chapter Three
Liam had just stepped from his shower when he heard his cell phone ringing. The tune, “God Save the Queen,” made him cringe. Had he told his great aunt Beatrice he was in Manhattan? She must’ve found out somehow.
He wrapped his towel around his waist and dashed into his bedroom where the phone was lying on the comforter. The words “Queen Bee” flashed on the screen with the photo of a tiara. His aunt Beatrice would not be amused if she knew what the rest of the family called her.
With a sigh, he picked up the phone and hit the answer key. “Hello?”
“Liam,” his aunt replied with her haughty Upper East Side accent. “Are you all right? I was told you were trapped in an elevator all afternoon.”
“I’m fine. Just hungry, but I’m about to—”
“Excellent,” she interrupted. “Then you’ll join me for dinner. There’s an important matter I need to discuss with you.”
Liam bit back a groan. He hated eating at Aunt Beatrice’s house. Mostly because of having to listen to her go on and on about the family and how irresponsible they all were. But even then, she liked them all more than Liam because they kissed her derrière. And that was smart. She was worth two billion dollars with no children of her own to inherit. Everyone was jockeying for their cut.
Everyone but Liam. He was polite and distant. He didn’t need her money. Or at least he hadn’t until the ANS deal came up and he didn’t have enough liquid assets to buy a majority stake quickly. Other people also were interested in the company, including leeches like Ron Wheeler, who specialized in hacking businesses to bits for profit. To move fast, Liam had had to swallow his pride and ask his aunt to invest in the remaining shares of ANS that he couldn’t afford. Together, they had controlling interest of the company, and by designating her voting powers to him, Aunt Beatrice had put Liam in charge.
Liam had every intention of slowly buying her out over time, but he wouldn’t be able to do so for quite a while. So now, at long last, Aunt Beatrice had something to hold over his head. And when she snapped, for the first time in his life, he had to jump.
“Dinner is at six,” she said, either oblivious or unconcerned about his unhappy silence on the end of the line.
“Yes, Aunt Beatrice. I’ll see you at six.”
After he hung up the phone, he eyed the clock and realized he didn’t have long to get over to her Upper East Side mansion in rush hour traffic. He’d do better to walk, so he needed to get out the door soon.
It was just as well that Francesca had turned down his dinner date so he didn’t have to cancel. That would’ve pained him terribly, even after knowing what she’d called him.
“Son of a pig farmer,” he muttered to himself as he got dressed.
He opted for a gray suit with a pale purple dress shirt and no tie. He hated ties and only wore them when absolutely necessary. Today, he’d felt like he needed to look important and in control at the board meeting. He didn’t want the ANS directors to think they were in the hands of a laid-back dreamer. But as soon as he had a strong foothold in the company, the ties would be gone.
Tonight, he left it off simply because he knew to do so would aggravate Aunt Beatrice. She liked formal dress for dinner but had given up long ago on the family going to that much trouble. She did, however, still expect a jacket and tie for the men and a dress and hosiery for the ladies. It was only proper. Leaving off the tie would be a small but noted rebellion on his part. He didn’t want her to think she had him completely under her thumb.
It wasn’t until he rang the doorbell that he remembered her mentioning something about an important issue she wanted to discuss. He couldn’t imagine what it could be, but he sincerely hoped it didn’t involve him dating someone’s daughter. Aunt Beatrice was single-minded in her pursuit of marriage and family for Liam. He couldn’t fathom why she cared.
“Good evening, Mr. Crowe,” her ancient butler Henry said as he opened the door.
Henry had worked for his aunt Liam’s entire life and a good number of years before that. The man was in his seventies now but as spry and chipper as ever.
“Good evening, Henry. How is she tonight?” he asked, leaning in to the elderly man and lowering his voice.
“She’s had a bee in her bonnet about something all afternoon, sir. She made quite a few calls once the power was restored.”
Liam frowned. “Any idea what it’s about?”
“I don’t. But I would assume it involves you because you were the only one invited to dinner this evening.”
That was odd. Usually Aunt Beatrice invited at least two family members to dinner. She enjoyed watching them try to one-up each other all night and get in her good favor. It really was a ridiculous exercise, but it was amazing what the family would do just because she asked. His grandfather, Aunt Beatrice’s brother, had never had much to do with her, so neither did that branch of the family. It was only after all the others of the generation had died that she took over as matriarch. Then, even Liam’s part of the family was drawn back into the fold.
Liam held his tongue as Henry led him through the parlor and into the formal dining room. When a larger group was expected, Aunt Beatrice would greet her guests in the parlor and then adjourn to the dining room when everyone had arrived. Apparently because it was just him they bypassed the formalities and went straight to dinner.
Aunt Beatrice was there in her seat at the head of the long, oak table, looking regal as always. Her gray hair was curled perfectly, her rose chiffon dress nicely accented by the pink sapphire necklace and earrings she paired with it. She didn’t smile as he entered. Instead, she evaluated him from top to bottom, her lips tightening into a frown when she noted his lack of tie.
“Good evening, Aunt Beatrice,” he said with a wide smile to counter her grimace. He came around the table and placed a kiss on her cheek before sitting down at the place setting to her right.
“Liam,” she said, acknowledging him without any real warmth. That’s why he’d always thought of her as royalty. Stiff, formal, proper. He couldn’t imagine what she would have been like if she had married and had children. Children would require laughter and dirt—two things unthinkable in this household.
Henry poured them each a glass of wine and disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve their first course. Liam hated to see the old man wait on him. He should be in a recliner, watching television and enjoying his retirement, not serving meals to privileged people capable of doing it themselves. The man had never even married. He had no life of his own outside of this mansion.
“When are you going to let Henry retire?” he asked. “The poor man deserves some time off before he drops dead in your foyer.”
Aunt Beatrice bristled at the suggestion. “He loves it here. He wouldn’t think of leaving me. And besides, Henry would never die in the foyer. He knows how expensive that Oriental rug is.”
Liam sighed and let the subject drop. Henry placed bowls of soup in front of them both and disappeared again. “So, what have you summoned me here to discuss tonight?” He might as well just get it over with. There was no sense waiting for the chocolate soufflé or the cheese course.
“I received a phone call today from a man named Ron Wheeler.”
Liam stiffened in his seat and stopped his spoon of soup in midair. Ron Wheeler was in the business of buying struggling companies and “streamlining” them. That usually involved laying off at least half the employees and hacking up the benefits packages of the ones who were left. Then he’d break the company up into smaller pieces and sell them off for more than the price of the whole. No one liked to hear the mention of his name. “And what did he have to say?”
“He heard I’d bought a large portion of Graham Boyle’s ANS stock. He’s made me an extremely generous offer to buy it.”
At that, Liam dropped his spoon, sending splatters of butternut squash all across the pristine white tablecloth. Henry arrived in an instant to clean up the mess and bring him a new spoon, but Liam didn’t want it. He couldn’t stomach the idea of food at this point.
“Aunt Beatrice, your holding is larger than mine. If you sell him your stock, he’ll gain majority control of the company. The whole network will be at risk.”
She nodded, setting down her own spoon. “I realize that. And I know how important the company is to you. But I also want you to know how important this family is to me. I won’t be around forever, Liam. This family needs someone strong and smart to run it. You don’t need me to tell you that most of our relatives are idiots. My two sisters never had any sense and neither did their children. My father knew it, too, which is why he left most of the family money to me and your grandfather. He knew they’d all be broke and homeless without someone sensible in charge.”
Liam didn’t want to know where this conversation was going. It couldn’t be good. “Why are you telling me this? What does it have to do with Ron Wheeler?”
“Because I think you’re the right person to lead the family after I’m gone.”
“Don’t talk like that,” he insisted. They both knew she was too mean to die. “You have plenty of years ahead of you.”
Her sharp blue gaze focused on him, an unexpected hint of emotion flashing in them for a fleeting second before she waved away his statement. “Everyone dies, Liam. It’s better to be prepared for the eventuality. I want you to take my place and be family patriarch. As such, you would inherit everything of mine and serve as executor of the family trusts.”
The blood drained from Liam’s face. He didn’t want that kind of responsibility. Two billion dollars and a family full of greedy suck-ups chasing him around? “I don’t want your money, Aunt Beatrice. You know that.”
“Exactly. But I know what you do want. You want ANS. And as long as I have my shares, you won’t truly have it. I could sell at any time to Ron Wheeler or anyone else who gives me a good offer.”
Liam took a big swallow of wine to calm his nerves. Aunt Beatrice had never held anything over him. She couldn’t because until now he hadn’t needed her or her money and she knew it. But he’d made a critical error. He never should’ve agreed to this stock arrangement with her. He’d given her the leverage to twist him any way she wanted to. “Why would you do that? I told you I would buy that stock from you at what you paid or the going rate, if it goes higher.”
“Because I want you to settle down. I can’t have you leading this family while you play newsman and chase skirts around D.C. I want you married. Stable. Ready to lead the Crowe family.”
“I’m only twenty-eight.”
“The perfect age. Your father married when he was twenty-eight, as did your grandfather. You’re out of school, well established. You’ll be a prize to whatever lucky woman you choose.”
“Aunt Beatrice, I’m not ready to——”
“You will marry within the year,” she said, her serious tone like a royal decree he didn’t dare contradict. “On your one-year wedding anniversary, as a gift I will give you my shares of ANS stock and name you my sole beneficiary. Then you can truly breathe easy knowing your network is secure, and I can know this family will be cared for when I’m gone.”
She couldn’t be serious. “You can’t force me to marry.”
“You’re right. You’re a grown man and you make your own decisions. So the choice is entirely yours. Either you marry and get the company you want and more money than most people dream of…or you don’t and I sell my shares to Ron Wheeler. Tough choice, I understand.” At that, she returned to her soup as though they’d been discussing the weather.
Liam didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t used to anyone else calling the shots in his life. But he’d given himself a vulnerability she had been waiting to exploit. She’d probably planned this from the very moment he’d come to her about buying ANS. Liam leaned his head into his hand and closed his eyes.
“If you don’t know any suitable ladies, I can make a few recommendations.”
He was sure she’d just love that, too. Thankfully she’d stopped short of deciding who he should marry. “I think I can handle that part, thank you. I’ve been seeing someone,” he said quickly, hoping she didn’t ask for more details about the fictional woman.
Aunt Beatrice shrugged off the bitter tone in his voice. “Then it’s time the two of you got more serious. Just remember, you have a year from today to marry. But if I were you, I wouldn’t dawdle. The sooner you get married, the sooner ANS will be yours.”
*
Francesca had deliberately avoided Liam since they’d returned to D.C., but she couldn’t put off speaking to him any longer. She needed to know if they were going to be sponsoring the Youth in Crisis gala or not. It was a week and a half away. It was already too late to pull out, really, but if he was going to insist they couldn’t do it, she needed to know now.
She waved as she passed his assistant’s desk. “Afternoon, Jessica.”
The woman looked up at her with a wary expression. “You don’t want to go in there.”
Francesca frowned. Did she mean her specifically, or anyone? Liam couldn’t still be mad about the whole elevator thing. Could he? “Why?”
“He’s been in a foul mood since we left New York. I’m not sure what happened. Something with his family, I think.”
“Is everyone okay?”
Jessica nodded her head. “He hasn’t had me send flowers to anyone, so I would assume so. But he’s not taking calls. He’s been sitting at his desk all morning flipping through his address book and muttering to himself.”
Interesting. “Well, I hate to do it, but I have to speak with him.”
“As you wish.” Jessica pressed the intercom button that linked to Liam’s phone. “Mr. Crowe, Ms. Orr is here to see you.”
“Not now,” his voice barked over the line. Then, after a brief pause, he said, “Never mind. Send her in.”
Jessica shrugged. “I don’t know what that’s all about, but go on in.”
Francesca gripped the handle to his office door and took a deep breath before going inside. She’d dressed in her most impressive power suit today and felt confident she would leave his office with what she wanted. The emerald-green pantsuit was striking and well-tailored. Her black hair was twisted up into a bun, and she had a silk scarf tied around her neck. Not only did she feel good in the outfit, she felt well-covered. Liam had already seen too much of her body. She intended to keep every inch out of his sight from now on.
As she opened the door, she saw Liam sitting at his desk just as Jessica had described. He was flipping through an address book, making notes on his desk blotter. As she came in he looked up and then slammed the book shut.
“Good morning, Ms. Orr.” His voice was a great deal more formal and polite than it was the last time they’d spoken. Of course, then they’d been recently naked together.
“Mr. Crowe. I wanted to speak to you about the Youth in Crisis gala. We don’t have much time to—”
“Have a seat, Francesca.”
She stopped short, surprised at his interruption. Unsure of what else to do, she moved to take a seat in the guest chair across from his desk. Before she could sit, he leaped up and pointed to the less formal sitting area on the other side of his office.
“Over here, please. I don’t like talking to people across the desk. It feels weird.”
Francesca corrected her course to sit in the plush gray leather chair he’d indicated. She watched him warily as he went to the small refrigerator built into the cabinets beside his desk.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“I don’t drink at work.”
Liam turned to her with a frown and a bottle of root beer in his hand. “At all? I have bottled water, root beer—my personal favorite—and some lemon-lime soda. I don’t drink at work, either, despite the fact that if anyone wanted to be in a drunken stupor right now, it would be me.” He pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge and handed it to her. “To replace the one we…used up in the elevator.”
Francesca started to reach for the bottle, then froze at the memory of water pouring over his head and onto her own bare chest. Damn, he’d said that on purpose to throw her off her game. Pulling herself together, she took the bottle and set it on the coffee table unopened.
Liam joined her, sitting on the nearby sofa with his bottle of root beer. “I have a proposition for you.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. “I told you that I wasn’t interested in dinner.”
Liam watched her intently with his jewel-blue eyes as he sipped his drink. “I’m not asking you to dinner. I’m asking you to marry me.”
Francesca was glad she hadn’t opted to drink that water or she would’ve spit it across the room. She sat bolt upright in her seat and glared at him. “Marry you? Are you crazy?”
“Shhh…” he said, placing his drink on the table. “I don’t want anyone to hear our discussion. This is very important. And I’m dead serious. I want you to be my fiancée. At least for a few months.”
“Why me? What is going on?”
Liam sighed. “I’ve put myself in a vulnerable position with the company. I couldn’t afford all of Graham Boyle’s stock, so my aunt owns the largest share of ANS, not me. She’s threatening to sell it to Ron Wheeler if I don’t get married within a year.”
Ron Wheeler. That was a name that could send chunks of ice running through her veins. Charity didn’t help the bottom line in his eyes. Francesca, her staff and the entire department would be out the door before the ink was dry on the sale. And they would just be the first, not the last to go if he were in charge. “Why would she do that?”
“She wants me married and settled down. She wants me to be the strong family patriarch when she’s gone and doesn’t believe my playboy ways are appropriate. I think she’s bluffing, really. I’m hoping that if I get engaged, that will be enough to soothe her. In the meantime, I’m going to work with my accountant and financial advisor to see if I can arrange for a line of credit large enough to buy her out. I have no expectation that we’ll actually have to get married.”
“I should hope not,” she snapped. Francesca had some very strong ideas about what a good marriage was made of and blackmail was not the ideal start. “Don’t you have anyone else you can ask? You’ve known me less than a week.”
Liam looked over to the book on his desk and shook his head. “I’ve gone through every woman’s name in my address book and there’s not a single suitable candidate. All those women would look at this as a romantic opportunity, not a business arrangement. That’s why you’re my ideal choice.”
A business arrangement? That’s just what a girl wanted to hear. “So if this is just a business arrangement, that means you have no intention of trying to get me into bed, right?”
Liam leaned closer to her and a wicked grin spread across his face. “I didn’t say that, but really, that’s not my first priority here. I’m asking you for several reasons. First, I like you. Spending time with you shouldn’t be a hardship. My aunt will expect the relationship to appear authentic and she’ll sniff out the truth if she thinks we’re faking it. After our time in the elevator, I think you and I have enough chemistry to make it realistic. And second, I know I can count on you because you want something from me.”
Francesca opened her mouth to argue with him and then stopped. She knew exactly where this was going. Tit for tat. “The Youth in Crisis gala?”
He nodded. “If Ron Wheeler gets a hold of this company, everything you’ve worked for will be destroyed. The only thing I can do to protect this company and its employees is to get engaged as soon as I can. For your assistance, I’m offering the full financial support of ANS for the Youth in Crisis charity ball. I’ll even pledge to top the highest private donation with my own money. I look at it as an investment in the future of the network. And all you have to do is wear a beautiful diamond ring and tolerate my company until my aunt backs down.”
It felt like a deal with the devil and there had to be a catch. “You said it had to appear authentic. Define authentic.”
Liam sat back in his seat and crossed his leg over his knee. “No one is going to follow us into the bedroom, Francesca, and I won’t make you do anything that you don’t want to do. But everything we can do to convince people we are a couple in love would be helpful.”
She shook her head and looked down at her lap. This was all so sudden. The idea of being Liam’s fiancée, even if just temporarily, wasn’t so bad. She’d be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t thought about their time in the elevator as she lay alone in bed each night. But his fiancée? Publicly? What would she tell her family? She couldn’t tell them the truth. And her friends? She would have to lie to everyone she knew.
But the alternative was unthinkable. She cared too much about ANS and its employees to let the company fall into Ron Wheeler’s hands. Going along with Liam’s plan would protect the company and earn her the charity gala she wanted so badly. When the arrangement was no longer necessary, her friends and family would just have to believe that things had soured between them and they broke it off. She could live with that. It wasn’t as though they were actually going to get married.
She looked up in time to see Liam slide off the couch to his knees and crawl across the floor until he was kneeling at her feet. He looked so handsome in his navy suit, his dark, beautiful blue eyes gazing into her own. He took her hands into his, his thumb gently stroking her skin. With him touching her like that, she’d probably agree to anything.
“Francesca Orr,” he said with a bright, charming smile. “I know I’m just the humble son of a pig farmer, but would you do me the honor of being my temporary fiancée?”