Despite the Gentleman's Riches: Sweet Billionaire Romance (For Richer or Poorer Book 1)

by Easterling, Aimee

  And it didn't matter anyway because the huge metal cone in front of my eyes was opening up into four pointed diamonds, the ends so sharp I suspected they would cut off my foot if I was stupid enough to take one more step toward my beloved tree. "Ma'am, I need you to move out of the way," called the machine's operator, and I obediently paced backwards in a daze. Jack would be too late to stop the cone's depredations, and I was too timid to become the tree-hugger in fact that my neighbors called me in jest.

  "Thank you, Pippin," I whispered, not even able to hear my own words over the roar of the vehicle's motor. The four diamonds centered around my beloved apple tree, then they fell with a crunch to surround the plant in unyielding metal.

  Unable to watch, I turned away and allowed the tears I'd been withholding to stream down my cheeks.

  ***

  "Hey, Ginny, it's okay."

  Jack's face swam within my fuzzy vision, his strong hands taking my cheeks between them so he could tilt my face upwards to meet his. I loved Pippin, but I love Jack more, I realized, yet that didn't stop the tears (and other bodily fluids) from flowing copiously. "I know," I answered. Then, barely able to choke out the words: "She's just a tree."

  "What do you mean she's just a tree?" Jack demanded, his words suddenly angry, although his grip remained gentle. "That tree is your heart, and I'm going to keep it safe no matter what."

  What a time to discover that poor Jack was a closet romantic. But how could my companion not realize that my apple tree had already fled to whatever happy hunting ground in the sky was reserved for therapy plants? My hand fluttered a wave back over my shoulder, unable to put Pippin's loss into words.

  "I thought for sure you'd know what a tree spade was," Jack muttered, almost to himself, then he dropped his hands down onto my shoulders and carefully spun me around to face the other way.

  For a moment, all I could take in was the way Jack's arms shifted to fold across my stomach, his public embrace filling my body with a sudden burst of joy. This is home, I thought, the words reminding me what it had felt like to be encircled by a real family. Then I realized what my companion was trying to show me: Pippin wasn't gone after all.

  While I wasn't looking, the cone had closed up around Pippin's base, the four diamonds springing back together to cup a huge expanse of earth eight feet in diameter. And now, as we both watched, the tree spade slowly surged upwards, gently raising Pippin into the air, roots and all. Her branches swayed mildly, the lone apple bobbing in place as leaves rustled, and I almost thought I could hear the tree exclaiming in delight. How often does a tree get the opportunity to fly?

  It took me long minutes to fully take in the reality of the scene in front of me. The heavy machinery wasn't a tool of destruction after all, but was instead a huge, mechanical version of the way I gently teased broccoli seedlings out of their tray with a fork before transplanting. Jack had worked a miracle.

  "But you can't move a tree," I murmured, not believing the evidence of my own eyes.

  "Together, you and I can do anything," Jack promised. Then he turned me back around and kissed me on the lips.

  ***

  "But where are you taking her?" I asked, once we were finally able to come up for air. The bond I'd felt forming between us as I lay on Jack's shoulder above Central Park suddenly seemed solid, a swinging bridge I could walk across without any hint of danger, simply reveling in the headiness of height. Was it me or Pippin who was dangling ten feet above the ground?

  "I have a proposal for you," Jack said, but this time he didn't pull out any visual aids. That was okay—the only image I wanted right now was my lover's glorious form in front of my eyes.

  And, apparently, in front of others' eyes as well. "A proposal!" the romantic lady exclaimed, and I couldn't help peering over Jack's shoulder to where every one of the Cuadic members was arrayed in a ring at the businessman's back. Sure enough, the romantic lady seemed just about ready to swoon.

  "Not that proposal, at least, not quite yet," Jack said, his blue eyes still gazing into mine, but his words a little louder so he was sure my friends would overhear. "Although, yes, you're all invited to the wedding, once I talk Ginny around. If she doesn't want you there, then you can sit on the groom's side." His eyes crinkled up at his own jest, and I thought I might have heard the romantic lady slide to the ground in a faint of pure joy. But I couldn't tear my attention away from Jack any longer to make sure.

  "I could move Pippin anywhere you want," Jack was saying. "There's a lot for sale in town—it could be in your name by dinnertime. Or perhaps you'd rather own an acreage further out in the country. I found several of those, some with houses, some without."

  Jack was being unbelievably kind, but his words were making the swinging bridge between us dwindle back down into a slippery tightrope. I didn't want to lose Pippin, but I also didn't want Jack's grand production to simply be a way of paying me back for helping out his sister. Setting up my tree miles distant from Jack's slowly-warming mansion on the hill would mean that my ex-employer was just being kind, rather than trying to transplant my heart into his backyard. Was this a romantic gesture or not?

  Jack was oblivious to my internal conflict. Or was he? A hint of that beloved smirk was rising up through his serious expression, try as the businessman might to maintain a poker face. "I could do that," he said, his warm gaze making the rope between us feel less treacherous by the moment. "But I don't want to. What I want to do is to plant your heart right in front of my window, where I can see it the minute I wake up and gaze upon it every day before I fall asleep. If I'm lucky, Pippin will require daily visits from her mistress, and that will mean that I get to see you as well."

  Jack reached into his jacket pocket, pulling forth a sheaf of official-looking papers, now a bit bedraggled from their unusual mode of transportation. "This is a deed to a one-acre tract of land a stone's throw from my front door," he continued, returning to business mode. "You're the new owner, sale price one dollar. If you'll let me plant your tree there, the property will be entirely yours with no strings attached. In fact, I had my lawyer add a paragraph down here at the bottom...." He flipped through the pages, coming to the one he was looking for at last. "I could read you the legalese, but the gist is that, if you decide that you can't bear having Mr. Fish Sticks so close to your heart, then I'll move out, no questions asked." I accepted the papers that my companion was trying to push into my hands, but didn't even glance at them as Jack finished: "So, what do you say? Do you accept my offer?"

  "Less talking and more kissing!" The order from behind me wasn't unexpected, but its timber was. Rather than the high, reedy tones of the romantic lady, this encourager was male, and I was pretty sure that our resident conspiracy theorist had finally been won over by Jack's proposal.

  Well, if it was good enough for Tom, then it was good enough for me. Reaching up behind Jack's neck to pull his lips down to mine, I sealed the deal with another kiss.

  Chapter 22

  "But why did you have to hire a lawyer to draw up the deed if you went to law school yourself?" Fifteen minutes later, the hordes of Cuadic well-wishers finally eluded, Jack was pulling into the long driveway leading up to his house on the hill and I was just starting to come down off the high of our most recent kiss. The tree spade, with Pippin in its arms, had gently tilted backwards to lie parallel with the flat bed of the truck, and the whole contraption was trundling up the road in front of us. I kept expecting Pippin's sole apple to come tumbling down to be squashed beneath our tires, but so far, my precious tree and her fruit remained intact, which left me with the mental energy to focus on more human concerns. And while I really wanted to ask Jack if he'd meant it about a potential wedding, law school seemed like a safer topic, at least for now.

  "I had a lot of other tasks keeping me busy last night," Jack explained, shooting me a glance out of the corner of his eye. "I wanted to go after you immediately when you left yesterday, but I couldn't shake my father until you were already out of sight
. And by the time I reached your property, the trailer was sitting by the side of the road, which side-tracked me for a while."

  We crested the last rise as Jack paused, and then I gasped. I'd assumed there would be a big hole in front of the mansion where Pippin was going to be planted, and that cavity was indeed evident. But I had no idea that my trailer would be parked right beside Pippin's future home as well. The tiny dwelling looked grossly out of place, located no more than fifty feet from the front door of Jack's mansion, and I suspected the sight would be enough to give the older Mr. Reynolds heart palpitations. Jack, on the other hand, was casting the same look in my direction that had been on his face when the fancy gowns were unveiled in his New York City apartment, as if he hoped his gift would be well received but thought there was a good chance it would instead be thrown back into his face.

  I knew I should hurry up and give my companion a clue that I wasn't angry, but the truth was that I couldn't get my vocal cords to work as I carefully set Florabelle's cage down on the car seat and walked toward the home I'd thought was lost. Not only was my trailer solidly moored to the new patch of earth, the entire area around the structure was newly landscaped...or rather, it was populated with the same plants I'd nurtured in my old lot. Raspberries and vegetables had been carefully dug up and replanted just like my apple tree was currently being moved, and none of the plants showed the least sign of wilting. It was as if the workers had gone to the effort of using the tree spade even on ephemeral annuals like leaf lettuce, and I could barely wrap my mind around the time and expense required to make such a seamless transition. This gift was so much more extraordinary than fancy bath salts and cut orchids that I could barely capture my breath.

  "I know it's not laid out exactly like your yard was before," Jack said hastily, filling in the silence that had elongated between us. "I had some Master Gardeners come up and look at the soil, and they said this was the best spot for a garden. But, if you hate it, we'll move it. I want you to feel at home here."

  The tree guy had been working while the two of us talked, and now he pushed a lever to twist Pippin back to her upright position. Very slowly, the massive cone began its descent toward the pyramidal hole in Jack's lawn, and Pippin was soon settled back into the earth. My heart had found its final resting place.

  ***

  "I need to bring Florabelle inside," I said finally, when the tree-spade truck was gone and Jack was suitably thanked. My companion looked less grim now but still a little tense, as if he weren't entirely confident that I wouldn't order him to hook my trailer back up to an even bigger truck and haul it elsewhere if Jack put one foot down in the wrong place. Although how he could expect any girl to turn down Mr. Fish Sticks when he begged for the honor of planting her heart right outside his front door was beyond me.

  To be honest, though, I was feeling a little tense as well. But the root of my anxiety was quite different from Jack's, revolving around the expected shambles within my home that had surely arisen during its impromptu move. Unlike RVs, mobile homes don't come with latches on cabinets and bookcases, and I fully expected the interior to look like a massive earthquake had hit in my absence. Would the refrigerator door have swung open, spraying perishables out to rot on the linoleum? The dishes I'd left in the drainer would definitely be shattered and papers would likely be flying everywhere. I was starting to get a little bleary-eyed from all of the recent traumas stacked on top of my wakeful night, and I wasn't looking forward to spending hours picking up debris before I could finally fall into my own bed.

  But, to my surprise, the door opened easily with no furniture barring the way, and I carried Florabelle inside to a home that looked exactly like the one I'd left less than a week before. "Who...?" I began, wonder filling my voice as I flipped on the light switch, twisted open the kitchen faucet, and discovered everything to be in perfect working order. Even the fridge was full and humming happily in one corner.

  "That's the other project that I was busy with last night," Jack explained quietly from the open doorway. "Your landlord hadn't taken the time to secure your possessions, so everything needed to be picked up and battened down before we could move the trailer again. I know it's an invasion of your privacy, but I hoped you'd feel less violated if I did it all myself...." Despite his words, Jack sounded far from sure that I'd follow his logic, and he still had that look on his face that suggested he was waiting to be slapped down.

  As I tore my gaze away from the wonder of my pristine home, I suddenly realized that my companion hadn't entered the room and appeared to be waiting to be invited into my tiny abode. The trailer was now located on what was basically his property (new deed aside), but Jack seemed intent upon giving me as much personal space as I craved. And I appreciated the gesture, if not the way my companion's shoulders were still hunched with anxiety. Had Mr. Fish Sticks really changed so much in a few short weeks, transforming from the suave businessman who had arrogantly tried to pick me up in the checkout line into this thoughtful supporter? Or had he been the same person all along, with my perception of the man being the only thing to shift as hints of the real Jack slowly shone through his charismatic facade?

  Either way, it was past time to show my companion how much I appreciated all of his efforts. Because I really did welcome every one of his actions, even though they might have seemed to threaten my independence. I was surprised to realize that I didn't feel invaded at all by the thought of having Jack's fingers running across my books, or even through my underwear drawer. In fact....

  Setting Florabelle's cage down in her usual spot, I took Jack's hand and pulled him across the threshold and into the tiny kitchen. Only then did I realize that my companion had moved my entire front deck to this new location as well, transferring the structure board by board. But I had more important matters to focus on right now than lumber.

  "Perhaps you'd like to invade my bedroom?" I purred, feeling embarrassed by my own forwardness as soon as the words left my mouth. But before I could cringe away, I saw Jack's pupils expand in desire, and I could have sworn I felt the testosterone levels in my own blood rise in response.

  "I noticed your bed is twin-sized," my companion replied, voice husky as he followed me down the short hallway. Perhaps it was only the close confines that made his hand brush against my butt, but I doubted it. It definitely wasn't chance that made me lean back into the touch. "We'll have to nestle up close to both fit...." he continued.

  "I suspect we'll manage," I answered, pulling my t-shirt over my head. And, moments later, when the rest of our clothes had tumbled into a heap on the bedroom floor, I finally understood what the oxytocin had been trying to tell me all along. Jack and I had merged, body, mind, and spirit. How could I not trust a man who had uprooted my heart so that he could nurture it right in his front lawn?

  Chapter 23

  "So, talk to me about this wedding you've been planning behind my back," I said hours later, when Florabelle had finally grown impatient and had requested our presence in the kitchen. Okay, "request" is, perhaps, a mild word for the way my cockatiel had let me know that I'd totally forgotten to fill her water dish for the first time ever—apparently, I'd had something more pressing on my mind. Now that my bird was content, perching on my chest as Jack and I cuddled together on the couch, I figured it was time to iron out those thorny details that Claudia and Kimberly would certainly ask about when next we met.

  "It's a bit premature to plan the actual wedding," Jack answered, pulling a wrinkled piece of paper out of his pants pocket. Unlike his previous proposals, this one was written out longhand on what appeared to be the back of a grocery-store receipt. It had taken some doing to cram everything into the small space, but what caught my eye—and made my stomach churn—was the lettering at the top of the page: "Prenup."

  "Jack..." I started, not sure how to express the disappointment I was suddenly feeling. Yes, it made total sense for someone as wealthy as my companion to ask his fiancée to sign a prenuptial agreement, but did I reall
y want to enter into a relationship with someone who trusted me so little? If, heaven forbid, our partnership was doomed to failure, I would expect to leave carrying the same few possessions I'd entered with, and I thought my lover understood that fact. Did he really think I was a gold digger in search of his millions?

  But, before I could speak or Jack could explain, my eye was drawn to the items my partner had listed as his demands. "You promise to always drive at or below the speed limit?" I asked, my lips twitching up into a smile as I realized that I'd jumped to the wrong conclusion entirely. Jack's idea of a prenup wasn't a method of protecting his assets, but, rather, a way of solidifying his promises to me. "You'll trade your spaceship in for the safest car on the market?" I continued reading. "And you'll eat five servings of fruits and vegetables per day?"

  "Immediately and constantly," Jack said eagerly, his words surging up over top of mine before I'd even finished speaking. "And we'll enroll Shirley in an anti-smoking program if she lets us. Lena was the trickier part, though. I'm pretty sure I can browbeat Dad into sending her back to stay with us, but I wasn't sure if you'd want a sister-in-law in residence right from the get-go?"

  "Definitely," I answered, not even needing to consider whether I wanted to accept responsibility for the metaphorical stray kitten. And it wasn't all selflessness that made me agree, either—I loved Lena and wanted to spend as much time as possible with the girl before she went off to college and began making her own way in the world. "But what about this part—you want to wait a year before we get married? Are you still unsure about us...?"