by Mora Early
Twisted Arrangement
Vol 1
By
Mora Early
New Adult Contemporary Romance
Sexy Read Suitable for Readers over the age of 18
Copyright © 2013 Mora Early
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Chapter 1
Emma scowled. They were about to be descended upon by the hedonistic hordes. The end of April, beginning of May was always a busy time in wine country. The see-and-be-seen crowd would arrive at their second (or third, or fourth, or who-knew-how-many) homes and throw their spring charity balls, and wine tastings, and soirees. And Emma would have to work them. She stared down at the list of functions for which she still had to write up releases. She’d been working for Picture Perfect Promotions for the last three years: three years of biting her tongue and helping the filthy (and wasn’t that an apt term) rich spend their money on lavish parties to impress each other.
She lived in a one-bedroom house on Montecito Boulevard that cost more than she could really afford. She scraped and saved, going without, and then she had to come to work and order cases of caviar and 800 thread count napkins.
Her phone chirped. She ignored it. It had to be Todd. No one else texted her—anyone from work who needed her would call. She still wasn’t ready to talk to him. She was too mad. What kind of job was ‘professional poker player’? It was just another one of his mad schemes, like the time he was going to be a bounty hunter or go on the rodeo circuit. He always got so excited about each new idea, so sure that this was going to be the one that made him rich. And if she could just lend him a small initial investment. . . .
Well, she couldn’t. Not again. She loved her brother with her whole heart, but she couldn’t keep bankrolling his crazy projects. He’d already wiped out most of her savings and the little she had left was going to stay in her account. But Todd always had a way of wheedling her. So she was just going to ignore his texts. For now. It’d been two weeks. If she could hold out for just a little longer, he’d move on to his next plan. Hopefully that one wouldn’t cost her anything.
The phone chirped again. And again. Emma sighed.
“Emma, have you finished those press releases yet?” Clarice Davenport’s silver bob swished as she ducked her head into Emma’s tiny closet of an office.
Emma plucked the last one out of the printer and shuffled them into a neat stack, trying not to roll her eyes. The woman was monumentally impatient. “Here you are, Ms. Davenport. I was just getting ready to bring them to you.”
Clarice brushed her fingers over the top of the rubber tree plant inside the door and then straightened the already straight Renoir print on the wall. “Well, good. Can you please go oversee Peter now? You know he always makes a hash of the catering schedule.”
Emma stood, tugging her facial muscles into a pleasant smile. “Of course, Ms. Davenport.” Her head was pounding. The teal paint on her office walls always gave her a headache when she was stressed. She wanted to press her fingers to her forehead and into her eye sockets, but she kept smiling.
Clarice flicked bony fingers through her silver hair. “You’re a jewel, Emma. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Get along just fine, I suspect, Ms. Davenport.” Emma patted her own French twist, smoothing back a few stray, fine brown hairs. “I’d best go check on Peter before the desserts get served with dinner wines.”
Emma made her way down the hall toward Peter Ostrander’s office, trying to ignore the once again chirping phone in her pocket. But it kept going. With a deep sigh, she pulled it out. Five missed messages, all from her brother, all begging to see her. An icy hand gripped her heart as she texted back. Tonight. My house. I’ll cook.
She hit send, slipped her phone back into her pocket, and strode into Peter’s office with her head high and her heart shivering.
She made grilled chicken and vegetables, but decided at the last minute to make some mac and cheese for Todd, too. It was his favorite. Though why she was bothering, Emma didn’t exactly know. Except he was her little brother and the only family she had left. No matter how many times he got into scrapes and dragged her into them with him, she couldn’t resist the urge to mother him. She’d look into his eyes, the same bright, emerald green as her own, and remember him as a boy in footy pajamas, crying his seven-year-old heart out when their father died.
“Hey sis.”
Emma jumped about a foot straight in the air, spinning around at the sound of Todd’s voice. Normally he flung open the door upon arrival, grinning, with a loud “Knock, knock!” But he’d entered quietly this time and leaned against the doorjamb, face drawn, with dark circles under his eyes. He chewed at a thumbnail, not meeting her eyes.
“Geez Todd,” she exclaimed, clapping a hand to her chest. “You scared me half to death. Come sit down.” Emma pulled out a chair for him and turned to the stove to start dishing up their plates.
He eyed the plate as she set it in front of him, his expression growing even bleaker when he saw its contents. “My favorite,” he said, but his voice was low and uninflected. “Thanks, Ems.”
Emma’s grip on her own plate was practically white-knuckled. This must be bad, if Todd was acting so subdued. Really bad. She sat across from him, sipping at the glass of wine she’d poured herself. A local vintage, very good. It was one of the perks of her job. She figured she’d probably need the alcohol before this conversation was over.
“I can’t stake you, Todd. That’s what it’s called, right? You need money to buy into one of these big poker games? I’m sorry, but I can’t. My savings are almost gone.” She’d done a little Googling after their fight. Nothing she’d found had changed her mind about the viability of Todd’s scheme.
He forked up a mouthful of mac and cheese, shaking his head as he chewed. His gaze met hers briefly and then slid away. “No, I don’t need you to stake me. I got into a game already. A big game.”
That didn’t make her feel any better, but she tried to smile. “Well, that’s good, right?” Please god, let it be good. “Was it one of those tournaments in Vegas?”
Todd coughed, sipping at his water and glancing around the small kitchen. It was all beige and white, empty but for the appliances. What little she spent on decor was reserved for her bedroom, her sanctuary, leaving the rest of the house as neutral and impersonal as it had been the day she’d moved in. Watching her little brother study the bare walls as if they held something of interest, Emma felt that cold hand on her heart again.
“Not Vegas,” Todd said, flashing her a quick look before returning to his perusal of the stove. “It was a local game, right here in Napa. Up at the Owens’ place.”
She gave a low whistle, impressed despite herself. Joshua Owens was a Hollywood producer, drop de
ad gorgeous and practically local royalty. He was also ridiculously, stupendously rich. More-money-than-he-could-spend-in-a-lifetime rich. That Todd had managed to get an invitation to a private game in Joshua’s home was actually pretty outstanding. But then reality came crashing in on her.
Her fingers clenched so tightly around the stem of her wineglass, she thought it might shatter. Because if Todd had already been in the game up at the Owens’ place, where she could guess the play was deep, and was now looking like a man the day after his own death, it could only mean one thing.
“How much?” she croaked.
Todd flinched at the ragged tone of her voice. Emma cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and repeated herself. “How much did you lose, Todd?” Her brain was frantically scrambling, calculating how much was left in her savings account. Not enough to cover Todd’s losses, she was sure. Maybe she could sell her car. Not that she’d get much for the ’97 Camry. Clarice might be willing to give her an advance on her salary, too, but that still probably wouldn’t be enough. Her stomach did a lazy roll, the few bites of chicken she’d taken sitting like a lead weight. There was always her great-grandmother’s ruby necklace. The stones were tiny, but she knew it was worth a decent amount.
Not as much as it was worth in memories. though.
“Not how much,” Todd muttered, ducking his head. “What.” He shoveled in another bite of food, as though clearing his plate might make this go over better.
Emma frowned, his words not making sense. Then she thought back over what she’d said first, and the hand on her heart squeezed so hard she dropped her silverware. “What did you lose, Todd?”
He set down his own silverware, hands knotting on the table in front of him. He did finally meet her eyes, but the grief and anxiety she saw in those emerald depths was like a physical blow.
“Dad’s watch.” The words fell from his lips like cannonballs, exploding into the charged silence.
Emma sucked in a sharp breath at the impact. Dad’s watch. By which he meant the antique pocket watch that had been passed down from father to son in their family for the last hundred years. That and the necklace were all they had left, besides each other. And he’d lost it in a poker game. The very first poker game of his so-called ‘professional’ career.
She shoved back from the table and snatched up her still half-full plate. She could feel the heat burning high in her cheeks as coldness gave way to the burn of anger. She scraped the food furiously into the trash with jerky movements, trying to quell the urge to strangle her brother. Once the plate was clean, she chucked it into the sink, not caring if it smashed to pieces, and whirled on her brother.
“I can’t believe you—”
“I can get it back!” he yelled, raising his hands up in a placating gesture. “I swear, Em. I know a way to get it back.”
She breathed heavily through her nose, hands clutching spasmodically at the cool porcelain of the sink at her back. “And how do you propose to do that? Are you just going to march up to Josh Owens and say ‘Pretty please, Mister Owens, can I have my watch back?’”
He slumped in his chair, rubbing one hand against the back of his neck. “Well. . . .” He trailed off and cast her a look she recognized well. He’d perfected it on their father as a chubby toddler. It was beseeching and beguiling at the same time.
“Oh no.” Emma shook her head. “Whatever you have in mind, forget it.”
Todd stood, reaching for her. “Listen, Em. It’ll be easy. I have a plan!”
She crossed her arms over her chest, one brow quirking at that. “And your plans always work out so well.”
He flinched, and she saw the genuine hurt in his green eyes. If she wasn’t still so angry she would have apologized. She knew Todd meant well. He just wasn’t very good at thinking anything through. He scrubbed a hand through his hair now, and Emma remembered brushing it for him when he was little. It was several shades lighter than hers, closer to their mother’s dark blonde. At least, that’s how it looked in the pictures they had of her.
Todd’s birth had been a difficult one for their mother. She’d died of complications when he was only a few days old. Emma had been only two at the time and had only the vaguest recollections of Marian Ness. They were more like impressions, really. And then their father had been in a multi-car pile-up on the interstate seven years later, leaving them in the care of a very elderly great-aunt whose idea of raising children mostly involved ignoring them unless they required food, discipline or first aid. They’d only really ever had each other. Emma sighed and sat back down at the table.
“Tell me your plan, T-rex.”
He grinned at the nickname. It had been a long time since a dino-obsessed nine-year-old Todd had dubbed his big sister Emmaceratops and proclaimed himself T-rex, king of all reptiles. “I know where Owens is keeping it. The bastard made a big show of putting it in his damned trophy case. So all we have to do is sneak into his office and take it back. Easy as that.” He snapped his fingers.
Emma stared at him, blinking in astonishment. “That’s your big plan? Steal it back?” She lowered her head into her hands. “Todd—”
“He’ll never know it’s gone! Josh Owens doesn’t care the tiniest bit about that watch. It’s just a symbol of a win. It’s the win that matters to him.” He grinned.
“Even if I was agreeing to go along with this plan, which I’m not, how do you propose to get in and out of his office without him figuring out what you’re up to?”
Todd actually leaned back in his chair, as if this was the question he’d been waiting for her to ask. “I can’t. He won’t let me anywhere near it. I made a bit of a scene the other night when I lost.”
That leaden feeling in the pit of Emma’s stomach returned. She had a bad feeling she knew where this was going. Todd reached forward suddenly and grabbed her hands, squeezing tightly. “You, on the other hand, can just sashay right into his office, pocket the watch and slip right back out again. He’ll never suspect you.”
“Okay, one,” Emma said, tugging her hands free, “I don’t ‘sashay’ anywhere. And two, how exactly am I supposed to explain my presence in Joshua Owens’ house to begin with?”
Todd’s grin was Cheshire wide, showing off the deep dimples in both cheeks. “I’ve got that covered.”
Chapter 2
Josh climbed out of the pool, smoothing his wet blond hair back from his forehead, and reached for the phone his assistant handed him. “Owens,” he barked, peeved at the interruption. He’d been in the middle of his laps, enjoying the rush of blood through his veins, the feel of the water on his skin and the steady slapping sound of his arms cleaving the pool’s surface. He found swimming relaxing, and he could use a little relaxation.
“Geez, tone down the growl a little buddy,” his best friend Ben replied. “I’ve got good news for you.”
Josh plucked his towel from the nearby lounge and began rubbing himself dry. “Please tell me you’ve found something — anything I can use to get Ransler on board.”
He glanced up sharply as his assistant Martin’s cell rang, but the skinny man caught his look and waved him off, stepping to the other side of the pool to answer his phone.
Ben cursed under his breath, and Josh heard a car horn honk in the background.
“Maybe,” Ben said. “Ransler’s on the board of a charity, Children of Hope. They do a lot of work with orphans, foster kids and low income families.”
Josh stretched out on the lounge, letting the sun warm his slightly chilled skin. “And you’re thinking if I donate a big enough chunk of change, Ransler might change his mind about me?” Ben was one of the few people who knew how much time and attention Josh gave his charitable work.
In Hollywood, image was everything. Most of his peers only involved themselves with charity just as much as they had to do to keep up their brand. But Joshua Owens was a brand that stood for personal extravagance and a strong hand in business matters. He was considered a shark. So, naturally, no one had a
ny idea that he donated anything more than money.
“Well. . . .” Ben paused. “I don’t know if just writing a check, however hefty, will do it. The man thinks you have the morals of a snake. And not just a regular snake, but like, a Garden of Eden tempting-Eve-with-the-apple type snake.”
“Why? Honestly, what did I ever do to him?”
Ben chuckled. “Nothing. But he’s apparently really good friends with Lolly Tate.”
Josh groaned at the mention of the actress’ name. He’d met Lolly while working on a film four years ago. She was blonde, buxom (thanks to her surgeon) and gorgeous. She also happened to be a really great actress. They’d dated briefly. He’d known she wanted to use him to boost her career but it hadn’t bothered him. He wasn’t in love with her.
Unfortunately, she had a bit of a substance abuse problem. When she began making crazier and crazier demands of the production team, using his name as a cudgel to get her way, he broke it off. She had not been pleased. The tabloids had a field day with the stories she fed them. Almost all of them were untrue, but no wonder William Ransler thought Josh was Satan in a suit, if that’s where he was getting his information.