the keys to the house.
Bad weather or not, there was no way she’d be able to get to work tomorrow. Not with Alex and his 24-hour timeline, courtesy of Dr. David. She still couldn’t believe she’d practically met a celebrity while she was wearing her pajamas. The Marshalls had lots of famous friends, some just as well-known as Dr. David, but she’d certainly never had a conversation with any of them.
She dialed the number for her boss at the bakery. “Hey there,” Bonnie answered. “I take it you’re calling to chat about this lovely bout we’re having with Mother Nature?”
Joy smiled and sat back against the pillows. “In part, yes. But even if the weather cooperates, I don’t think I can come in tomorrow. I had a small accident when I came home and the doctor wants me to rest for 24 hours. I’m sorry if that leaves you in the lurch. I think you know how much I hate to miss work. I love working at the bakery.” And I don’t want to jeopardize my job.
“I hope it’s nothing serious.”
“The doctor doesn’t think so, but he’s not entirely sure I didn’t hit my head. That’s why he wants me to lay low.”
“What in the world happened?”
Oh, nothing. Just a super handsome man flew down a mountain and almost killed me. “I slipped and fell. Stupid snow.”
Bonnie clucked her tongue as if she was scolding Joy. “Ouch. Well, I wouldn’t worry about work tomorrow anyway. I’m not sure we’ll be able to open on time, and even then, I’m not sure we’ll have any customers. This storm is supposed to be pretty bad. I think it’s best you stay inside and recuperate. We’ll see you on Thursday if all is back to normal.”
Joy breathed a huge sigh of relief. Bonnie was a wonderful boss. After Mariella Marshall, this was one life change Joy was glad for. “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it. I’ll be in touch. Stay safe.”
“You, too.”
Joy hung up and settled back in bed, her mind zeroing in on her other problem—Alex. It would’ve been so nice to stay up and chat with him, but he asked too many questions. It took a lot of effort to think about the ramifications of every answer she gave, and she knew it made her come off as someone who was hiding something. She didn’t want to be that person. She was horrible at being that person, but such was the situation she’d gotten herself into.
Part of her wished she never would’ve given him a fake last name. It set a bad precedent, and she’d done a ridiculously bad job with it, to boot. Baker? Seriously? It was the first thing that had come to mind, a perfect illustration of how ill-equipped she was to go around the world being anyone other than herself. Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how you looked at it—she would only know Alex for a short time. Twenty-four hours. He’d never have to know she’d fibbed a few times. It certainly wasn’t hurting anyone.
Despite her inability to lie for hours at a time, she would’ve liked to have talked to Alex more and at least find out about him. She was a naturally curious person, and he’d been almost as dismissive of her questions as she’d been of his. He hadn’t made a big deal of his occupation, but if his car was any indication, he had to be an important guy... She didn’t like the idea of snooping, but maybe one internet search wasn’t too nosy. He was sleeping in the same house as her, after all.
She pulled up the web browser on her phone and typed in Alexander Townsend, Chicago, Illinois. As the results came back, it quickly dawned on Joy that she was in over her head. He wasn’t merely Alexander Townsend. He was Alexander Townsend III. Joy had never been acquainted with someone with roman numerals after their name. Ever. Judging by the bio and photos that came up, her hunch about Alex being somebody had been absolutely correct.
The Townsends were one of the wealthiest families in Chicago and had resided there for decades. They were old m
oney personified—houses all over the world, expensive vacations, lots of heavy political ties and famous friends. As she scrolled through the stories about Alex though, she learned that he was generating his own new money. He was responsible for taking Townsend & Associates Investments to a whole new level of success. According to several business publications, he was doing so with aplomb. Good for him.
Joy clicked on Images and she was glad no one was watching her while she did this. She got all tingly and hot-faced just from seeing pictures of him. She needed to have her head examined—it wasn’t as if she hadn’t just had the chance to look at him as much as she liked. Most of the photographs were from big social events and fund-raisers, the theater, fancy dinners. He was in a suit in many of them, a tux in a few, always dashing and impeccably dressed. With every suit came a stunning woman on his arm. After a while, it became her mission to find a picture of him without a woman, but all she could find was his corporate head shot and a few of him leaving or arriving at his office.
Alex’s parade of women was ready for the covers of magazines. They were ripe for the society pages or the red carpet—gorgeous hair and makeup, flawless designer gowns, long legs and perfect skin. None of these women, Joy was quite certain, was a baker from Ohio. She might have enjoyed her conversation with Alex, she might have liked riding in his car, she’d had a few minutes of fun with the fantasy of kissing him, but between these photos and her phone call with Dr. David, Joy knew one thing for certain—Alexander Townsend III was 100 percent out of her league.
They weren’t even playing the same game.
Her number one job tomorrow, after assessing the road conditions and passing the 24-hour mark, was getting Alex out of this house. Joy knew rich people. She’d worked for too many to not understand precisely how they operated. They stuck together. If Alex found out she didn’t really belong here, he’d call the police before she’d even have time to sputter out the long, drawn-out truth. She had to clean her mind of sexy thoughts about him and get rid of him. As to how she was supposed to sleep with this information fresh in her mind, she had no idea. She only knew that she was stuck in this room for now.
The trouble was, she couldn’t relax. She liked Alex, but letting him into the house had left her exposed. She was vulnerable, and she didn’t like it. Living on the brink did that to a person. If you spent enough days worrying about money or food or shelter, you eventually became territorial. You’d cling to every good thing you could find. She knew this house wasn’t hers, and it certainly wasn’t home, but it was all she had right now.
Her car was a piece of junk and a money pit. It had left her with eleven dollars in the bank. She had a job, but she wasn’t sure she could afford to stay in Vail. And to make things especially heartbreaking, it was Christmas.
Embarrassment over quitting her job with the Marshalls was part of the reason she couldn’t go home for the holidays. She couldn’t admit to her parents that she’d not only failed, but her failure had been an implosion of her own making. They’d had enough reservations over her culinary career. She didn’t need to add fuel to the fire. Her mother had always voiced the loudest concerns. She’d seen her own mother struggle to make ends meet, and she didn’t want that life for her daughter. Joy understood, completely, but it didn’t change the fact that her grandmother had lit a fire in her that would never go out. Everything about cooking appealed to Joy—the creativity, the connection to family, the sights and smells, the ability to bring pleasure to someone’s life. There was absolutely nothing better than having someone eat your food and express their approval.
The other reason for not going home loomed like a dark cloud—her ex, Ben. Her parents had protested Joy’s decision to attend culinary school, but Ben had flown into a rage. He’d never liked any sign of Joy improving her lot in life. He liked her best when she was down, when she was at a disadvantage. Of course, she’d enrolled anyway, because she couldn’t bear the thought of not cooking, and she wanted to do it well.
She’d worked hard in the school kitchens and studied on nights and on the weekends. She’d been determined to prove to everyone that she could not only be extraordinary at cooking, she could make a life for herself—a big life without worries about money. An important life where people knew her name and regarded her work with high esteem. But as every day went by, and Joy became more immersed in her studies, it became clearer that Ben would not be a part of her life moving forward. He was too controlling. He didn’t want what was best for her. Her parents saw it. Her friends saw it. Joy saw it, too, but it had taken a lot of nerve to sever that cord.
His response had been exactly what she’d expected—first rage, putting his fist through a wall. Then he begged her to change her mind, kneeling before her and clutching her hands. She’d cried her eyes out, wishing she could help him but knowing she couldn’t. Then, finally, the anger came again, but it was different the second time, hate filled and spiteful. He’d called her trash. He’d said no one would ever love her. He’d said he would never leave her alone.
A judge had granted a restraining order eventually, but it did little good. Ben still drove by the house all the time. Joy would take pictures. She would call the police. Her dad would go out on the front stoop and yell. But in the end, Ben would only ever get a slap on the wrist. Ben had too many buddies in the police department. As soon as she was done with culinary school, she got out of Ohio. She went straight to Los Angeles and took her first job. She didn’t look back. She knew Ben wouldn’t follow her outside of his little bubble, but that didn’t mean he was gone for good. Every holiday, he’d start stalking her parents’ house. Hence, another Christmas alone. Someday she’d be able to afford to fly her parents to see her, but that day wasn’t coming anytime soon.
Still unable to sleep, Joy got up to go to the bathroom. When she stepped back into her bedroom, there was a knock at the door.
“Joy? Are you okay in there?”
What the hell? Was he out in the hallway listening? Joy did not like overprotective guys. She could take care of herself. “Yeah. I’m fine. Getting a drink of water.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. I was just on my way to bed. Good night.”
“Good night.” Joy headed back to her own bed, knowing what she had to do, even though she dreaded it. Tomorrow, she would thank sweet, handsome Alex Townsend. She’d probably employ her talents and make him a nice breakfast. He had been exceedingly kind to spend the night with her, all because he was worried about her head injury. Then, as soon as the twenty-four hours were up, sexy or not, Alex Townsend needed to go.
She didn’t want some guy watching her every move when she was living in a house that wasn’t hers, no matter how much he might be Joy’s idea of Prince Charming.
* * *
Alex woke to the rich, heavenly smell of coffee and sat up straight in bed. He could muster great enthusiasm for his morning hit of caffeine, and knowing that Joy was downstairs making it only added to the appeal. If they were snowed in, he hoped she’d lose that skittish edge. He hoped Paul wasn’t going to call him and tell him he needed to hightail it out of there.
Alex climbed out of bed. Outside, there was much more than a blanket of snow on the ground. It looked as though there’d been an avalanche overnight, leaving behind endless billowing drifts. Alex pulled on the basketball shorts he had in his gym bag.
A few steps into the living room, and he caught a glimpse of Joy in the adjoining open-plan kitchen. His feet felt like they were in cement. He wasn’t entirely sure he was, in fact, breathing. She was wearing an off-the-shoulder top that showed off the graceful stretch of her neck and just enough skin to paint a white-hot picture in his head, one that might require visual confirmation at some point. Her glossy brown hair was gathered to one side in a loose and sexy ponytail. She was pulling out a mixing bowl and some other items from the kitchen drawers, doing the most benign of tasks, and yet he couldn’t have found her
more enchanting if he tried.
“Too bad you don’t have a housekeeper here to do that,” he quipped, forcing himself to walk with a normal gait.
Joy shook her head and continued working. “I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself. No housekeeper needed.”
He liked how independent she was. “I can see that.”
“Coffee’s on.”
“I could smell it all the way upstairs. It’s the only thing that could get me out of bed.” That, and the idea that you might be downstairs. “That mattress is quite comfortable.” He watched as Joy stood on tiptoes in fluffy pink slippers, plucking a coffee mug from the cabinet. She smiled when she handed it to him, but there was something about her this morning, again—that edge that left him feeling unsettled. He decided to shake it off and filled his mug from the carafe. He took a sip. It was strong and full-bodied, just how he liked it. “Delicious.”
“No cream or sugar?”
He leaned back against the counter. “No way. I avoid that stuff at all costs. I’ve grown to like black coffee.”
Joy visibly shuddered. She scrunched up her adorable nose. “Yuck.”
“I’m guessing you don’t take your coffee that way.”
“Absolutely not. I will die without cream and sugar. And since I will die without coffee in the morning, it’s necessary to have all three on hand at all times.”
Alex made a mental note that if he ever got to make her a cup of coffee at his place, he would be sure to follow her rules. Making beautiful women happy was one of his favorite pastimes, mostly because it almost always paid off. “Have you checked on the weather at all?”
