Buch lesen: «Contract Bride»

One

Women must have some kind of manual they passed around to each other, opened to the section labeled “How to Dump a Man.”

If so, it would explain why for a record fourth time in a row, Warren Garinger had received the same text message: You’re the world’s worst workaholic. I hope you and your company will be very happy together.

He didn’t think the women meant it as a compliment. Nor did they understand what it took to run a billion-dollar conglomerate. The Garinger family bottled and sold nearly half the world’s pick-me-ups. You couldn’t escape the logo for Flying Squirrel, the number one energy drink, no matter where you looked.

Women did not appreciate the effort that had gone into that kind of success.

Tilda popped her head into his office. “Got a minute?”

Except that one. He nodded instantly.

Tilda Barrett was the one woman he always had time for. Partly because he liked her Australian accent more than he should. “Sure. Come on in.”

But mostly Warren liked Tilda because, as his marketing consultant, she’d exceeded his expectations. And that was saying something. His expectations were always sky-high, for himself and for everyone in his orbit. Flying Squirrel wasn’t performing as well in the Australian market as he’d like, and Tilda was changing that. Slowly but surely.

“I saw the numbers on the new campaign. They’re promising,” he said, as Tilda strode into his bright corner office overlooking downtown Raleigh. Of course, he rarely glanced out the window unless he needed to gauge the weather in advance of a sporting event Flying Squirrel had sponsored.

Today was no exception. Tilda commanded his attention easily, both because of her professional role and because of the one she played in his head. Yeah, he’d had a fantasy or two starring Tilda Barrett, and he refused to be ashamed that he’d noticed she was very feminine beneath her buttoned-up exterior.

Not one strand of swept-up hair dared escape her severe hairstyle and, not for the first time, he wondered what would happen if it did. Most likely, her sheer will would tame it back into submission. She was the most hard-core professional woman he’d ever met. They got on famously.

“The numbers could be better,” she countered. Nothing ever satisfied her save absolute domination, and the fact that she was on his team made him downright gleeful.

Tilda took the straight-backed chair to the right of his desk, as was her custom when they had briefings. The company’s main competitor, Down Under Thunder, owned the Australian market, and Tilda’s strategic expertise filled a gap in Warren’s roster that he’d been thus far unable to bridge any other way.

“But that’s not why I’m here,” she said—and hesitated.

Tilda never hesitated.

Something was up. The dynamic between them had shifted. Normally they worked so well together that he scarcely had to speak before she’d already read his thoughts, and vice versa. But he couldn’t get a bead on her blank face.

Warren leaned forward to steeple his hands on the desk that had nothing more on it than his laptop and cell phone. Paperwork was for other people to handle, a hallmark of the CEO philosophy that had allowed him to focus on ideas and game plans instead of minutiae. Thomas had taken to the role of chief operating officer like a duck to water, and Warren had never questioned letting his younger brother assume the reins of daily control while Warren got to have all the fun in the corner office.

“Please speak freely,” Warren said, a little concerned he’d had to clarify that when Tilda had spent hours in his company during this project. Normally, he preferred people respect the distance and reserve he deliberately injected into all of his professional relationships. But he hadn’t insisted on being so formal with her. There’d been no reason to. Tilda had always struck him as the female version of himself—dedicated, professional and, above all, never overtly familiar.

In this moment, however, things felt different, and he didn’t like it.

“Right-o. The thing is, I’m not sure how free I am to speak about this issue,” she began cautiously, her accent rolling through him accompanied by inappropriate heat, especially given the gravity of her expression. “At this point, all I can say is that I’m being pulled from this project.”

“What?” Warren shot half out of his seat before catching himself. He sat back in his chair with deliberate care. “You cannot be pulled from this project. The contract I have with your firm is for a full year and we’ve barely covered a quarter of that.”

She nodded once. “The contract doesn’t specify that I will be the consultant for the full year, and unfortunately, there’s an issue with my visa that they’ve chosen not to address. I’m being chucked back to Australia and they’ll provide you with an American replacement.”

Outrageous. Warren clamped down against the flow of obscene words on the tip of his tongue. He’d hired the best consulting firm on the planet precisely so that “issues” with visas did not impede his progress. “That’s a breach of contract. I need an Australian expert who has been immersed in the culture for the whole of her life, not an American who’s read some things on the internet.”

“I’m afraid I can’t speak to the specifics,” she intoned, as if the entire project wasn’t now in complete jeopardy. “My superiors seem to believe replacing me is well within their contractual rights. I do apologize for the short notice.”

Warren ran a hand through his hair as he contemplated contingencies that didn’t exist. This project needed Tilda. Period. “How short?”

“I’m to wrap up with you today and be on a plane by Friday.”

“Friday? As in the day after tomorrow?”

This was a disaster. And only in being presented with a looming deadline could Warren admit that he needed Tilda, as well. He couldn’t work with another consultant who didn’t get his style the way she did. He could be gruff, short and to the point, and she took it all with grace.

Plus, he liked listening to her talk. Sometimes, when they worked through dinner, she relaxed enough to laugh and he could indulge in a very harmless fantasy about what her chestnut hair might look like when it was down around her shoulders. He’d undone enough hairstyles in his day to know that hers likely hit her midback and would be shiny and smooth under his fingers.

Warren was as adept with a well-shaped fantasy as he was with running Flying Squirrel.

Harmless fantasies fueled a man who was still at the office during the hours other men might indulge in all things female. Harmless fantasies worked for him on so many levels because he’d never act on them. Tilda’s expertise on this project was too important to add her to the list of women who would eventually gift him with an unoriginal text message.

Tilda folded her hands together in that no-nonsense way he’d always secretly appreciated. Her slender fingers locked in place with strength of purpose. No stray movements, as if she never accidentally got into an uncomfortable position worth correcting. Lack of mistakes was as much a part of her personality as her incredible efficiency.

“Yes, this Friday,” she said. “I have about four hours to get my things in order. My replacement should be here in the morning to pick up where I left off.”

“That’s not happening.” As if Tilda could be replaced. It was ridiculous to assume even for a moment that this was a done deal. “Who do I need to speak with at your firm about this? If nothing else, I’ll sponsor your visa.”

Surely that was doable. Tilda gave him the name and number of her superior and strode from the room to update the project plan in the event his call didn’t go as planned.

It didn’t. The contact at the consulting firm cited a mix-up in renewing Tilda’s visa and then informed Warren that Tilda had to leave the country before her immigration papers expired on Saturday, or she wouldn’t be permitted to return once the renewal had been sorted out. He cited several clauses in immigration law that the firm couldn’t in good conscience violate, which was entirely too much legal jargon for one o’clock in the afternoon.

Warren ended the call and immediately consulted an immigration lawyer. What was the point of having a lot of money if you couldn’t spend it where you needed to most? Two hours later, he was out of time and out of options. Save one. A green-card marriage.

The lawyer cautioned Warren about the dangers of fake marriages for residency but allowed that the immigration department was overrun with work, so likely wouldn’t be examining things too closely.

Warren was just desperate enough to pitch the option to Tilda. Odds were good she’d say no so fast his head would spin. But he had to try.

She had an all-business persona that lent itself to an in-name-only relationship. She’d definitely welcome the continued distance and reserve he would insist upon. He didn’t do deep dives beneath the surface. Not anymore. He worked like a fiend for a reason—his relationship skills left a lot to be desired. The more he worked, the easier it was to forget he’d been responsible for his college roommate’s death.

Marriage was the last thing he should be contemplating. Not given the pact he’d made after Marcus died; Warren had sworn to never fall in love. Jonas and Hendrix, who’d also been friends with Marcus, had vowed, too, but they’d broken the pact by falling for their wives. Warren refused to dishonor Marcus’s memory that way.

But surely, with a woman as professional as Tilda, if she said yes, he’d have no problem keeping their relationship one hundred percent business. A green-card marriage was the only solution he could pull together before it was too late.

He had to try this last-ditch alternative. Down Under Thunder had a large piece of Warren’s pie and he wanted to crush the competition. Tilda was his magic bullet. He would convince her to stay, no matter what it took.

* * *

When Warren called Tilda back into his office later that day, she had to do a serious gut check to see if she’d gotten the wild swing of emotions under control. Thank God she hadn’t actually burst into tears in Warren’s office earlier.

That would have been highly unprofessional. Tilda relied on the aloof front she’d erected to prevent anyone from getting too close. Displaying the slightest vulnerability felt squicky.

Of course, it wasn’t any more professional to have a minibreakdown in her own office, either. Telling herself that hadn’t stopped the panic that had welled up right after her boss, Craig, had called to drop the news. Not only was her visa expiring, the firm had decided against getting it renewed. Too difficult a climate right now, too expensive, he’d said. Sorry about the mix-up, but she could have a job in Australia, no problem.

Except there was a problem...named Bryan McDermott, her ex-boyfriend who was evil personified, a man with police force clearance, friends in all the right places and zero conscience. He didn’t technically have the powers of God, but he sure put on a good enough show to make her believe he did. That’s why she’d left Melbourne. Why she could never go back.

This time, he might make good on his threat to kill her with his bare hands if he caught her with another man, never mind that they’d been broken up for over a year.

Okay, not doing so hot on getting her emotions under control. Warren was waiting on her to reappear in his office. There was no way he’d sorted out the procedure for renewing her visa in a couple of hours, though if anyone could do the impossible, it was Warren Garinger. He took no prisoners, left no stone unturned and put whip-wielding oxen drivers to shame in the motivation department. In other words, he was every inch the chief executive officer the plaque on his door claimed him to be.

She might have a little crush on him. Who could blame her? He was gorgeous, never hit on her and could buy and sell a man like Bryan before lunch. She was pretty sure Warren could clock her ex and easily be the one to walk away from the fight with nary a scratch.

What was wrong with her, that the ability of a man to cause bodily harm to another man turned her on?

Deep breath.

She stuck her head into his office. “You rang?”

Warren waved her in, clicking his laptop shut the moment she crossed the threshold. That was one quality that set him apart. He never multitasked, except in his head. His brain worked in fascinating ways she could scarcely comprehend, describing the big picture as easily as he did the details many people overlooked.

She was going to miss him more than she’d let herself admit.

“Sit, please,” Warren said. “We have much to discuss.”

As was his custom, Warren stayed behind his desk, keeping them separated by glass and wood. He never breached that space between them, never let his gaze stray to her nondescript suit, which displayed none of her assets by design.

That was another of his qualities she admired. Other men never seemed to understand that familiarity wasn’t easy for her. That she didn’t want a man anywhere close to her, not after Bryan. He’d been so successful at sucking away her confidence that the first time he’d smacked her across the face, he’d somehow spun it as being her fault.

The worst part wasn’t having abuse in her past. The worst part was when she woke up at 2:00 a.m. in a cold sweat because a small part of her might believe it was her fault Bryan had hit her. And she couldn’t exorcise that small part, no matter what she did.

She squared the tablet computer in her hands. “I’ve taken copious notes for my successor—”

“Not necessary.” Warren waved that off. “You’re not going anywhere.”

The wildest bloom of hope sprouted in her chest before she could stomp it flat. “You got Craig to agree to fix their screwup?”

Warren could sell hay to a farmer. Getting Tilda’s boss to admit he’d made a mistake had probably been child’s play.

But Warren waved that off, too. “No, of course not. You were right. Your boss is an ass who can’t be trusted with a box of animal crackers, let alone my campaign to expand in Australia. So I fired him and threatened to sic my lawyers on him if he so much as breathed the phrase cancellation clause.”

“Oh.” She’d have paid good money to be a fly on the wall during that conversation. “So, I’m at a loss on what to say next. Dare I hope you found a way to get my visa renewed in two days?”

If by some miracle he had, she wouldn’t have to go back to Melbourne. She could stay here and work, burying herself in this job that had come to mean so much to her—

“Not exactly.”

Of course not. Warren wasn’t here to make all of her dreams come true, especially not the ones where she imagined him riding to her rescue like a modern-day knight in a shining Tom Ford suit.

Deflated, she fought to keep her face blank. Wouldn’t do to communicate an iota of her emotional state. That was how men got the ammunition they needed to hurt you. “Please elaborate.”

Warren leaned into his steepled hands, a move he made often, which she’d come to recognize as his game stance. It meant he was ready to get serious.

“I spoke to an immigration lawyer. He assures me the best option here is to immediately file for an extension and renewal. But, as you may be aware, that can take months and you would have to travel to the nearest consulate to get the renewal, which would be either Canada or Mexico, depending on your preference, but that means—”

“I would be out of status when I went.” The reality of the legal ramifications swamped her and her shoulders slumped. Ruthlessly, she straightened them. “They wouldn’t let me back in the country if the extension wasn’t in place yet.”

“You see the problem, then.” Warren nodded once. “The project would be on hold again and you’d be stuck in whichever country you traveled to. It might as well be Australia, at that point. The key is that you can’t be out of status when you go to the consulate.”

She felt like Warren was leading her somewhere, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out where.

“Then I would have to go before Saturday, and the renewal paperwork isn’t even filed yet.” Thanks to her employer’s snafu, she would be in a lot of trouble if she stayed long enough to let her paperwork expire. “That would be a wasted trip.”

As he’d said, she might as well go back to Australia. Maybe she could sweet-talk the firm into assigning her a job in Queensland instead of Victoria. Brisbane might be far enough away to escape Bryan’s insidious reach. Of course, if he had friends on the police force there, her precautions wouldn’t matter. He’d set up surveillance on her phone and house, like he had last time, and she’d have no recourse because he was too slippery to get caught.

She shuddered. The problem was that she didn’t want to go back to Australia. She felt safe here. Valued. As if her contributions mattered for the first time since she’d escaped a relationship where she constantly was made to feel less than. This job had saved her and giving it up was unfathomable.

But what other choice did she have? Warren wasn’t presenting any alternatives that justified his hope-inducing opening comment that she wasn’t going anywhere.

“Yes. Completely wasted. If you were out of status.” His gaze locked onto hers. “The lawyer suggested the easiest way to ensure you’re not out of status at that indeterminate point is if you already had a green card.”

“Green cards are even harder to get than visa renewals,” she blurted out. The rules were inconsistently applied, pending which way the immigration office interpreted them. And Warren was talking about a green card, the Holy Grail for someone in her circumstances. “I would never be able to file for a green card so quickly.”

Warren held up a finger. “There’s one way. If you marry a US citizen. It would be easy enough for us to go to the courthouse Friday morning and get this taken care of. The marriage would be in name only, of course. Our professional relationship would continue as is.”

The sound in her ears increased to a dull roar as she processed his meaning. He was offering to marry her in the most unromantic proposal she could have imagined. They’d be lawfully wed with no hope of any sort of physical relationship. Warren would be her husband, yet never even try to touch her.

Something was definitely wrong with her, because it sounded so perfect she feared the tears pricking the backs of her eyelids might actually fall.

But she’d fallen prey to the illusion of perfection in the past. The only way to ensure there were no repeats was to spell out every possible contingency she could think of.

“We’d be married in name only. That means no intimacy,” she said briskly. “None. Forgive me if I find it hard to believe a man of your stature would accept such a thing.”

At that, Warren actually smiled, a tilting of his lips that lanced her through the stomach as sharply as if he’d actually touched her.

“That sounds vaguely like it should be a compliment. Don’t worry about me. I can handle a few months of no intimacy.”

The way he caressed the term with his American accent did not settle the swirl still heating her core after being treated to his smile. One minute into their business discussion about resolving the issue with her visa her body had already betrayed her. She cleared her throat. “And when my visa is renewed, we will dissolve the marriage.”

He nodded. “An annulment. My lawyers will take care of everything. I’ve already laid out the pertinent points to them in an email. I just need your agreement before I hit Send.”

This was moving far too fast. She could feel the threads of control slipping from her fingers. If she married Warren, he could easily change his mind about the no-intimacy clause. They’d be legally married and she hadn’t a clue what kind of recourse she might have if he decided they would consummate the marriage whether she liked it or not.

If he knew she wore racy lingerie beneath her staid suits, would he change his mind?

She shook off those thoughts. Warren wasn’t offering this solution so he could take advantage of her. They’d worked together late into the night many times, long after the last of his employees had gone home. He’d never been anything but the soul of propriety, which was why she loved this job. He listened to her, valued her opinion. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have gone to these lengths to keep her on the project.

That alone went a long way. Her knees might be weak at the thought of putting herself at his mercy. But she was also continuing in a positive environment that was good for her battered psyche.

There wasn’t really a choice. She could never accept her employer’s mistake and take the offered job in Melbourne. She’d have to agree to become Warren’s bride by contract.

The thought unleashed a shiver she couldn’t control. They’d be living together. Wouldn’t they? How could they convince the authorities they were married unless she moved into his house? But that would make it so much harder to keep her normally vivacious personality under wraps, lest she accidentally give Warren the impression she welcomed his advances.

The complications rose up in her throat like a big black rock, cutting off her air.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Tilda.” Warren’s quiet voice cut through her angst easily. “Do you want to keep this job or go back to Australia? If it’s the former, let’s work through this from the top and mitigate all of the potential landmines.”

As frequently as they’d been on the same wavelength over the course of this project, it shouldn’t be such a shock that he’d picked up on her reservations. Could he see the panic, too? Surely not.

She’d tried hard to hide what was really going on beneath the surface for the entire length of their acquaintance, adopting the granite-hard professionalism that she’d been convinced no one could crack.

Warren Garinger managed to crack it without breaking a sweat. Likely without even realizing it. This was her opportunity to retake control.

“All right.” Deep breath. “I want to keep this job.”

That meant she had to take the issue of her visa seriously and consider his offer. Marriage. It was a dizzying proposition, rife with pitfalls, both legal and personal.

But still viable, nonetheless.

“Good. I want you to keep it. What else concerns you about this plan?”

Oh, God, everything about this plan concerned her. One hurdle at a time. “No issues with your wife working for you?”

“None. This is a family company through and through. Thomas’s wife is head of accounting and all of the shareholders are named Garinger.” Warren flashed her another brief smile. “If you like, I would be happy to give you a block of shares as a wedding present.”

She swallowed as the black rock grew in her throat. The gesture had probably been an act of good faith, but no one had ever offered to make her a part of a family with such decisiveness. It felt...nice. She got to belong for no other reason than because Warren said so. She nodded, since speaking wasn’t possible.

“What else?” he prodded gently. “I have a master suite at my house that connects to a smaller bedroom via the bathroom. The door locks from the other side. You may have that one or one on the first floor if you like. My staff is paid well to exercise discretion, so we don’t need to worry about them tattling to the immigration bureau that the marriage is fake. Of course, we will need to put on some appearances as if we’re happily married.”

“I’m not sure I can do that.” She cut in before thinking better of it. How could she explain that she didn’t think she could let a man touch her without jumping out of her skin? She didn’t have to. Warren didn’t miss a beat.

“I don’t mean with public displays of affection.” His smile turned wry. “No one who knows me would be shocked if I never touched my wife in public. What would be shocking is if I put my cell phone down long enough to do so.”

That did it. Her lungs loosened, allowing her to breathe. Finally. Sweet air rushed into her system and she went a little lightheaded from relief. She found herself matching his smile without fully realizing he’d affected her enough for that. “I see your point. They would probably call the authorities much faster if you showered me with attention. Perhaps we’ll let them think of us as having an affair of the mind.”

They shared a moment of understanding that grew sharper the longer they stared at each other. The man was brilliant, sexy without being in your face about it and respectful of her boundaries. How much closer could they become if she lowered a few?

Warren cleared his throat first and looked away. “What I meant was that you might have to accompany me to family functions so as not to raise eyebrows. The last thing we need is immigration questioning whether we married strictly for the green card. The attorney I consulted said they do investigate red flags.”

She nodded. “I got you.”

“Also, you should know that I’m not warm and fuzzy in a relationship. Acting like I’m in love is frankly outside my skill set. I wouldn’t know what that looks like, nor do I intend to learn.”

“That’s fine with me.” Perfect, actually. She didn’t know what love looked like, either, and trying to fake it would only bring up issues she’d rather leave in the dark. Boundaries were her friends. Always. “In that case, I accept your proposal.”

“Great. I’ll have some papers for you to sign tomorrow, a standard prenuptial agreement and the marriage license application. We’ll go to the justice of the peace on Friday, as mentioned, and then it will be done.”

Warren reached out a hand and she clasped it. A handshake to seal the deal. Should have been innocuous enough and seemed appropriate under the circumstances.

But the moment their flesh connected, a jolt of electricity shot up her arm and her awareness of him as a man settled deep inside. Not just a man. One who would be her husband.

Her little crush might be wholly inadvisable, but as Warren held her hand, she didn’t for a moment believe she had the will to stop finding him inconveniently and enormously attractive.