Meddling with a Millionaire (4 page)

“Any risks I've taken in business have come after a lot of careful analysis.”

Max snorted. “Is that what you did at the poker table? Careful analysis?”

Nathan hated having his hard work reduced to little more than fortuitous circumstances, but he wasn't going to brag about his accomplishments. He intended to demonstrate to Max and Sebastian how wrong they were to underestimate him.

“Face it, Nat,” Max continued. “You're not going to get the deal with Montgomery done. Silas is just leading you on. Which brings me to the reason I called. We heard from Lucas Smythe. He's willing to take a meeting.”

Max's news infuriated Nathan. Sebastian had been eager to bring Smythe Industries into the fold for a couple years. Buying the family-run business would further diversify Case Consolidated Holdings' portfolio. It was the perfect move for his risk-averse brothers.

“Why now? A year ago he turned us down flat.”

“He didn't say and it doesn't matter. Sebastian and I like Lucas's company. There's not as much risk involved.”

Or as much reward. “All I need is six weeks to get the details ironed out.” He left the specifics deliberately vague. “If you give me time, I can make this deal happen.”

“This isn't about you.” Max's voice hardened. “It's about what's best for Case Consolidated Holdings. Stop acting like a lone wolf and prove to us that you can put the company's best interests before your ego.”

“That's what I'm doing.”

The unfairness of the criticism hit Nathan hard. He'd always been the one on the outside. His mother's long-term affair with Brandon had robbed Nathan of any chance for a normal family life. After her death, when he'd been twelve, he'd gone to live with the Case family. Neither the wife Brandon had cheated on, nor her overprotective sons had been happy to share a roof with the living proof of Brandon's infidelity. Sebastian and Max were thirteen months apart, with Nathan a mere six months younger than Max. But while his brothers were as tight as twins, they shut out Nathan completely.

“It's hard to act like part of the team when I've been treated like the opposition.”

Silence followed Nathan's statement. When Max spoke again, he sounded colder than ever. “We'll see you in the office tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

“I'll set up a meeting with Sebastian in the afternoon. You can bring us up-to-date then.”

Without waiting for Nathan's answer, Max disconnected the call. Nathan muttered a string of curses and inserted a CD. While Dierks Bentley reminded him that good things happen, Nathan contemplated his situation. The last six months had been hell. He probably wouldn't have lasted this long if he didn't love a challenge so much.

Nathan rested his elbow against the door and propped his head on his hand. Unbidden, the sexy image of Emma
wearing the black thong and matching strapless bra rose in his mind as he thought back to the night of Grant's party. Her skin had been like hot silk beneath his fingers as he'd stripped her underwear off. She was exactly the sort he went for, all sultry sophistication and flashing sable eyes.

Her brother, Cody, had been his best friend in college. The first time Nathan had laid eyes on her, she'd been sixteen. The four-year difference in their ages made her jailbait, but she'd stalked him, her curiosity fully engaged on her journey from girl to woman.

An attractive, cheeky brat, she'd worn red lipstick to draw attention to her lush mouth, batted her long lashes and flaunted her shapely golden body in a string bikini every chance she got. She would arch her back and lift her wet hair so the breeze would catch the damp strands.

Amused by her kittenish play, he'd let her practice her feminine wiles on him. Keeping his distance, however, grew increasingly difficult as she got bolder. Then came the afternoon she caught him alone in the kitchen. In an insanely short skirt and high heels, she'd strutted past him, plying his libido with her sassy smile.

If he'd caught wind of her intentions, he'd have been out of there fast, but he never dreamed that she'd back him against a counter and set her full, rosy mouth on a collision course with his lips. For two sluggish heartbeats he'd stared at her pretty face, long lashes painting ebony half moons on her flushed cheeks, and been tempted to teach her a lesson on the dangers of flirting with older men. Instead, rattled by her detrimental effect on his good judgment, he'd rebuffed her without much finesse, cut his visit short and hit the highway.

Twelve years later she was no longer forbidden fruit.

Three weeks ago, he'd had his first taste, and it left him hungry for more.

With an impatient, disgusted snort he shoved the provocative pictures away and focused on the problem at hand:
convincing Emma to marry him. Because he couldn't do the deal with her father and take control of Case Consolidated Holdings away from his half brothers unless he did.

E
mma sat in the middle of her walk-in closet. Surrounded by empty hangers and four plastic garbage bags filled with the last of her designer clothes, she fought an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. She needed to replace $35,000 and had about five weeks to do it. The amount staggered her.

Her cell phone rang.

“I was calling to invite you out to dinner,” Addison said, her tone brisk. “Paul's taking the kids to basketball practice tonight so I've got a couple hours free.”

Emma pictured her best friend sitting in her beautifully decorated home office, going over the details for whatever event she was organizing. For the last five years, Addison had been growing her party planning business, working long hours, setting goals and achieving them. With a tireless work ethic and an abundance of determination, she inspired Emma's entrepreneurial drive and at the same time made Emma feel guilty that she didn't work harder.

“I don't know if I can make it,” Emma said, when what she
really meant to say is that she didn't know if she could afford it. Thanks to her father's actions a year ago, she'd gone from spendthrift to penny pincher. The transformation had been humbling, but she recognized that it had also been a good lesson to learn. “I've been going through my closet to see what I can sell.”

“Are you crying?”

Emma shook her head and dashed the back of her hand against her damp cheek. “No.”

“You sound like you are. Why don't you just let me lend you the money?”

“You and Paul can't afford to do that. And I wouldn't take it anyway. I've got to do this on my own.” She'd never get her father to stop meddling if she didn't beat him at his own game.

“You aren't going to make enough money in five weeks by selling your clothes. Have you heard from the people running the art and design show?”

A couple months ago, Addison had badgered her into applying for a spot at a prestigious art and design show in Baton Rouge. Unsure how her work would be received, Emma's nerves had been tied up in knots. Yesterday, she'd been accepted.

“I'm in. But I don't have enough inventory to take to the show. Almost everything is consigned at Biella's.” By her calculation, she had at least $50,000 tied up in unsold jewelry. Almost all of it decorated the cases in Biella's, Houston's most prestigious jeweler.

“So, go there and get it back. It's not as if they've sold more than five or six pieces in the last six months. I think the Baton Rouge show's your best bet.”

“But can I make enough?” Emma dumped a garbage bag out onto the floor and began sliding hangers back into her clothes. “Daddy says I don't have the drive to succeed. Maybe he's right.”

“He's not right. I know you can do this and, deep down, so do you.”

Did she? Emma wasn't so sure. Being independent and financially responsible was hard work. And, right now, the enormity of the task before her made her want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over her head.

“Besides,” Addison continued. “Don't you want to see the look on your father's face when he realizes he has to turn your money over to you? It should be priceless.”

Addison's enthusiasm bolstered Emma's sagging confidence. “What would I do without you?”

“Fortunately, you'll never have to know. Now, put on some Prada and get going.”

An hour later, Emma stepped into Biella's, and paused just inside the glass doors. Fidgeting with her gold hoop earring, she scanned the large space. The exclusive downtown Houston jewelry store had been split into two parts. Diamonds and precious stone rings occupied one side, while necklaces, bracelets, watches and men's jewelry filled the cases on the other. Tones of cinnamon, gold and slate cradled the expensive collections. Copper-toned mirrors lined the walls behind the displays, reflecting the golden light from crystal chandeliers. Emma's feet sank into plush, dark gray carpet as she circled the room.

Little had changed since she'd honed her skills here as an apprentice goldsmith five years ago. The ambiance remained luxurious and elegant. The store owed as much of its success to the quality of the shopping experience as to the uniqueness of its merchandise.

An eager, smiling sales associate appeared ready to offer the knowledgeable assistance expected at Biella's. The redhead must be a new hire; otherwise, she'd recognize Emma and realize she wasn't a customer.

Emma approached the cases, drawing the sales consultant like a shark to fresh blood.

“Aren't these beautiful? A local artist does the work. Is there something you'd like to see up close?”

Thinking that she'd seen each and every piece up close already, Emma smiled at the clerk, appreciating her enthusiasm. “I was wondering if Thomas was around.”

Thomas McMann was Biella's manager, and Emma's former boss. He'd been the one to propose the idea of consignment; Emma had hoped to sell the pieces outright. She understood his reluctance to take on so much inventory. Considering her lack of reputation, the price she'd assigned to each piece and the quality of the designs, he might not want to take a chance on such untraditional items.

“I'll see if he's available.”

“Thanks.”

While the girl disappeared into a back room, Emma counted the pieces in the display case to see if anything had been sold. Another two of the smaller pieces were missing. She breathed a sigh of relief. That meant another $3,000 in the bank.

It would make a little dent in the $35,000 she still had to put back. It was a huge amount to earn in five weeks, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't daunted by the prospect, but failure meant she couldn't show her father and Nathan that she was a capable, independent woman who deserved to make her own choices about who she married and when.

Too bad she hadn't known about her father's plans for Nathan five months ago. She might not be in her current predicament. When her father first cut her off, it took her two months to go through a quarter of the money, and another thirty days before the reality of her troubles began sinking in.

She enjoyed designing and creating jewelry, but she'd never considered pursuing it as a career. It had been Addison who'd suggested that Emma could make enough money to
keep herself afloat if she stuck with creating spectacular, one-of-a-kind pieces.

Unfortunately, setting herself up with the equipment and supplies she needed put another dent in the hundred thousand, and another thirty days melted away before she'd produced enough pieces to show the manager of Biella's what she could do. In the end, her hard work had paid off, and the first dollars she'd earned by selling what she'd made had given her a huge thrill.

“Hello, Emma,” a soft nasal voice greeted. Tall and as thin as a cartoon rendering of Ichobod Crane, all elbows and skinny legs, Thomas McMann had a beak for a nose and incredible bedroom eyes framed by sumptuous eyelashes that belonged to a cover girl. “Did you see we sold three more pieces?”

“Three?” She rechecked. Sure enough. A little glow blossomed around her heart. She recognized it as confidence, something she'd been sorely lacking for the last eleven months. “That's terrific.” She took the envelope he extended, resisting the urge to tear it open and see the size of the check.

“I hope you've brought us some new pieces.”

“Actually, I was hoping to take these back.” She pointed to the jewelry in the case. “I was invited to participate in an art and design show, and you have all my inventory.”

“Oh. That's a problem.” He looked at her somberly. “Your jewelry is really starting to sell, and we have two months left on our contract.”

By that he meant he wasn't willing to give up the forty percent commission he took from each piece. Emma chewed on her lower lip.

“I'll return whatever doesn't sell at the show, and I'll design some new pieces as well.”

A quarter-inch of glass and one man's stubbornness separated Emma from the glittering collection of jewelry she'd designed and crafted. Regaining possession of the necklaces,
earrings and rings, embellished with diamonds and precious gems, was crucial to her plan.

“You can have whatever we haven't sold in two months.” From his tone, he wasn't yielding. Thomas had always been a stickler for rules. It's what kept him in charge of Houston's top jewelry store for the last ten years, and why she'd left.

With her heart crushed to the size of a peanut, Emma blew out a breath and decided she'd better come up with plan B if she hoped to escape her father's marriage trap.

After leaving Biella's, she decided to stop by Case Consolidated Holdings and retrieve her earrings. If she hoped to have enough to sell at the show, she might have to sacrifice some of her personal favorites. She would need the earrings Nathan took.

Standing in the elevator, she watched the floor numbers light up one by one in the display panel beside the door. Her stomach gave a little lurch as the elevator slowed. She smoothed her simple beige silk dress, recognizing the nerves behind the gesture. More than nerves, she amended. Her heart thudded almost painfully in her chest. Panic better described it.

Until that moment, she'd forgotten that she'd stood him up for breakfast on New Year's Day. For the last few days she'd been so focused on her finances that she hadn't considered how annoyed he would be that she'd dodged him yet again. But how could she do otherwise when she'd almost given in and let him have his way with her a second time?

Just thinking about him, recalling what he'd said to her, the way he'd known exactly what would drive her crazy, she was hot and ready for a repeat performance of their one time together. Of course, there wouldn't be a repeat performance.

Emma entered the offices of Case Consolidated Holdings, immediately distracted from her mission by the original artwork hanging on the lobby walls. She stepped closer to one
particular painting. Her eyes widened as she recognized the work of Julian Onderdonk, one of the most highly acclaimed Texas artists of the twentieth century.

He'd always been a favorite of Emma's because his work captured the subtle beauty of south Texas. She'd encouraged her father to purchase three of his paintings. He'd hung them in his study and often remarked that although they hadn't appealed to him when he'd first bought them, he came to appreciate the landscapes more every day.

“Can I help you?” the young woman at the reception desk inquired.

“In just a second.” Emma moved on to the next painting.

Adrian Brewer, she mused. Painted in the late twenties. Emma admired the field of bluebonnets that drifted off into the expansive Texas horizon. Someone with a discerning eye shared her appreciation for early Texas artists. Who was the collector?

“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist continued, her brisk tone disturbing Emma's reflective mood.

Art always had a powerful, soothing effect on her, and right now, she needed all the calm she could muster.

“I think she's here to see me,” a familiar, masculine voice replied.

Nathan came to stand behind her right shoulder, close enough for her to feel the tension in his muscles. The hair on her arms lifted as if she stood in close proximity to a lightning strike. She froze, dazzled by the effect the man had on her.

How easy it would be to lean back against him and be enfolded in his arms, to let him take away her worries and drown her doubts in deep, drugging kisses. She inhaled his scent, a subtle blend of sandalwood soap and lavender shampoo, and recalled how his hair had felt between her fingers as she'd gripped him tight and encouraged him to feast on her. A groan collected in her throat. She eased her eyes shut to capture the memory and hold it tight.

“I always considered Julian Onderdonk the master of the bluebonnet,” she said, grateful to hear the steadiness of her voice. Now if only she could count on the rest of her body to follow suit. “But after seeing Brewer's interpretation, I might have to change my mind.”

“I wouldn't know anything about that,” he retorted, clipping off the words with an impatience that banished her sensual daydreaming. “We buy purely for investment purposes.”

Emma's eyes flashed open. She glanced up at his forbidding profile. He appeared preoccupied with the painting. Despite his grim expression, she detected a hint of softness in his lips. The gentleness vanished a second later as his flat, gray eyes slashed to her. Her pulse jerked.

Seizing her by the elbow, he drew her down the hall that stretched away from the receptionist's desk. The speech she'd prepared vanished at his touch. She was at a loss for words, wishing his impersonal grip didn't affect her so acutely.

The hall buzzed with activity, but Emma might have been blind and deaf for all the attention she paid. She couldn't concentrate on anything but Nathan and the annoyance radiating from him. Clearly, this had been a mistake.

He steered her into a huge office and abandoned her in the middle of the space. While he crossed to his desk, Emma glanced around. The walls held more artwork, this of a modern flavor, by artists whose work she didn't recognize. Half a dozen canvases sat propped against an end table. Yet as compelling as her curiosity about the art was, the man who owned it captivated her more.

Nathan stood before the wall of windows, hands clasped behind his back, and surveyed downtown Houston. The broad shoulders she'd caressed and clung to appeared no less intimidating encased in a charcoal-gray suit coat that matched his eyes. Sunlight stabbed through the window and drew forth the gold in his brown hair.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he asked.

It dawned on her that she'd used the excuse of retrieving her jewelry to see him again. “I came to collect my earrings.”

“They're at my condo,” he said. “We could go and pick them up.”