“Just as I suspected,” Reese answered, his voice a smooth, low timbre.
“Hello to you too,” she grumbled. Arrogant prick. “What is just as you suspected?”
“That you don’t sleep.”
“I sleep, but it’s early.”
“It is.”
There was a gap of silence that stretched, and she let it. He was the one who wanted to talk to her. Let him talk.
“I have a proposal for you, but I’d like to deliver it in person.”
Behind the bar, she rested a clean mug on the surface. “Okay. Well, I’m free Thursday, or—”
“Now.”
“Now?”
“You’re at the hotel, I presume.”
“Yes, but—”
“See you in ten minutes.”
Silence.
She looked at the screen of her phone. Call ended. She frowned, not liking that he didn’t explain. Not liking how she felt as if she didn’t have a choice in the matter. Not liking any of it. Not liking him.
She was a big girl. She could take her medicine. Even if her medicine was a prescription written on a pink slip that she’d be out on her “fantastic ass” by the end of this week.
But she really hoped not.
She pulled the lever on a vat of hot water on the industrial coffeemaker, then dunked a tea bag into her mug and decided to run to the bathroom while it steeped.
A quick check confirmed she was as put together as one could expect at this time of night. Sure her hair had gone a little limp and her skirt and shirt were wrinkled from wear, but her makeup was reasonably intact and she’d brushed her teeth after a late dinner.
Not that she was trying to impress Reese Crane.
By the time five minutes was up, she was tossing the tea bag in the trash, and the revolving hotel door was spinning. Reese stepped in, wearing a dark suit and pale butter-yellow tie. In his pocket was a matching kerchief, and shiny black shoes poked out of sharp pants accentuating thick thighs and, yeah, she’d admit it, a nice ass. He’d made good time.
“Welcome to a real hotel, Crane,” Merina called from the doorway of the bar. “We can talk about your proposal in here.”
He turned to face her, his expression registering surprise that faded quickly into his usual take-charge façade. “Very well.”
His steps were sure and strong, his body moving like it’d been crafted to walk toward a woman. Merina expected Reese to look at home only in his whitewashed hotel with no personality. But he also looked like he belonged in the warmth of the Van Heusen, with its deep, rich woods and tapestry-style chairs. The soft lighting warmed his skin and made the flecks of gold stand out in his facial hair.
He was alarmingly attractive tonight, and she decided to blame that observation on her always-present sleep deprivation.
“How does it feel stepping into a place with soul?” she asked as he followed her in.
“You mean where I’m served milk and cookies rather than aged scotch?”
“We have both.”
“I’ll have a scotch.” With a nod, he moved to the bar.
“Sorry. Bar’s closed.” She wouldn’t allow him to come in here and boss her around. He was on her turf.
For now, anyway.
Glancing at her mug, he looked as if he was weighing his options of whether to argue about the bar being closed or not. He must have decided against it. He said nothing more.
Nothing. Even though he’d called this after-hours meeting.
“Would you like to sit?” May as well start the ball rolling.
His expression turned slightly amused before he nodded. “Sure.”
She led him away from the bar—no way was she propping up on one of those hard wooden seats after the day she’d had—and slid into a booth. He sat across from her, and with half the lights off in the lounge, the seating arrangement felt intimate.
He regarded the bar, his mouth twisting in indecision. Like he was debating on what part of it to tear out first.
“Okay,” Merina interrupted to take his mind off destroying her second favorite room in the hotel. She wrapped her hands around her mug of steaming tea. “What did you need to see me about?”
“A proposal.” His eyes snapped to hers. “I’m willing to let you and your parents keep your jobs and leave the Van Heusen as bohemian as you like.”
It was everything she wanted to hear. Like a miracle had occurred. Had he grown a conscience? Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What’s the catch?”
He smiled, then said two words that made her go temporarily blind in one eye. “Marry me.”
In all the imaginings she’d ever had about a marriage proposal, absolutely zero of them included billionaires she barely knew. A small, slightly hysterical laugh left her lips.
Reese didn’t flinch.
“Did you just say…” She closed her eyes and pushed the rest from her constricted chest. “Marry you?” Surely not. Surely she’d hallucinated that.
“Yes.”
She clutched her mug. Voice tight, she asked, “What in the hell are you talking about?”
“My father is retiring soon. The Crane Holdings board of directors isn’t convinced I’ll make a good replacement due to my dating habits.” He stated it clearly and unapologetically, though really, what did he have to apologize for? He was a grown man who could see whomever he wanted. In her opinion, he saw way too many whomevers. A string of silly women who were likely chasing after his wallet. “The shareholders are displeased with the fact that I have a reputation for being…”
“A playboy?” she finished for him.
He curled his lip and corrected with, “Not monogamous.”
“Are you capable of being monogamous?” It was easier to needle him than address the gauntlet resting between them like a huge pink elephant.
“I don’t prefer it.”
Which was no answer at all.
“So this is a bribe.”
“It’s a proposal.” One eyebrow lifted slightly. “In this case, literally.”
“You think the first time I walk down an aisle it’s going to be an arrangement with a coldhearted snake whose only goal in life is to deepen his pockets?” There was no way. No way she’d agree to this. Even if it meant she was fired, she wouldn’t sell her soul. “I’m not going to let you bribe me into marrying you. I don’t even like you.”
“You don’t have to like me. You have to pretend to like me.”
My God, he’s serious.
“No, I don’t.” Her neck prickled. Maybe this was an elaborate scheme. “I don’t have to do anything.”
“You do if you want your job. If you want to keep the Van Heusen intact.” He grimaced as he studied the bar. “If you turn me down, I might raze it just for fun.”
Her blood moved from chilled to boiling. There were not enough swear words—in every language in the universe—to sum up her feelings. She had to say something, however, so she went with, “You asshole.”
“Six months.” He dipped his chin and trained those heady navy eyes on her. “We get engaged, then married, make a few public appearances for show. The media starts writing favorable things about me instead of lies, and the board will see I’ve changed.” He shrugged one big shoulder. “Once I land CEO, we quietly divorce.”
Six months. For a split second she entertained the idea. Keeping her job and the Van Heusen intact would only cost her half a year of her life.
Wait.
No.
“This isn’t the sixteenth century, Crane,” she snapped. “Can’t you find a woman to date monogamously from the collection of dolls you’re always parading around the city? The senator’s daughter. That underwear model. Oh, what about that really short, cute niece of the famous designer?”
“No,” he answered, his lips cradling the familiar word. “I need someone who will keep up the ruse. Someone who is smart and savvy, who the media will believe I’ve settled down with long-term.”
She was pretty sure there were a
few compliments in there, but damned if she knew what to do about them.
“Forget it.” She put her hands on the table and moved to stand.
“I’ll sign the Van Heusen over to you free and clear,” he said, holding her eyes with his.
Her currency. He’d found it.
She lowered to her seat again, palms sweating on the wood where they rested.
“It’ll be in your name as a settlement of the divorce. What you do with it—keep it or return it to your parents—is up to you.” His gaze stuck to her like superglue. “Everyone wins.”
She was completely speechless. Not only would she salvage everyone’s jobs and retain the integrity of the VH, but she’d also get to own it? It was…well, it was insane is what it was.
Wasn’t it?
“Are you seeing anyone?” His voice dipped, slicing her hectic thoughts into more pieces. The energy between them intensified.
There was a charge there. A spark in the air when he was this close to her. She thought it’d been a by-product of her rage when she’d huffed into his office last week. But no. It was real. Which made his proposition a million times more volatile. Because she did not like him—not even a little—yet that hadn’t quelled the physical attraction, which was problematic.
“I didn’t say yes,” she reminded both of them.
“If you are,” he continued, ignoring her, “you’ll have to break it off. Tomorrow at the latest. Tonight, if possible.”
Her jaw softened, her mouth falling open. She wasn’t seeing anyone, but what if she was? He expected her to make a phone call in the wee hours to announce they were through? She would have been offended for her boyfriend if there were one.
She thought of the man who delivered fresh, organic produce to the hotel. Miles. He’d asked her out for coffee a few days ago. He was cute in a pair of black-framed glasses and his hipster-wear. She guessed him to be a few years younger than her twenty-nine and probably the only thing they had in common was that they both drank coffee, but he had a nice smile and she’d been flattered. So she’d said yes. If she agreed to do what Crane was asking…well, there was no way she could explore anything with Miles.
With anyone.
“Merina.”
“What?” Her eyebrows crashed together.
“Are you dating anyone right now?” he asked. Slowly.
She was having a problem processing his offer. His proposal. So she deflected.
“Are you?”
He gave her a “you’ve got to be kidding me” frown.
“Oh, right. Like a million somebodies. Tell me why you’re allergic to seeing a woman more than once. Is it because they find out how lousy you are in bed and then run for the hills?”
At her blatant insult, he didn’t balk. “It’s because I never call them again and instruct my secretary to send flowers stating as much.”
Her head jerked on her neck. Was he serious? With him sitting there in his suit and tie, hands folded in front of him, she shouldn’t find it surprising he handled his dates much like a corporate takeover. There was absolutely no way she could marry a man—even for show—with that much ice in his veins.
“What about the woman I saw leaving your office?” she asked before she’d meant to. “She didn’t look like a typical businesswoman.” Unless her business was escorting the rich and famous for a hefty fee.
“She left her necklace on the hotel nightstand and came to pick it up.”
“Surely the Crane has a lost-and-found box,” she said with a snort.
“My nightstand,” he clarified.
Oh.
She felt her face go red. Of course he’d slept with that woman.
“Everything will be handled by my team. The wedding will be two weeks from now,” he said, moving them forward yet again.
“I didn’t say yes yet,” she murmured. She had to murmur, because her lips were numb. And her fingers. All of her. “Two weeks?”
“The sooner the better.” Reese kept plowing through. “It will be a simple affair at my house. My brother and father will be there, a justice of the peace, and a few members of the Crane Holdings board. Keep your invitations essential. Your parents, a best friend, a few close family members. We need to keep this small. You can’t tell your family you’re marrying for show. There is too big of a chance the truth will come out. I’ll have a photographer there who will feed a few pictures to the media for publicity purposes.”
Publicity. He really had all of this worked out. And her parents. God. What would her parents say when she announced she was engaged to Satan Crane? Especially since she couldn’t tell them the truth. Her hands were again wrapped around her mug, but despite the warmth from the cup, a chill swept through her. Was she actually considering this?
She thought of her parents and how much they loved the Van Heusen. She thought of herself and how she’d grown up in this cherished building. She thought of Arnold out front, who loved coming to work each day.
She didn’t want to work anywhere else, let alone for one of Crane’s übermodern hotels. And after they parted ways, she’d own the Van Heusen. As offers went, they didn’t come packaged prettier.
Still, what Crane was proposing—as he’d put it, a literal proposal—was preposterous.
“It has to appear real, so I’ve handed the details over to my PR specialist,” he said. “I’ve spoken with her about it already. A few public appearances and you’ll move into my Lake Shore Drive mansion. She assures me she can easily spin this as a whirlwind romance to the press.”
Her mouth fell open.
He met her expression with a dubious one of his own. “I know. Whirlwind romance. Ridiculous.” He pulled in a deep breath, one that expanded his chest, and checked the face of his watch. Why, she didn’t know. It was two in the morning. Where else could he possibly have to be? Unless she was one in a line of many women to whom he was making this offer. It alarmed her how not surprising that idea was.
“Call whomever you’re dating and let him down easy. We don’t need him using your breakup as media fodder. Since the timeline is tight, I’ll need to know your answer by the end of the week. Six months, Merina, and you’ll get everything you want.”
He said her name with warmth, his tone rough and soft at the same time. She met his eyes. Navy. The inside of her sank even as her heart kicked against her rib cage. It was everything she wanted. Her future and her past in her control.
“If you and whoever you’re seeing are meant to be,” he said, the warmth vanishing from his voice, “I’m sure he’ll take you back when you and I don’t work out.”
“I’m not seeing anyone.” Unable to sit any longer, she rose from the table, her hands flattening on the surface. His eyes went to her shirt like they did the day she stomped into his hotel. He really had a boob fetish, didn’t he?
Slowly, he raised his eyes to her face. “That makes this easier, then.”
Easier. Sure. Just allow herself to be bought off by the misogynistic billionaire who was trying to control every particle of her life for six months. Just marry him. Easy-peasy.
“I…I can’t do this right now.” That was the most honest thing she’d said since he arrived. She couldn’t categorize what he was asking. She couldn’t fathom it. She couldn’t picture it. Her dating Reese was outrageous. Her living with him? Insane. But marriage…God. He was crazy.
“I understand.” Unaffected by her reaction, Reese stood with her. “You have my private cell now. Call that number and let me know your decision by Friday.” With a curt nod, he turned and started out of the dining room.
“I have until Friday?” she couldn’t help asking.
“Yes.” He plunged his hands into his pockets and waited for her to say more. So she did.
“You booked everything already?”
“Yes.” He canted his head to one side and regarded her. He looked handsome and she tried to see him differently than she had when he’d walked in. As a husband. A man she would live with. The man she w
ould hold hands with and kiss in public for the world to see. It was like she’d fallen down the rabbit hole and was having tea with the Mad Hatter.
Reese started for the exit.
“And if I say no,” she called after him, her voice hollow, “do you have a plan B?”
This earned her a slight smile over his shoulder, the edges of his lips tipping. “Believe it or not, my list of potential brides with real estate I can hold over their heads is relatively short. I’ve thought this through. It’s the best course of action for both of us.”
He turned on the heel of his expensive leather shoes and exited the Van Heusen, leaving Merina with a million thoughts—one of which she really shouldn’t entertain.
She looked into her tepid tea, decided it wasn’t strong enough, and went behind the bar for a shot of the scotch she’d refused to serve him.
Chapter 4
You threw Reese Crane’s thousand-dollar suit jacket into a mud puddle? That’s brilliant.” Lorelei’s deep brown eyes crinkled around the edges and she threw her head back and laughed.
“I don’t know how brilliant it was since I walked back freezing and soaked to the bone.” Merina yawned, then drank the coffee she needed more than her next breath. It’d been a sleepless, stressful couple of nights. On a good night, she slept a few hours. This week she was lucky if she’d accumulated a few hours’ sleep since Monday.
Lorelei swiped moisture from her inky lashes—and not inky because they were coated in mascara. Inky because they were naturally coal black, like her smoothed-to-perfection shoulder-length hair.
“You look amazing,” Merina blurted. Because her best friend did, in fact, look amazing. Her cocoa skin was glowing, her cheeks highlighted with a dab of bronzer, her eyes bright and sparkling. Merina, on the other hand, looked like a hobo brought in to be given a hot meal. “Oh my God,” she said, her lazy synapses finally firing. “Did you get laid last night? Are you and Malcolm back togeth—”
“What? No! Neither of those things.” Lorelei turned her chin down to examine the printed papers in front of her. “And we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you, future Mrs. Crane.”
The Billionaire Bachelor (Billionaire Bad Boys Book 1) Page 4