Wanted: Billionaire's Wife

by Susannah Erwin

  “I think the kids say LOL.”

  She laughed and his grin appeared, his teeth flashing white against his bronzed skin. “You really want me to stay?”

  He nodded, slowly and deliberately. “I do.”

  She’d heard stories from her previous boss about the Peninsula Society’s Monte Carlo Night. The morning after previous years’ events, Johanna would arrive hours late to work and then spend the day rhapsodizing about the gourmet food, the designer dresses and, above all, the one-of-a-kind silent-auction prizes that had millionaires trying to outbid each other, using chips won at the gaming tables augmented by very real money.

  And now Danica was here. She glanced around at the glittering crowd and caught the gaze of a nearby server, who sniffed and rolled her eyes at Danica before she turned away to offer another guest a glass of champagne. This was Luke’s world, she reminded herself. His and that of the wife he wanted her to find. Even the catering staff knew she didn’t belong.

  Her parents came to America thanks to a small grassroots organization dedicated to helping war refugees. But after her parents arrived and the novelty of welcoming refugees wore off, the organizers’ interest waned. Her mother and father were left practically stranded, the promises of professional jobs as empty as the new bank accounts set up for them.

  Her parents survived. They found work—not the positions promised, but they made enough money to rent an apartment and buy a fifteen-year-old car. Danica was born a year later. But her parents made sure she knew the story. Only family can be trusted to look out for each other, they warned her and her brother over and over.

  Like she was doing now. Looking out for her brother, by finishing this assignment. Parties like this were an everyday occurrence for Luke, but they were the unobtainable fantasies of film and television to her. It would be better, when she said goodbye to him in a few weeks, if she stuck to her world and did not even visit his. One dinner and one kiss had consumed nearly every waking hour—and definitely every sleeping hour. A whole evening in his company? She’d never be able to return to reality.

  “Thank you so much for the offer. But I should get back to the office. The clock is ticking on my assignment.”

  His smile dimmed. “If you insist. However...” His sideways glance caused her pulse to flutter.

  “Yes?” she asked, using her tongue to wet her suddenly dry lips. Did he think about their kiss as often as she did?

  “What cover story do you give your candidates?” he asked, his gaze fixed on her mouth. “And what is this event?”

  “The community-giving job...and this is a society fund-raiser,” she said slowly.

  He nodded. “My wife will be involved with the Bay Area nonprofit community and its donors.” He indicated the gaming tables. “And the biggest ones are here tonight. As your client, I advise it’s in your best interests to stay so your cover story for the search will be as authentic as possible. This is business.” His expression was impressively impassive.

  “Business,” she echoed. Of course. What else did she expect? She would show up and her presence would cause Prince Charming to admit he was attracted to her and throw away his careful calculations for the perfect wife? Fairy tales weren’t real. If they were, her shirtdress would have transformed into a glittering ball gown a half hour ago.

  “What else is there besides business?” The glint in his blue gaze dared her to answer.

  If he wasn’t going to mention their kiss, she certainly wasn’t. “You’re right,” she said, her tone brisk. “My job is to find you a wife who will be comfortable at events like this.”

  “Precisely.” He finished off his champagne. “Therefore, you need to stay in order to complete your assignment more effectively.”

  “If that’s what the client prefers.”

  Luke’s expression relaxed. It was the first time she’d seen him let down all of his guard. It made him impossibly appealing. Especially the warm, appreciative glow deep in his blue gaze, which lit an answering heat in her belly. “He does.”

  He placed his empty flute on a passing waiter’s tray and took two new ones, offering one to her. She accepted it with a nod of thanks. The champagne tasted of bright, sharp honey. “So. What’s first on the agenda?” she asked.

  “Let’s check out the gaming tables. For research purposes, of course.” He offered her his elbow.

  She’d never been a huge fan of the James Bond film franchise for various reasons, not the least of which was their tendency to make Eastern Europeans the bad guys. But now she understood why Bond had his contingents of female fans. Luke was already an attractive man. Put him in a tux and he was stunning. The fine wool of his jacket was soft to the touch above the firm muscle of his bicep. She kept her grip loose, not wishing to tempt her fingers into exploring what would never be hers. “Of course,” she replied. “Let’s go.”

  He escorted her to where the party organizers had arranged the gaming tables. They were organized in long rows, filling a large open space that overlooked the gardens below. Other guests had the same idea, and the seats were quickly filling up. “Pick your game,” he said with a sweep of his hand.

  She scanned the sea of green-felt-covered surfaces. While she didn’t consider herself a gambler by any stretch of the definition, if she had to stay, she might as well enjoy herself. “Roulette,” she said with a nod.

  Luke had a slight frown on his face. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Not a fan of things that spin?”

  He shrugged and began to guide her with an arm held low on her back toward the nearest wheel. Her shirt dress was a sturdy cotton weave, but the warmth of his touch burned as if he were touching her bare skin. “There’s an approximate forty-seven percent chance of winning a bet placed on black or red, but low risk equals low reward. Playing a single number pays out the best, but the odds of winning are one in thirty-eight. Assuming the table isn’t biased, of course,” he said.

  She stopped short, causing another couple to almost bump into them. The man started to give Danica a dirty look, but it turned into a nod of respect when he saw her companion. “How on earth do you know that?” she asked.

  “There are thirty-eight numbers on an American roulette wheel. Thirty-seven if it’s European. It doesn’t take an MBA to calculate the odds.”

  She smirked at him. “Your math skills are not in question. How do you know this much about roulette? Do you play often?”

  “I prefer playing with money when circumstances can be better controlled.”

  “That doesn’t explain why you can rattle off the statistics.”

  His mouth twisted to the left. “I was given my first computer when I was ten. When I wanted to replace it with a newer one, my father decided to teach me one of his sporadic object lessons and told me I had to buy it myself. But he never told me how he expected me to come up with the money. So, I created an account for a gambling site using my stepmother’s credit card.” He smiled, but his gaze remained distant. “There were less restrictions on the internet then.”

  Her eyes felt dry. She was staring at him so hard she forgot to blink. “You started gambling. At ten.”

  “Eleven. Only to earn enough to buy a new computer.” He thought for a moment. “And maybe some peripheral equipment. I stopped when I reached the amount I needed. But to answer your question, I prefer games that require strategy, such as blackjack or poker.”

  “What did your stepmother say when she discovered you used her card?” Her parents would have grounded her for at least a month if she had used a credit card without permission. Not that she could imagine doing such a thing in the first place. Her family always had food on the table, but money wasn’t plentiful. She didn’t get her first computer until a hand-me-down came her way during high school.

  Luke paused. “She didn’t say anything,” he finally said. “I know I went to live with my mother, because I had the computer
shipped to her house. It must have coincided with my father divorcing that stepmother.”

  “‘That’ stepmother? How many have you had?”

  “Three. Stepmothers, that is. Four stepfathers. So far.” Luke’s gaze continued to search the busy crowd. “There,” he said. “Empty seats at the third table from the left, toward the back.” He resumed guiding her through the throng.

  Danica let him take the lead, her mind still processing the glimpse he let slip. She couldn’t imagine her parents with anyone else, much less multiple anyone elses. Yet Luke had—she did the addition in her head—nine parents, including his biological ones? No wonder he held such cynical views about marriage.

  They took their places at the roulette wheel beside a woman who wore more diamonds than Danica had ever seen outside of a jewelry store. The woman raised her eyebrows when Danica squeezed next to her, but gave Luke a welcoming smile. He handed the croupier a slip of paper and received two large stacks of multicolored casino chips in return.

  “Here,” he said, passing half of them to Danica. “When it comes to betting, I recommend the D’Alembert system. Start small and stay with even-money bets such as black or red. Increase your bet by one after losing, and decrease it by one after winning. You’re favored to come out ahead in the end.” He placed a chip on black.

  She nodded and selected a ten-dollar chip for her first bet. The strategy sounded like him: smart, prudent, designed to minimize losses and maximize gains. But just as she was about to place the chip on the table, she drew her hand back. Then she swept all of her chips onto the number three.

  “What are you doing?” His mouth hung slightly open. She’d never seen him look so nonplussed. Judging by the sideways glances thrown at him by the other players at their table, she wasn’t the only one who thought his expression was unusual.

  “I’m placing my bet.”

  He recovered his usual stoic expression. “I wouldn’t advise it. The odds—”

  “Yes. You told me. Thirty-eight to one.”

  The croupier dropped the ball into the spinning outer circle, a streaking silver blur.

  “You can still change your mind,” he said.

  “Nope,” she said. “I’m all in.”

  The ball began to fall from the rim and the croupier called, “No more bets.”

  Danica found herself crossing her fingers, and she relaxed them. Beside her, Luke’s disapproval was evident in the rigid set of his shoulders and the straight line of his mouth.

  But sometimes risks were worth taking. Her parents took a risk when they left their war-torn homeland. She took a risk, moving to California without knowing anyone. Taking on Luke’s cockamamie search for a wife was the biggest risk of all. Certainly to her professional reputation, if word got out. But she wouldn’t exchange her time with him for all the regular pay slips in the world.

  She just had to remember not to risk anything else around him.

  The ball flashed around the roulette wheel, clattering and clicking. Danica held her breath, waiting for the moment when the ball would drop into the slot—

  “Three red. Odd,” the croupier intoned. She left a marker by Danica’s pile of chips and turned her attention to the rest of the table. After the croupier paid out the smaller bets, she began to add chips next to Danica’s stack. And more. And still more. When the croupier was finished, Danica could build her own minifortress out of her winnings.

  “What was the strategy you recommended?” she asked Luke as she raked the chips toward her, careless of their denominations. “I won, so I should bet one less chip this time?” She grinned up at Luke, catching his gaze.

  It was a mistake. She thought he might be amused or perhaps annoyed she had gone against his advice. Instead, his gaze was warmly admiring, a bright glow shining in the dark blue depths. She nearly knocked a quarter of her chips onto the ground.

  He probably used that expression with any female in his vicinity, she admonished herself sternly. He was Luke Dallas. He couldn’t help it. Besides, he made it crystal clear this was a business outing.

  Yet he’d looked at Felicity as if he couldn’t wait for a polite reason to leave the party...

  “That was bold,” he said in his low rumble.

  Danica wrenched her gaze away and began playing with a chip. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, et cetera.”

  “You could have lost everything.”

  “Or I could’ve gained far more than I had before. Which I did.”

  “You got lucky,” he said. “It paid off. But it was a—”

  “I know the odds. But sometimes you have to put yourself in the hands of the universe.”

  “Fine when playing with fake money. But in real life? Not an advisable strategy.”

  She had the distinct impression they were no longer talking about casino games, but she didn’t know if she was up to examining the undercurrents. She grabbed a five-hundred-dollar chip off the nearest pile. “Here. Go ahead, risk it all in one place,” she said with a wide smile.

  Luke took it from her, his gaze intent on hers. Their fingers brushed, electricity traveling the length of her arm and heading deep inside her. Instead of placing the chip down on the table, he tucked it into the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket. Next to his heart. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  She was. For what, she couldn’t quite put into words. She nodded, and Luke turned to the croupier. A few exchanged words later and Danica’s mountain of round plastic circles had turned into a written receipt with nearly more zeros on it than space allowed. He handed it to her. “I’d repeat my advice not to risk it all in one place, but you might break the bank.”

  She folded up the receipt and placed it into her dress pocket. “No, you’re right. I’d probably lose all my money on the next spin. That’s what is exciting about it.”

  He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow without looking. The automatic assumption she would go wherever he led would have rankled coming from anyone else. But with Luke, whose usual demeanor was closed off and forbidding, the gesture made her feel wanted, accepted. As if she belonged, now and forever.

  He guided her toward the outdoor terrace, where different chefs from San Francisco’s best restaurants had set up food stations. “Losing is exciting?”

  She laughed. “No. It’s terrifying. But sometimes, on a night like tonight... Don’t you ever want to be surprised? Take a chance? Not know what’s going to happen in advance?”

  He shook his head. “I read the last pages of a book first.”

  She stopped walking, causing him to halt. “That’s terrible.”

  “It’s smart. I know I won’t waste my time if the conclusion is unsatisfactory.”

  “What about serendipity?” Like the serendipity of running into him outside Johanna’s office? “Or fate? Fortune?”

  “Fate and fortune are excuses made by the unprepared. I know the odds and play them accordingly.” He laced his words with authority, his mouth settling into a firm line when he finished speaking.

  She slid a sideways glance in his direction. “Not everything in life can be controlled,” she said softly.

  He gave no indication he’d heard her, but she had to double her steps to keep up with him as he threaded his way through the crowd. She decided to relax and enjoy herself, creating mental snapshots as they sped through the party. She couldn’t wait to tell Matt all about it during their next phone call. This beat any episode of Real Housewives they’d watched in Matt’s hospital room.

  Luke slowed down once they arrived on the stone terrace wrapping the length of the mansion. It was lined by long buffet tables, each one labeled with the name of one of San Francisco’s most exclusive eateries. She tugged on his arm.

  “Is that Shijo Nagao?” she asked, indicating a chef standing behind a station offering sushi prepared to order. Nagao’s restaurant had a yearlong reserva
tion waiting list.

  Luke glanced over. “I believe so.”

  Danica dropped her hand from his sleeve. “See you later.”

  He grabbed her fingers. “You’re ditching your work assignment? For raw fish?”

  “Sushi,” she corrected, allowing her hand to linger in his so she could enjoy the fizzy crackles his touch sent singing through her blood. “Expertly prepared, delicious raw fish. And omega-3 is vital to brain function. I’m sure you agree this would help me excel at my responsibilities.” She flashed him a grin, daring him to find fault with her logic.

  He narrowed his gaze. “What happened to the woman with the New England palate?”

  “She likes fish.”

  “Fish served with wasabi. If you don’t like salsa...”

  She shuddered. “No wasabi. Never trust anything green and pasty.”

  He raised his eyebrows in horror, but his upturned mouth betrayed his amusement. “If I didn’t have other reasons to trust your judgment, I would reconsider our relationship.”

  The word relationship sent shockwaves throughout her body. She shook her head at herself. He meant it in a professional sense. “How can you eat sushi with wasabi? It destroys the flavor,” she said.

  “What? No. It enhances it. It’s a—”

  “Let me guess. Chemical reaction.” She raised a teasing eyebrow.

  “Yep. Some pairings are proven by trial and time to be the only choice for each other.”

  “I bet if we ask Chef Nagao, he will tell you when diners add extra wasabi to their meal, it is a sign they can’t appreciate the chef’s subtle flavors and shouldn’t be served the best fish.”

  Luke swung his attention from Nagao’s chef station and focused on her. “Really?”

  She nodded. “The diner misses out by insisting on wasabi.”

  Guests began to pack the space where they stood. Luke stepped closer to her, his presence acting like a shield. The beginning of his five-o’clock shadow was making its appearance. “Misses out,” he said, his gaze warm on hers.