FOUR
SUNDAY. DINNER.
What kind of dinner? Private? Public?
The garment bag had been brought to her bedroom by one of the deputy housekeepers earlier. Hours before. She’d ignored it. Time marched on until ignoring it was no longer an option. Eventually, she had to get ready for their debut date. First of how many?
Standing there, staring at the bag, Gia didn’t want to unzip it. Inhale. Open the bag or go in her robe. Obvious answer to that—assuming the garment bag held more than just underwear. With Brogan Spurn, who knew? If even half the stories were true…
Reaching the pearl zipper, her breath slowed as she drew it down.
Claret red was the first peek. Silk. Cowl-back boatneck. And a matching stole. Damn. She liked it.
As Brogan pointed out, she’d been raised with luxury and privilege.
To her mother’s credit, she was a consummate lady.
The sensible heels, the clutch, and jewelry in the accompanying pouch complemented the outfit and the picture he wanted her to embody.
Sophisticated. Classy. Her sleek chignon and modest makeup played right into it.
Oh, hmm, at least he was leaning into her upbringing. It was reassuring he didn’t plan to cramp her style with streetwalker couture. Would that dampen the blow for her father? Not in the slightest.
A knock on her door tore her attention from the mirror.
Her bedroom door, why would—when she left the closet he was already there.
He? More than six foot tall, dark hair, it was a little late for Fantasy Stranger to be visiting her private space.
Usually this kind of guy only showed up in a woman’s dreams.
“Who are you—how did—”
Someone in her room? In her house? How could that happen? That would just never—
“You got keys?” he asked, holding out a hand.
“Who are you? Who let you in? We have security—”
“Is that what you call them?” Smirking, the man opened his jacket to produce a document folded lengthways. Two pages. He magicked a pen from somewhere and held both toward her. “For your signature.”
A contract. Clarity.
“Who are you? Spurn sent you?”
“Yes. Name’s Carver,” he said as she crossed to take the pen. “Sign it.”
“Don’t I get a chance to read it?”
“Take all the time you need,” he said and stepped back. “Ask me to walk away without the signed contracts in my possession, deal’s off.”
So much for patience or fairness.
“It’s now or never?”
“Yes,” he said.
She scanned the top sheet.
Carver backed away. “I’ll report your decision to Mr. Spurn.”
Refusal wasn’t an option.
“No,” she said.
Mouth parched, she went to the closest surface, flipped to the already signed second page and added her own name next to Spurn’s.
The paper was swooped away and disappeared into Carver’s pocket with the pen.
“Give me your keys.”
“What? My—”
“Keys. You’re supposed to do what you’re told without question.”
That included following the orders of a man she’d just met. And she was surprised? Her first meeting with Spurn was in his office two days ago and she’d already signed her name with his. Promising…? She dreaded to think.
Gia sucked in a breath. “I don’t have keys.”
“No keys?” Did he have to be so accusatory? “Car keys?”
“I have a driver.”
“House keys?”
“The door’s rarely locked, but it’s answered by Twyla if need be.”
“No keys?”
“You already asked,” she said. “My answer hasn’t changed.”
“Good, you’re a quick study. The limo is outside. Do you have everything you need?”
“For what? Dinner?” Paranoia wouldn’t help anyone. “What do I need?”
“Is there anything of value in this room?”
“You’re robbing me?”
“Just answer the question.”
“No, nothing significant.” Unless he wanted to take the furniture. “Why—”
“Anything sentimental?”
“Why are you—” His stern eye silenced her. “There are some letters and cards from family and friends, another box of things I’ve collected through the years. Nothing with monetary merit.”
“Where?”
“Why do—” Boy was this difficult. As her lips pursed, her nose wrinkled before she exhaled. “In the highest, furthest cabinet.”
Because she rarely accessed them.
“Go downstairs now. The car’s outside. Mr. Spurn doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Yes, they’d covered that topic.
An enclosed space with Brogan Spurn? Signing her life over to him didn’t mean she wanted to be up close. Still, if answers were the goal, they’d only come from one place, and that wasn’t the lackey.
As Carver inspected her bedroom, she went to grab the stole and clutch from her closet. All that was in there was her cellphone. Spurn better be paying for dinner.
When she emerged, Carver was by the open bedroom door.
“Satisfied?” she asked, passing him to take her purpose out to the driveway.
A long black limo idled there. Limos had always been a part of life, never had one intimidated like this.
The driver emerged to open the back door for her.
“Miss Sear.”
Sounded familiar.
“Yes,” she said and stumbled forward, swallowing the rush of saline that flooded her mouth.
Gathering her courage, she climbed into the car, mouth open, ready to talk.
Spurn was on the phone.
Oh, well, that put paid to whatever she’d been going to say. Bought her some time. She hadn’t figured words out yet.
“I want an answer by morning,” Spurn said into the device. “There will be no further offer. Take it or leave it.”
The car was already moving and she had no idea where they were going.
He hung up but didn’t acknowledge her. He switched one phone with another from his pocket, typed something with impressive speed, then put the phone away to give her his attention.
Some of it anyway. He checked her out from feet to neck and back again. The face was irrelevant.
“This is acceptable for tonight.”
“I met Carver.”
“And signed the contract,” he said.
“How do you know that?”
“You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.”
“He asked for my keys. I don’t have keys.”
“We cover all bases and make no assumptions.”
“Why would he need my keys?”
“Don’t ask questions.”
“Is this about sex?” she asked. “You said sex wasn’t part of the deal.”
“No, I didn’t.”
He hadn’t… Fuck. Not very ladylike thinking. Even ladies had their limits.
Astounding. “Sex?”
“Not before dinner,” he said, retrieving his phone again.
What was he…? “Do you want to have sex with me?”
He lifted his eyes from the phone. “You want to skip dinner?”
Was that a joke? Better be a joke. This guy wasn’t the joking kind.
“That wasn’t an invitation. You know what I’m asking, Spurn.”
“Is sex part of our deal?”
“I vote no.”
“Your feelings on the subject are irrelevant, Miss Sear.”
“I’m concerned and looking for reassurance. You can’t be this cold.”
Lowering his phone, his eyes met hers. “You have no idea who I am, Miss Sear, or what I want. For now, that’s how I like it.”
“So I should sit quietly and wonder?”
“If you so desire. What you do in your own head is your business,” he said. “I conduct business in the car. Don’t interrupt and we will talk at dinner.”
Goody, goody. Wasn’t she lucky.
Back to the phone, he was quick to dial out. She didn’t desire wondering. What choice did she have except to contemplate what she’d got herself embroiled in?