Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  "Darling, we know it's all settled," Charlotte responded, "and that's what counts."

  Miranda headed for the door. "As it turns out, I'm off to see Devon. I'll tell him you've arrived."

  Both women stared as she hurried past Lotter and down the broad front steps.

  Chapter 23

  By the time Baker pulled the golf cart up to the office wing, Miranda was loaded for bear. And not the teddy kind of bear, either. No, her target was the big, cheating, dangerous kind of bear. A grizzly who could attack and conquer with just one swipe from his arsenal of weapons.

  She stormed up the steps and shoved open the door.

  Now she knew why he'd always been so undemonstrative. He had a fiancé! The oaf. How dare he sleep with her when he was engaged!

  She marched down the long hallway of the old building, burst through the door to the new wing, and continued down the oak-floored corridor, grateful she'd put on high-heeled sandals that mimicked the sound of a machine gun. The slap of the strapless heel against her foot alternated with the sharp click on the floor. Slap, click. Slap, click. The rhythm pushed her to walk faster.

  When she reached his closed door, she had just enough sense to stop and take a deep breath. At some point, either now or later, he would know she'd met his fiancé prior to this meeting. She couldn't show any signs of being upset, because really, she had no reason to be upset. It didn't matter to her what he or his stunning fiancé did.

  She knocked sharply.

  He stood when she entered and her gaze ran over him, despite her best intentions not to show interest. He wore dark khaki trousers and a white button-down shirt. His gray eyes gleamed, and she saw them soften with interest as he gave her a quick once-over. She tried to be annoyed about that, even though she'd done exactly the same to him.

  "Thank you for joining me." The slight smile that crinkled his eyes told her he knew she hadn't come willingly.

  "What offense have I committed this time?" she asked. Dimly, she realized she was trying to put him on the defensive. She wanted to be sure he knew she had absolutely no expectations of a relationship with him. They'd slept together – her mistake – but she knew how to move on without clinging. She'd been played, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of showing either fury or hurt, both of which would indicate that she cared.

  When she didn't.

  "Please be seated, Miranda." Devon waved her to one of the "hot seats". Priscilla and Jack joked about being called into the library, but the fact was that Devon had hot seats facing whatever desk he was working at. He was a man who understand well the uses of power.

  Ignoring his order, she strode over to the French doors and turned to face him. She was much more comfortable having a height advantage, even though one of the dogs was whining, and both of them were eyeing her like she might be the main course for dinner. "Could we get on with the grilling?" she demanded. "I have a lot to do today."

  "Fine." His mouth tightened, but the expression on his face mystified her. It almost looked like guarded pity.

  "I traveled to New York this week," he said.

  She perked up and leaned forward as if excited. "You figured out how to advance us the money for the wedding?"

  The corners of his mouth turned down briefly. "Are you an incurable optimist?"

  "Call me whatever you like. Just tell me I'm right."

  "No, you are not right." Once again, he sounded like the irritable Devon she was used to. "I wondered why you and Sharmie were so convinced that it was reasonable to spend one hundred thousand dollars on a wedding."

  "You discovered that a wedding could scarcely be hosted for less?" She plopped her hands on her hips. "I told you."

  "Stop putting words in my mouth." He shifted in his seat, the movement betraying an uneasiness that was out of character for him. "I noticed that both of you received generous allowances—"

  Miranda held up a hand. "Sharmie's is generous, as it should be. Mine is nice, but not life-changing."

  "Some people your age support themselves entirely on their own, without any allowance at all."

  "Let's not go 'round that mulberry bush again," she begged. "You didn't call me in here to nitpick about my allowance."

  He stood up and her height advantage disappeared. "You're right. To put it simply, I wondered why you two seemed to spend money so casually, as if you had plenty of it."

  The question surprised her, but it was his slow walk toward her that was really unnerving her. "We always did have money."

  "The odd thing," he said, in a too-casual tone, "is that your father's estate is not large."

  She barely restrained a gasp. "It's not?" What in the world did he mean?

  She watched as he stopped at the window, where the panoramic view of the lush gardens stretched as far as her eye could see. Her common sense kicked in. 'Large' in Devon's world meant something entirely different than in her world.

  "Mr. Hascombe didn't mention that we had any financial problems," she pointed out.

  "For good reason." Devon looked down at her, again with that look of pity in his eyes. "He didn't want anyone looking into the details of your father's estate."

  Miranda hesitated as a chasm started to open in front of her. What details was Devonwood talking about? Why was he uneasy? Had she and Sharmie been living in a fool's paradise, thinking they had plenty of money if only they could access it, when the truth was entirely different?

  If she spoke, the trembling chasm might widen. She knew instinctively she didn't want that to happen. But Devon watched her silently, as if he were giving her time to adjust to a new reality that was unfolding in front of her.

  "Devonwood," she said slowly, "what did you find out in New York?"

  "Before I went to New York, I read your father's will." He hesitated before saying, "His estate had been divided into three trusts."

  "Three?" Somehow, she hadn't understood that from what Mr. Hascombe had told them. "Oh—" Enlightenment dawned. "One for me, one for Sharmie, and one for the twins."

  "No," Devon said. The single word sat there starkly for a moment before he said, "One for you, one for Sharmie and the twins jointly, and one for an entity known as DRH Holdings."

  Miranda frowned. "I've never heard of them."

  "Daniel Richard Hascombe." Devonwood spoke softly, but the words bore the weight of an infamous ploy. "Your lawyer was the sole beneficiary of the third trust."

  Miranda choked out a gasp. Her brain shut down, and her oxygen supply seemed to disappear. She had no idea her father had left a significant amount of money to his lawyer. Hascombe had not disclosed his portion when describing the estate to her and Sharmie.

  She stared at Devonwood. His eyes gleamed with anger, but she could tell it wasn't directed at her.

  The truth burst upon her. "You're telling me Hascombe stole from us."

  Devon nodded. "The third trust was added to the will three years ago. You said your father never knew the twins, and they're six years old. So you tell me," he invited softly. "Do you think that three years ago, your father suddenly decided to leave one-third of his estate to his lawyer?"

  Miranda shook her head. "He was not competent to do so at that time."

  "Exactly." Devonwood rested his hand on the dog's head. "I spoke with your father's doctor. The good news is, it should be easy to prove his mental incompetence at the time when his will was altered."

  "I hope I've already heard the bad news."

  He almost smiled. "Yes. I also discovered how I came to be named the trustee."

  "Hascombe knew?"

  Devon's eyes shifted. "I spoke with Hascombe's legal secretary. She, uh, showed me copies of all your father's wills."

  "That doesn't sound kosher."

  He frowned at her. "Do you want the explanation or not?"

  She waved a hand for him to continue.

  "Your father wrote a new will nine years ago, right after he and Sharmie married. My father was the named trustee."

  Miranda
gasped. "You mean all this was for nothing? You aren't our trustee?"

  "Don't get your hopes up," he said drily. "Three years ago, when the third trust was written into the will, the trustee was 'corrected'. That's what the secretary was told."

  "But why?"

  "I would guess that Hascombe discovered that my father had died. He must have decided I was a good replacement, either because I lived in another country, or because I was someone who didn't know you or your father and would be unlikely to take more than a superficial interest in the estate. It wasn't actually a bad plan."

  "Easy for you to say!"

  This time his smile was cold. "Before I'm done with him, Hascombe will regret what he did to you."

  Miranda eyed him. "You mean naming you our trustee?"

  "No. Cheating you." The duke moved closer to her, his eyes intent on her. The two dogs followed. Devon turned back to them and pointed to the round dog beds in one corner. The dogs immediately trotted over and sat on them.

  Miranda didn't need a clearer demonstration of how effectively Devonwood controlled his world. Nor could she doubt that she was anything more than another item in his life to be handled and dealt with to his satisfaction.

  He stopped two feet from her, not quite invading her personal space. "I'm curious about one thing. Didn't you have any interest in your father's estate? The size of it? The contents? Who the beneficiaries were?"

  "Mr. Hascombe explained everything to us." Yeah, that sounded lame now that she was saying it aloud. He explained everything except the fact that he was stealing them blind.

  "What did he tell you? Anything you can remember might help with the legal case."

  "He told us that he couldn't discuss it with us because once my father died, his role as power of attorney was ended. He told us we'd have to communicate with you." Bitterness flooded her. Yes, Hascombe had diverted their attention by setting them onto the outrage of an unknown English lawyer controlling their estate. They'd jumped at the bait.

  "You trusted him so readily?" The duke raised his eyebrows. "Doesn't that seem a bit gullible of you?"

  She glared at him. It was one thing for her to feel stupid. It was another for him to point out her stupidity. "Bite me, Heffalump." She leaned forward and poked him in the chest. Hard. He didn't move a hairsbreadth.

  Instead, he laughed. "Pooh fan, are you?"

  "I have twin siblings," she muttered. "One of them wanted that story every night for a year."

  He quirked one brow. "Then you know what happened to Pooh's trap for the heffalump."

  Oh, yeah. Pooh trapped only himself. But she wasn't living in the midst of a children's tale. Nor did she appreciate being treated like a child.

  What she didn't notice until it was too late was that the duke had captured the finger she'd poked into his chest and wrapped his hand around it, and was using his leverage to pull her closer.

  "Do you realize how often you poke me in the chest?"

  "It's because you're so annoying." But she didn't move. His scent wrapped around her, trapping her.

  "I don't think so. I think you're looking for an excuse to touch me." His free hand slipped around the back of her head.

  Warmth rushed over her, and she knew she'd made a tactical error. Her fingertip tingled where it had connected with his hard chest. It burned under the heat of his hard hand. Even worse, they each remained still and silent as awareness built of the attraction that was sizzling between them.

  "I know how you feel," he said. His head began to descend, slowly. "Because here I am dying to kiss you and I know I shouldn't."

  She tried to remember the blonde waiting up at the palace. She tried to remember that this man was her trustee, and an unpleasant trustee at that. She tried to remember that Sharmie was counting on her to convince the duke to release enough money so Sharmie could have the wedding she needed to proudly move on with her life. But nothing worked.

  "Oh, bother," she whispered. "I don't think I can stop you."

  "Excellent—" His breath reached her first as his gaze fastened on her mouth.

  Her lips parted in anticipation.

  "There you are!" A high-pitched voice screeched through the open door.

  Chapter 24

  Miranda whipped her head around to see Nicole burst into the office, a pearly smile gleaming on her face, her teal dress snapping against her thighs as she hurried toward them. "Devon!" she cried. "I couldn't wait to see you."

  Devon had already dropped his hands, as if he'd sensed Nicole before she appeared. Now he turned to her, his face expressionless.

  "Nicole." He walked around his desk and pressed his lips to her cheek. A pang hit Miranda as she watched Nicole get Miranda's kiss. Well, not really her kiss. That wasn't the type of kiss Miranda had been expecting a few seconds ago, nor the type of kiss Devon had been planning to give her. She knew that in her bones.

  But it didn't matter. He was engaged to marry someone else. An in-the-flesh reminder couldn't be ignored. She couldn't be kissing him in any fashion, nor enjoying all the other heated images that flitted through her imaginative brain whenever she thought about him.

  She had to remember one thing and one thing only. Her goal to get Sharmie's money.

  Devon casually stepped away from Nicole. "Miranda, I'd like you to meet Charlotte's niece, Nicole."

  "We met up at the house." Miranda bobbed her head in what might have passed as a friendly nod.

  "Excellent," he said, a shade too heartily. "Nicole, you should be getting ready for the party. We'll be leaving for London in less than an hour."

  They were going to a party? Miranda's entire body tightened in dismay, though why that bothered her as much as the engagement, she couldn't have said. Perhaps the party was more real.

  "You have to change, too," Nicole said. Hips swinging, she strolled over to the burgundy leather sofa against the far wall. "I'll wait and go back to the house with you."

  "I'm in the midst of a meeting with Miranda." Devon's voice was cool. "We might be awhile. In fact, I'm planning to change here."

  Devon glanced at Miranda. "Charlotte had tickets to a gala tonight for a cause we support. Someone from the family must be present and this morning she decided she didn't feel well enough to attend. She asked me and Nicole to stand in for her." He shrugged slightly, as if issuing a minor apology.

  Nicole crossed one long, tanned leg over the other, and gently bobbed her foot. Her eyes were uncertain as she glanced from Devon to Miranda. Pity stabbed Miranda for a brief moment. Until Nicole bounced up to her feet. Her smile blinded the room. "I'm so excited about this ball, Devon! It was so generous of Charlotte to give us her tickets. Everyone we know will be there."

  And that, Miranda thought crossly, put her nicely in her place.

  Devon frowned slightly. "It's for a good cause, Nicole. That's the only reason it's worth the trip to town."

  Nicole laughed gaily. "You're so prim and proper, Devon. It's okay to have fun sometimes." She reached up with one thin arm, grabbed his head and pulled it lower to peck him on the cheek. "I'll go get ready. I know you don't like to be kept waiting."

  With one backward look at Miranda, Nicole exited the office.

  Devon shook his head. "Sorry about the interruption. Nicole can be very—enthusiastic."

  That was one way to describe her blatant attempt to stake her claim, which was as unnecessary as it was tacky. Miranda didn't poach on another woman's territory. However, she had been on the verge of violating that rule and she really should be grateful to Nicole for interrupting in the nick of time.

  Devon cleared his throat. "I do need to be getting ready for this event." He walked behind his desk and sat down in his chair.

  His position of authority. The spot where he felt safe. In charge.

  No more attempts at kissing would be forthcoming.

  "Of course." Miranda hurried around the desk and grabbed her laptop. "I'm glad you told me about Hascombe. We'll have to do something..." Her voice trailed
off as she realized she had no idea what they could do.

  "Don't worry. I've already hired a New York attorney I know to file a civil claim on your behalf against him."

  She clutched the laptop to her chest. "Do we have a chance of collecting the money?"

  Devon folded his hands on his desk. "In theory, you should get the money back. Whatever hasn't been spent."

  "But?"

  "I never predict what a judge is going to do. As in any other profession, there are good and bad judges. I don't know how much clout Hascombe may have in New York."

  "You mean he might be able to bribe a judge to support him?"

  "I doubt anything as crass as a bribe would take place. A fix would be more subtle – an attempt to get on a particular judge's docket – something like that. That's why I hired you a top New York lawyer. I know him well. You won't be defenseless."

  "Won't that take a long time, for the lawsuit to go through the legal system?"

  "Yes. In the meantime, however, you still have your own trusts. You won't be penniless."

  Miranda's brain was still spinning, but she had one clear thought. "You can take the money from my trust to pay for Sharmie's wedding. She needs to raise the twins. Her funds should remain intact."

  Devon raised a hand. "That's the second thing I wanted to talk to you about." He glanced at his elegant Patek Philippe watch. "But I’m afraid we've run out of time. Can I request a favor?"

  Warily, she nodded. "I suppose so."

  He grinned at her, and her heart stuttered. Wow. Good thing he didn't do that too often. She might lose her head.

  "So gracious," he said. "I'll be staying in London tonight. Will you remain here until I get back tomorrow afternoon?"

  Her mouth fell open. "You actually want me—us—" she corrected, "to stay here? What happened to your determination to get rid of us?"

  "I've had a change of heart," he said drily. "A temporary one. I want to finish our discussion when I return."