“So you prefer ignoring them?”
“It’s called maneuvering toward success without getting yourself weighed down by pointless fuzzy feelings,” I retort.
Murphy pinches the bridge of his nose. “And you think this always works? Would you bet on this?”
“Why would I need to bet on this? It’s a fact.”
“A fact to you, but not to me. But if you’re so sure of yourself, I can offer you an interesting bet…”
Something in his voice makes me pause. There’s a secretive undertone to it, the same one he had when we were younger and he had some mischief in mind.
“What bet?” I ask when my curiosity outweighs my caution.
“If you can prove to me in a reasonably short amount of time…let’s say, by Mother’s annual charity ball in seven days…that you can truly motivate someone to want what you want, then I’ll tell Mother she should give your promotion the green light.”
I straighten my back and bend forward. “Get someone to want what I want? That’s pretty vague. Can you tell me in more concrete terms what you have in mind?”
Murphy rubs his hands. “Indeed, I can. I’ve been pondering this ever since I spoke to Mother about your problem.”
“I don’t have a problem.” I can’t stop the indignant words from bubbling up.
Murphy rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Then it should be fairly simple for you to prove that you don’t, right? I think the perfect opportunity for you to show your charisma is to make a woman fall in love with you.”
“Huh?”
My brows arch so high, I almost feel them touching my hairline.
Has my brother gone mental?
“Why are you so surprised?” Murphy shakes his head, grinning. “Women are the best detectors for scams. If you demonstrate your ability to maneuver a woman into falling for you, then I’ll have no choice but to admit that your people skills are superior to what I think they were. So what do you say, Nate?”
This conversation has drifted into terrain I’m not comfortable with. It’s not like I’m unsure about my manly appeal. But it doesn’t have anything to do with the issue at hand. “You want to base my promotion on my ability to seduce a woman?”
“I’m not talking about seducing.” Murphy smacks his lips. “Nor about getting into someone’s pants. I want you to make a woman fall in love with you. Can you do that?”
My phone beeps.
I put up my finger to indicate that Murphy should hold for a second, then I press answer. My secretary Rachel’s voice echoes in the room. “Excuse the interruption, sir. Mr. Zach called to say he’ll send over the draft contract of the Richmond and Green case shortly.”
Ah, at least one piece of good news.
Zach is my lawyer and best friend. He must’ve finally come up with a smart way to overcome Mr. Richmond’s hesitance about our analysts accessing their internal files. If only all my problems were as easy to solve…
“Great. Anything else?”
“I’d like to know whether I can confirm your next meeting, given that Mr. Murphy is still with you.“ Rachel sounds apologetic. She knows how much I despise arriving late for any appointment.
I throw a quick glance at my brother who’s still waiting for my answer to his challenge. “No, Rachel, clear my schedule for today. I have some urgent business to attend to.”
“Oh?” Rachel swallows back her exclamation of surprise. “Yes, of course, sir. I’ll get to that right away.”
“Good.”
I cut the line.
“A please wouldn’t have hurt anyone,” Murphy murmurs.
I ignore his criticism. My secretary has been with me for years and knows how I work. She won’t suddenly become more efficient if I start to praise her for the brilliant job she does.
I press my fingertips together, leveling Murphy’s gaze. “Just to be clear, I’m not doubting my charm. But it seems utterly childish to decide the future of our company on such an easy bet.”
Murphy purses his lips. “That’s because you’ve never been in love, Nate. If you had been, you’d know how difficult it is to trust someone with your heart. Anyway, if you think it’s easy, I don’t mind. The only question is—do you accept my terms?”
I study his face and notice a muscle tic beneath his left eye.
“Why do I get the feeling you have another agenda?” I ask.
Murphy’s eyes widen. “Me? Oh, no. I don’t. It’s all fun and games. As long as you’re ready to play. Or are you afraid to lose? Unsure of your grit?”
Murphy’s comment hits me in my pride. If there’s one thing I believe strongly in, it’s my willpower. I know I can achieve anything I set my mind to. Even making a woman fall in love with me. I can be a charmer if I need to be.
“No, I’m not. But how can I be sure you’ll keep your end of the bargain?”
“Oh, I’ll keep it. Don’t worry. But I have one more condition. Do we have a deal?”
I narrow my eyes.
Here it comes. His hidden agenda.
“Let’s hear your other condition first,” I say.
“You must make the chosen woman fall in love with you, without you falling in love with her. That way you can prove that your principle of not mixing emotions into your projects is the right way to handle life and your future position as the CEO.”
“Isn’t this kind of cruel? I make a woman fall in love and then what…I dump her?” I snap at him.
I’d have never assumed my morals are more sensitive than my brother’s. Which only makes me more suspicious that he has another angle to this bet he’s offering. I just don’t know what it is.
Murphy shifts on his chair, and a muscle on his neck contracts. He gives me a reassuring smile. “Well, isn’t somebody cocky enough to think the victory is in his pocket already? Anyway, I don’t envision you leaving the girl I choose high-and-dry…if you win the bet.”
The mocking accent he puts on the “if” bugs me more than it should. “Ah, no? Then what did you have in mind?”
“If—theoretically speaking only—you win the bet, we’ll find the best way to gently let her down, and we’ll compensate her for any potential pain she suffers in the process.”
“Compensate how?”
“Oh, Nate.” Murphy waves, a hint of irritation creeping into his tone. “We’ll just cross that bridge when we get to it. I won’t stand for shattering anyone’s heart…don’t worry. So with this doubt out of the way, what do you say? Do you accept?”
“If I win this bet, do you promise you’ll back my claim against Larry with Mother?”
“Yes, I will. If you win the bet.”
Again that sniffy “if”…
Murphy reaches across my desk and holds out his hand to me.
I gawk at his palm, the wheels turning in my head.
His extra condition isn’t really a deal-breaker. I don’t want to get involved emotionally with anyone, anyway. The last thing I need is any distraction from my responsibilities. Rather, it’s the whole idea that leaves me puzzled. It’s so foolish. A woman’s love as the prize for my promotion? But, if this is the way to convince Murphy—and thus Mother—then I’m ready to do it.
I clasp onto Murphy’s hand. “Okay, brother. I’m game.”
Murphy’s smile widens, moving his prominent nose closer to his foxy little eyes. He looks so much like our father when he grins. “Very well, Nathan. Now the only thing left is to pick the girl for our bet. And, as it so happens, I know where we can find the best candidate.”
“Where?”
Murphy stands up, and I straighten too.
“Come with me,” he says. “The place is only a short drive away.”
Chapter 2
(Eva - Day 1 )
In life, you should never say never. Or so says my grandmother. Because as soon as you do, the thing that you swore would never happen will come knocking on your door.
I didn’t quite believe her. Younger people always doubt the wisdom of their elders. So whe
n I left San Sebastian, I was impetuous enough to state that, one, I would never ever move back home and, two, I would never ever return to work for Alfonso.
As I steer my grandmother’s old sedan to the Desert Rose, I can’t avoid feeling the habitual squeeze in my belly. The parking lot is filled with muddy pickup trucks, black motorcycles, and countless choppers, just like always.
Here we go again. One more night in the same bar, performing for the same people.
It took four years for karma to eventually catch up with me. But, boy, how thoroughly it went about it once it did. It didn’t leave me a choice. Not even the teensy-tiniest escape route to trick my way out of its claws. With one desperate call from Abuelita to tell me that my brother Alejandro had been arrested, my fate was sealed.
We need you here, hijita. You’re our anchor in this rocky storm.
I snort as my grandmother’s phrase comes to mind.
Abuelita has a talent for vivid metaphors. Words that get under your skin. My cousin Laia inherited her gift. Me? Not so much. I have a hard time picturing myself as a giant grappling anchor thrown into the sea. And an even harder time believing anyone would be safe attaching her boat to me during even the mildest tempest. I can’t swim, for crying out loud.
But that’s not what Abuelita meant.
She wants me to help her take care of my sister and my other brother. Then, once Alejandro is released, I’ll need to give him a hand settling in and getting back on his feet. Especially since it’s more my fault than his that he ended up behind bars. If I hadn’t moved to Silver Hills I could have kept him away from Fernando’s gang…
Hurriedly, I push the painful memories of my ex away to the darkest corner of my mind. Once I’m positive the skeleton of my past won’t tumble out, I reach for the ignition and switch off our beat-up car.
I jump out and inhale the brisk air till both of my lungs are filled to capacity. Besides the obvious smell of fried meat and gasoline fumes, there is a nice, woody perfume wafting around with a hint of sweetness. I love spring. It’s probably my favorite season. It’s full of the promises of a new beginning and the hope that the second time around things will turn out better.
Of course, in my life they rarely do.
I glance at our bar’s flashing neon logo and let out the breath I’ve been holding.
If only I had enough money to start that restructuring project on our garage already. Paying off Alejandro’s lawyer ate up all my savings. Or if I could have found a temporary teaching job…but options in our town are limited. Especially if I want to stick to what I know. And that’s dancing.
I slam the car door and the glass trembles slightly.
Okay, I clearly need to stop letting out my frustration on objects around me. It’s better to put on my big girl pants and ignore all the shoulda-woulda-coulda nonesense that’s currently buzzing around in my mind, making me feel like I’ve stuck my head into a hive. If I work hard, my plan will eventually become reality. I just need to believe it, and it’ll all work out.
I grab my bag from the trunk and saunter toward the staff entrance.
As I pass the third row of parking, I notice from the corner of my eye two vehicles that don’t fit the usual picture. One is an orange Lamborghini just like my younger brother Juan’s toy that he got from Santa. That I almost broke my neck stepping on this morning after he left it scattered in the living room. The second car is a somber-looking Bentley. Though its grey color is less flashy, it’s every bit as imposing as the other one.
These rides are indeed a surprising sight in our shabby parking. And a pretty unwelcome one for me. Alfonso might think that the best thing that could happen to the Desert Rose is to get an upgrade of clientele, but I disagree. Rich men aren’t more respectful or better behaved than the regular truck drivers. They might go about their dubious intentions concerning us dancers in a more subtle—not, say, sneaky—way, but they still want the same as their poorer counterparts. Lucky that, at least in this department, our boss has got our backs. He never forces us to meet guests privately unless we agree to do so.
My gaze drifts along the Bentley’s shiny gloss.
Why is the upper crust suddenly coming into our crummy Latino bar?
Not that the Desert Rose is a dump. It’s not, even if I sometimes say it is, but it’s definitely not a fancy country club. It serves greasy food and decent enough drinks—at least ever since Alfonso managed to hire Pablo.
None of this matters much to our guests, anyway. The majority come here to ogle us dancers. Which might be gratifying to my colleagues, but not to me. My goal wasn’t to end up as a bar dancer. I amassed a huge debt, which I’m still paying off, to attend a decent dancing academy. But as the sole breadwinner of our family, I don’t really have a choice. The salary Alfonso offers us is stellar compared to any other place in a thirty-mile radius.
Of course, the money I earn is probably peanuts to the owners of these cars…
A loud wave of laughter reaches my ear from the bar, and I peek at my watch.
¡Ay, caramba, it’s late! If I don’t get going, I’ll be fired. That’d put an end to my paychecks.
I sprint to the back of the building, then cross the dark corridor to our changing room. The faint smell of cigarettes and beer seeping in from the bar is comfortingly familiar. My heels click on the ceramic tiles and the rhythmical sound elevates my pulse slightly. Despite the fact that being the lead dancer in a bar isn’t my utmost aspiration, the anticipation before a performance is still a feeling I cherish. A weak smile is already on my lips as I press open the door to our changing room.
A woman assaults me, and I stumble under her weight as she hugs me tightly. “Eva, love, you’re here. Look, we’ve got new costumes,” Daphne squeals into my ear, making me go half-deaf.
“Let her breathe, Daph,” calls Judy, our belly dancer and my best gal from the troupe.
Daphne purses her lips but releases me.
“Thanks, Judy.” I flash a smile at my friend and she grins back. Her eyes, enhanced by a thick layer of eyeliner, pull into two dark lines.
“So are these the magnificent new clothes?” I ask, eyeing Daphne’s form-fitting flamenco attire.
Judy points at her vibrant lilac skirt with its countless coins. “Here is mine. Your new things are on your chair.”
Wow, if these are the new ones, I might just stick to my old dress.
I stop the words before they reach my lips. After all, Judy does look good in her new costume. Slightly flamboyant but not tacky. Although with her beauty, she would look good in a garbage bag.
I still hope mine won’t have any ruffles or glitter. I step over to my chair and lift the clothes Alfonso has left for me. A simple black top and a long red skirt, thank goodness.
Daphne walks up to me. “Why are you so late? You need to be onstage in ten.”
“I had a…thing,” I say quickly. I can’t tell her I sat in the car for ten minutes thinking about how gladly I would escape this very place. And another five trying to solve the riddle of our new rich customers.
As if Daphne could guess my thoughts, she wiggles her brows. “Did you notice those smooth rides outside, girl?” Before I can squeeze in a word, she continues, “They belong to two men. Top-dogs for AMEA, no less.”
“Seriously? How do you know?” I gape at her.
I figured the frilly cars must belong to some high-level executives. But from AMEA? It’s the only Fortune 500 with headquarters in San Sebastian. The story of Elliah Montgregor, its founder, is one that mothers in my barrio use to convince their kids that going to school isn’t a waste of time. Not that any of them are likely to end up with a multi-billion empire built from scratch, but still. It’s far better than just saying, “Study or you can’t have dinner.”
Half of our town works for some subsidiary of AMEA. The lucky half, if you ask me.
Daphne is happy with the effect her words have on me. She loves to be the bearer of new gossip. She pretends to adjust her red curls,
but her fingertips don’t even touch her hair. “I saw a couple of folders on the driver’s seat of that Bentley.”
“You did what?” I can’t help it. A giggle makes its way to my lips. The image of Daphne’s dainty nose glued to the grey luxury car is too funny.
Judy joins in with a light chuckle, while Daphne sniffs angrily. “I didn’t pry, if that’s what you think. I just happened to notice as I passed by.”
“Sure you did,” I add soothingly. “Anyway, thanks for the heads-up. At least I won’t have to wonder who the two odd ones out in the audience are.”
“Lola, the new girl who waits tables during the week, told me she’s done a few catering gigs for the Montgregors. She says they organize the most lavish parties ever. She swears that once she saw an entire table filled with caviar and foie gras.”
“Ah, then it’s lucky I never got invited to any of their gatherings. I couldn’t eat any of that. Why would anyone think that eating fish eggs is fancy, anyway?” I add with a slight shiver of disgust.
“Well, I’d love to participate in one of those events,” Judy chimes in, her eyes dreamy, while she runs a finger on her lower lip. “There can be plenty of wealthy single men. I wouldn’t mind if either of these guys invited me to a private chat either.”
“Of course, you wouldn’t.” Daphne’s voice is slightly stingy, as if the simple fact that Judy laid a verbal claim on our two new guests would lessen her chances of being able to speak to them.
I roll my eyes. So typical. Money can blind us so easily. Well, not me. Not after what my father put us through. “Girls, while you sort out who gets some alone time with those rich men, I need to get ready.”
Daphne’s eyes flick to me and her jaw drops as she studies my face. “But, honey, you’re not even wearing foundation!”
“You know I hate that stuff melting on my face,” I mumble.
Judy smacks her lips and shakes her head disapprovingly too. “You might think your natural creamy complexion is enough. But, don’t forget, spotlights are unforgiving.”
Law #1: Never Bet on Love: A Sweet Billionaire Love Story (Laws of Love) Page 2