Her Accidental Husband

by Mallory, Ashlee

  “Maybe,” she said, not sounding particularly convinced.

  “Well, what else have you got to do? Host more tea parties?” Ouch, that sounded harsher than he intended.

  She laughed, though, unfazed. “You know, it’s only been twenty-four hours since the life I thought I was going to have was ripped out from under me. Give me a little time to recover. We can’t all be ambitious business men and women trying to earn a profit equal to the gross capital of—of Chile.”

  He smiled. He couldn’t help it. “I can assure you, that is not my goal. I just want to see my family’s company reach the level of respect and profit that it’s due.”

  “Yeah. About that. As Kate and Dominic tell it, you’re obsessed with some new deal that’s going to put the company on the map. Is that what you’re working on now?”

  “Yes, and if I nail this thing, the future will definitely be looking up for Sorensen Construction.”

  “Really? Who’s the deal with?”

  He flexed his fingers, reluctant to impart the details with her of all people. At least not until it was a done deal. It seemed like bad luck, not to mention potentially humiliating if for some reason this deal didn’t happen. But she would probably find out soon, so may as well get it over with. “Dick Eastman and I have been negotiating for months on a contract to build four new car dealerships for Eastman Motors and the new Eastman shopping district down in Provo.”

  “Dick Eastman? My almost father-in-law Dick Eastman?” She visibly shuddered. “I suppose congratulations are in order. I’m sure that must be a great opportunity. Only…” She stopped, wrestling with something.

  “Only what?” Did she not think he was good enough, that Sorensen Construction was not good enough for the likes of the Eastmans? As quickly as he thought of that, he dismissed it. He knew his company and its capabilities. Payton’s reluctance seemed to stem from something else.

  “Well, I’m guessing you’ve met the man by now. You should have some idea what I mean. He’s a controlling, manipulative, sexist pig.”

  “Who up until yesterday was going to be your father-in-law,” he added incredulously. “You didn’t mind then.”

  “That is the brightest silver lining in this whole thing. The way that man uses people, his son included, is disgusting.” This time she looked at him, meeting his gaze. “I’m sorry. I am sure this will be great in a business sense for your company. I’d just make sure you’re going into it with your eyes wide open.”

  “Your concern is duly noted, but I think I can handle Dick Eastman. As far as I’m concerned, this deal is going to give Sorensen Construction the opportunity to become a more recognizable name, which will have far wider benefits than just this contract.”

  She shrugged. “Just glad it’s you and not me. I always got the impression he was looking at me more for my gene pool, for what I could pass onto the next generation of Eastmans than any happiness I might give his son.”

  He could see it. Dick was definitely more old school than Cruz liked—more caveman-esque—but it wasn’t like he was joining the family. Wasn’t going to be marrying a sister or a daughter. It was business. That was all.

  But it did give him a little more insight into Payton Vaughn. Made him a little more sympathetic. It seemed that in her eyes, the only value she’d been made to feel in her twenty-nine years, was in the parties she hosted, the people she rubbed shoulders with, and the man and family she could marry into. Whether he was a cheating, lying bastard or not.

  At least she was finally standing up for herself. Finding her own value, which, from where she was coming from, was pretty amazing. Admirable even…

  After ten minutes of listening to Cruz’s fingers click across the keyboard, Payton reached over and flipped the radio back on. “Is this going to bother you?”

  “I can work through anything. Just keep your attention on the road.”

  “Yes, Dad,” she said in a singsong voice. Jeez. He needed to loosen up.

  She hazarded a quick peek at her companion. Even without a change in clothes or access to his own toiletries he looked…pretty damn good. The shadow around his jaw was dark and pronounced, and combined with those wicked brown eyes that looked at her with an intensity that always made her feel a little uncomfortable, he was sinfully sexy. His shirt might not be as crisp as it was yesterday, but with the sleeves rolled up above his forearms—which had dark, wispy hair curled nicely against his tanned, warm skin—he still managed to maintain a presence. One that had had the front desk attendant at the hotel almost in a puddle at his feet.

  It wasn’t like Payton hadn’t noticed Cruz’s dangerous good looks when she’d first seen him. But after she overheard him insulting her, sight unseen, it had been easier to envision some added horns and a tail making him a caricature of pure evil. It was easier to loath and dismiss him as a jerk, because then she could ignore the fact that being near him set her blood boiling in more ways than one.

  But now, with their new and tentative truce, and his surprisingly supportive demeanor over the past few hours, it was harder for her to put up her usual blockers where he was concerned. Which could get dangerous.

  Couldn’t he at least have BO? Or flat and greasy hair? But no, he smelled decidedly masculine in the close quarters of the car, something like incense and leather. Dark. And of course his hair was lustrous. Almost disgustingly so.

  Gah. She needed to clear her head. Where was a familiar tune to sing to?

  She didn’t know any of these songs. It was a road trip. They needed tunes. Okay, she needed tunes. It was just how it was done.

  “Hey, do you have any music on that phone of yours? I think this car can sync with your phone’s Bluetooth, if you have something worth listening to.”

  “No.” He continued to click away at the keyboard.

  “No, seriously. I won’t critique it—well, not too much. But I need something I can sing to.”

  “I don’t keep music on my phone,” he said matter-of-factly.

  What? She shot him a disbelieving look.

  “Eyes on the road,” he reminded her, without taking his attention off the laptop screen.

  “You’re kidding me, right? You’ve got to have something.”

  He shrugged. “Never had a need for it. My phone is for making calls and texts and for sending and receiving emails when I can’t be on the computer. Those are the only reasons I need a phone. If I wanted to listen to music, I’d buy a radio.”

  “You know, for a guy who can’t be more than…forty—”

  “Thirty-five.”

  She suppressed a smile, knowing very well how old he was but enjoying the rancor in his tone. “Thirty-five, then…you sure act like you’re seventy. I bet you yell at small children who step on your lawn back home too.” Which again she knew wasn’t true because he lived in a condo up by the Capital. Not that she’d been stalking him, but Kate had mentioned it once in passing. “And I bet you bemoan the invention of the television and the arrival of that devil music called rock and roll.”

  She snuck another glance at her now silent partner. His jaw flexed, either in irritation or humor, it was hard to tell. “So why even get a smartphone if you’re not going to take advantage of all the features? What about apps? Have you downloaded any of the free apps? Twitter? Facebook?”

  “Please,” he said, and made a face. “What a waste of time.”

  “Netflix? Pandora? What about Fandango?” More head shaking. “Okay, so you and Becca are out on a date and—”

  “I told you I’m not seeing Becca anymore.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. So you’re out on a date with someone and you both decide you feel like a movie. What are you going to do? Find a paper? Call the theater? With the app, you just touch the screen and it lists all the theaters in your area, what movies are playing, and show times. You’re totally set. It’s magic,” she said and snapped her fingers for effect.

  “I can assure you, when I take a woman out on a date, I know
the plans for the evening ahead of time. I don’t ‘wing it.’”

  She gave him a sideways look. “Wow. You’re certainly Mr. Spontaneous, aren’t you?”

  “I told you. I don’t like surprises. I like to know what’s going to happen when I can.”

  “All right. So walk me through one of Cruz Sorensen’s signature dates.”

  He ignored her, typing a few sentences on the screen instead.

  “What, is it a secret? Proprietary information? Come on. Humor me. I have no music or other entertainment. So you have to give me something.”

  “All right. For a first date, I usually try to determine what the woman’s interests are and tailor the evening accordingly. For example, Becca is a dental hygienist who I happened to know enjoyed funny movies and—”

  “Dental hygienist?” she interrupted, unable to resist. “Don’t tell me. Did you actually ask her out while she was digging in your mouth? Is that how you met her?”

  “—and flowers.” He finished. “And yes. I met her at the dentist on my six-month visit.”

  “Romantic.” She chortled. “Does that mean you’re going to have to find a new dentist, now that you’ve called it off?”

  His fingers paused over the keyboard. Probably picturing a rabid Becca gripping sharp metal tools as she told him to open up. Ha.

  “All right. So back to the date. Becca—and every other human on the planet—likes comedies and flowers. So what?”

  “For our first date, I took her to a comedy club and then made her dinner and dessert at my place.” The smug smile on his lips told her dessert was likely a euphemism, and she rolled her eyes. What a guy. “Our second date, we went to an outdoor showing of a Sundance flick up at Red Butte Gardens. She was impressed with both choices.”

  Payton had to give him points. Those did sound pretty good. Better than the old dinner and a movie option—not that she didn’t love that too. But there was something to say about originality. “Okay. What about me? Based on what you know of me, where would you take me for a first date?”

  He turned to her, and she felt those discerning brown eyes studying her carefully.

  Do not squirm.

  “That would depend on the season. If it were summer, I’d say one of the outdoor concerts the symphony puts on at Park City. We’d bring our own blankets and wine and lay out under the stars.” She worked to keep her jaw from dropping open. It was exactly her idea of a night out. Had Kate told him? He continued, “In the winter? Maybe a show at Capital Theater and dinner or… Actually. Scratch that. Hockey. Yes, definitely hockey, and dinner would be nachos and hot dogs from the concession stand.”

  “Hockey?” That hadn’t been anything near what she’d expected to hear. “Now you’ve overplayed your hand. I don’t even like hockey.”

  “Have you ever been to a hockey game?”

  She paused. “Well, no. But I don’t have to see the game to know I wouldn’t like it.”

  “Which is why it would be memorable. And how can you possibly know you don’t like something that you haven’t tried?” He shot her a disgruntled look. “My point is, I think we can both agree that, contrary to me, you get a thrill out of the unexpected.” For some reason, it struck her that he said this in an almost admiring tone. “And then I’d probably offer some dessert after,” he added, and she glanced over to see a smirk touch those lips. “At my place.”

  She laughed. “I’d just bet you would.” Only, the thought of heading to Cruz’s for some dessert and all that it might involve actually sent a jolt of excitement through her. And a little terror.

  In Cruz’s hands, she didn’t know what she might be capable of.

  She noticed he was still staring at her and she felt her cheeks warming, almost as if he could read her mind and knew what delicious things she’d envisioned. She cleared her throat. “You definitely seem to have it all down to a science. You hook the girl in, then when she’s positively enamored with you and orders the embroidered towels from Pottery Barn with your names entwined, you cut her loose and move on to the next hapless victim.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I do,” he said in a droll tone, turning his attention back to his computer. “And above my headboard are the nicks I’ve made for each conquest.”

  “Come on. You’ve almost said as much yourself, and I quote, ‘Things have gotten a little busy at work and I wasn’t able to give her what she was looking for,’ which is code for”—she lifted her hands from the steering wheel a moment and made air quotes—“a serious relationship. You run at the first sign someone wants something more than a casual fling.”

  He truly looked perplexed. “Well, of course. I want to be honest with them. My life, my immediate and future plans, they’re wrapped up in Sorensen Construction right now. It’s best to be upfront with the women I date. Becca made it clear she wanted to take things to another level. Something I’m not prepared to give her or anyone at this time in my life.” He said it, however, almost as if he’d never have the time.

  “Wow, you sure are a romantic.”

  “Just realistic.”

  “Have you always been like this? Wasn’t there anyone who you ever wanted something more with?”

  “Not since I was seventeen. Seventeen, naive, and hormonally challenged.”

  She didn’t know if she felt sympathy for him or wanted to kick him. “How is wanting to spend your life with someone naive?”

  “I’ll tell you another time,” he said in that smug way of his. And for a second she imagined some poor moony-eyed teenaged girl handed her heart by Mr. Sensitive. “Just remember we weren’t all born with a silver spoon in our mouths, the world at our feet. Look, I have a conference call I need to make in another hour with Dick Eastman and want to have some figures ready. Can we table our discussion for the time being?”

  “Fine. Whatever.” She returned her attention to finding a song on the radio. Why did he have to bring it back around to her and the fact that she came from wealth? They were talking about love here. Or whatever came close to it. The subject was definitely not over.

  Because she was curious now as to what happened to the naive seventeen-year-old Cruz Sorensen that had made him the cynic he was now.

  Chapter Six

  Cruz held the phone up, dread building in his stomach. Where were the service bars? Any bar. Anything to ensure he could make this call. He hadn’t worked his ass off the past few years to culminate in this one deal, only to have it fall apart because he couldn’t make the final phone call.

  Ten minutes ago he’d had full service. He should have just had Payton pull over then. But he’d known how important it was to both of them to close the miles between them and that wedding.

  “Anything?” she asked him.

  He let his silence confirm the fact.

  Three minutes passed. He only had two minutes until he was supposed to make that damned phone call.

  Then, there it was.

  One—no, two bars now. “I’ve got something.” He looked at the road ahead of them. No sign of a road or turn off. “Pull over.”

  “What? We’re on the interstate. I can’t just stop here.”

  “Look, it’s imperative I make this call now, and we don’t have the luxury of waiting for the next exit.” He kept his tone even, but there was a steeliness beneath it. She sighed and turned on the blinker.

  A horn blared from behind them as their car slowed down, and Payton swerved and let out a squeal of terror. “I hope this call is worth more than our lives.”

  He continued to stare at the phone and no sooner had the car stopped than he had thrown the door open and was stepping out. He glanced back to see Payton shaking her head at him before turning her attention to the radio.

  A minute later, Dick Eastman was on the phone, his voice that familiar booming sound equal parts friendliness and confidence. “I’ve looked over all the final numbers you’ve proposed.” Even with the noise of cars passing by, Cruz could hear paper rustling. Dick was old school, pr
eferring hard copies in his hands over email. “And even though it’s not the lowest offer I have on the table in front of me, your numbers are reasonable. But as you know, it’s your company’s quality guarantee that has made this easy for me.”

  Cruz was careful not to sound too eager. “Glad to hear that, Dick.” Using the man’s first name still felt odd to him, but Dick had all but insisted. “I assure you quality is paramount in all of our ongoing concerns. We have a deal then?”

  Dick paused and the seconds ticked by abnormally long. A gust of wind brought a swirl of dirt up around Cruz’s feet. “Well, son, the pen is right next to me now and I can say that this thing is almost as good as yours. However…”

  Cruz’s hope that had spiraled a moment ago sank. That single word couldn’t be good.

  “One thing you probably know about me by now is that a lot doesn’t get past me,” the old man continued, and Cruz could picture Dick sitting in his massive office in a pinstripe suit and cowboy boots propped up on the desk. Like he’d seen too many Dallas episodes—new and old—and considered himself a regular old J.R. Ewing. He just needed a ten-gallon hat to finish the picture. “I like to keep my finger on the pulse of everything and everyone that could impact me and mine. Family, that is. And I know for a fact that you’re en route to a family event somewhere south of the Rio Grande. With my son’s fiancée, I hear.”

  Shit. How the hell did he know already? In the back of Cruz’s mind he’d hoped that eventually his acquaintance and partnership of sorts with Payton would reach the old man’s ear in a positive way, confirming that Cruz was a man to be trusted. But to hear old Dick Eastman already knew was a little…disconcerting.

  Then there was the fact that, according to Payton, the engagement was off. He didn’t think it was his place to share the news with the man now. He’d hear about it soon enough.

  He cleared his throat, wishing he had a bottle of water from the car with him to wet his parched throat. “Yes, sir. Payton Vaughn and I happened to be on the same flight that—”