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Pursued(163)



“I’m sorry, Barney,” she said firmly. “But I’m just not interested.”

She was turning away from the intercom, congratulating herself for never quite getting around to giving James a key to her apartment, when Barney’s voice came floating out of the small, tinny, box again.

“Miss Elise, he says to tell you if you just listen to him for five minutes, he’ll tear up the prenup, whatever that means.”

The offer stopped Elise dead in her tracks. For the past hour, ever since she’d gotten home, she’d been pouring over her copy of the ill-fated document she’d so foolishly signed.

All this time she’d believed it was a standard contract, one to protect a rich man from a gold-digging woman. Since she had her own money and career and didn’t care about James’ wealth, she’d signed without hesitation, though it had hurt her a little that he thought such a document was necessary between them.

But it was more—much more than that. And sure enough, there was a clause that stated she was legally bound to James and had to go through with the wedding, no matter what. Even worse, it stipulated that their marriage couldn’t be dissolved for at least a year afterwards. Not only had she legally obligated herself to marry James—she was going to be stuck with him for a good long time afterwards.

Reading the document made her sick. James had been planning this for a long time—probably ever since he’d run that background check on her and gotten in touch with her stepfather.

He’d hand me over to Charles on a silver platter as long as he got paid enough to do it, she thought, and knew it was true. The depth of dishonesty and betrayal from a man she’d once believed she loved hit her like a brick in the stomach. But if James was actually offering to tear it up…

“Are you sure?” she asked into the intercom. “Are you sure that’s what he said, Barney?”

“Sure am, Miss Elise. He even got a copy of it with him. I can’t make heads ’nor tails of it, though—looks like a lot of legal mumbo-jumbo to me.” Barney cackled. “’Course that’s why I’m a doorman ‘stead of a lawyer, I guess. So what do you say? Should I send him up?”

Elise hesitated. Something in her gut told her to be careful—to be wary of this offer, which seemed too good to be true. And yet, if she could really get James to tear the contract up, she could save herself years of litigation and possibly hundreds of thousands in court fees.

“Miss Elise?” Barney asked again. “You there?”

“All right,” she said at last, against her better judgment. “Send him up.”

It seemed only a second later that she heard a knocking at the door. Jumping up, she ran to open it but a sudden surge of anxiety made her look out the peephole first. Nothing could be seen, however, but the bottom half of James’ immaculately tailored suit and a huge bouquet of deep red roses which obscured his face.

Elise sighed. She hated roses—they reminded her of her father’s funeral. But they were the first flowers James had ever sent to her and she’d never had the heart to tell him so. As a result, she was always getting bunches of them from him. Though from the look of things, he’d outdone himself this time—there had to be three or four dozen long stemmed American Beauties in the bouquet he was holding up.

Well, I’m damn well going to tell him what I think of roses now! she told herself. Sliding the bolt, she opened the door and held it wide. “Come in,” she said tersely. “But don’t expect to stay long.”

“Just long enough,” he murmured and Elise frowned, thinking that his voice sounded wrong somehow. What had happened to his accent?

“James?” she asked uncertainly, backing away.

“No, not James.” The roses dropped to one side and a different face from the one she’d expected appeared. Different, but horribly familiar all the same. “Hello, princess,” her stepfather said, kicking the door shut behind him. “Long time no see. What do you say we get reacquainted?”

* * * * *



“Merrick, is that really you?” Olivia’s face on the viewscreen looked cautiously happy and bewildered at the same time.

“Yeah, it’s me all right,” he snapped. “But I don’t have time for small talk.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just—Elise was so sure you were dead.”

“Sure enough to go down to Earth and see that fucking fiancé of hers?” Merrick growled.

Olivia frowned. “Well, yes, she went to see him. But only to tell him that the wedding—uh, joining ceremony—was off.”