by Eliza Daly
“Now don’t blow this out of proportion,” Cassidy said.
He tossed his napkin on the table, peering over at Charlotte. “This article wouldn’t happen to be in this morning’s paper, which you supposedly used to wash the windows, would it?”
Charlotte nodded, letting out a relieved giggle.
“Me near-death experience made me realize what’s important. Honesty. Don’t wish to die with all these secrets eating away at me body like a bunch of bloody maggots.”
“What near-death experience?” he asked.
Silence filled the air.
“What happened to not keeping secrets?”
The staff turned to Cassidy. Fiona gestured for her to speak on their behalf. Cassidy was now their spokesperson? She nibbled apprehensively at her lower lip, then proceeded to recount a story about how Fiona was so distraught over the article she’d locked herself in the guesthouse, threatening suicide.
Fiona overdramatized everything, but she’d taken it too far this time. She could have become seriously ill or, worse yet . . . died. Thanks to the damn media, he’d almost lost another loved one.
And thanks to Cassidy, Fiona was fine.
He peered over at Fiona, who gazed wearily at him. “Don’t worry about the article. I’m just thankful you’re okay. Please promise me you won’t talk to any more reporters.”
“But we’re tired of you and Aggie always taking care of us,” Charlie protested.
“That’s right,” Hector said. “About time we started taking care of ourselves and getting our secrets out in the open.” He stood, peering across the table at Cassidy. “I embezzled money from Cornwell Brewery in England.”
“Sit down,” Ryan commanded.
Hector stood defiantly at attention, gaze never wavering from Cassidy. “And fled to Mexico, where I was arrested for drug running.”
Ryan’s jaw tightened. “I said sit down.”
“For which I was innocent. Aggie anonymously paid off the authorities and the brewery. I’ve been hiding out here ever since.” He dropped down in the chair with a thud.
Charlie popped up. “I like to wear Charlotte’s dresses.”
“Hmph,” Fiona grunted. “’Tisn’t a secret.”
“And her lingerie.” He dropped down in his chair.
Charlotte gasped in horror. Hector muttered something in Spanish. And Fiona made the sign of the cross, bumbling her way through the Lord’s Prayer.
Charlotte slowly stood. “And I kidnapped—”
“That’s enough!” Ryan slammed a hand on the table. “Shut the hell up, all of you!” Everyone snapped their mouths shut and sat paralyzed. Then Charlotte burst into tears and scurried from the room. He’d never raised his voice to them. He glanced over at Cassidy. “Can I speak to you outside?”
Cassidy nodded obediently, then followed him out onto the back terrace. Before he could ask her to keep quiet about what she’d just heard, she said, “I hope you don’t think I would repeat any of that or Fiona’s incident. I’m just glad she’s okay.” She placed a hand on his arm, and the warmth of her touch penetrated his shirtsleeve. “Please believe me.”
God, he wanted to believe her, but it was hard to fully trust someone he really didn’t know, and who didn’t trust him enough to confide in him personally or professionally. Besides her past, what else didn’t he know about Cassidy? Her career had been ruined and she’d been desperate enough for money to become a funeral planner. And savvy enough to negotiate her matchmaker fee to fifty grand in a matter of seconds. Who knew what else she’d do for money. She might even compromise her high moral standards. He’d done some things he wasn’t so proud of when put in a desperate situation.
Like planning to marry someone he didn’t love.
“You’ve had to put up with a lot of crap in this job. I was thinking I should increase your bonus.”
Her eyes widened, and she dropped her hand from his arm. “What’s that? Gag money? You think you have to pay me off to keep my mouth shut?”
“I’m not paying you off,” he lied. “You’ve earned it.” And he felt shitty for telling that Nick jerk that she was his matchmaker when he didn’t plan to remain married.
She crossed her arms defensively over her chest. “Oh really. How much exactly have I earned?”
“I . . . don’t know.” He generally found her feisty attitude arousing, but right now the wild look in her eyes scared the hell out of him.
“Oh, come on, you must have some figure in mind.” Her tone challenged him, yet her gaze dared him to argue. “Fifty grand, or maybe a hundred?” She clenched her fists at her side, and he feared she was going to deck him. “Drop dead.” She marched down the steps, then spun back around upon hitting the landing. “I’d be happy to plan your funeral for free.” She stalked off toward her car.
Good to know, since he might just be on the verge of cardiac arrest.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cassidy wasn’t the least bit shocked about Hector’s confession. Well, maybe about the whole embezzling part, and the being in prison, but she’d known he wasn’t Mexican. They’d probably spent so many years living the lie, they’d forgotten the truth. Charlie, no big surprise about the dress thing, or the lingerie for that matter. But who had Charlotte kidnapped? Hard to imagine her being assertive enough to hang up on a telemarketer, let alone kidnap someone. What was Fiona’s secret? She was the head of the IRA and the mansion had been a front for it all these years?
Most importantly, did Ryan have some major skeleton in his closet?
Not liking beer seemed pretty minor compared to the staff’s secrets. Doubtful he’d have told her his darkest secret, since he obviously didn’t trust her and she was corrupt.
Her stomach tightened.
Was he right? Although she’d been innocent in the scandal at her old job, she’d almost rigged the outcome of Ryan’s fiancée hunt. Had she briefly entertained the idea of accepting a hundred grand to keep her yap shut?
No. She’d quit. Had she been serious? Hopefully he hadn’t taken her seriously. It was a means for starting her wedding planning company and restoring her reputation. She needed to be a professional. The only thing she needed from Ryan Mitchell was money. Money she rightfully earned by doing her job. The sooner she found his fiancée, the better.
Thank God she hadn’t switched the forms out. She’d have lost her integrity and Ryan. Not that he’d ever been hers to lose in the first place. She’d forwarded Ryan’s questionnaire onto the marketing department without reading it.
Alex was stuffing folders in his briefcase when she arrived at his office. “I’m getting ready to head over to Ryan’s office for a meeting about the article in this morning’s paper, among other things.”
“Yeah, I want to talk to you about that.”
“I’ve already taken care of it.”
He didn’t elaborate.
“Did you get the finalist applications I e-mailed you?”
“Yeah, I did.”
Her stomach was in knots. The fate of Ryan and his fiancée was now out of her control. Yet, she felt a sense of panic rather than relief.
“Can’t believe you narrowed almost nine thousand forms down to five hundred in under a week. That’s amazing.”
She smiled faintly. Actually, she’d already narrowed it down to one. Erica Turner.
“I have something I think you might be interested in.” He grabbed a small cardboard box from the top of the file cabinet next to his desk and handed it to her. “DVDs of The Dating Game. Marketing thought you’d find them helpful.”
Extremely, since she’d never seen the show. All she had to go on was Lucy’s board game, which she had yet to play. Although marketing was managing the show, she had to formulate the questions.
“Thanks. I’ll check them out.”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you, I realize Ryan plans to get a divorce as soon as he legally can. I know you tried to cover for him that day in my office, but I confronted him.”
“I was very clear you tried to cover for him.”
But what if Ryan didn’t believe him? She should have confessed blabbing to Alex when Ryan asked her not to say anything that night at his condo. She looked even guiltier now.
“I also told him about your situation at To Have and To Hold,” he said, back to stuffing folders in his briefcase. “He was fine with it. No big deal.”
It was a humongous deal. She’d wanted to tell Ryan about the scandal in case Nick did leak it. Yet he’d have leaked it before now wouldn’t he have? Just an hour ago, she’d promised herself again she’d tell him. Now it was too late.
“What exactly did he say?” She placed a hand to her stomach, feeling ill.
Alex shrugged. “Not much really.”
“Did you tell him I was innocent?”
“Of course I did.”
“Did he believe you?”
“I’m sure he did.”
Her gaze narrowed. “You’re sure he did? He didn’t even say if he believed I was innocent?”
“Not exactly. But I’m sure he does.”
Not reassuring.
Alex closed his briefcase and headed out the door. She trailed behind him, hot on his heels.
“Don’t worry, he’s not going to fire you over this.”
She was going to be fired for telling him to drop dead, which he likely took as her resignation.
“Does he know Nick’s family owned the business?”
Alex nodded.
“How about that we were engaged?”
He continued nodding, walking toward the elevator.
Great. He knew she’d slept with her boss.
“When did you tell him?”
“The day you two met at the café.”
“What time?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know . . . ”
“Morning, noon, or night?”
“Around six, I guess. I went over to his place for dinner.”
So Ryan had found out after their lustful encounter and before trying to pay her off today. That’s why he’d offered her money. He believed she was guilty and corrupt. Luckily, she’d proved him wrong by not accepting the money and giving Alex the correct forms. Yet her stomach lurched. She couldn’t face Ryan. Thankfully, she had no reason to see him over the next few days. Now that she had his questionnaire, she really didn’t need anything more from him in the near future.
Except maybe his trust.
Alex stepped onto the elevator. “Oh, and did you forward me the contract for Villa Luna? I never got it.”
The doors slid shut on Alex’s curious expression.
Crap! How had she forgotten to forward him the contract?
Had she subconsciously meant to do that?
If she didn’t get her act together, the wedding would end up at an airport motor lodge.
That’d be even worse for her reputation than the scandal!
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cassidy answered the door to the apartment above the funeral home, and Ryan gazed nervously into her green eyes, trying to gauge her reaction. He owed her a huge apology. He’d felt sick ever since he’d offered her money. Yet if he hadn’t proposed it, she wouldn’t have proved him wrong. Contrary to his first impression of her at Aggie’s funeral, Cassidy Baldwin couldn’t be bought. Even though she’d told him to drop dead, she didn’t look disappointed to see him.
“Just stopped by to tell you I’m still alive.” He smiled, yet his chest tightened with apprehension. Calm down, for chrissake. He’d never felt this nervous around a woman, ever.
The corners of her mouth curled up. “Good to know I still have a job. Although I guess I’d have one either way.”
He chuckled, relaxing slightly. “Guess so.”
“How’d you know I was here?”
“Took a chance. I was wondering if we could talk a minute.”
Her brow wrinkled with hesitation. “Ah, sure.” She stepped into the hall and closed the door. She stared expectantly at him, nibbling at her lower lip. Talking was the furthest thing from his mind. But there was a lot they needed to discuss.
“I wanted to apologize,” he said. “I wasn’t prepared for what happened yesterday at the mansion. Don’t know what came over the staff. They’ve been acting strange lately—stranger than usual. But I know you wouldn’t repeat anything or do anything to hurt them.”
She nodded. “I’m sure Aggie’s death has been very difficult for them.”
“Certainly has.” Yet Cassidy had helped make it easier for them, and him.
She glanced down at her pink flip-flops. “Alex said he told you why I left my previous job.”
“Yeah, he did.”
She looked him straight in the eyes. “I swear I had nothing to do with the scandal.” She started recounting the sordid details, but he cut her off.
“I believe you.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
What he really wanted to know was why she’d chosen to confide in Alex rather than him. He kept telling himself that her decision had been a professional one, not a personal one. Except about Nick. Yet it was bugging the hell out him. He wanted her to confide in him, and him in her. A bit unnerving, to say the least. However, the staff’s secrets still weren’t his to tell.
The door flew open, and Kenny poked his head out. “Thought you were abducted.” He glanced over at Ryan. “Excellent. I’m not the only guy now.”
Lucy joined them, bubbling with her usual enthusiasm. “We’re playing The Dating Game. Want to join us?”
He arched an intrigued brow. “The Dating Game?”
Lucy nodded. “Seeing as you’re going to be on the show, you should bone up on it.”
“I’m sure Ryan has better things to do,” Cassidy said.
He shrugged. “Not really.”
She looked surprised that he wanted anything remotely to do with preparing for The Dating Game. Nothing he did would prepare him for the actual game and his life to follow—something he didn’t want to think about right now.
“I’ll just give Charlie a call. He’s waiting out front.”
“What’s he tonight?” Cassidy asked. “A Meals on Wheels driver?”
“Bat removal service.”
After he phoned Charlie, he followed Cassidy into the living room where they sat on the futon across from Kenny and Lucy.
“Do we have to start the game over?” Kenny asked. “All I need is rent a tuxedo and my appointment card is filled.”
“You don’t like wearing tuxes anyway.” Lucy snatched the card from his hand.
Cassidy briefly explained the rules. Too bad finding a fiancée wouldn’t be as simple and painless as the board game. She handed Ryan the die, her hand lingering against his palm, his thumb resting against it. He wanted to wrap his hand around hers and pull her toward him, forgetting they weren’t alone.
“You’re supposed to shake the thing,” Kenny said.
Cassidy dropped her hand from Ryan’s.
He shook a six and moved to a space reading Bonus Collect $20. Cassidy had the role of banker and handed him a twenty.
Lucy shook the die. She moved her piece and landed on Get Box of Candy for Date.
“Boring.” Kenny slid her playing piece onto a space with a question mark.
Lucy drew a question card, and Kenny drew an answer card.
“Would you like to take a ride in a rocket ship?” Lucy asked.
“Just you and me, babe.” Kenny grinned wide and rubbed her knee affectionately.
Kenny was a bit . . . crude yet so open with his emotions.
Cassidy shook the die and moved her playing piece, landing on a question. She drew a card.
“Now you draw an answer card,” Lucy told him.
He did as she directed.
Cassidy read, “Would you go out with me Friday night?” Her gaze darted to him.
Kenny gri
nned. “Now that’s a good one.”
Ryan’s card read Not If I Can Help It. He sure as hell wasn’t saying that. “Would you like me to?” He arched a curious brow. How was that for being more open with his emotions? Even if he was hiding behind the pretense of a game card.
Cassidy stared at his card, a skeptical look on her face.
“Well, would you?” He set the card face down on the table. Let her wonder if he was posing the question.
“Great answer,” Lucy said.
“So where are we going?” he asked Cassidy.
“Gee, I don’t know,” she joked, yet she looked intrigued by the prospect of a date.
Their first date? Where would he take Cassidy if they went on an actual “date”? His dates usually involved attending work or charity-related functions. He wouldn’t take Cassidy to some event with hundreds of people. No, he wanted it to be somewhere . . . intimate.
“We should get together,” he said. “I have some details I’d like to discuss.” Ideas she’d inspired about kids’ baseball events, not about his wedding.
Her eyes widened with surprise. “You actually want to seriously talk?”
“Dinner at my place. Chicken cordon bleu is my specialty.” However, the thought of having her stay for breakfast and making French toast was more enticing.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ryan was psyched to share his ideas for the kids’ baseball events with Cassidy. Like having Hall of Fame players crash Little League practices and play ball with the kids and hand out their player throwback jerseys. They could knock on kids’ doors and ask them to play catch. He could just picture the surprised looks on their faces and hear their squeals of excitement. He couldn’t recall the last time his ideas flowed more freely than Cornwell beer on the Fourth of July weekend.
The doorbell rang. Cassidy.
Heart thumping, he stuck the chicken breasts in the oven. On his way through the living room, he turned on a Sinatra tune. He opened the door to find Cassidy standing there in a short, black dress. Nothing fancy. Just a plain, cotton, sleeveless dress that about made his heart stop.
She smiled. “Ah, can I come in?”
He stepped aside. “Yeah, of course.” Get a grip.