“Very funny.”
“Seriously. I thought that was how all you rich people did it.”
“In the nineteenth century.”
“Really? I read the city’s society pages. The son of this conglomerate married the daughter of that syndicate and then they announce the companies will merge. Same thing.”
“No, it’s not. I bet those people knew each other longer than an hour.”
“You’re avoiding the issue. It doesn’t matter if you’ve known him one hour or one year. Would you actually marry someone to save a building?”
When put like that, only a moron would answer in the affirmative. And yet the shelter was more than a building: it was a safe haven for women attempting to escape the unhealthy and violent situations in their lives. It needed to be in a known, stable location. Pamela didn’t want to think about the woman who’d gathered the courage to leave an abusive relationship only to discover her refuge had disappeared.
She hadn’t known she would need the services of a shelter until it had been too late. Bruised and abandoned in a dangerous part of town at night, her phone and purse in the long-gone limo, she’d been scared out of her mind. But she’d been lucky. Shelly had rescued her and taken her to the shelter. She could ensure others would have the same chance. Wasn’t that worth the inconvenience?
“Since you received the nonrenewal of lease letter, I’ve been racking my brain for something we could do to invalidate the sale or make Pearson change his mind,” Pamela said. “Environmental issues, title history discrepancies, I even looked into declaring the building a historical monument.”
“You didn’t!”
“I did. It was a good idea, but the building has to be at least fifty years old or a place that has achieved significance.”
“The building was built in 1979, and I’m sure they wouldn’t count getting grant money from the city for a new van as a significant achievement, although it took a hell of a lot of work.”
“Probably not. My last option is zoning. I had Alice schedule an appointment with the director of the DC Office of Zoning for me to see if there were any ordinances we could exploit.”
“Pamela—”
“I have to do something! You, this shelter, you’ve helped me so much.”
“You don’t owe us anything. Moving to another location would be devastating, but it’s not worth disrupting your life.”
Pamela shrugged. “Maybe my life needs disrupting.”
“You never said what he gets out of the deal.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’ll extend the lease of the shelter, but what does he get?”
“A hotel.”
Shelly laughed. “Have I dropped into another dimension where rich, gorgeous people have to bribe each other with real estate to get married?”
“He wants to buy the Holcombe, but he claims they won’t sell to him because he’s new money.”
“Is he right?”
“I don’t want to believe him,” Pamela said, shaking her head, “but it’s possible.”
“And if he marries you, some of your old-money credibility will rub off on him?”
“That’s his reasoning.”
“Would anything else rub off on him?”
An unwanted thrill zinged through her. “Shelly! I barely know the man.”
“But you’d be married to him.”
“In name only.”
“Is that all you want? Look at him,” Shelly said, tapping the monitor with her knuckle. “It’s been a year and I know you haven’t gotten any—”
The intercom on Shelly’s desk phone buzzed. Shelly picked up the phone and listened for a moment, then hung up and said, “I hate to cut this short, but they need me up front. I’ve got a stack of protective orders that need to be filed with the court.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a folder, then handed it to Pamela. “Can you look them over and make sure we’ve included everything we need?”
“Of course.”
“Have you ever considered sitting for the bar exam and putting that law degree of yours to work?”
“I passed the bar.”
“You did?” Shelly’s forehead wrinkled. “Then why aren’t you practicing?”
“The Senator.”
“Ah. Understood. Speaking of your father, can you imagine what he’d say if you married Marcus Pearson?”
“Are you kidding? He would have a fit. He still hasn’t gotten over losing Devin as his son-in-law.”
Shelly’s features softened. “He wouldn’t feel that way if you told him the reason for the breakup.”
Pamela hastily shook her head, the pressure of denied tears stinging her eyes. Thank God her father and Alice had been away that weekend. The shame she’d felt at finding herself in that predicament didn’t need the reinforcement of her father’s disapproval.
Shelly raked her fingers through her curls and stood up. “I’ve got to go.” She walked over to the door before turning back. “Call me tomorrow, okay? And close the door when you’re done.”
But Pamela was far from done. She may have been unable to get through to Marcus Pearson, but she had one more card left to play. The Harrington name went a long way in DC, especially in the city government. For generations, members on both sides of her family had influenced both local and national politics. A distasteful practice, but a good cause. She would use whatever power she had to persuade the director of zoning to help her. The thought of behaving in such a negative way curdled her stomach, but she couldn’t see any other options available. Would Marcus Pearson still want the property if he couldn’t turn it into high-priced condos?
She pictured him walking toward her the way he had in the country club, his body sleek and powerful, and remembered the feel of that body against hers when he saved her from the golf cart.
Her pulse throbbed, the sensation of liquid heat filling her body. She shook her head to dismiss the image.
He wanted to tangle? She’d learned to tangle with the best of them.
Chapter Four
Entering her rooms at Harrington Estate, Pamela headed straight for the wine fridge and a crisp chardonnay. She wanted nothing more than to pour a glass, sink down onto the silk chaise longue that had once belonged to her mother, and process her entire afternoon. She’d barely popped the cork on the bottle before the intercom buzzed.
“Miss Pamela, Senator Harrington would like to see you for a few minutes.”
Pamela sighed and leaned her forehead against the wall. There was nothing she wanted less than to see her father right now, but he had requested her presence, so… “I’ll be right there.”
She walked down the long hallway that connected her set of rooms to the rest of the twelve-thousand-square-foot home. All too soon, she stood before a brass-handled, multi-paneled wood door. Smoothing down her skirt, she willed the butterflies in her stomach to devolve back into pupae. She took a deep breath, knocked twice, and waited for the gruff “Come in” before opening the door.
Warren Harrington sat behind a massive desk, his horn-rimmed frames perched on his nose, his balding head bent over documents. She stood, her hands clasped loosely in front of her, and waited for him to acknowledge her presence. Thirty seconds. One minute.
A typical Senator move.
Another moment passed before he took off his glasses, massaged the bridge of his nose, and gifted her with his attention.
“Hello, Pamela. Please have a seat.”
Always so formal, the interaction between her and her father. She sat on the edge of the chair and tried to see past the elected official to her father underneath.
She couldn’t.
“You’ll be at the gala on Thursday.”
It wasn’t a question, but she responded as if it were. “Yes.”
“There are some people I want to introduce to you.”
She nodded. That wasn’t unusual. At the functions she hosted with her father, it was her job to charm his VIGs: Very Important Guests. Since
she already knew this, there had to be another reason he’d called her into his office.
“I saw Devin Wentworth when I was on the Hill today.”
Her breath hitched in her throat and she forced herself to take in and expel air normally. “Don’t go there.”
“Refrain from using that common slang with me. It’s beneath you. Now, I don’t know what young people games you two are playing but it stops now. Why haven’t you returned his calls?”
The volume of his voice never increased. It stayed moderate, as if he didn’t care enough to raise it.
“I haven’t heard from him since we broke up.”
“That’s not the impression I got from him today. He’s been trying to call you to clear up the misunderstanding, but you won’t take his calls.”
Pamela crossed her arms. That’s what he would say to her father. Devin Wentworth was a first-class sycophant.
As usual, the Senator didn’t need her to actually participate in their conversation. “You two grew up together, went to the same schools, and were part of the same Jack and Jill group. I was…pleased when you started dating.”
“He doesn’t want to talk to me about our relationship. He wants your business for his lobbying firm. Whether or not you work with him is up to you, but I have no interest in rekindling a relationship with Devin.”
“You’re implying that he’s using you to get to me?” The distaste in his tone made his opinion of that tactic clear.
“It’s not an implication. It’s a fact.” She, too, kept her voice low. After all, she’d learned from the best.
“I find that difficult to believe. But if it’s true, you need to do a better job of choosing the people you bring into this family.”
“So Devin’s lies and manipulations are my fault?”
What would he say if he knew about Marcus Pearson? Marcus wasn’t trying to get to her father exactly, but he was using her and her connection to the Senator to get what he wanted. Was he any different from Devin?
The Senator ignored her question. “Did Alice finalize all the details for my silent auction donation?”
“Yes. The opportunity to play a round of golf with you at Congressional is a big draw. It’s already attracted a lot of interest.”
Satisfaction gleamed in his brown eyes. “Good. If we’re going to do this, I might as well get something out of it.”
She wrinkled her nose, recalling what Marcus had said about David Holcombe. There were times the elitism of her social circle left a bad taste in her mouth.
“Don’t look at me like that, Pamela. This is beneficial for everyone. The foundation will get a large donation and I’ll get great publicity, which I can turn into political currency on the Hill.”
“You retired from the Senate ten years ago.”
“Which makes me the perfect person to influence policy and sway decisions.”
“Isn’t it possible to do something because it’s right and not because you’ll ‘get something out of it’?”
“You should know by now that’s not the way this city works.” He shuffled a stack of papers on his desk before adding, “And speaking of the city, I received a call from Dorothy Hanover.”
First Devin Wentworth and now this? What next? A call from her high school principal reporting that she’d skipped school to go see Keanu Reeves in The Matrix?
“You are neglecting your duties. Four generations of Harrington women have been members of the Mires social club. It’s important to this family and it’s important to the community. A Harrington has been a leading member since 1870.”
His voice gentled and he stroked the face of the watch he always wore on his left wrist, an anniversary gift from her mother. “Cissy was chair for an unprecedented three terms. It should be one of your top priorities.”
Her heart ached as it always did when talking about her mother. “It is.”
“Then why have you missed the last few meetings?”
She glanced down, properly chastised. “I’m sorry. I’ll make the next meeting.”
“What is the matter with you? Lately you’ve been distracted.”
“Nothing is wrong. I’m fine.”
“Then why are you scheduling meetings with the director of the DC Office of Zoning?”
Her breath caught in her throat. “How did you know about that?”
“Who do you think she owes for getting her the position? When she saw your name on her upcoming schedule, she called me to see what I needed. Imagine my embarrassment when I had no clue of what she spoke.”
Panic clawed at her, momentarily robbing her of speech.
“Does this have anything to do with that abuse shelter downtown?”
She quickly recovered. “The G Street Women’s Shelter. Yes.”
“Service is extremely important to this family, but couldn’t you find a worthier crusade? Breast cancer awareness, voter registration drives, educational and medical supplies to villages in Africa. Those are causes that befit the Harrington name, not a bunch of sad, needy women who made unfortunate personal choices.”
She stiffened. “Is that what you think? They’re underprivileged, so they deserved the abuse?”
“Lower your voice. That’s not what I said. Don’t attribute incorrect statements to me.”
“I don’t know how else to take it. You called them ‘needy.’ While a majority of the women we help are in need, we provide support and services to women from all walks of life. Domestic violence crosses class lines, Dad. You’d be surprised.”
“Unlikely, but not the point. I don’t care about the shelter. I care about this family. You’re neglecting your social obligations.”
She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. Her frustration would do nothing to change her father’s mind. “The women and children at the shelter deserve the same assistance as the charities you mentioned. But I’ll make more of an effort to attend to my other duties.”
“See that you do. As my daughter, your primary responsibility is to uphold the Harrington name and image. Everything else is secondary. Do you understand, Pamela?”
She hadn’t known he was keeping such close tabs on her. She’d assumed he was busy with his own work and couldn’t be bothered by her activities. A miscalculation she wouldn’t repeat. “Yes, I understand.”
“Good. Now, I’ve taken care of this matter, but I don’t want to receive another call like that one.” He put his glasses back on and bent his head back to his papers, a clear dismissal.
She was used to this treatment. It was how it had been her entire life. Her father never cared who she was or what she wanted. He only cared about what she was: the perfect Harrington daughter, doing her part to carry on the Harrington traditions.
She stood, but something about his last words stopped her from leaving.
“What do you mean, you’ve ‘taken care’ of it?”
The Senator looked up, his brow creased as if surprised she didn’t dematerialize at his dismissal. “I canceled the appointment.”
Despite the study’s cool temperature, heat suffused Pamela’s body. “What?”
“The director granted your appointment as a favor, but she was scheduled to leave the day before on a monthlong vacation. This way, she can fly out with her family.”
Behind the folds of her skirt, she clenched her hands into fists, her nails biting into her palms. “How could you do that without checking with me? That meeting was important.”
“The same way you could make the appointment without first checking with me.”
“I’m a grown woman. I don’t run my social calendar through you.”
The Senator braced his hands on his desk and stood until he towered over her. “With your recent behavior, maybe you should. And you may be a grown woman, but I’m still your father and you will respect me.”
Her blood pressure raged and she felt the stirrings of a throbbing headache. She wanted to yell, scream, and rant: Listen to me. This is important. I am important. But staring
into his eyes, she knew it would lead nowhere. Gritting her teeth, she stormed from the room.
She crossed the marble floors of the grand two-story foyer. The tears she’d denied all afternoon rolled unchecked down her cheek. Her father had stolen her last chance to keep the shelter in the same location.
Not your last chance.
Marcus Pearson.
He was another man wanting to use her, wanting her to be the perfect Harrington socialite. But this time she didn’t care because she would use him, too. She wasn’t going into this relationship looking for approval, love, or acceptance. She was going to marry Marcus Pearson and save the women’s shelter.
Because a year ago, the women’s shelter saved her.
Chapter Five
Marcus ended the call and tapped his iPhone against his chin, shivers charging down his spine. Her voice was sensational. Velvety. Melodic. Oh, her words had been official and reserved, but there was nothing businesslike about her voice. Regretting they hadn’t met under different circumstances, ones that didn’t involve the Holcombe, he glanced at Carter. “She’s made a decision.”
“And?”
“She wouldn’t say over the phone.” He pressed the intercom button. “Julia, call and make a reservation for two at Cahill’s for tomorrow night at eight.”
“A date?” Carter asked, his voice bloated with interest.
“Not a date, a business meeting.”
“And you conduct all your business meetings at the most exclusive restaurant in DC?”
“This is no different from how we’ve wooed other potential clients and investors in the past.”
“Don’t pull that shit with me. You proposed to a total stranger.”
Marcus tapped the folder on the desk in front of him. “Thanks to you, she’s not a stranger.”
“Because reports give accurate assessments of people?”
“You put together a hell of a team. Their research was comprehensive and told me everything I needed to know about her.” Opening the folder he read, “Hosts teas, volunteers to please Daddy, attends balls like she’s royalty.” He flipped the folder shut. “Typical spoiled socialite.”
“What about the women’s shelter?”
The Tycoon's Socialite Bride (Entangled Indulgence) Page 3
