by Eve Langlais
“I would have said this was more friendly banter. Just getting to know my lovely bride-to-be.”
“Are you off your meds? On drugs? Hallucinating? Because I have no interest in you.”
He smiled, and she couldn’t help but think what a shame he was obviously a few cards short of a full deck. The man was stupidly handsome.
“Nothing wrong with me. And you are perfect.”
“Me, perfect?” The casual compliment shouldn’t have caused her heart rate to speed up.
“More than perfect, given I need a wife, a certain kind of wife, and you need”—he paused—“something.”
Pride straightened her. “Is this your way of remarking on the fact I look like a poor hag?”
“More like a shabby rose in need of some TLC. Let me give you that care.”
She gaped. “Did you just proposition me?”
“Yes. No. I mean, yes, because I am not joking when I claim I need to get married.”
“Need?”
“Yes need, and quickly too.”
The entire conversation had a surreal feel to it. “So you’re just proposing to strangers out of the blue?”
“Not exactly. You’re the first person I’ve asked. Hopefully the last. Just say yes, would you? I don’t have time to be picky. He’s already ahead of me.”
“Who is?
“Rory. My so-called cousin.”
The name meant nothing. “What does your cousin have to do with me?”
He sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“You think?” A bit of sarcasm in there.
“I promise I’ll explain in greater detail, but the short version is Rory’s the reason I need to get married. Actually my grandfather is the one who started this nonsense. See, he’s dying, and he wants me married before he goes.”
“Sure he does.” She crossed her arms over his chest and sneered. “Let me guess, he’s worth millions.”
“Billions.”
At that, she made a noise.
“It’s true.”
“Do I really look that dumb?” That kind of scenario happened only in movies and books.
“It’s the truth. Which is why I’m proposing a marriage of convenience with a few extra perks.” The sensual tilt of lips again alluded to a more sensual pursuit.
It gave her a little tingle. She ignored it. She’d not remained chaste through college by falling for pretty smiles. Her mother might not have taught her much growing up, but she had taught her not to spread her legs. The yelled, Don’t be a whore, every time she walked out helped.
“If this is how you get girls into bed, it’s pretty slimy.”
“This isn’t a game.”
“Really? Then tell me how your grandfather became a billionaire. Did he invest in diamonds? Oil?”
“Maple syrup.” He said it so seriously. So proudly.
Melanie couldn’t help but snicker.
Chapter 5
The woman laughed. Fully and completely. And he could only stare.
Her almost silver hair, grayish in hue yet not with age, glinted in the sun, the darker weaving strands almost striping it, the tips frosted white. Even in this shape, she kept her yellow cat eyes, the glow of them brilliant and almost disconcerting.
By chance, he’d found the lynx from the forest. Caught her scent as he passed by on the sidewalk, intent on his favorite bakery.
What’s that? It caught his attention, teased him with ghostly scented fingers urging him to follow it inside. He’d known her immediately, even though she faced away. Her appearance distinct. Her scent, remarkable and completely unhidden.
He couldn’t resist. Couldn’t help but see her as the solution to his problem. It wasn’t hard to tell she needed help. Needed money. Her clothes looked well worn, the jacket frayed at the hems, her shoes gray with wear, not by design. Then the final proof, the assortment of change she used to buy the cheapest thing in the place.
This woman probably barely owned more than what was on her back and yet she dared laugh at his heritage.
“You have a problem with maple syrup?”
“It’s that stuff made from trees, isn’t it? Or do you offer the knock-off kind made of brown sugar?”
He drew himself upright. “There is only one true kind of maple syrup, and my family has been making it for generations.” Liquid gold in his world. Their premium line fetched the highest prices on the market.
“Well, la-dee-da for you. I don’t eat the stuff. Too sweet.” Her nose wrinkled, adorably cute, and yet the blasphemy in her words had him exclaiming.
“Too sweet? Never. It’s a matter of using it to complement in the right amount with other foods.”
“You eat it with pancakes.”
“Not just pancakes. French toast, waffles, drizzled over a salty ham. Basted over a chicken breast on the barbecue.”
Again, her soft laughter tickled. “You are way too excited about syrup.”
“Because it’s delicious. You’ll learn to love it once we’re married.”
She snorted. “I think you’ve been sniffing too much maple, big guy.”
“The name is Bryce.”
“Don’t care.”
“You should, Ms…”
“None of your business.”
“That’s not very friendly. What’s your name?” When he saw her hesitate, he cajoled. “Come on, it won’t hurt to tell me.”
A sigh escaped her. “Melanie.”
Nice. Classic. Grandfather would approve. “I’m surprised we’ve never met.” He thought he knew all the shifters in town.
“I only moved in recently with my mother.”
“And you didn’t register?”
“Register what?” Her brow creased. “To vote? Is there an election?”
“No.” He cocked his head. “But you should have presented yourself to my grandfather. We’ll take care of that when we tell him we’re engaged.”
“Not engaged, dude. And I don’t understand why you keep persisting. You claim you’re rich, so why marry me? Why not some rich girl you’ve known all your life?”
“Because she won’t want to leave once she’s not needed.” Bryce had figured it out since his grandfather had made the ultimatum. He only had to make the pretense of complying with his grandfather. Soon, they’d find out Rory wasn’t part of the family and his granddad would change his will to make Bryce the only heir.
“So you want a sham wife who’ll walk away.” She snorted. “Why would anyone agree to that?”
He cast her a glance. “Money.”
“I’m not for sale.”
She whirled and began to walk away. He grabbed her arm, and a jolt of awareness hit. He noted the thin leanness of the limb, yet the wiry strength underneath.
“Let me go.” She tugged.
“At least say you’ll think about it. A fake engagement, worst-case scenario, a marriage in name only for a few months.”
“Still not interested.” She pulled free. “Good luck convincing someone of your story.” She walked away, a slim figure in a jean jacket, her loose hair lifting in the wind.
A true natural beauty, and a shifter. Dress her up in a slim pencil skirt and jacket and granddad would gobble her up.
If she agreed.
He frowned because she didn’t seem inclined. She’d also forgotten to give him her phone number.
Good thing being rich had its advantages.
I’ll convince you to become my fake bride, little kitty. He just needed the right kind of incentive.
Chapter 6
Entering the apartment, Melanie felt her mood sink. Despite the sunshine outside, it was dark inside, the blinds all drawn tight. The lights turned off. They could barely afford to keep anything on. The bill was overdue, and it was only a matter of time before they shut off the power, again.
The shuttered windows made the whole place stuffy. The stench of sickness suffocated. After the fresh crisp air of the fall outside, it hit her like a slap. Reminded her she was no be
tter than a prisoner allowed only small respites.
Actually, today Melanie didn’t get a treat. She’d never gotten her coffee because that crazy guy tossed it, and in her pride, she’d not snared the whipped cream replacement.
With a cherry.
How decadent.
“Where have you been, lazy girl?” The harangue began, the words barking out of the bedroom, and Melanie did her best not to flinch. While she knew the words were meant to hurt, it didn’t make it any easier, and she couldn’t seem to completely ignore them.
“Melanie!” Maizie shrieked. “I want out of this bed.”
And so her day went. Caring for an ungrateful woman. Nothing to brighten her day except for her encounter with that man.
The maple syrup mogul. Snicker. Surely he lied.
When her mother went to bed, she dug out her phone. Not a recent model. Nothing as fancy as that, and the screen was cracked, hence her deal on it, but it could get on the internet. The Wi-Fi from the fast food place across the street might prove slow, but it worked.
She did a search. Towering Oaks, the name of the town, and maple syrup.
Thousands of pings, most of them for the Elanroux factory, the biggest one of what she read were dozens across the country. Family owned according to the history. Would the stranger’s picture be in the company directory?
She looked, unable to stem her curiosity. Surely he lied.
I’ll be damned.
There he was, Bryce Theodore Elanroux. She stared at his image, a bit more serious than she’d seen him, his haircut fresh and short, his tie perfectly straight.
No mistaking him. The man who’d proposed to her.
He had to be kidding. Pulling the leg of the poor girl. Offering up a sob story of a dying granddad to get in her pants most likely. Except hadn’t she seen an article recently with the name Elanroux in it?
She searched again and soon was reading all about it.
Theodore Maven Elanroux, a distinguished member of our community and great-grandson of an original founding father, has fallen gravely ill. Sources claim there is much uncertainty about his recovery. He is succeeded by his grandson, Bryce, born of his now departed daughter, Kelly.
Most of the articles had the same things to say, how Theo took over from his dad and then took in his grandson to teach him the family business. Nothing linking Bryce or his granddad to any scandals. No rumors of impending nuptials.
Only one little paragraph hinted at something in this week’s online edition of the local news.
It was with great joy that Theodore Elanroux was reunited with his nephew, Rory Beauchamp. A source close to Rory says the family is pulling together in this time of need. With Rory stating, “While overjoyed with this reunion, we are saddened by my uncle’s poor health. My fiancée and I just hope we can throw together the wedding before anything happens.”
So part of the story Bryce had told her was true. But surely the whole needing to get married part wasn’t.
Wiggling on the couch to get comfy—a couch that doubled as a bed—she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d meant it. Maybe Bryce truly did want to get married to make a dying old man happy.
Kind of sweet. Which didn’t excuse his methods.
Bzzt. Bzzt. Her phone vibrated in her hand, shaking like an angry bee. She kept the ringer off lest it annoy her mother. The last time Maizie heard the phone, she’d gotten her hands on it and tossed it, narrowly missing the sink full of sudsy water. She claimed Melanie didn’t need outside distractions.
Wrong. She needed any distraction she could get.
Since Melanie didn’t recognize the number, she let it ring through. Only a few friends from college had this number and most had stopped calling weeks ago. No one wanted to talk to a depressed girl. Probably a telemarketer.
Bzzt. Bzzt. It rang again, same number. It roused her curiosity. She clicked the green phone button. “Hello?”
“Did you think on it?”
“Who is this?” she asked despite knowing—had guessed, foolishly hoped—from the moment her heart leaped at the first ring.
“Don’t play dumb. You know who this is. Did you think about my proposal?”
“How did you get my number?”
“I’m rich. It’s not that hard.”
“If you’re so rich, then why not rent a model to pretend to be your fiancée?” Because surely that would make things easier.
“I would if I found one who fit the requirement.”
“And what requirement is that? Lack of mental capacity? No way you’re serious about engaging in a platonic marriage with financial benefits.” He was a guy. Guys always wanted sex.
“I’m not an animal in that respect. I can restrain myself. Can you?”
The turnabout caught her off guard. “Excuse me?”
“I asked if you would have a problem keeping your hands off me. Not that I’d mind, you are quite attractive. But keep in mind, this is a business proposition, so if you touch, it doesn’t mean we’ll stay married.”
If she touched? “This is crazy. I’m not touching you, or marrying you. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you.”
“Because you’re intrigued. This is exciting stuff, and you can’t help but wonder, what would it be like? Imagine waking every day in a mansion, your every need catered to.”
Sounded decadent. But impossible. “I can’t go anywhere; my mother is sick. She needs me.”
“That’s where money can help. I could hire you a nurse. Two, even, to provide round-the-clock care.”
“That’s super expensive.”
“And? That is only one of the perks. Once we married, you wouldn’t have to work at all unless you wanted to.”
“Not work, so I can be dependent on you, the big man, for funds.” She rolled her eyes even if he couldn’t see her expression.
“You misunderstand. As my future bride, you’ll have access to family assets for all your needs. And you wouldn’t need permission from me to withdraw them.”
Unlimited resources… She shook her head. “Are you seriously resorting to bribery?”
“Think of it as a financial promise. You do me a favor. I do you a favor.”
“Pretty big favors.”
“What do you have to lose?”
Self-respect? Then again, she didn’t really have any or she’d never let her mother abuse her like she did.
“Melanie!” The screech arrived loud and clear. “I need my pain meds. Where are you, lazy girl? What did I do to deserve such a cow of a daughter?”
She closed her eyes and held in a sigh. “I have to go.”
“Help me and I’ll help you.”
He made it sound so easy. She hung up.
That night as mother screamed, demanding her services for the fifth time, leaving Melanie exhausted and bleary-eyed, she wondered if it truly could be real. Could she accept the billionaire’s proposition?
Only one way to find out.
Chapter 7
His secretary rang. “Sir, there is a woman here to see you.”
“Really?” Bryce brightened for a moment—she’s gonna say yes!—only to deflate as Chanice entered. With her came the smell of wolf. Someone had been hanging with her pack before coming over here.
“Darling, it’s been ages.” She used such arrogant airs, and yet Chanice was younger than him at twenty-four. Twenty-four and angling for a husband. Grandfather would be more than happy if he settled down with her.
But Bryce somehow doubted she’d agree to anything fake. Chanice was all about advancement and social status. She’d make a perfect trophy wife, but he could easily see her eventually becoming a widow. Whereas Bryce would prefer to live to a ripe old age, which meant he’d stay far away from the woman.
Of course, he thought that now. As a teen, he’d been more than happy to take what she offered.
“I didn’t know you were back in town,” he remarked.
She waved a hand, showing off her manicure, a sharp contrast to the
woman he’d met with her nails cut to the quick. “I was, but my fiancé”—and, yes, she made sure to flash the ring—“had some family stuff to attend to. So I joined him.”
“Congrats on getting engaged.” He wondered what poor SOB in her pack had gotten stuck with her. Must be one of the richer ones because she wouldn’t settle for anything less than loaded.
“Yes, I’m quite excited about it.”
“Do I know the lucky guy?”
“You’ve met him, I think, but enough about me.”
He almost retorted, Since when? “What do you want?”
“How have you been? Still single I see?” Her peek at his hand was less than subtle.
“Hopefully not for long.”
“Oh. You’ve met someone?” No mistaking the narrowing of her gaze and the lower tone of her voice.
“Yes.”
“Who?” Forget any attempt to sound nice. She almost barked the word.
“I can’t say. She’s kind of shy.” And not interested, yet. But he planned to work on that.
“Well, that’s just lovely.” Which, given the inflection, sounded more like, you prick.
So, of course, he just had to keep needling. “Great girl. Cares for her ailing mother. Just graduated college.” But never got a decent full-time job. She went straight home and, according to his research thus far, rarely left it.
“Sounds wonderful.” Spoken through gritted teeth.
“She is, but I doubt hearing about my love life is why you’re here.”
“Can’t an old friend pop in to say hello?”
He spoke bluntly. “You never have before.”
“You never used to be so boorish either.” She stood. “I should go. I am meeting my fiancé for lunch.”
“Give him my regards.” Also give the man Bryce’s thanks for saving mankind from her clutches.
Once Chanice left, he tried to work but found it hard to concentrate. He’d chosen to ensconce himself at the corporate downtown offices today rather than at the factory, wanting to make himself accessible in case she came looking. Foolish really. His kitten had seemed rather adamant on the phone.