Yours for the Taking

by Robin Kaye

  Watching Gina walk toward him was like watching a three-ring circus. He didn’t know which ring to pay attention to. In ring number one, short-cropped, black hair framed her face and fell over copper eyes that flashed with equal parts intelligence and mischief. Her wide mouth painted a hot, wet red was set in a strained yet polite smile. In the center ring were her amazing breasts showcased in the turquoise twist bodice of a color block business dress and black jacket that, on her, looked sexy as sin. In ring number three was the rest of her—her small waist, the tight black skirt hugged her hips and thighs, and her tiny feet encased in fuck-me pumps made her legs look a mile long—created a hell of a show.

  Gina stopped in front of him and looked up. He supposed she had to. “The last time I was at the gallery, Annabelle was complaining about you moving her office off the main floor and up here.”

  “She took her old office back and is downstairs since Becca Ronaldi joined the partnership.”

  “Where’s your office, Ben?”

  “I don’t have one for the gallery. I’m more of a silent partner.” He stepped out into the hall and held the door open for her. “Come on in.”

  She walked in ahead of him, which was probably a mistake on his part. It was bad enough watching her walk toward him. Damn, when it came to a fine ass, J. Lo had nothing on Gina. She stopped in the middle of the postmodern, minimalist living room—a spark of color, curves, and heat among the cold, hard lines, white leather, and chrome—and turned in a circle “Wow, this is beautiful. It looks like something out of a magazine. Who’s your decorator?”

  “I didn’t use one. Can I get you a drink?”

  Gina shook her head, her bangs rearranging themselves over her copper eyes as if to clear her thoughts. “Club soda, if you have it. We’re talking business and I don’t believe in three martini lunches.”

  “It’s dinner.” Ben caught Gina’s eye roll and laughed. “Make yourself at home. I’ll just be a minute.” Instead of using the wet bar, he went into the kitchen to check on the hors d’oeuvres. The tarts needed another minute or two. He closed the oven and wished Gina had asked for a mixed drink because he could really use one right about now. Ben poured the sodas and brought them along with a cheese tray and a tray of assorted sushi. When he returned, he found Gina studying a piece from his personal art collection. It was by one of his favorite up-and-coming artists. He watched her reaction to the mixed media painting. “It’s called ‘New York Subway.’”

  “It’s amazing.” She continued studying the work; there was a lot of it to study. The piece was five feet tall and more than four feet wide. After a moment, she turned to face Ben and looked surprised when he handed her a plate.

  “The tarts will be out in a minute.”

  Gina walked back to the coffee table, picked up her glass, and motioned to the food. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

  Ben shrugged. “I said I’d feed you. We’re having salade nicoise with tuna steak for dinner.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  Ben held up his glass to toast. “To a very profitable business relationship.”

  Gina clinked her glass against his and took a sip all the while eyeing him. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  The kitchen timer went off and Ben held up a finger. “Hold that thought.” He strode to the kitchen, pulled out the tarts, and with all the speed of a seasoned chef, placed them on the serving platter. When he returned, Gina walked back to him from studying another piece in his collection. He took a deep breath and began. “My grandfather is Joe Walsh. Ring any bells?”

  “I’ve heard the name before, but I can’t place it.” She picked up a piece of cheese from the tray and nibbled.

  “He’s probably the richest man in Idaho. Last I checked he was on the Forbes List above Donald Trump, Stephen Spielberg, and T. Boone Pickens.”

  “That’s nice for you.” Sitting on the couch, Gina crossed her legs, and looked bored. “What does this have to do with the business venture?”

  Ben took a hot tart—the irony didn’t escape him—and popped it in his mouth. The air-light pastry melted as the savory flavors melded together to perfection. “My grandfather owns more leased land than anyone in the United States. He owns the one piece I want. It’s the ranch in Idaho where my parents and I lived before their deaths.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your parents.”

  “Thanks, but it was a long time ago.”

  Gina leaned forward to inspect the food. “What are those?”

  “Spinach, leek, and goat cheese tarts.”

  “They look like something they have at that great market.” She snapped her fingers. “I think it’s called Grace’s. Do you know it? It’s on East 71st between 2nd and 3rd.”

  He sat on the other side of the couch. “Thanks, but I didn’t get the tarts there.”

  “Where? That shop on 32nd?”

  “No. I made them.”

  She took a bite and covered her mouth with a napkin. “You’re kidding,” she said around a mouth full of food.

  Ben grinned at her shocked look. “No, why?”

  With a wave of her hand, Gina continued. “Never mind, go on with your story.” She took another bite of a tart and moaned. “These are amazing.”

  Ben wished she’d stop moaning; it was distracting. “I’m glad you like them.” He took another sip of his drink. “Gina, have you ever wanted something so badly you’d do just about anything to get it?”

  “No.” She was serious.

  “Nothing?”

  “Not badly enough to do anything.” She studied her nails before gazing at him. “I have my standards.”

  He moved closer and looked her straight in the eye. “What is the one thing in the world you’ve always wanted and haven’t been able to get?”

  “A home. I want to own my own home. I want it bought and paid for, so that no one can take it away.” Gina covered her mouth, either to keep from saying more or in an attempt to catch the words that had escaped. She stood and paced the room. “In a few years, I’ll have enough money for a nice down payment. If all goes according to my plan, I’ll own it outright in twenty years. That’s my goal, anyway.”

  Ben got the feeling she wasn’t telling him everything, not that he’d expect someone he hardly knew to spill her guts, but she seemed more evasive than most. Nonetheless, he had no choice but to work with what little information she gave him. “What kind of home?”

  Turning to face him, she crossed her arms under her breasts, which did nothing for his concentration. “Why do you want to know?”

  He raised his hands. “I didn’t know your choice of home was a national secret. Do I need a security clearance?”

  She seemed to dig for patience. “That’s personal.”

  “If we’re going to be in business together, I’ll need to know personal information. I already know a good amount about you or you wouldn’t be here.”

  She turned again and paced the length of his living room. She was not happy sharing. “I’d like something similar to Rosalie’s brownstone apartment.”

  Ben had been to Rosalie’s apartment when her sister, Annabelle, lived there before she married Dr. Wonderful. It was quaint and charming and in a trendy yet affordable section of Brooklyn’s Park Slope. “Isn’t that a little small?”

  “It’s plenty big for me. It’s a two-bedroom and has a beautiful garden. I don’t need much.”

  “You don’t have very high expectations.”

  She stopped dead and faced him. “You have no idea who I am or what I want, and you’re in no position to make judgments.”

  Maybe not. But he knew where she came from, and although she’d come a long way, he figured she’d want more. “I’m sorry, you’re absolutely right. Forgive me.”

  For a second Ben thought she would leave. He stood and moved close enough to stop her in case she did, but she stayed. After a moment, she gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

  Relieved, he took his keys out of h
is pocket, flipped them into the air, and caught them. “My grandfather just turned eighty and it sounds a little crazy, but he’s holding my ranch hostage. If I don’t do what he wants, he’s going to sell it to the highest bidder.”

  “What does this have to do with me?”

  “He wants me to get married.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  “I need a woman to marry. Someone who won’t see the marriage as anything more than a business deal. In return for marrying me, I will give you an annual income and buy you the home of your dreams—within reason.”

  “You want to buy me?”

  “No. I’m willing to pay you to facilitate the acquisition of my ranch. Much like a homebuyer pays a Realtor.”

  Gina sashayed across the room. “What do you consider reasonable?”

  Ben watched as she paced, wishing he could read her mind. “Excuse me?”

  “You said you’d buy me the home of my dreams within reason. Give me a dollar figure here because I have a feeling my definition of reasonable and yours are light years apart.”

  “How does something in the neighborhood of ten million sound?”

  Gina turned on her heel and placed her hand on her cocked hip. “Ten million dollars? What, are you nuts? Get a clue, cowboy, you could pay a woman a whole lot less than ten mil to pretend-marry you.”

  “Yes, but should you accept, you will legally be my wife—”

  “Wow, Ben, you’re making it sound like Marriage Impossible.” Gina hummed the theme to Mission Impossible, which really got on his nerves.

  “Hardly. I’m a wealthy man and as my wife, you’ll be due no less. Any lawyer worth his salt will tell you as much.”

  Gina didn’t even blink.

  “I don’t want to take the chance of my grandfather discovering through the prenup that this is a hoax. It has to be legitimate in every respect. For a man of my net worth, this is a fair prenup. I’ll make monthly deposits into your account equaling a half million dollars annually for the duration of our marriage. After the uncontested divorce, you will receive alimony payments in the range of a quarter of a million a year for a period of five years for every one year of marriage. All of this is negotiable, of course.”

  “Of course. Just so I understand this, you want to pay me to be your wife?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m assuming you don’t expect me to sleep with you. I mean, why would you? You’re gay.”

  Ben stared at her back as she paced away from him and choked on the tart he’d just stuffed in his mouth. She thought he was gay? What is it with women? They think every man who dresses well and doesn’t burp and fart in public is automatically gay. It took him a moment to keep from choking to death, and once he took that first precious gasp of air, he remembered the only hole in his plan—the hole Karma pointed out. If Gina thought he was gay, she wouldn’t go and do something stupid like fall in love with him.

  When she turned back she saw he was red in the face.

  “Are you okay?”

  Ben cleared his throat. “Sorry, I just choked on the tart.” He took a sip of his drink wishing he’d chosen straight vodka because he was about to tell the biggest lie of his life. He could picture Karma laughing her ass off over this. “Most people don’t know my sexual orientation; not even my business partners and certainly not my family. I’d appreciate it if you keep that to yourself.”

  “Sure, okay.” She looked skeptical. “What about your boyfriends… and mine for that matter? Oh, and just so you know, there’s no way I’d ever consider living with you. That’s a deal breaker. I don’t do roommates.”

  “Yes, well, our living arrangements won’t be a problem. You’ll live in your dream home, and while I’m in town, I’ll continue to stay here. To satisfy my grandfather’s curiosity, should it rear its ugly head, my legal residence would have to be the home we purchase together. Until the divorce, the deed will be in both our names.”

  “What about our social lives?”

  “I’m not in a relationship at the moment, are you?”

  “No.”

  “I’d appreciate it if, for the first year, you would go without dating in case Grandfather does something sneaky like send someone to check up on us. I plan to do the same. After that, should the marriage even last that long, I’d ask you to be discreet. The only other thing I’ll ask of you is that you’d be available in case I should need a date in a situation in which I might be photographed—openings, benefits, that sort of thing. It wouldn’t look good to end up in the society pages with another woman on my arm.”

  “I’ve never been a beard before. Will the press know we’re, you know,” she motioned with her hand as if she couldn’t come up with the word.

  “Married?”

  Gina shook her head, “Yeah, that.”

  Ben had to keep his temper when it came to the beard comment. As if he needed one. He didn’t like that he had the urge to show her just how gay he wasn’t. What he needed to do was control his male ego. Shit, if Karma and the guys knew what he was doing, he’d be the laughingstock of the family. “I usually fly well under the press’s radar. I’m sure if we give them your name, chances are they’ll just use that and not dig any deeper. There is always a chance they will; it’s slight, but it’s there. Are you hungry?”

  ***

  Gina couldn’t believe he was talking about food at a time like this. “Why me?”

  He took his keys back out of his pocket and tossed them in the air again. She crossed her arms to keep from snatching them so she could put an end to that very annoying habit and tapped her toe. “I’m waiting.” He gaped at her as if she’d just stripped in front of him.

  “Why not you?”

  “Come on, Ben. You just don’t ask a veritable stranger to marry you. What about your other friends?”

  “I asked Annabelle but she married Mike instead.”

  “The nerve. So that was it?”

  Ben looked as if he was deciding whether or not to tell the truth. She gave him the Bronx stare, which made men much bigger than him go crying to their mamas.

  “I asked my only other good female friend.”

  “And she said no?”

  Ben sat on the metal and leather chair and crossed his long, long legs at the ankle in front of him. He was so gorgeous, the fact that he was gay was a real shame, but then Gina had never met an ugly gay man.

  “If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t be talking to you, now would I? I’m not trying to rush you, but I have a time limit. When do you think you can tell me your decision?”

  “I don’t know about this. I have goals and I’ve met every one of them on my own. Marrying you would feel like cheating. Not only is it a lie, which always catches up to you, but I don’t want to look back on my life and wonder if I could have made it on my own.”

  Ben shot out of his chair. “Let me get this straight, you’re going to refuse me because you want to struggle when I can easily give you whatever you want?”

  “I’m not for sale.”

  “Gina, this is a business transaction, plain and simple. You’re getting paid to marry me and put your social life on hold for up to a year.”

  “One year of my life is going to cost you twelve point five million dollars. That’s roughly thirty-five thousand dollars a day. That’s insane.”

  “That’s what a typical prenup would state for a person of my income and net worth. Why are you complaining? I’m not. I don’t care what you do with the money. If you feel guilty, give it to charity.”

  With that much money, she’d finally be able to afford to hire a professional to search for her brother, Rafael. She wasn’t sure how she’d find him, but she knew better than most that money made almost all things possible. She could buy her sister Tina and her brother-in-law their dream home in the suburbs, and after the divorce, she could sell whatever castle Ben bought, buy a normal home for cash, and invest the rest.

  Gina had spent her life worrying about Rafael
and fighting to keep her and her sister safe and fed. She might be overly proud, but she wasn’t stupid. She’d be crazy not to marry him. “So, Mr. Richie Rich, how did you get from Idaho to New York, and where’d you get all this money you talk about?”

  Ben looked up to the heavens as if he were praying for mercy or patience, probably patience, but at this point Gina couldn’t care less.

  “I went to NYU and majored in business and art history. Since I turned eighteen, I’ve been given a monthly allowance from my trust. I saved a lot. When I saw an opportunity to buy this building and start my gallery, I jumped at it. I’ve been living between here and Boise ever since. When I turned thirty, I was given control of the trust and the rest is history.”

  At least he wasn’t some kind of high-class drug dealer—just a well-funded art dealer. Gina crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her toe. “We’d have to have a time limit. Your grandfather could hold this land over your head forever unless he put something in writing, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life married to you.”

  “Okay. What do you think is fair?”

  “Three years, max?”

  Ben stood and held out his hand. “Deal?”

  Gina looked up at him and shrugged. “As long as my lawyer doesn’t have any problems with the prenup, I guess we have a deal.” She shook his hand, looked him in the eye, and thanked God he was batting for the other team. If he were straight, Gina would probably end up making a fool of herself over a guy like Benjamin Walsh.