by Devney Perry
Or she’d sell the company.
“One more year.” I sighed. “One more year and she won’t be able to pull my strings.”
Clara gave me a sad smile. “It will be worth it.”
“God, I hope so.”
In another year, I’d be thirty-five and the stipulations on my trust would expire. My grandfather had left me a large inheritance after he’d died unexpectedly of a heart attack. Upon my thirty-fifth birthday, the funds would be completely at my disposal. The money would be nice, though I already had plenty, but what I really wanted was full control of the company.
The shares Grandmother controlled on my trust’s behalf would also be released on my birthday.
Coreen Carmichael was about to lose her grip on my leash, much to her dismay because Grandmother loved nothing more than to manipulate her grandsons. Especially me.
My attendance at this wedding had been requested, according to the email her assistant had sent Clara. Requested meaning required. So though I’d been halfway across the world, I’d informed the pilot that there’d been a change of plan and we’d turned around to head home.
“Let’s think of alternatives.” Clara pushed away from the door and returned to the couch, plopping down on its edge. Her sweats bagged on her frame, the hems pooling at her ankles and the slippers she’d worn over here this morning. “What about Marie? The girl you dated a few months ago.”
“No.” I crossed my arms and perched on the edge of my desk. Clara didn’t know the details, but Marie was more likely to cut my throat than agree to a date. She’d been angry, to say the least, when I’d dumped her after she’d told me she was in love with me. Maybe another man would have let her down gently, but I’d only been seeing her for three weeks. We’d gone on four dates.
Marie had loved my billions. Not me.
“I could call some friends from my yoga class,” Clara said. “There are a few single women who’d probably go.”
“I’m not taking a blind date.” That sounded more torturous than the wedding itself.
Clara chewed on her bottom lip. “Yeah, you’re right. You need someone who knows this is only supposed to look like a date.”
“This is business.”
She nodded. “Then that only leaves us one choice.”
“You’re not go—”
“You have to take Aria.” We spoke in unison.
I blinked. “Pardon?”
“Aria. You have to take Aria. We can explain to her what’s going on. She’ll be able to act as a buffer and keep the vultures at bay. You won’t look sad and alone and pathetic. It’s actually better than if I were to go with you. She’ll look like an actual date, not your assistant.”
Was she serious? This had to be the cold medicine talking. She was delusional if she thought I’d actually take her sister. “No.”
“This is perfect.” Her face lit up and some of the weight came off her shoulders.
“No.”
“She’s my size, so she can wear my dress.”
“No.”
“You need to leave here around five. The flight to Vegas is less than an hour but there might be traffic. I don’t want you to be late.”
“No.”
“The wedding starts at seven, right?”
“No.”
Her forehead furrowed. “It doesn’t? I could have sworn the invite said seven. I have it on my desk. I’ll double-check when I get home.”
“Yes, it starts at seven. But no, I’m not taking Aria.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . . I don’t like Aria.”
Her mouth pursed into a thin line.
“She doesn’t like me either.”
Clara huffed. She knew I was right.
There had never been a minute, a second or a fraction of a second that Aria and I had gotten along. The first time we’d met had been in Vegas, not long after I’d hired Clara as my new assistant. Aria had come to visit and Clara had wanted to show off her new office, so she’d brought Aria in for a tour.
At first, I mistook her for the weekend cleaning crew. I didn’t notice the similarities in her features to Clara’s. After Aria corrected me, I took maybe ten minutes out of their precious visit, ten fucking minutes, to run through a to-do list with Clara. Apparently, my business annoyed Aria. I’d infringed on her time. She had the gall to snap at me. In my own goddamn office. She had the nerve to tell me that Clara was off the clock and my precious demands would have to wait.
No one told me what to do, certainly not in my own building.
So I told her that if she didn’t like it, I could arrange for her to be flown home. Immediately.
That was one of the tamest exchanges we’d had over the years.
During one visit here, she’d walked through Clara’s new house and made a list of improvements. The deck—three inches off the ground—needed a railing. The front door—of a house guarded by motion sensors and a gate—didn’t have a deadbolt. The staircase should have a baby gate and the cupboards needed safety latches—for a baby who couldn’t so much as roll over.
The list went on for two pages. Not wanting to burden Clara with the task, Aria marched it over, threw it in my face and told me that if I had enough money to build my monstrosity of a house, I could at least make sure Clara’s cottage was safe for an infant.
Just thinking about it made my nostrils flare.
Last year, Clara had gone to Oregon to visit Aria during the summer. I called a few times, four tops, to check in. On my last call, Aria answered. She’d stolen Clara’s phone to inform me that if I couldn’t fuck off for the five days, she’d throw Clara’s phone in the ocean.
And Clara thought we should attend a wedding together? That we could convince people we were a couple? Ludicrous. Aria and I would kill each other before the cocktail hour was over.
No, tonight I needed an ally by my side. Not a woman who thought I was a “demanding prick.”
Maybe I did rely on Clara too much. That was Aria’s hang-up. But Clara was the only person in this world I trusted. She was the only one I believed, without a shadow of a doubt, was on my side.
The employees at Carmichael Communications were loyal, but my grandmother emitted a strong sphere of influence.
Coreen was a master manipulator. She wove a dangerous web. Grandmother had a knack for making people feel special. Cherished. You trusted her faithfully, right up until that moment when she shoved a dagger between your ribs.
It was part of the reason I’d moved to Welcome: to escape Vegas and her pit of vipers. Here, I could do my work with minimal interference. On a good day, I spoke to her once. And here, I could run my own businesses, the ones she had no part in, while I bided my time.
Fifty-four weeks and three days.
Then I’d be thirty-five.
Then Carmichael would be mine.
When that day came, I needed Clara by my side. The last thing I needed was to strangle her sister at a wedding.
“I’m not taking Aria.”
“Then I’ll go.” Clara sighed and stood.
“I’ll go alone.”
She walked to the door, ignoring me completely. “See you at five.”
I waited until I heard the front door open and close. “No, you won’t.”
I’d leave here at four. By the time she wandered over, I’d be gone. And then she’d have no choice but to go home and rest.
It was just a wedding. I’d be fine alone, right?
This evening would be enough of a headache with my own family. I wasn’t adding Clara’s sister to the mix.
Fuck. Grandmother was a sick woman for making me go tonight. I rubbed a hand over my face and returned to the window.
And there she was. Aria. Still on the deck.
She’d traded her seat in the chair for a seat on the deck boards. Her legs were crossed as she and August bent over a toy. It looked like a car of some sort. Probably one of her presents. Gus loved remote-controlled toys so it wouldn’t surprise me
if he’d requested one from his aunt as a birthday gift.
I’d given him an actual ride-in Jeep. It always made me smile when I stood at the glass and watched him exploring his driveway and yard. There wasn’t much for greenery around my house, but Clara’s looked like a tropical paradise compared to the barren desert beyond the yard fence.
Aria’s doing, no doubt. This morning, when I’d had my coffee, she’d been out with watering can and shears, pruning the pots and planters.
She was a gorgeous woman.
Much to my dismay, her looks always made my heart beat a bit faster. Just my type too. Beautiful. Obstinate. Bold. Aria’s looks were different than Clara’s, though they shared some features. The pretty bows of their lips. The tips of their noses. The same shining brown eyes flecked with gold. And a realism for life beyond their years.
Clara and Aria were four years my junior, having recently turned thirty, but they carried themselves with wisdom gained from experience, not age. Maybe that was why Aria disliked me so. On day one, she’d looked me up and down and found me lacking.
She wasn’t alone.
Grandmother would probably love her. An image of them sitting together at the wedding popped into my head. They were laughing and drinking champagne as they kibitzed about my shortcomings and former vices. Women. Cars. Booze. Gambling.
Ten years ago, they would have been right. Ten years ago, I’d been young and impulsive. I’d thrown my money around like discount candy at a parade. But a lot had changed in a decade. I’d grown up. I’d made mistakes and learned from them. I’d been betrayed and learned from that too.
Still, when she looked at me, she saw my father.
Her son-in-law.
The man who’d corrupted her precious daughter. The man who’d spent her millions. The man who’d abandoned his own last name to assume hers.
At least he wouldn’t be there tonight. Grandmother couldn’t summon him or my mother from their graves. To this day I wasn’t sure if she’d been hurt by their deaths or if she was simply mad that death had stolen her puppets.
Clara and Aria had lost their parents in a drunk driving accident. The same way I’d lost mine, only my parents had been the drunk drivers.
On the deck, Aria laughed, throwing her head to the sky as August shot to his feet, the car in his hand, and ran to the grass. He raced it in swerves and circles across the lawn while his aunt watched on, clapping and cheering.
A gorgeous woman.
Her hair was darker than Clara’s. Both had dyed their natural dirty-blond shade. Clara had always gone for highlights, accentuating the blond. Aria’s seemed to get darker with each visit to Arizona. Today it hung in chocolate waves, messy and sexy, down to the middle of her back.
Her arms were lean but strong, her legs long and firm. She had the body of a woman who knew how to work and wasn’t afraid to meet the day head-on. There was no priss to Aria Saint-James. Nothing fake or plastic.
The exact opposite of every woman who’d be in attendance tonight. Especially the bride. I grinned, imagining Heather’s face if I strolled into her wedding with a beautiful woman like Aria on my arm.
Revenge wasn’t best served cold. It worked best when dripping with sex and superiority.
Maybe Clara had been on to something. Maybe—
No. Hell no.
Aria loathed my existence. And not even Clara held enough sway over her sister to get her to agree to be a wedding date.
Aria’s gaze turned toward my house. The wind caught a lock of her hair and blew it into her mouth, so she tugged it away.
There was no way for her to see through the mirrored glass, but the way she stared, the way her eyes narrowed, was like she could see me watching. She wordlessly scolded me for intruding on her time with Gus.
So I backed away from the window and retreated to my desk, where I spent a few hours returning emails and phone calls, watching the clock tick down. The pit of dread in my gut grew deeper by the minute.
Jesus, I hated my family.
My grandmother. My brother. My soon-to-be sister-in-law. I hated them all. I hated their friends. I hated their colleagues. I hated that tonight they’d see me alone. Vulnerable.
Because besides my paid employee, who else did I have?
When time ran out, I hurried through a shower, then donned my best tuxedo, the black Italian fibers having been tailored specifically for my frame. I knotted a solid black tie at my neck and fastened my diamond cufflinks. And with my Patek Philippe watch around my wrist, I snagged the Jaguar’s keys from the table beside the door and made my way to the driveway where my butler, Ron, had parked it this morning after having it detailed and waxed.
Stepping outside, I filled my lungs with the clear desert air. I wouldn’t get another fresh breath until I returned home. Las Vegas would stick to me like gum under a shoe, unwelcome and a damn mess to clean.
The cooler temperatures of Arizona suited me fine. In the summer, it was warm. In the fall, the nights cooled and made life bearable.
My shoes clicked on the concrete as I made my way toward the driveway. The weight of the keys in my palm kept my hand from shaking. The other, I tucked into a pocket.
One night.
All I had to do was make it through this one night. Then one more year, two weeks, and three days.
Before Thanksgiving of next year, I’d be a free man. No longer bound by the wishes of a dead man. Trapped by the whims of his wife.
I sucked in one more fortifying breath and rounded the corner, only to stop short at the sight of my car.
And the woman standing beside it.
She huffed. “It’s about damn time.”
Chapter Three
Aria
“Thanks for opening the door,” I deadpanned as Brody rounded the hood of his Jag. “Such a gentleman. Do you treat all your dates with such attention?”
“You’re not my date.”
“I didn’t get dressed up for nothing.” I motioned to the emerald gown Clara had conned me into earlier.
The dress was cut low in front, past my breastbone in a deep V. The back dipped beneath my shoulder blades. The satin clung to my torso before flaring out at the hips, billowing into a skirt that swished around my legs. For a woman who’d never had a prom, this dress was as fancy as I’d ever been.
Clara had taken one look and declared the dress had been made with me in mind. Then she’d watched me like a hawk from outside the bathroom, ensuring that I was doing my best primping work.
Her makeup stash had been properly raided and her curling iron thoroughly misused. My eyes were lined and my cheeks were rosy. My hair was curled and hung loosely down my back. She’d tucked a jeweled pin into one side, pulling a section away from my temple. The pin’s stones matched the gown’s color to perfection.
I’d spent more time on my appearance today than I had in the past year.
Brody shot me a look from over the top of the car, then he opened the driver’s side door.
“Seriously? You’re not even going to open my door.” I gripped the handle and yanked it open with too much force.
“No.” He shook his head. “You’re not going.”
“That gruff, bossy tone doesn’t work on me.” I gave him a saccharine smile. “I don’t work for you.”
“What did Clara tell you?”
I lifted a shoulder. “She begged me to be your date to some ostentatious wedding. She promised there’d be champagne. And she promised you’d be nice.”
“He will be nice!” Clara shouted as she walked down the driveway with August at her side. The shout made her dissolve into a fit of coughs.
“You should be resting,” Brody and I said at the same time.
I scowled at him, then turned it toward my sister. “Go inside.”
She waved me off, coughing as she neared the car. “I’m fine. August is going to take care of me after you guys leave. Isn’t that right, bud?”
His chest puffed up. “Yep. We’re ordering pizza for d
inner.”
“Pizza,” I moaned. I loved pizza. “There’s no chance this wedding will be catered by Domino’s, is there?”
Clara giggled. “None.”
“Didn’t think I’d get lucky.”
“You can stay for pizza,” Brody said. “Because you’re not going.”
If the man didn’t want me along, fine. I wasn’t going to force it. I’d already done my best by showing up, dressed to perfection and wearing a pair of toe-pinching heels. What more could I do? I knew when I wasn’t welcome. And avoiding an evening with Brody was no hardship.
I opened my mouth, ready to accept defeat, but my beautiful, red-nosed and stuffed-up sister spoke first.
“She’s going.” Clara leveled her gaze on Brody. “Don’t be an idiot. You and I both know this is the best option. Besides, look at her.”
“What about me?” I dropped my gaze to my feet.
“You’re beautiful,” Brody admitted through clenched teeth. It sounded pained, like it was either admit that I looked good—because I looked good—or have a tooth pulled without anesthesia.
“Gee. Thanks.” I rolled my eyes.
“Heather will hate it.” Clara gave Brody an evil grin.
Who was Heather? My darling sister had skipped over some details in her rushed explanation as to why I was going. Because that gleam in her eyes was nothing more than petty spite.
I could get behind petty spite, as long as I knew who we were spiting.
Brody pondered her words, his jaw clenched and his stare impassive. “Shit.”
“Brody said a bad word.” August pointed at Brody and looked up to Clara, waiting for his mother to take action.
“Yes, he did.” Clara cocked a hip and shot her boss a sideways look.
“Sorry. Dam-darn.” He sighed and left the car, walking over to August. He dug in his pocket and came out with a quarter, handing it to my nephew. “Piggy bank.”
“Yes.” August fist-pumped and grinned at me.
I gave him a wink.
August had four piggy banks, more than any kid needed, but each had a purpose. One was for his birthday money. One was for money he found himself, like pennies and dimes discarded on sidewalks. The third was for his weekly allowance. Clara paid him five dollars a week to make his bed each morning and pick up his toys at night. And the fourth, the most recent addition, was for money he took off Brody and occasionally Clara when one of them slipped and swore in his presence.