The Charmer’s Gambit (Mershano Empire Book 2)

by Lexi C. Foss

  “Will?” Because why else would I be here?

  “Yes. He’s quite charming,” Janet said as she took over a plush chair. She gestured for me to take the other, so I set my portfolio on the table and joined her.

  “I can’t believe you kept him from us all this time.” Jeff gave a little laugh with the words as he popped his hip against the mahogany desk behind him and folded his arms. “You know I need to say something about how the two of you met, though, right? Now, Will assured us it wasn’t Mershano Suites related, but it walks a very thin line, Rachel.”

  I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I’m sorry. It, well, I can’t talk about it, but it wasn’t business related at all.” Not to mention the entire thing was null and void now anyway since they’d gone and fallen in love.

  “I’m willing to overlook it because you brought us Will, but you do realize there are conflicts of interest here, right? With your history and relationship, I mean?”

  “Um.” I bit my lip. Sarah’s being my best friend and dating Will’s cousin could be considered an issue, especially if their relationship went sour. “I’m not worried. My professionalism comes first and foremost.” Besides, no way would Evan let Sarah walk away from him now. I’d seen the way he looked at her. He was a man in love, and no way would he let her go without one hell of a fight.

  “You’re absolutely sure?” Janet pressed. “Will’s already given his side, of course, but seemed confident that the circumstances wouldn’t impact the project.”

  Of course he wouldn’t worry about it. He’d proclaimed Sarah and Evan soul mates from the very beginning. “I’m not concerned,” I said with finality. “It won’t be an issue.”

  “Excellent.” Jeff popped up to shuffle some of the documents on his desk. “Did you want to review the agreement?”

  “Uh . . .” Was he asking because Will requested me as the project lead? “Is there anything unique about it?”

  He shook his silver head. “No, just what we’ve discussed.”

  “Then I’m okay. I trust it’s all in order, but thank you.” Reading the financial figures they’d agreed to would be interesting, but I preferred not to know. Whatever agreement Will had come to with the firm was his business. I would just be here to support the project.

  Jeff’s smile reached his ears. “Fantastic. Then I have nothing else right now. Will said he left you with materials to review this week, and we’ll start scheduling project calls next week.”

  “You and I will meet once a day until you feel more comfortable with the assignment,” Janet added. “Will plans to conference in as well.”

  Right. Because he already left Chicago.

  He’d called last night to say, “I trust you, darlin’. Call me if you need me.” Other than an email this morning, I hadn’t heard another word from him. It left me wondering if he really did only want to work with me, but now wasn’t the time to consider that.

  “Sounds great,” I said, forcing a smile. “I need to delegate a few of my assignments, and then I’ll be one hundred percent focused on this one.”

  “I bet,” Janet said with a twinkle in her eyes.

  Okay. “Well, thank you so much for trusting me with this opportunity. I promise not to let you down.” I sounded like a corporate robot, but their responding grins said it worked. We all shook hands, and I escorted myself back down to my office and poured a giant cup of coffee.

  I’d just sat down when a knock sounded. My heart did a little flip-flop at the prospect of it being Will. He couldn’t be here to surprise me with a late lunch again, could he? It seemed like something he would do . . .

  Except he’s in North Carolina.

  A girl can dream.

  Those hopes died as a tall man in a suit with too-dark hair and icy eyes stepped into my office without permission and closed the door behind him.

  My heart sunk to my stomach. “Ryan . . .”

  “I see you have time for a coffee break, but not to call me back. And here I was worried.” He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the door before walking around to sit on my desk with his legs right beside me. “You know I don’t like being forced to come over here, Rachel.”

  “I . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

  “You mean you didn’t think.” He gripped my chin when I dropped my gaze, and forced me to look at him. “You owe me a dinner date, baby. We need to be seen in public together.”

  “Why?” I whispered. Why after all these months of silence was he insistent on harassing me again now? I called off our engagement three years ago. It’d taken every ounce of willpower I owned to ask Mark for help, and then to leave that day, and there’d been a thousand times in the months following that I considered going back, if only to make life easier. Those were my darkest days, the ones where I forced a smile at work and curled into a ball each night, terrified of doing it all over again the next day.

  The threats nearly killed me, and then he’d stopped. I naively thought he was moving on, but no. Photos started arriving of him out with other women—his way of “playing the field to secure more political connections,” as he’d so eloquently put it. The entire charade was all a game to him. He never considered me a person, but his property. And he did not like it when his baby girl stepped out of line.

  “Do I need a reason to take my fiancée on a date?” He sounded deceptively sweet as he traced his thumb over my lips.

  “We’re not engaged, Ryan.” It came out hoarse rather than strong, and it caused him to grin.

  “I love when you tease me, baby girl,” he murmured. “You may have taken off your ring, but that’s just symbolism. I know what we are, and soon the public will as well.”

  My throat closed off any opportunity for a response. Not that I had one. He hadn’t acted like this for so long that I didn’t know how to interpret his change. It reeked of desperation, and that scared me more than anything else.

  “Oh, before I forget, I spoke to the wedding coordinator.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and started typing a message. “She wants to meet with you on Saturday to look at venues. I told her we prefer a summer wedding, and she’s looking at July of next year. Apparently, thirteen months doesn’t leave us a lot of time for wedding planning, so we need to decide on a location and a date immediately. I realize this isn’t great timing with your big work project, but our nuptials are more important. Especially since you won’t be working afterward anyway.”

  My lips parted, but nothing came out.

  He was delusional.

  Completely insane.

  And if I protested right now, he’d create a huge scene, thus guaranteeing I wouldn’t have a place to work by this time next week. Which explained why he decided to drop all this on me at the office.

  He wanted me to react. To scream, to rant, to make a general scene, just so he could play the wounded hero and gain sympathy from my coworkers. The man knew how to play this game far better than I did, but I’d memorized his manipulative ways. It was the only way to survive our volatile relationship.

  My phone dinged as he finished typing his message, and I found the wedding planners’ name staring back at me. Becky McGraw. Lovely.

  “She wants to have brunch Saturday,” he continued. “I suggested Francine’s for memory’s sake.”

  Right. The place he proposed.

  I was going to be sick. “Ryan, this is all rather sudden . . .”

  The hand on my chin tightened to a painful degree. “Sudden? I’ve given you three fucking years, Rachel. Most would say I’ve been more than patient with your antics.”

  Tears sprung to my eyes, not from his words but from the grip on my jaw. He knew exactly where to press to evoke the most pain. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “You’re right.” I had to say the words I hated most to appease him, or I’d end up with bruises I couldn’t explain. And screaming in the middle of my office would get me nowhere. Sure, he’d let me go, but his reaction would worsen once we had an audience, and somehow I’d be the guilty party. It
’d happened before outside of work. I had no reason to believe my coworkers would react differently.

  “Of course I am, baby girl.” He finally loosened his grip and bent to place a kiss against my jaw, then my lips. It took everything in me to respond just enough to make it believable, and then he brushed the tear from beneath my eye. “I’m willing to take a rain check on dinner, but you will be at brunch on Saturday.”

  This was the Ryan I knew, the one who pretended to negotiate, when in reality, nothing he said qualified as a concession. I’ll let you skip the date, because I love you, but you’ll be at the wedding planning session.

  I couldn’t respond to that.

  My livelihood relied on my ability to argue, and yet no words presented themselves in my thoughts.

  I sat mute in my chair, staring up at him with resignation. The word okay hung unspoken between us because I refused to let it slip. It was my only defiance and one he allowed as he swept his lips over my forehead.

  “Francine’s at ten thirty sharp, Rachel.”

  Another tear fell as he sauntered out of my office without another word.

  My fingers fluttered to my tender jaw to rub the imprint he’d left there. It ached more from clenching my teeth than the pressure he applied, but together they left me feeling ill.

  Marriage.

  The man had lost his fucking mind.

  I couldn’t marry him.

  Why couldn’t he find someone else to obsess over?

  And where the hell had he been these last six months?

  My head spun with confusion. Two visits in one week, plus the failed one Monday night, and all the calling . . . It reminded me of the weeks after we broke up. Except, rather than be violent and cruel, he’d taken a different approach. One that presented his suave side with just a hint of the lethality beneath.

  A chill slithered down my spine.

  I couldn’t go through this again.

  What choice do you have?

  I studied the number on my screen. Calling to cancel would piss Ryan off, and I couldn’t deal with him throwing a fit in my office.

  Have you ever considered talking to Caleb’s friend? Sarah’s words from the other day drifted through my mind.

  Mark . . .

  My eyes went to the drawer holding my purse. The card he handed me three years ago sat inside. Who knew if that number was even still valid?

  No.

  I could handle this myself. I had to. Ryan had escalated his efforts, but it wasn’t out of my control. Not like the night he strangled me . . .

  My jaw clenched, causing me to flinch as I recalled the pressure he’d just applied to my chin. “Bastard.”

  I hated him.

  No way in fucking hell would I marry him.

  But there were other ways to play this game. Maybe.

  He wanted a wedding? Then I’d plan one. And then I wouldn’t show up. Game on, asshole.

  I hit dial before I could talk myself out of it.

  The wedding planner answered on the second ring. “Hello, Miss Dawson.”

  Oh, good, my fiancé had given her my number. “Hi, Becky. Please call me Rachel.”

  “Of course,” she replied, her voice businesslike. This I could handle. “Did Mister Albertson tell you about our meeting on Saturday?”

  “Yes, that’s actually why I’m calling.” I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. This had to work. But I needed to remain calm. I could do this. Stealing a deep breath, I jumped feet first into the deep end.

  “So you’re aware of our timeline, right? And Ryan wants a big wedding. Given our timeline, I really don’t think waiting until Saturday is a good idea, so if you’re open to discussing options over the phone earlier, I wanted to let you know I’m available.” Then you can go off and plan whatever the hell you want on Saturday while I work. Hopefully, she used Ryan’s credit cards in the process.

  I crossed my fingers and waited. Her fingernails clicked against a keyboard over the line as the seconds ticked by. “Okay, Miss Dawson. How about now?”

  My gaze went to the clock. “Sure,” I managed. It was going to be a long night anyway; I might as well spend it at the office. “Let’s discuss it now.”

  9

  North Carolina

  My conversation with Becky placated Ryan enough that he’d given me a temporary reprieve of sorts to focus on work, but I suspected that was about to end.

  First, because I’d denied his dinner requests four times now, claiming meetings as a repetitive excuse.

  And second, because I’d just left the state without telling him.

  I pressed my palm against my skirt as I dragged my suitcase along behind me and stifled a yawn. These last few weeks were working hell. Not just managing Ryan’s persistent calls and random visits, but also working long days, followed by longer nights, and spending weekends at the office. Baker Brown had assigned a dozen lawyers to Will’s case, marking it with high urgency given the timeline, and threw ample funding behind it.

  I hadn’t seen Will since the day he finalized the agreement with my firm three and a half weeks ago. We’d talked a few times over the phone since, but always professionally and only about the project. It left me feeling a bit empty and confused and a tad bit disappointed. Which wasn’t fair. I wanted him to hire me for my work, not for my body, yet I missed his easy candor and flirting—a conundrum that left me walking at a clipped pace toward the exit.

  I didn’t want to be excited at the prospect of seeing him outside those doors, but the jumping jacks going on in my belly told me the truth. I’d missed him. Ridiculous. Idiotic. Annoying.

  When I spotted a man in a suit holding a placard with my name, the gymnastics in my stomach halted, leaving behind a queasy feeling.

  This is what I wanted. To be treated like a professional. Pull it together, hormones.

  “Miss Dawson?” the man asked, his drawl reminding me a little of Will.

  “That’d be me.”

  “A pleasure, ma’am.” He tipped his hat, revealing a touch of his salt-and-pepper hair at the sides, and opened the back door of his black town car. “I’ll take your bag.”

  “Thank you, Mister . . . ?”

  Another tip of that hat. “You can call me Rudy, ma’am.”

  I grinned. “Thank you, Rudy.”

  “Careful, he’s a bit of a flirt,” came a voice from inside the car. My heart kicked up a notch as I bent to find Will sitting in the back seat, dressed in khakis and a blue polo shirt. “Mornin’, darlin’.”

  “Hi,” I managed. He looked tanner, probably from the North Carolina sun, and his hair seemed a bit brighter. But his grin was the same—all male confidence—as I slid into the car beside him. “You didn’t need to pick me up.”

  He shrugged. “I figured we could get a head start on our meeting.”

  “Oh, that makes sense.” All business as usual. Except the disappointment radiating through me wasn’t professional at all. Of course he wanted to discuss the acquisition. That’s why we were working together. I’d let my ego grow to unhealthy levels, because I could swear he wanted to sleep with me in the beginning, which sounded ridiculous now.

  He’d been nothing but the perfect client for weeks, and even before that, he’d really only been politely flirtatious. The whole thing was wishful thinking on my part because of my innate attraction to him. I assumed our feelings were mutual, but given the foot of distance between us now, no way did he find me nearly as appealing as I found him. And wasn’t that a kick in the gut?

  Ignoring the ache in my chest, I focused on him and tried to figure out what he was talking about.

  “Which is why I think we should leave Friday night instead, just to acclimate and be prepared. Thoughts?”

  I squinted at him. “Uh, sure.” Leave Friday night for what?

  “Excellent. I’ll ask Miranda to book it, and she’ll send the itinerary to you.”

  “Great.” I can’t wait to see it and find out where I’m going.

 
Wow, I needed to pull it together, and fast. Both Janet and Jeff had mentioned how impressed they were with my work on this project, and it seemed five minutes in Will’s presence was long enough to derail several weeks of hard work.

  Awesome. Nothing like allowing a silly crush to ruin a career.

  And I shouldn’t even be attracted to him in the first place. So what if he had a perfect square jaw covered in attractive stubble, alluring dark irises dusted in long blond lashes, and a head of thick hair. Looks didn’t mean everything. Neither did all that muscle he was packing beneath that fitted shirt, nor did the strong thighs and impressive package in those khaki pants. My gaze flew upward when I realized where it’d gone, and found Will grinning.

  “You all right, Miss Dawson?”

  I had to clear my throat twice to speak. It did nothing to hide the heat overwhelming my face. “I, uh, it was a long flight.” Lamest. Excuse. Ever. And he knew it too.

  “Was it, now?” The amusement in his voice only made me hotter. “If you thought ninety minutes was bad, wait until Friday.”

  My jaw loosened. “What?”

  He laughed. “Darlin’, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said since gettin’ in this car, have you?” He shook his head. “Well, to teach you a lesson, I’m going to make it a surprise. But don’t worry; I’ll make sure Janet is aware so you don’t get in trouble. You do have your passport, right?”

  “Wait, no, I mean, yes. I mean . . .” Oh my dear God, I’d never been so tongue-tied in my life. I pulled the passport from my purse to wave at him because that was easier than speaking. “But I want to know where we’re going.”

  “Then you should have paid attention.” His taunt, accompanied by those dimples, helped ground me a bit.

  “I can refuse to get on the plane.”

  “You most certainly could, but how would you explain that to Baker Brown?”

  “I . . .” Well, crap. He had me there. I opted for a new route. “A gentleman would tell me where we’re going.”

  “And a lady wouldn’t be caught checking out her client in the back seat of a town car, yet here we are, Miss Dawson.”