Unexpectedly His

by Maggie Kelley

  What? Did the asshat really think they’d be friends? That he’d actually pencil them in for drinks? He’d sooner tweezer his balls. Jason Ward was an asshole of epic proportions. The root, he suspected, of Marianne’s insecurities. Hampton Boy had another thing coming if he thought for one second that Nick would clap him on the back and welcome his business with an IPA and a secret boys’ club handshake. Asshat.

  Some of his reaction came from feeling protective of Marianne. He could admit that, separate some of the emotional component. But of all the firms in the city, why would Jason Ward select his, and him specifically, unless he had some ulterior motive?

  For a minute, Nick considered calling it a conflict of interest—after all, they’d both been engaged to the same woman—but forwarding his file could raise a red flag or two. Never a good sign. But he sure as hell didn’t want to manage a deal for this guy. He was a snake, and Nick only dealt with people he trusted. Still he didn’t want to rock the boat, not now, not with his confirmation so close. He tapped on the desk. What angle was this guy playing?

  Over the next several hours, Nick worked his way through the restricted access screens, checking the basics, delving deeper into the timing of a few lucrative trades in speculative securities. Nick wasn’t a criminal attorney, but from the looks of the files, he believed, Marianne’s ex had been the dirty trader in her father’s company. Now he wanted to move the profits into a hedge fund without drawing unwanted attention to his high-flying scores. And so he chose…Nick.

  His fist hit the desk. Enjoy the carnival, my ass. The guy figured he’d play him. Nick Wright, Morgan Trust. I will definitely be in touch. Probably thought that with the engagement, Nick would be inclined to keep everything hush-hush, go along for the sake of male solidarity, take the money and run. Or maybe he figured the potential blow to Nick’s career would force him to dump Marianne, and he’d ride in to save her like some kind of white knight in fucking Bermudas. Oh yeah. With startling clarity, Nick dialed in on the dickhead’s intentions.

  Too bad for the asshole that he’d failed to recognize Nick wasn’t some Hamptons-style player inclined to look the other way. Nick was a Brooklyn guy with an instinct for secrets and an inability to hang a friend out to dry.

  But what the hell was Nick supposed to do with his suspicions? The financials revealed some well-timed spikes in profitability, but no concrete proof, no evidence. He’d come to the firm to buy into a fund. Nothing shady about that deal. If Nick revealed his reservations, it wouldn’t change the fact of John McBride’s incarceration. Ward was a client now, so the ethics of such a revelation were dicey. Not to mention that those ethics would sure as shit cost him the partnership. Dammit. He’d thought if he played his cards right, kept a low profile, there’d be no reason for his fiancée’s past to come back and bite him in the ass.

  Obviously, he’d thought wrong.

  Nick rose from his chair, strode over to the windows, and stared over at Brooklyn. He’d worked hard for a shot at having his name on the letterhead, but being with Marianne had made his work-centric life feel empty. The partnership issue wouldn’t even be on the table without her. But was he willing to blow his dream job and everything he struggled to build? For her? For her family? He ran a hand along his jawline. And if he was, could he honor that kind of commitment? Or was he just like his father, good for the short-term until it was time to run?

  His mind raced ahead of him, full of questions without answers. He walked back to the desk, and his gaze sharpened on the screen. Damn, he hated puzzles.

  But in that moment, two things hit him as powerfully as a combination of jabs: One, Nick was not his father. And, two, he knew what he needed to do.

  …

  Marianne walked past Radio City Music Hall with a grin on her face. Maybe it was the springtime, but her heart felt hopeful about the future. A future with Nick. Could she dare to hope for that much? She imagined afternoons in Central Park and summers at the beach, taking him to the holiday show come winter, ice skating at Rockefeller Center. Touristy stuff, hokey to some New Yorkers, but she loved Christmas in the city. Sharing that time with Nick would be a dream come true.

  While their engagement was still temporary, Marianne believed there was a chance they’d last beyond the six weeks. Despite all the statistics of failed relationships, she wanted a passionate love, full of sexy times in the shower and nights of lovemaking that led to a blissful nine hours of sleep in the arms of her man. She wanted a marriage, a real marriage, and had decided to tell Nick she wanted to take “temporary” off the table.

  Counselor, she practiced in a husky, internal whisper. I’d like to renegotiate our terms.

  She understood there would be no guarantees, no promises, but she’d done a cost-benefit analysis of the situation and made her decision. Nick might not be ready. Might never be ready. But she needed to find out. Because, despite his rules and serial dating ways, Marianne believed the matrix was correct. Nick was her perfect match. Deep in her soul, she felt Nick believed it, too.

  A breeze kicked up the hem of her white silk skirt as she crossed over Sixth Avenue toward his office, and she let the material float above her knees. Spring filled the air, a picnic basket swung from the crook of her elbow, and she was on the way to offer her fiancé an office quickie. No more playing only the good girl.

  The weekend in the Hamptons proved to be a revelation. She’d spent her life exceeding expectations, but the expectations were hers, not her parents. She’d always assumed the life her parents wanted for her. Made judgments about them. She’d never known her mom and dad married in a shotgun wedding complete with a midnight exit down a fire escape and the disapproval of her family. Marianne wanted more than the standard, probable outcome, too. She wanted Nick.

  Marianne spun through the revolving glass doors of the Morgan building and practically into the arms of a man she recognized from the firm’s casino night.

  He reached out to steady her. “Marianne, right?”

  She blinked twice and resettled the horn-rims against her nose. “Yes, I’m—”

  “Going to see your fiancé,” he said. “I’m Drew Evans. I work with Nick.” He ushered her away from the door and glanced down at the basket swinging from her elbow. “Lunch, huh? Lucky guy.”

  She tightened her grip on the basket. Drew Evans might be smiling at her, but he didn’t seem friendly. He seemed more like a man with an agenda. “I’m the lucky one.”

  “Seems like it,” Evans tilted forward and lowered his voice, “considering how Nick pulled you out of thin air.”

  Her brows knit together. “I don’t under—”

  “No need to play games, Ms. McBride.” He looked over his shoulder and then back to her, keeping his voice quiet. “That was quite a show you put on the other night.”

  “A show?” Unfortunately, his agenda was becoming as clear as the sky outside.

  “Pretty good at cards for such a casual player. Made me think you might be good with numbers, so I did a bit of research.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I think we both know good with numbers is an understatement.”

  Her uptown girl training kicked in, and she gave him a beatific smile that failed to reach her eyes, but telegraphed her cool disapproval to perfection. “Nice to have met you, Mr. Evans,” she said, making a move toward the elevator, needing to tell Nick, to warn him.

  “Not so fast, Marianne.” Evans took a small step to block her path. “I know all about you and your not-so-squeaky-clean past.”

  Marianne’s heart lodged in her throat. This could not be happening. She’d been avoiding the idea that her father’s conviction could touch Nick. After all, she wasn’t a trader anymore. Besides which, their engagement was only temporary. But now she saw it was naive to think she could avoid a guy like Evans, even for six weeks.

  His gaze took in her discomfort, and he smiled. “I’ve heard all the accusations that you were a dirty trader like your jailbird father, a garden-variety criminal all w
rapped up in an angelic, buttoned-up package. But you’re not so buttoned-up, are you?” He took a step back and straightened his tie, a mocking gleam in his eye. “I know you’re smarter than to think your dad’s conviction won’t kill the Nickster’s partnership dream. Once the board hears about daddy’s indiscretions…well, let’s just say, they are pretty conservative around here.”

  Her entire body trembled in anger. “Go to hell.”

  “Tough words from such a nice girl.” He lifted the top of the basket, peeked inside, and let the wooden lid drop down with a soft whack. “Enjoy your lunch.”

  She watched him walk away. His words stung, but the truth of what he said hit home. Determined not to hurt Nick or be the cause of his partnership circling the drain, she decided to forget the steamy picnic. Instead of warning Nick, she’d go back to his apartment and clear out now before his colleague destroyed Nick’s dream of a partnership.

  Her heart might be broken, but his would survive. Let Nick tell the firm that she’d withheld the information, which, if she was honest with herself, in a way she had. Let him say he’d broken it off because of her deceit, that he was reeling from the end of his engagement, ready to devote all his resources to the firm.

  Or maybe Jane could find him a second temporary fiancée who didn’t have an unremitting scandal chasing her, one who could offer a long-term relationship, and a chance for a real love. The thought of Nick falling for another woman caused hot tears to form in the back of her eyes. But he deserved love. Even if he didn’t know it, Nick was a man capable of real, true love, the kind Marianne finally understood. Hiking the picnic basket against her elbow, she walked back through the revolving doors to catch a cab back to SoHo, determined to pack up her six-week fantasy.

  Her inner siren had gotten more than she’d bargained for when she’d popped out of that three-tiered cake. She’d been looking for a chance to bust out of her shell—to test drive her inner sex goddess and challenge her statistics and by-the-book ways. But Marianne McBride, part numbers girl, part seductress, had gotten so much more. Despite her intentions and plans, she’d fallen inescapably, irrevocably in love with her temporary fiancé. Temporary.

  The word broke her heart.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You might think that figuring them out is impossible, but don’t worry; contrary to how it might seem, it’s actually quite simple.”

  —mantelligence.com

  Nick stood on the cobblestone sidewalk outside his building holding a bouquet of daisies. A set of storm clouds created shadows in the evening sky, forecasting the rain that was sure to come. Perfect weather for his mood. He looked up at his darkened condo and reached up to undo his tie. He’d expected Marianne to be home, but maybe she was in the back and had turned off the lights she wasn’t using, conservation being one of her causes. He walked into the building, gave a short wave to Max who looked as anxious as Nick had ever seen him. Normally, he’d stop and talk Yankees baseball with the guy, but tonight Nick headed straight to the elevator, needing to hash everything out with Marianne.

  He’d suffered through a long-ass day, but in the end, he’d decided to tell her his suspicions about Jason Ward. He hoped she didn’t still harbor any feelings for the guy. Personally, he wanted to string him up by his nuts and hang him from a tree branch in Central Park for what he’d done to Marianne and to her family. But his fiancée was a better person than him. If anything, she’d want to take the blame for not catching Ward’s con. But she was trusting, and even the smartest people can be taken in by trusting the wrong kind of love.

  He stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hall.

  The thought of telling Marianne turned his stomach. He hated the idea that she’d feel responsible for her father’s conviction. He’d even picked up daisies from a street vendor, hoping the flowers would soften the blow, which was ridiculous considering the news. But if he was right, and he was certain he was, the time had arrived to lay all the cards on the table and get to the truth. Even if the truth cost him his job.

  Together, he and Marianne would work to prove her father may have been guilty of a quick sell-off, but that he was also railroaded by a man he trusted like a son. After that, maybe they’d find a criminal attorney to work toward a reversal. He shook his head, not having thought that far. He simply needed to be truthful with her. No secrets. No cons.

  He swiped his key and walked inside the condo. His instinct was to call out to her, but a sinking feeling in his stomach quieted the words on his lips. No music. No humming. No welcoming orange-blossom scent. The sinking feeling turned to stone in his gut.

  “Marianne?” Where the hell was she? If she’d stayed late at Cupid or gone out to dinner with Jane, she would have called or sent a text. He looked at his phone. No messages.

  Concerned now, he strode deeper into the condo—not in the kitchen, or the living room. Then he checked the bedroom, and her perfectly starched skirts were gone. A quick glance in the bathroom confirmed her overly floral hair and skin products had vanished, too. She couldn’t have simply left. Or could she? Maybe she’d gotten what she needed from their six-week deal and decided to call it quits. No, she wasn’t the kind to grab and go. He shook his head and returned to the main living area, stopping short of the black marble island in the kitchen. Shimmering on the center of the marble was his mother’s sapphire ring, no note, no box, no nothing.

  He felt a kick of bitterness in his gut. Could he really have been that wrong about her? Had she really used him as protection against her ex only to renege on the rest of the deal? His jaw tensed. One thing was sure, he intended to find out. He called her cell. No answer. He considered calling Jane, but no, this was between him and his fiancée. He stormed to the door. He planned on finding her and getting the truth. Even if it meant knocking on every upscale door in Gramercy Park.

  …

  “No games, Marianne, let me in. I need to talk to you.”

  On the other side of her door, Marianne bit down on her bottom lip and debated her next move. Part of her wanted to see Nick more than anything in the world, but another part of her knew that if she looked into his eyes or got caught up in his smile, she’d confess the truth about his colleague’s threats, and the thought of what he’d do with that information sent a shiver of concern down her spine.

  “Now is not a good time, Nick,” she said, wincing at the string of curse words he muttered in response.

  When he spoke again his voice was low and controlled. “It’s raining, and you owe me an explanation. Let me in, please.” He didn’t ask again, and the silence stretched on, punctuated by the banging of her heart. She drew in a shaky breath and wiped her damp palms on the front of her denim coveralls.

  He was right. She owed him an explanation. And making him stand out there in the rain was not acceptable. She put down the pry bar and the hammer, unlocked the deadbolts and opened the double-sided wooden doors. Nick stood on the stone steps beneath an old-fashioned light fixture, dressed in his suit, his tie loose, a bouquet of beat-up daisies in his hand. His hair damp from the rain, he looked tired and gorgeous and guarded.

  Her heart ached at the sight of him. “How did you find the right house?”

  “That’s all you’ve got? How did you find the right house?” He shook his head and answered. “I’d intended to knock on every door in your exclusive neighborhood, even jump the damned fence if necessary, but disturbing the peace didn’t seem like such a great idea, so I called my sister from the taxi. She gave me your address.” He ran a hand through his damp hair. “Today’s been a shit day. Didn’t want to add getting thrown in the clink to the list.” His jaw tightened as if it took all his control not to drag her out and demand answers. “Sorry, that was insensitive.”

  She wanted to kiss away the tension on his face. Instead, she stabbed at her glasses with her index finger. “That’s okay.”

  The light from the porch created shadows beneath his eyes, but his tone was unnervingly calm. “It’s raining.
May I please come inside?”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” Marianne stepped back and waved him inside, feeling as awkward as she had outside her gym a week ago. One wonderful whirlwind week.

  She shut the door and turned around. Nick stood in the middle of the brownstone, his expression registering the sheet-covered furniture, dusty floors, and old farm-style cabinets lined up on the drop cloth next to the kitchen. He looked big and powerful and sexy. Her eyes closed against the fantasies running through her mind. Fantasies of Nick making love to her in her tiny bedroom in the back, filling the place inside her body that needed him, craved him like she’d never craved any other man. A rush of heat suffused her body from deep inside, and she knew it would take every ounce of strength to turn him away.

  His gaze moved over her from her dust-specked glasses to yellow tank top and oversized coveralls all the way down to her sneakered feet. “Renovating started already?”

  She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

  “See, that doesn’t add up to me.” He took a step toward her and the razor-sharp movement changed the relaxed, cool version of Nick into an edgy-looking, slightly dangerous version, despite the sweet daisies he gripped in his hand. “Why start renovations if you intended to break our agreement?”

  “I never intended…” Marianne shut her mouth on the rest of the explanation. Revealing the truth meant revealing his colleague’s threats, and she needed to let him believe she simply wanted out. A difficult choice, but she never should have exposed him to the issue of her father’s conviction in the first place.

  “You can’t just pack up and walk out. We have an agreement, and, honey, I have more than fulfilled my side of the bargain.”

  More than fulfilled. Maybe it took the scandal and quitting her job for her to reevaluate her life. But it took Nick to start her living it. She’d been keeping up some self-imposed standard for her parents, and then for her fiancé, and it wasn’t until those two standards were destroyed that she started to ask herself, What do I want? Maybe seeing the devotion and love between her parents and how much they stuck together through the ups and downs showed her that money and labels didn’t mean much without love. But it was Nick who made her believe in love. Even better, he made her realize she deserved it.