The Tycoon's Socialite Bride (Entangled Indulgence) (4 page)

Chapter Five

Marcus ended the call and tapped his iPhone against his chin, shivers charging down his spine. Her voice was sensational. Velvety. Melodic. Oh, her words had been official and reserved, but there was nothing businesslike about her voice. Regretting they hadn’t met under different circumstances, ones that didn’t involve the Holcombe, he glanced at Carter. “She’s made a decision.”

“And?”

“She wouldn’t say over the phone.” He pressed the intercom button. “Julia, call and make a reservation for two at Cahill’s for tomorrow night at eight.”

“A date?” Carter asked, his voice bloated with interest.

“Not a date, a business meeting.”

“And you conduct all your business meetings at the most exclusive restaurant in DC?”

“This is no different from how we’ve wooed other potential clients and investors in the past.”

“Don’t pull that shit with me. You proposed to a total stranger.”

Marcus tapped the folder on the desk in front of him. “Thanks to you, she’s not a stranger.”

“Because reports give accurate assessments of people?”

“You put together a hell of a team. Their research was comprehensive and told me everything I needed to know about her.” Opening the folder he read, “Hosts teas, volunteers to please Daddy, attends balls like she’s royalty.” He flipped the folder shut. “Typical spoiled socialite.”

“What about the women’s shelter?”

“What about it?”

“I don’t know many ‘spoiled socialites’ who spend their time helping abused women.”

Marcus’s gaze landed, unbidden, on his mother’s picture encased in a simple platinum frame on his desk. Who would’ve helped his mother if she’d gone to a shelter? He shook his head. “Are you trying to be difficult?”

“I’m trying to talk sense into you. It’s bad enough wasting money with an above-market-value bid, but now…you’re going too far.”

Marcus leaned forward. “My mother died years ago, and I don’t need a new one. How far I go isn’t your concern. Your job is to back me up when I get there.”

Carter stared at him for a long moment before shrugging. “It’s your life.”

“That’s right, it is.”

Marcus pulled a picture out of the file and stared at Pamela and the man next to her. They were a striking couple. But the man—Devin Wentworth, thirty-two, lobbyist, affluent and assured in a tailored Hugo Boss suit—captured only a fraction of Marcus’s attention. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Pamela Harrington, smiling up at her companion, her skin glowing in a long green dress. His fingers flexed. He wondered if her skin felt as soft as it looked.

“On paper, the two of them were perfect for each other,” Carter said.

Bile rose in his throat. “They always want everyone to believe they’re better than us. Perfect? Far from it.”

Carter’s brows rose. “They? Who’s ‘they’? Pamela and Wentworth, or all bluebloods?”

Marcus cursed, his head falling back on his chair. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could retract his last comment. “Man, I’m sorry. I wasn’t talking about your family. No offense, I swear.”

Carter came from a very old, very wealthy family. They’d met in graduate school and had bonded immediately. Marcus would hate it if what he said had a negative impact on their friendship.

“None taken. I don’t disagree with what you said,” Carter said in response.

“It’s this city. It brings back bad memories.”

“Is that all this is about?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were staring a hole in that picture. That beautiful woman could be your wife.”

“I know. I asked her.”

“But you’ll get none of the…benefits that usually come with marriage. It’ll be pretend in public, hands-off in private. All of the windup, none of the follow-through. Can you handle that?”

Laughter ripped from him. “I think I can handle it. This isn’t personal, it’s business.”

His office door opened and Julia poked her head in. “The maître d’ at Cahill’s says they’re booked.”

Marcus frowned. “On a Wednesday night?”

“Try Komi or Marcel’s. They’re just as good,” Carter suggested.

“I don’t want just as good, I want the best. I’ve got one shot to play this right. The report says it’s her favorite place. It’s where her other fiancé took her, it’s where I’ll take her.”

“Isn’t that a reason not to go there?”

“It’s the best,” he repeated. “Women like her are used to the best.” Marcus turned to Julia. “Tell him we’ll preorder two bottles of Dom.”

Carter shook his head. “You’re playing in a different league now. I keep telling you, money can’t guarantee access.”

Screw that. Every other door he approached opened without hesitation. This would be no different.

Carter turned to Julia and said, “Tell the maître d’ that Mr. Pearson’s guest will be Pamela Harrington.”

Julia gave a quick nod and headed back to her desk.

“That’s not going to help,” Marcus snapped. “If it’s not the president of the United States, why would they care who I bring to dinner?”

“Because it matters. I know these people.”

“You’re from Chicago.”

“Different city, same league. These people are tight and insular.”

Julia poked her head back in and smiled. “You have a reservation for two at eight thirty tomorrow night.”

To avoid Carter’s smug expression, he swiveled in his leather chair to face the spectacular view out the window. He was filled with an unusual mixture of satisfaction and anger.

Unlike other large cities in the country, DC had a low skyline, mandated by law. From his twelfth-floor office he had sweeping views of the US Capitol and the Washington Monument. But he hadn’t spent a small fortune for that scenery.

He focused on the spire in the distance, gleaming like due north on a compass in the midday sun.

The Holcombe hotel.

Marcus knew the moment Pamela Harrington arrived at Cahill’s. There was a buzz that spread throughout the restaurant and extended all the way back to the table where he sat waiting. In seconds, she came into view and took his breath away. The way the simple black dress wrapped around her caused his body to harden in non-businesslike ways.

Had he really thought he could remain impersonal about proposing to this woman? Why hadn’t he met someone less distracting? Someone who didn’t possess wide, green eyes and full, kissable lips?

“You look beautiful,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for the invitation…and the compliment.”

He stood and held out her chair, and she sat, hints of vanilla perfume teasing his senses. Something shifted in his stomach, but he ignored it and signaled to the approaching waiter.

“Welcome back, Miss Harrington,” the waiter said, addressing Pamela. “It’s been a while. Your usual?”

“Yes, the chardonnay. Thank you.”

“And another scotch for you, sir?”

Marcus nodded.

After the waiter left, Marcus sat back and watched her fingers tinker with the silverware and straighten other pieces of her place setting. “Do I make you nervous?”

“No.”

She looked around and grimaced when she met the gazes focused on her. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Would you mind if we went someplace else?”

“We just ordered drinks.”

“I know, but we have a lot to discuss and this restaurant isn’t conducive to a personal conversation like ours.”

Her eyes flickered to the right, and he followed their movement to find a couple staring openly at them.

She waved at them. “Hello Mr. Gregory, Mrs. Gregory. Nice to see you.”

The woman nodded at Pamela, frowned at him, and continued eating.

He inhaled and exhaled sharply, tapping his fingers on the table. “If you knew what I went through to get this reservation…”

“Was it difficult? We’ve always been able to get in.”

He smiled tightly. “I’m sure you have. Let’s go.”

Dropping a couple of bills on the table, he stood. If going to another restaurant would help convince her to accept his proposal, they’d make their way up Connecticut Avenue until they found a place that met her needs. He ushered her out, through pointed looks and outright stares. They’d been seen together, so the restaurant had served one of its purposes.

His hand tingled where it rested on the small of her back and he cursed, doing a mental headshake.

Get it together, Pearson. This is business.

She stopped him when he headed to the valet stand. “You don’t need your car.” She walked to the curb and raised her hand and a sleek black town car pulled up. Minutes later, they were riding along Fourteenth Street. The change in scenery did little to deflect his focus. If anything, the close interior increased his awareness of her. Of her breasts that rose with every breath she took. Of her lips that shone when her tongue darted out to wet them. Of her shapely legs that flexed when she shifted in her seat. He needed to break the spell.

“Who was that older couple in the restaurant?”

“The Gregorys? They’re close friends of Alice.”

“Who’s Alice?”

Her eyes widened. “It’s been a long time since anyone has asked me that question. Technically, she’s my family’s social secretary. But she’s more than that and has been for years. I don’t know how we would have coped without her after my mother died.”

When the car stopped, Pamela didn’t wait for the driver. She opened her door and stepped out. “Come on.”

Alighting from the vehicle, Marcus found himself staring at the Lincoln Memorial. The structure, surrounded by columns, resembled a Greek temple. Illuminated against the night sky, it was otherworldly.

“I’ve never been here at night,” he said, able to hear the wonder in his voice.

“Not even when you were little?”

“Never.” He turned to look at her. “You vetted me?”

She raised a shoulder. “Informally. I Googled you.”

“Why are we here?”

“The weather is beautiful and the monuments are less crowded at night. We’ll have more privacy here than at Cahill’s.”

She told the driver to wait, and they walked along the street that led to the memorial.

“I’d forgotten how humid DC gets in the summer.”

“You’ve been away too long. No one would call this humid.”

Tingling swept up the back of his neck and he shoved his hands in his pockets. The weather? Seriously? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so nervous around a woman. “Is it safe to presume you’ve decided to accept my proposal?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you had numerous opportunities to tell me no: on the phone, before you sat down, after you sat down…”

She laughed. “Okay. Yes, I’ve decided to marry you. But we need to talk about something first.”

“What?”

“The deal you offered. If I’m going to do this, I’ll want more than a lease extension. I want the building.”

He didn’t even blink. It was a small price to pay to get what he wanted. “Done.”

“Then you’ve got yourself a fiancée.”

They reached the front of the monument and she turned to face him. She jerked her head toward the steps. “Wanna go up?”

His mouth went dry and he swallowed. The muted lighting from their surroundings cast shadows across her face, but he could see the slight smile that touched the corners of her lips. Her hair was pulled back in one of those smooth, complicated knots that women loved but that men wanted to unravel.

She stared up at him and her eyes glowed, challenging him to solve their riddles and unearth their secrets. He was tempted, but he was too slow. Her smile widened and she started up the steps.

After the first few he took her arm, noticing she wobbled in her black, strappy heels. “Those aren’t the best shoes for sightseeing.”

“So? They’re cute.”

He grinned. “They are. And so are you.” He slid his fingers down her arm and laced them with hers.

She stiffened, staring at their entwined hands.

“So you can lean on me if you need to,” he explained.

She sucked in a quick breath, released it, and looked up at him, a shy smile forming on her face. “Thank you.”

When they reached the top, they walked through the columns into the main chamber where the statue of the sixteenth president sat, bathed in a spotlight. Marcus had always thought it was an ivory color, but in actuality, it was a luminous, pearly white. The space echoed with the voices of the other patrons, who read from the various carved inscriptions on the statue’s base.

Pamela stood next to him and stared up at the sculpture. “He looks thoughtful and a little sad.”

“Making the right decision isn’t easy, especially when no one around you understands why you’re doing it.”

“The motto of my life this past year.” She met his gaze and his heart thundered in his chest. Looking away, she pulled her hand from his and walked over to a more secluded section of the room. “So what’s your plan?”

He followed. “We would get married in a small ceremony at City Hall. Attend some functions, be seen around town. Make it look official. After a few weeks, I’ll resubmit my letter of intent to Holcombe, who would have heard about our marriage. Once he signs the contract, I’ll sign over the deed for the women’s shelter, and we can get a quiet annulment.”

He’d considered it carefully and thought he’d crafted a solid plan, one designed to provide as little inconvenience as possible to their lives. There was no way she wouldn’t agree.

“That’s not going to work.”

“Why not?”

Pamela leaned back against a nearby column and crossed her arms. “Where should I start? I’m a Harrington. It’s impossible for me to get married without all of DC society finding out.”

Her voice had taken on a sterling silver, Waterford crystal, housekeeper-butler-gardener tone. Marcus bristled. He didn’t care about all of DC society.

Only David Holcombe.