The Billionaire's Bidding

by Barbara Dunlop

  “I call that the Queen’s supper,” Mrs. Nash snapped in return.

  “You Brits don’t know how to do anything but boil.”

  “I’ll boil you, you—-”

  “Excuse me?” Alex interrupted, glancing back and forth between the two.

  Philippe seemed to recover his composure. “Forgive me, Mr. Garrison. Mademoiselle.” He clicked his heels together and fixed his attention on Alex. “I am Philippe Gagnon. Sous Chef, trained at the Sorbonne and apprenticed under John-Pierre Laconte. I have cooked for princes and presidents. And I am at your service.”

  Alex turned to blink at Emma.

  “I hired a caterer,” she confessed into the silence.

  He paused, his expression carefully neutral. “You hired a caterer?”

  “Is that a bad thing?” Before the question was out, she knew it sounded ridiculous. Mrs. Nash was about to call up the Royal Navy. And Philippe’s complexion was turning an unnatural shade of purple.

  Alex didn’t answer, but his eyes widened.

  Mrs. Nash sniffed. “You are the bride, of course.”

  Emma might be the bride, but it was easy to see she’d stepped on some very important toes. She hadn’t wanted to hire a caterer. It had been an act of self-preservation.

  Though she had to admit, Philippe was wonderful. He’d cleared her lobby and emptied her mezzanine of unwanted wedding planners and reporters. Since then, he’d been nothing but professional and helpful. She didn’t want to fire him.

  But Mrs. Nash, who was obviously the uncontested mistress of her domain had very concrete plans for Alex’s wedding. Emma sure didn’t want to alienate her, either.

  She glanced at Alex. No help there. He was obviously waiting for her next move.

  She looked from Mrs. Nash to Philippe and back again. “Could we, um, compromise?” she asked.

  Alex coughed. “You want the English and the French to compromise over food?”

  “Is that a bad thing, too?”

  No one seemed inclined to answer.

  “I am willing,” Philippe finally put in, with a long-suffering sigh, “to make a few—how do you say—concessions.”

  Emma glanced hopefully at Mrs. Nash.

  Mrs. Nash’s lips pursed.

  “Mrs. Nash?” Alex prompted.

  “It’s tradition,” she spouted.

  Emma struggled to come up with something helpful. “Perhaps you could do the main course? And Philippe could do dessert?”

  “Mon Dieu.” Philippe crossed himself. “I will be ruined.”

  Mrs. Nash clacked her teeth together. “The admiral would turn over in his grave.”

  Emma looked to Alex once more. He should feel free to jump in anytime.

  “Any more good ideas?” he asked her.

  That did it. This whole mess was his fault anyway. “You were the one who proposed in public. You unleashed the dogs.”

  “What dogs?”

  “Philippe is the one who saved me. He cleared out the reporters. He sent the other caterers packing—”

  “Thirty-five years,” Mrs. Nash put in. “Thirty-five years I’ve been with the Garrison family.”

  Philippe made a slashing motion with his hand. “Yorkshire pudding and boiled cabbage has no place on my table.”

  “Your table?” cried Mrs. Nash. “I think you mean Mr. Garrison’s table.”

  “Can we get back to the dogs?” asked Alex.

  “They were metaphorical,” said Emma.

  “I got that much,” he drawled.

  “The press,” said Philippe, providing a few more dramatic hand gestures. “They were everywhere. Ms. McKinley was forced into hiding. I saved her.”

  “He saved me,” Emma agreed. And she wasn’t about to fire the man for his trouble. Surely to goodness four sane adults could come up with a compromise.

  She turned to Mrs. Nash. “Why don’t we pull out your recipes—”

  “Water, salt and a big ol’ slab of beef,” said Philippe.

  “At least it’s not the legs of amphibians—”

  “That’s it.” Alex took a decisive step forward. “Philippe, Mrs. Nash, you’ll work together. I want three recommendations for a compromise by Wednesday.”

  The two immediately stopped talking.

  “Morning,” said Alex.

  After a pause, Philippe and Mrs. Nash eyed each other suspiciously.

  “Can I get a yes?” Alex prompted.

  Philippe lifted his chin. “But of course. I will do everything in my power to assist.”

  “We can certainly discuss it,” said Mrs. Nash, canting her chin at an equally challenging angle.

  “Then, thank you,” said Alex. “If you’ll excuse us, Emma and I were picking out some jewelry.”

  Both Philippe and Mrs. Nash nodded stiffly and exited the room. Mrs. Nash closed the door behind them.

  Alex gave Emma an exaggerated sigh of exhaustion. “A Frenchman?”

  “How was I supposed to know you had a rabid housekeeper?”

  Alex ambled back to the open safe. “You’re right. Silly me. Anything else I should know about? A Greek limousine driver? A Romanian florist?”

  “What does Mrs. Nash have against the Romanians?”

  His back was to her, but Emma could tell Alex smiled at that.

  “Maybe you should run any future plans by me first.”

  “To pander to your control freakish nature?”

  “To avoid murder or dismemberment during the ceremony. Ahhh. Here it is.”

  Emma’s curiosity got the better of her, and she stepped closer to the safe. “What did you find in there?”

  He popped open a purple velvet box. “The Tudor diamond.”

  Emma glanced down at the jewel in his hands and instantly stopped breathing.

  It was gorgeous.

  Old, unique, luxuriant and gorgeous.

  The band was fashioned from strands of platinum, woven together to form an intricate Celtic pattern. Rubies tapered up the curve, highlighting the centerpiece—a glittering oval of a flawless gem.

  The Tudor diamond.

  “Try it on,” said Alex.

  She shook her head. Fake brides didn’t touch a piece like that. At the very least, it had to be bad luck.

  He moved the box toward her. “Mrs. Nash is right. The family jewels work in our favor.”

  Emma shook again, shifting from one foot to the other, her heart rate increasing. No way. No how. The ring he’d given her at casino night was perfectly fine.

  “It is insured,” he said.

  “Against bad luck?”

  He glanced at the ring in confusion. “What bad luck? It’s nothing but metal and stone.”

  “It’s a precious family heirloom.”

  “And it’s my family heirloom. And I want you to wear it.”

  “That’s not your choice to make.”

  Alex frowned. “It is my choice. I own the ring. I own the collection, the safe, the house. And I can give them to any damn person I please.”

  She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t do it. “I’m talking morality, not legality.”

  The frustration in his voice was obvious. “How is it immoral for you to wear my ring?”

  “Because I’d be disrespecting all the brides who came before me.”

  Alex blinked. Then he squinted, and a funny little smile flexed his face. “Emma. Do you honestly think you’re the first Garrison bride to marry for money?”

  Emma wasn’t marrying for money. At least not the way he was insinuating she was marrying for money. She had her own money. He was simply…Well, he was helping her out, for a handsome return, that was all.

  It was mutually beneficial, and she resented him making her feel otherwise.

  “This has been going on since the early eighteen-hundreds,” said Alex. “Even my father—” Then he clamped his jaw. “Hold out your hand, Emma.”

  She started to retreat, but he reached out and snagged her left wrist, coaxing it toward him.


  “I don’t—”

  He slipped the band over her first knuckle.

  She shut her mouth and stared at the endless circle of platinum, at Alex’s dark hand against her own pale skin, at the antique rubies and diamond winking in the light.

  “Believe me when I tell you,” said Alex, pushing it a little farther. “You’re carrying on a proud tradition.”

  The ring thudded reluctantly over her second knuckle, but then it settled at the base of her finger.

  A perfect fit.

  “There,” Alex breathed, stroking his thumb over the surface of the diamond. “Now we’re really engaged.”

  Where Alex had ended up with Hamilton’s fortune and Hamilton’s looks, his third cousin, Nathaniel, had ended up with Hamilton’s life. The second son of the current earl of Kessex, Nathaniel had been forced to seek his own fortune, just as Hamilton had done so many decades before.

  With little more than seed money from the family estate, Nathaniel had founded Kessex Cruise Lines. Then he’d added Kessex Shipping and quickly grew his fortune to the hundreds of millions.

  He now had his finger on the pulse of the transportation industry from Paris to Auckland. And the transportation industry was the lynchpin of global commerce. Alex might know how to run a successful hotel chain. But Nathaniel could manipulate the world.

  He’d provided Alex with a thick dossier on DreamLodge, then he’d hung around an extra couple of days. He should have been on his way back to London today. His continued presence made Alex nervous. Nathaniel didn’t stick around unless something was interesting. And things that Nathaniel found interesting usually made Alex sweat.

  The two men, along with Ryan, waited until Simone exited and closed the door to Alex’s office.

  “What’s going on?” Alex asked his cousin without preamble.

  Across the round meeting table, Nathaniel inched slightly forward in his chair. “You ever met David Cranston?”

  That sure wasn’t what Alex had expected to hear. “You mean Katie McKinley’s boyfriend?”

  Nathaniel nodded.

  “Sure,” said Alex.

  Nathaniel strummed a single staccato beat with his fingertips. “He’s on my radar.”

  Ryan jumped in. “Why?”

  Nathaniel’s mood became contemplative. “Don’t know yet.”

  “Gut feeling?” asked Alex, knowing the answer already.

  Nathaniel’s gut feeling was legendary in the family. He made million-dollar deals based on nothing but a vague shimmer of a theory.

  His uncanny luck used to freak Alex out. But then Nathaniel explained his luck was, in fact, the sum total of several hundred subconscious observations, from facial expressions and stock trends to weather patterns and newspaper articles. He wasn’t sure himself how it worked. He only knew that it did.

  The phenomenon didn’t freak Alex out anymore, and he’d quit calling it luck years ago.

  “Gut feeling,” Nathaniel confirmed. “Did you know McKinley Inns just hired him?”

  “Cranston?” asked Alex, more than slightly bothered that he had to hear news like that from his cousin. “Doing what?”

  “Overseas marketing. VP Special Projects.”

  Ryan snorted. “Special projects?”

  “Pathetic,” Nathaniel agreed.

  “What’s his background?” asked Alex. And what was Emma thinking?

  Nathaniel shrugged. “Some kind of mediocre project manager for Leon Gage Consulting.”

  “Did they can him?”

  Nathaniel shook his head. “He quit.”

  “McKinley actually headhunted him?”

  Nathaniel nodded. “Offered him a salary bump.”

  “The guy’s a mooch,” said Ryan. “Takes a cushy job with the girlfriend’s firm…”

  Alex hated the thought of McKinley Inns supporting a do-nothing executive, particularly where nepotism was involved.

  Then again he wasn’t stupid enough to get between his fiancée’s sister and her true love, either. Of all the battles he wanted to take on at McKinley, this sure wasn’t on the top of his list.

  Nathaniel stood up. “That’s all I wanted to tell you.”

  Alex stood with his cousin. “You’re offended on an ethical level, aren’t you?”

  “Nothing worse than a wussie who rides on his woman’s coattails. You should have a talk with this Katie person. Tell her to dump the bastard.”

  Alex scoffed out a laugh. “Right. Like that’s going to happen.”

  “She’s got rotten taste in men.”

  “She’s also got fifty acres of beachfront property on Kayven Island. She can marry her St. Bernard for all I care.”

  Nathaniel gave him a mock two-fingered salute. “Thanks for the visual there, Al.”

  “Not a problem, Nate. Everything still on track for the Kayven Island project?”

  “Minor problem with the dockworkers’ union, but I straightened it out. Everything still on track at your end?”

  “Absolutely.” Emma had a ring on her finger, and they’d had very positive coverage in three major newspapers.

  Nathaniel slid his chair back under the meeting table. “In that case, gentlemen. I’ve got a girl and a plane both waiting on the tarmac at JFK.”

  Alex reached out and shook Nathaniel’s hand. “Thanks for the intel. On both fronts.”

  “Anytime.” Then Nathaniel nodded to Ryan. “Catch you later.”

  Ryan rose to his feet. “Have a good flight.”

  Nathaniel grinned and turned for the door, tossing his parting words over his shoulder. “Plane’s my new Learjet Sixty. Girl’s a licensed masseuse from Stockholm.”

  Alex crossed to his desk as the door clicked shut behind Nathaniel. “Guess he will be having a good flight.”

  “How do I get his life?” asked Ryan.

  “Most people want his brother’s.”

  Wednesday evening, Katie grasped at the unwieldy ring on Emma’s left hand. “No way,” she exclaimed.

  “Way,” said Emma, still struggling to get used to the weight of the thing and still worrying about the insurance implications if she lost it.

  Katie looked up, her eyes shining under the lights of Emma’s penthouse. “A real earl?”

  “About four generations ago.”

  “Alex gave you his family heirloom?”

  “Don’t go getting all excited.” Emma liberated her hand and sat back down on the couch. “He’s only lending it to me. And it has a dubious history.”

  Katie took the seat opposite, kicking off her sandals and curling her feet beneath her. “Oh, do tell.”

  “The brides all married for money.”

  Katie stared at her, waiting. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “I thought you were talking about sex and scandal and murder.”

  “Sorry. No murders.” Emma thought back to her afternoon. “Well, except for Mrs. Nash. Alex’s housekeeper. I have a feeling she’s capable of it.”

  “And did you upset her?”

  “Not so much me. But Philippe better watch his back.”

  Katie grinned. “I have a feeling Philippe can take care of himself.”

  Emma had to admit, she had that feeling, too. She stroked her thumb over the big diamond and was assailed by a vivid body memory of Alex. She determinedly shook it off. “So what did I miss at the office?”

  Katie tossed her wavy blond hair back over one shoulder. “I got David to come and work for us.”

  Emma didn’t understand. “Your David?”

  “Yes, my David.”

  “But he has a job. With Leon Gage.”

  “I convinced him to quit.”

  An uneasy feeling trickled through Emma. “Why would you do that?” David was a great guy. And Katie obviously loved him. But working together? Day in and day out? Could that be good for any couple?

  “Because we need him,” said Katie, the tone of her voice subtly shifting to petulant.

  Emma regrouped.

/>   She wished Katie had discussed it with her. Not that Emma would have overruled her sister, but she might have been able to curb Katie’s impulsive nature.

  “Did you at least get help from Human Resources?” McKinley had a top notch HR department.

  “What? I can marry him, but I can’t hire him?”

  “Katie—”

  “Really, Emma.”

  Emma clenched her jaw. HR checked references and aligned suitable people with suitable jobs. What would they do if David didn’t work out?

  Now she struggled to keep the censure out of her voice. “What’s he going to do?”

  Katie pushed out her bottom lip.

  “Katie?”

  “Vice President of Special Projects Overseas.”

  Emma pressed her thumb against the jagged facets of the ring. This time when the memory of Alex popped up, it was strangely comforting. “I see.”

  “He’s got contacts in Europe and all over the Caribbean.”

  Emma nodded. She wasn’t aware they had problems in Europe or the Caribbean.

  “He’s going after convention business and tour clubs.”

  Emma couldn’t hold her tongue completely. “Are you sure that’s not too much togetherness?” She wanted Katie to be happy, truly she did. But there was something about this situation that made her uneasy. For Katie’s sake. For the company’s.

  “You and Alex are going to work together,” said Katie.

  “But Alex and I aren’t—”

  “Getting married.”

  Emma jerked her thumb away from the ring. “Falling in love.”

  “So? Love makes it easier for me and David to work together.”

  Emma struggled to find fault with that logic. Technically, she supposed it should be true. Katie and David actually liked and respected each other. Where Alex and Emma couldn’t come within ten feet without arguing or…worse.

  Fingers spread, Katie raked her blond hair back over her forehead. “Quite frankly, Emma, if you’re going to worry about anyone working together, I’d worry about you and Alex.”

  Emma was already worried about that.

  She resisted the urge to touch the ring again.

  Quite frankly, she was getting more worried by the hour.

  Seven

  Emma braced herself for Alex’s entrance.