Beauty and the Bachelor(7)

He arched an eyebrow. "I wouldn't. And I agree with you. I don't want  what I just mentioned. I prefer a relationship of respect with someone  who is independent, has her own interests. Someone who understands I  don't work a nine-to-five and is content with that. Desire is easy-lust  easier. More than a lover, I want a woman who can hold her own in a  social situation or a boardroom as well as the bedroom."

"And love? I noticed love wasn't included on your list."

"No," he said flatly, something too fleeting and shadowed to decipher  flashing in his eyes. "It wasn't. Which brings me to my next question,  Sydney."

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under chin. His  intense gaze ensnared her, refused to free her, even though she  desperately wanted to avoid the piercing scrutiny. The conversation had  left her off-kilter, his cold, matter-of-fact analysis of his desired  relationship unsettling. Even though he'd echoed what she and Tyler had.  What she was pledging her life to as Mrs. Reinhold.

She reached for her coffee, desperate for a distraction from him … from her own thoughts.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Marry me."

It wasn't a question.





Chapter Five


Fraud. Jail. Marry me.

The words whirled in Sydney's head like a demonic merry-go-round as she  strode into the lobby of the building housing the headquarters of the  Blake Corporation the next morning. With a quick nod at the security  guard, she continued at a fast clip to the bank of elevators. As if by  walking faster she could outdistance the memories of the previous  evening and Lucas Oliver's accusations and threats. Outrun the anger and  fear that congealed in her stomach, souring it. She huffed out a  breath. Not damn possible.

God, she felt like such a fool allowing herself to be charmed by his  attentiveness, by the sensuality that emanated off him like steam off a  sidewalk after a quick summer shower. Like a lamb led to slaughter-was  that what he'd been thinking as he'd escorted her to the play and  dinner? Right before he blindsided her with a proposal of marriage?

Not that he'd been shocked or offended by her quick, and harsh, "Go to  hell." Not Lucas Oliver. A quirk of the corner of his mouth had been his  reaction as he handed her a folder-and proceeded to blackmail her. Her  hand in marriage to prevent the loss of her father's reputation and  company. A devil's bargain from a devil.

Or a beast.

She punched the up button on the panel, and seconds later, the metal  doors hissed open. The twenty-second ride to the top floor of the steel  and glass building seemed like twenty years before she emerged from the  elevator into the hallway leading to her family's corporate offices. A  foreign urgency vibrated under her skin, almost as if a hand at her back  propelled her down the corridor to the office waiting at the end. She  nodded and murmured subdued hellos to the employees who greeted her, but  she didn't pause to chat as she usually would have. The need for  answers trumped manners or politeness. The need to affirm that her world  didn't teeter on the crumbling edge of uncertainty and lies.         

     



 

The need to verify she hadn't become the pawn in a very real and threatening game of blackmail.

"Good morning, Sydney," Cheryl Granger said with a wide smile as Sydney  paused in front of the desk where the CFO's executive assistant sat. As  long as she could remember, the stately woman had stood guard behind her  wide desk, answering phones, typing reports, welcoming those with  appointments, and turning away those without. Though Cheryl's hair bore  more gray than brown now, she was a fixture in the Blake Corporation  offices. And one of Sydney's favorite people.

"Hi, Cheryl." She forced a smile to her lips. "Is he in?"

The receptionist frowned, apparently not fooled by Sydney's caricature  of a smile. "For you? Always." She rose from her chair and headed toward  the closed oak door behind her. With a perfunctory knock, she opened  the door and stuck her head inside. "Mr. Henley, Sydney is here to see  you." Cheryl stepped back and waved Sydney inside.

"Thanks, Cheryl," she whispered before entering Terry Henley's inner  sanctum. The dam she'd been hoarding her emotions behind creaked and  groaned as her godfather stood and rounded his massive glass desk,  wearing a wide grin and with his arms outstretched.

"Sydney." He enfolded her in his embrace, and the familiar scents of  imported cigars and cologne wrapped around her as securely as his arms.  Fissures zigzagged across the dam now, springing leaks. Terry was not  only the chief financial officer of the Blake Corporation but also her  father's oldest friend. He'd been a fixture in her life-a dependable,  loving fixture. Where Jason had been miserly with affection, Terry had  been generous. Where Jason had been absent, Terry had been available.  Where Jason had been cold, distant, Terry had been warm … forgiving.

In many respects, Terry had been the father Jason hadn't been-refused to be.

And this morning when she'd thrown back the blankets, Lucas's  unbelievable and detestable charges driving her from the bed, her first  thought had been to run to Terry, not Jason. Even though Lucas's claims  had been laid against her father.

Fraudulent financial statements. Submitting false IRS reports. And if  she didn't marry Lucas, he would ruin Jason. And Lucas's reason for  carrying out his blackmail scheme? He would only say that he hated her  father. So simple, yet she had no doubt it was so very complicated.  Jason couldn't have risen to be the powerful man he was today without  earning his fair share of enemies. And considering his penchant for  other women besides his wife, that number could be even greater.

"What did I do to warrant this pleasure?" Terry squeezed her close once  more before cupping her shoulders and leaning back. Again, she tried to  smile, to shore up her admittedly weak defenses, but like Cheryl, he saw  straight through the facade. His smile faltered then disappeared, his  bushy gray eyebrows arrowing down. "Sydney? What's wrong?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose, dipped her chin. How did she ask  this? How did she even form her lips around the question hovering on her  tongue? Not by any stretch of the imagination did Jason win father of  the year. But he was still her father.

And at one time he'd been tender, doting. Before Jay … before they'd lost  Jay, he'd been the parent little girls dreamed and bragged about. Her  little brother's death-and her role in it-had transformed him into the  detached, critical, aloof man he was today. She'd done that. Her  negligence and impetuousness had done that. So how did she dare question  his integrity? How did she dare question … anything?

"Sydney?" Terry murmured, guiding her to the brown leather sofa in his  sitting area. Gently, he lowered her to the cushion, sitting beside her  and cradling her hands between his. "Talk to me. Tell me what's  bothering you."

She inhaled a shuddering breath, slowly exhaled it.

"Terry." She lifted her head and met the concern in his gray eyes. "Is Dad-" She hesitated. Hating herself. "Is Dad … in trouble?"

Her godfather's frown deepened. "What do you mean?"

"Is he-the company-in financial trouble? Has he been lying"-the word  tasted sour on her tongue, and she barely managed not to choke on it-"to  banks and investors to keep the business afloat?" Lucas had used the  term "cooking the books." She might have majored in psychology instead  of business, but she understood the ugliness of the accusation.

A shutter seemed to slam shut in Terry's gaze, wiping his face clean of  expression, leaving a blank, impassive mask. "Where did you hear this  from, Sydney?"         

     



 

Not an indignant "No, of course not," or even a dismissive "Don't  believe everything you hear." Her heart pounded against her chest like a  jackhammer, thundering in her ears.

"Does it matter?" she asked woodenly. "Is it true? And please don't lie to me." I can't-Dad can't-afford for you to lie to me.

Terry didn't respond for several long moments, just studied her in the  heavy silence suddenly filled with a tension that crawled over her skin.

"I need to know where you came by this rumor," he eventually stated, the  godfather she loved replaced by the Blake Corporation's chief financial  officer.

"I can't reveal that." When he parted his lips, she repeated the  gesture, only harder, her refusal adamant. "Trust me when I say I can't.  But I need to know. Please," she quietly begged. Slipping her hands  free of his, she reversed the hold so her palms enfolded his. "Please,  Terry."

His piercing scrutiny thawed the slightest bit. "Sydney, as CFO … "

"You're bound by confidentiality. I know. But I wouldn't ask if it  weren't important. And I can't go to Dad with this. I can't-" She  squeezed his hands. "Please," she repeated.