Cole clenched his fist under the table in an effort to rein in his temper. Arguing with his grandmother was pointless anyway. She was never going to acknowledge Rebecca, and if Cole was honest, his sister was all the better for it. He would be forever grateful for having her in his life, and be forever trying to convince her to take the money that was her birthright, but dealing with Meredith Grant was a nightmare he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. But enough was enough. Playtime was over.
“I guess I should be grateful then that you could spare a few moments to have a meal with your grandson on his birthday,” he said as he prepared to lower the boom. “I’m also happy to inform you that your schedule just opened up a bit.”
She gave a small, delicate laugh. Some besotted fool had once told her it sounded like silverware clinking gently against a glass, but to Cole it was more like fingernails on a chalkboard. “Is that so?” she asked.
“Mmm-Hmm.” Cole reached for his water glass with his left hand, watching with satisfaction as his grandmother’s steely gaze zeroed in on his platinum wedding band. “In fact, a toast is in order.” He glanced over his shoulder and gave the waiter a nod. “But with something more than water, don’t you think?”
The waiter appeared at Cole’s side. “Yes, sir?”
“A bottle of Cristal,” he ordered, never taking his eyes off his grandmother’s. “We have a great deal to celebrate.”
Her gaze narrowed ever so slightly. “What have you done?”
“Why, exactly what my parents wanted.”
The waiter returned with two crystal flutes and a bottle of their finest champagne. He opened it with an understated flourish then filled the two glasses.
“Thank you,” Cole said. “That will be all for now.” He waited until the gentleman had backed away from the table, and when they were alone again he lifted his glass in a toast. “To fulfilled destinies.”
Meredith lifted her glass. Her smile never faltered, but a muscle in her neck twitched.
“Care to be more specific?”
“Forgive me, must be all the excitement.” Cole smirked over the rim of his glass as he took a sip of bubbly. Having the upper hand was something he’d grown accustomed to in business, but when it came to family, it was a whole new experience. No need to rush it. So instead he took his time, savoring the moment along with the vintage wine.
When he was satisfied that enough time had passed, he slowly and methodically set the flute back on the table. “I’ve taken a bride, grandmother.”
Her eyes widened infinitesimally but other than that she was completely still. A heavy silence hung in the air between them for what felt like an eternity, but when she finally spoke, her voice dripped with enough sugar to send half the dining room into a diabetic shock.
“That’s wonderful, Cole. I’m so happy for you.” She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle out of her Chanel suit. “And I can’t wait to meet her.”
“Meet her?” Cole nearly choked on his champagne. Meeting his grandmother was not something to be taken lightly. Even under the best circumstances, it was far from enjoyable, but with an agenda and an ax to grind, an evening with Meredith Vanderholden Grant could prove almost hazardous to one’s health. While his new bride was hardly his favorite person, even she didn’t deserve that fate.
“Yes, at the gala Saturday. What a perfect opportunity for her to meet her new social circle.”
Olivia at the Grant Foundation Gala? The thought alone nearly had him laughing out loud. Hell, her corporate hit list probably included half the guest list. He could just picture it, her stomping around in her combat boots waving pictures of persecuted animals under everyone’s noses as they munched on caviar and canapés.
“You know someone more cynical might think you married this girl simply to retain control of Grant Industries.”
Cole put his hand against his chest in an attempt to feign offense at such a notion. “Would I do that?”
“Manipulate a girl to your advantage?” Her condescending smile revealed a row of perfectly capped teeth. “Absolutely.” She reached for her glass but instead of lifting it to her lips, she merely toyed with it, twirling the stem between her fingertips. “But still, I’m sure the marriage is genuine. I don’t think even you would risk jail time.”
Cole chuckled. “She might be the old ball and chain, but it’s not like I’m serving a sentence.”
“No, but that’s exactly where you might end up.”
“How do you figure?”
Meredith leveled her icy stare at him. “The courts don’t appreciate being deceived, Cole. I know Jeffrey would hate to have his proceedings turned into a mockery,” she said, casually referring to Judge Peterson by his first name. “Might even go so far as to consider it contempt of court.”
“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
“No need to play coy, Coleman. We’re family,” she said, as if that made some difference to her. Blood might have been thicker than water, but when it came to her family, preserving its legacy was far more important to Meredith Grant than any single member. That combined with her all-consuming greed, not just for money but for power, made his grandmother a formidable foe. “I’m thrilled you’ve found someone to share your life with. But if it’s proven that you’ve done this in bad faith and are actively deceiving the courts—”
“Let me assure you, that’s not the case here,” he said, cutting off what he knew was just the beginning of his grandmother’s attempts to intimidate him. “But even if it were—hypothetically speaking, of course—”
“Of course.”
Cole ignored her sarcastic agreement. “Even if it were, do you really think I would enter into a relationship without thoroughly investigating any potential exposure or loss?” He lowered his voice. “I’m not one of your lackeys, grandmother. You’d do well to remember that.”
“And you’d do well to remember that the court of public opinion can cause far more harm than our judicial system.”
Cole smirked. “Honesty, grandmother, I would have expected more of an effort. That threat wasn’t even thinly veiled.” He placed his napkin on the table and stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, as much fun as this has been, I have a company to run.” He buttoned his suit jacket. “And a new bride who would like me home for dinner.”
His phone was in his hand before he’d reached the staircase and he had it pressed to his ear the moment he was through the revolving door.
She answered on the third ring.
“Olivia Ramsey.”
Cole’s steps slowed. Ramsey? Fucking hell. Sham of a marriage or not, no wife of his was keeping her maiden name. A strange sensation flooded his gut, but he shook it off as nothing more than indigestion. A meal with his grandmother, even a liquid one, was known to have that effect.
“They were right,” Cole said, forgoing any pleasantries. He tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder and reached into his suit pocket for a roll of antacids.
“Hello to you too,” Olivia replied. “And who was right?”
“Cassie and Conor.” A horn blared as Cole crossed the street against the light. Like he gave a flying fuck. “I just met with my grandmother. She played the fraud card.”
“That didn’t take long.”
“The old bat was practically foaming at the mouth.”
“Did you shut her down?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he said. “I pointed out that she has no legal leg to stand on, but she made it clear she’s not giving up that easily.” Cole could have kicked himself for letting his guard down with her for even a minute. He should have anticipated any and all responses and taken the necessary precautions. But instead he allowed himself the luxury of enjoying his victory. Rookie mistake. He knew better.
“She’s threatening to go public with her suspicions.”
“Let her. It’s not like your love life is front page news.”
“No, but it would make the gossip rags.” Cole ran a hand
through his hair “Olivia, companies live and die by stock holder confidence. If my grandmother starts spreading the word that my father had added a failsafe to his will that I not only didn’t live up to, but had to essentially bribe a woman to circumvent . . .” He drew a steadying breath. “I could stand to lose everything.
“Fuck.”
“You can say that again.”
“Fuck,” she repeated. There was a long, heavy pause before she spoke again. “So, what do we do now?”
“The only thing we can do. Move in together.”
Olivia snorted. His wife, ladies and gentleman, class personified.
“Yeah, right,” she said with a laugh.
“I’m serious, Olivia.”
“This was not part of the deal.”
“Consider it a renegotiation. Meet me at my penthouse in an hour.”
“Cole, I can’t just drop everything and come running when you call.”
“You can, and you will.”
“Or what, you’ll drag me off by the hair and tie me to your bed again?”
If he didn’t know better, Cole would have sworn that sounded more like a request than a question. Either way, thoughts of Olivia’s naked body stretched across his bed filled Cole’s mind, just as they had countless times over the past four days. And just like every other time, it left him wanting more. He’d tried to take matters into his own hands, so to speak. But no matter how many times he jerked off, the desire to have her never seemed to go away. In fact, if anything, it just grew stronger. Because now he knew exactly what he was missing. He’d been confident that sleeping with her once would do the trick. It would be disappointing, and the bizarre fixation would end. But instead of ending his fantasies, being with her had exceeded them. There was no denying the fact that the sex that night had been hard and raw and oh so good. And according to his cock, he was ready to go again.
His muscles tightened, and his cock pulsed. Cole inhaled through his nose, trying to block all thoughts of naked Olivia from his mind by running through baseball statistics. It took half the Cubs starting lineup to get his dick under control.
She laughed. “You’re thinking about that, aren’t you?”
“There are plenty of other bedrooms,” he said, when he could trust that his voice would be level. “You won’t need to share mine.”
“Of course not. But if you think I’m sleeping in the servants’ quarters, you’re sadly mistaken. And who says we have to live at your place anyway? There’s nothing wrong with my apartment.”
Cole wasn’t even going to dignify that nonsense with a response. Instead, he pulled the phone away from his ear and texted her his address. When he returned to the call, she was still talking.
“I might only be your wife on paper but—”
“I just sent you the necessary information,” Cole said, ending her diatribe. “Meet me there after work.” With that he hung up the phone. Like hell if he was moving into some shitty apartment in the south Loop. Not when he had a spacious Gold Coast penthouse. As for the sleeping arrangements, they’d figure out details like that later. Right now, he had a far more pressing issue. His wife was about to meet his grandmother. This was war, and Olivia had to be dressed for battle.
Chapter Eleven
Olivia fired up her laptop. If Cole was going to keep her waiting, at least she could get a bit of work done. She leaned back in her chair while she waited for the screen to boot up and took a closer look at the penthouse he called home. It was more like an art gallery than a place where someone actually lived. Soaring white walls were dotted with brightly colored abstract art and even the furniture looked like it was meant to be merely admired, not actually sat on.
Her gaze dropped to the table she was using as a makeshift desk. It was nothing more than an enormous slab of glass mounted atop a jagged boulder. Not exactly the type of dining room where you would serve Thanksgiving dinner. Then again, the only family Cole had left was his grandmother, and from the sound of things they weren’t exactly celebrating holidays together.
With the computer ready to roll, Olivia clicked on the file where she kept her list of potential projects. If Cole was right about the Grant name opening doors, then she intended to make good use of it. And there was no time to waste because she didn’t plan on being Mrs. Grant a second longer than she had to. Mrs. Grant. The name sounded so foreign, like it belonged to Cole’s mother, not to her.
Cole’s mother.
The previous research she’d done had all centered around Cole’s business endeavors. She’d never taken the time to delve into his family tree. Curious, Olivia opened the search engine and typed the words “Grant Family Chicago.” All at once, hundreds of images filled the screen. Most were of Cole at various high-profile events, a different woman on his arm at each one. But there were also a few of his grandmother. Olivia scrolled through several shots of Meredith Grant. She looked harmless enough. In fact, she seemed like any other grandmother. Except for the diamonds. And the designer clothes. And the Botox. In nearly every shot, Meredith had the same tight smile plastered across her face, and yet above the eyes there wasn’t a wrinkle to be found. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t the average granny. But still, she couldn’t really be as horrible as Cole described, could she?
As she was about to close the tab, a picture of Cole taken on the red carpet at the Oscars caught Olivia’s eye. He was standing in front of a grandstand of screaming fans with a stunning and somewhat familiar looking brunette at his side. Perhaps she was a nominee? It would certainly explain how he managed to snag a seat at such a prestigious event. A ticket to the Oscars was hard to come by, even for a billionaire mogul. Her interest piqued, Olivia followed the link. She scanned the short article but found only the original photo with a small caption underneath. There was no mention of his date or why he was there in the first place. She tucked that little tidbit into the back of her mind for further investigation and refreshed the browser.
A photo she hadn’t noticed before appeared at the top of the image search. It had been taken in front of a construction site. Cole couldn’t have been more than three or four years old. He was standing on a platform between his parents, wearing short pants and knee socks and holding a small plastic shovel. In spite of the anger and frustration she felt for the man, she couldn’t help but smile at the little boy with the impish grin and mop of unruly curls. But that amusement quickly turned to sadness. From what she had learned so far, they hadn’t been a very happy family. At least not for long.
Olivia studied the photo. Cole’s father looked to be about the age Cole was now. He had the same dark hair as his son, and the scowl on his face was certainly familiar as well. His mother on the other hand was smiling. She was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, but what really stood out in the photo was the loving way she gazed down at her son.
Another click of the cursor took her to the Tribune archives. Olivia chewed the nail of her index finger as she read about the events that had left Cole an orphan. A car accident on a hairpin turn on Lake Shore Drive had killed his parents during his first year at Princeton. The article focused mainly on the Grant family’s contributions to the city versus the details of the actual crash, but the photo of a flipped car surrounded by rescue vehicles spoke volumes.
A lump formed in Olivia’s throat. Cole might have been overbearing, self-centered, and unreasonable, but not even he deserved to endure a tragedy like that.
The phone rang on the table next to her and she jumped. With any luck, maybe it was her husband calling to tell her it was a false alarm and that she could leave his museum of a home and head back to her apartment. But when she looked at the screen, the caller ID showed Cassie’s name.
“Hello,” Olivia said. Her voice sounded hoarse.
Cassie didn’t bother with hello. Instead she launched right into questions, firing one after another in rapid succession. “What’s wrong? Were you crying? Is everything all right? What did he do?”
“Slow down. Nothing’
s wrong, well, aside from the obvious. No, I wasn’t crying. Yes, everything is all right. As for what did he do,” she said with a small laugh. “How much time do you have?”
“I’m being serious. You sound horrible.”
“My throat was just dry. I need a drink of water, that’s all.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Although come to think of it, I do have some bad news.”
“What?”
“Looks like I’m going to have to move into Cole’s penthouse.”
Cassie laughed. “And you call that bad news?”
“Before you break into a rendition of The Jefferson’s theme song, I want you to consider the fact that “moving on up” means moving in with Dr. Douchebag.”
“You mean the man you vehemently denied being attracted to, then screwed like a bunny rabbit?”
“I was drunk.” When all else fails, blame the tequila.
“Tell yourself whatever you want, but you’re not fooling me. You were hot for him. And my money says you still are.”
Olivia snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“You’re not even the teensiest bit interested in consummating the marriage?” The way Cassie’s voice went up at the end of the question betrayed her hope that the answer would be “yes.”
“Nope, not at all.” Liar, liar pants on fire. “The only thing I’m thinking about is how to lay eyes on Cole as little as possible over the next three months.” That last part was true. The man was annoying—not to mention annoyingly sexy—and avoiding him as much as possible was the best way to deal with both.
“He can’t be that bad, and besides, I’m sure his place is enormous. You take one wing, he can take the other.”
Olivia considered her friend’s suggestion. “That actually doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” She leaned back in the chair and crossed her bare feet on the glass table. “So, what’s new with you?”
“Same old, same old. Looking for a job, not having any money . . . oh, but I managed to keep my soufflé from falling.”
Olivia laughed “If that’s some sort of sexual reference, I don’t think I want to know.”
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