Crazy Love (4 page)

“Nope. Sure you’re not doing drugs?”

“That’s where I am. Family business. Should be back Monday if everything works out.”

He didn’t mean to say if. He’d make it
when
if it killed him. Bad enough spending one night here, two nights would render him catatonic and any longer…he couldn’t think beyond that.

“Sounds serious. Anything I can help with?”

The thought of telling Rob, the epitome of LA’s slick movers-and-shakers, about his mother flipping out for a guy named Hank after dabbling in Internet dating and him spending the night at a motel called the Love Inn in his quest to save her from becoming Mrs. Hank, made him want to slam his hand against the dash, hard.

“Hold the fort ‘til I get back.”

“Sure thing, big guy. Stay cool.”

An image of Sierra staring at him with fire in her blue eyes flashed into his mind, eradicating
cool
from his memory banks in an instant.

She’d pushed all his buttons, including the one that responded on a subliminal horn-dog level, and he wondered what would happen if he pushed back over dinner tonight.

“How’s the Tech file panning out?”

He should be in LA handling the biggest coup this century, not holed up here fantasizing about a woman who would be a distant memory come Monday.

“I’m waiting to confirm the final list of top five local Net companies, then we’re ready to strike. Once we buy them out, we hit the big time. Numero uno.”

At last. The position he’d coveted since the first day he’d started the company. Making A-Corp the biggest acquisitions company in California would be all the sweeter for knocking the old man’s mob off the top rung of the corporate ladder.

If anyone deserved to be taken down, it was George Fairley. The callous bastard would pay for what he’d done to his mom.

“Keep me posted. I want those names as soon as you have them. And email me the updated file, okay?”

The rundown motel better have Internet access. He’d been in such a hurry to hotfoot it out of LA and get to his mom he’d left his laptop behind. Another bad sign. Since when did he forget anything associated with business?

When he wasn’t behind his desk he was on his cell or had his laptop chained to his wrist, absorbed in work twenty-four-seven, just the way he liked it. He could understand business, could control it, which is more than he could say for the rest of his life.

“Sure thing, boss. And get this. One of those top five companies is an online dating agency. Crazy, huh? Who knew peddling crap to desperadoes could be so lucrative?”

Dread crawled under Marc’s skin. Nah…couldn’t be…must be loads of successful Web dating sites based in California.

“Check out this for a name.” Rob’s phony laugh, half-snort, half-guffaw, increased his trepidation. “
Love Byte
. Corny, huh? Should be a cinch carving up that little relic from the nineties.”

Marc clenched the phone to his ear, wishing he didn’t know, wishing he could replay the last five minutes and erase Sierra’s company off his hit list.

So much for his fabled ruthlessness. The instant he’d heard that loony name his stomach had roiled with the knowledge he’d have to take down the sassy redhead’s company.

He shouldn’t care. But he did. Somewhere between scoring a dinner invitation and getting drenched in ice coffee he decided he liked her quick wit, her acerbic tongue and the rest of her; particularly the rest of her, with those hot curves and long legs and perky breasts.

Damn.

“Boss? You still there?”

“Yeah.” Marc barked into the phone before swiping a hand across his eyes and refocusing. “What do you have on the company so far?”

“Not much. The file’s being compiled as we speak. I’ll get it to you once it’s complete.”

“Fine.”

Though it wasn’t, as an image of bold blue eyes and a lush mouth curved into a challenging smile flashed into his conscience, yelling ‘
shame on you
.’

Mentally letting fly a string of creative curses, he blinked, wiped the image, and slammed his misplaced sentimentality.

He didn’t know the woman, didn’t owe her anything and he’d be damned if he let the opportunity to beat George once and for all slip.

“Anything else, boss?”

“Make this deal happen.”

Marc snapped the phone shut, watching a couple of tourists take photos in front of the diner, their cheesy grins grating on him as much as the cozy scene.

Everything about this place irritated him and he knew why. It reminded him of Annie and what she’d done to escape a small town like this.

Not that he’d been blameless in their disastrous, short lived marriage but the less he had to think about it, the better.

For now, he had more important things to focus on, like having dinner with a woman whose company was on his hit list while wrestling his gnawing guilt under control, and stopping his mom from making a monstrous mistake.

Frigging great. His day just got better and better.

Olivia Fairley had made lousy choices her entire life: the wrong husband, tolerating his abuse, ignoring his infidelities, solace in a bottle.

Not any more. These days, she chose a simple life, in a simple town, with a simple man.

She sank into rose-scented warm water lapping the top of the claw foot bath and leaned back against solid, male flesh, wondering why she’d waited this long to experience the thrill of bathing with a man.

Probably because she’d been married to a cold, ruthless bastard for forty years.

She thanked the good Lord every day she’d had the smarts to enroll in a course for the first time in her life after divorcing George Fairley a year ago, learned how to use a computer and ultimately ended up in love in more ways than one.

“You’re so tense,” Hank said, his large, calloused hands kneading her shoulders, the pressure just right.

She sighed as her head lolled back. “Lot on my mind.”

As much as she hated George he’d given her a wonderful son in Marc, the only high point in her lack luster marriage.

Marc, who had helped her through the divorce, through her battle with alcohol and who she saw more of now than when they’d lived in the same house.

She’d been a lousy mother, too wrapped up in her own misery to care about her child, yet when she’d needed him Marc had been there. He’d supported her, encouraged her and set her on the path to a new life.

Late at night, when Hank’s steady, rhythmic snoring lulled her toward sleep, she wondered what would’ve happened if Marc hadn’t been around to pull her through.

Would she have been compos when Aunt Maggie died and left her twenty million, making her a rich woman in her own right and not needing a penny of George’s measly settlement of the mausoleum she abhorred? Would she have had the guts to get smart, get sober, get out and divorce George?

Probably not, reason enough why she owed her son and had every intention of making up for the wasted years.

“Liv?”

“Sorry, darling. Just thinking about Marc.”

“Worried about how he’ll react to the news?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Her newfound courage had deserted her when it came to telling Marc about her pending nuptials so she’d taken the easy way out. Smitten by technology these days, she’d emailed him, kept her announcement brief, stuck to the bare facts: she was in love with a wonderful farmer, was happier than she’d ever been in her life and was planning on becoming Mrs. Hank Stevens before the year was out.

His scathing reply demanding facts hadn’t fazed her so she’d laid it out in another email, explaining how they’d met, knowing he’d burst a blood vessel but finding it easier than dealing with his interrogation over the phone or worse, face to face.

She could imagine his reaction and hadn’t had a response yet. She’d sent the email Wednesday, today was Friday; in this case maybe silence was truly golden?

Hank’s hands drifted lower, massaging her upper arms with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes. Where had this man been all her life?

Tending his farm, watching classic old movies and devouring Western novels while she’d been holed up in her Beverly Hills mansion playing society hostess in an empty shell of a marriage, tolerating George’s daily put-downs, turning a blind eye to his numerous affairs and hating every minute of it.

“Why don’t you invite him here? We can get to know each other before the wedding?”

Her career-driven, self-made millionaire son in Love? He rarely set foot outside his skyscraper glass office let alone LA unless it involved business or one of those plastic floozies he dated on a regular basis following the bust-up with Annie seven years ago. Unfortunately, when it came to women, her son followed in his father’s footsteps, chasing after unsuitable women. She’d hoped Marc’s taste would develop into discerning as the years passed but so far he’d disappointed.

Why couldn’t he find someone classy, someone who could match him, rather than settle for the fake arm candy he paraded around the city with? He needed a woman with intelligence, panache, and class, his equal in every way.

This town was brimming with savvy women and in that instant Hank’s suggestion didn’t sound so ludicrous. A glimmer of an idea took root and grew…to matrimonial proportions.

All she had to do was get Marc here, orchestrate a few meetings and let the sparks fly.

“You darling man, you’re a genius.” She tilted her head back and nuzzled under Hank’s chin. “I’ll invite Marc to stay first thing in the morning. For now, I have some bits that need scrubbing…”

Marc slid into a back booth at the Love Shack, feeling more like the Fonz with every tick of the ancient kitchen clock hanging askew from the faded candy-striped walls of the old diner. Any minute Ritchie, Potsie and Ralph-Malph would join him, completing the bizarre scenario.

He’d never seen anything like this: a long, marble counter with stainless steel stools beneath it, high back booths in red Naugahyde, black and white tiled floor, and an authentic 1956 Warlitzer jukebox in the far corner.

Throw in the framed posters of Marilyn Monroe, the vintage cookie tins and soda bottles perched precariously on rickety wooden shelves lining one wall, the rotary dial telephones and the peppy fifties music making his head ache, and he knew he’d stepped into a sitcom.

He should find his mom pronto rather than waste time having dinner with a woman, no matter how beautiful, he wouldn’t see after tonight.

Barging in on his mom unannounced had seemed like a good idea back in LA, now he was here he knew it would be smarter to calm down, get a good night’s sleep and confront the senile pair in the morning.

Senility was the only reason he could think of for his mom’s whacko behavior. Dementia had set in early. He couldn’t fault her for finally leaving his father and their loveless marriage but to shack up with some country hick barely twelve months after the ink on the divorce papers was dry? Not to mention the stranger phenomenon of wanting to get hitched to a farmer she’d met on the Internet?

No, something wasn’t right. This whole scenario screamed scam. Hopefully Eric Grayson, the local PI he’d hired an hour ago to get the dirt on this Hank character would come through ASAP and he’d have proof.

And if he found out this no-good son of a bitch was using his mom as a one way ticket out of Dullsville before throwing her away like yesterday’s trash, he’d whisk her out of this godforsaken town so fast her head would spin.

He had to protect her, considering he’d done such a lousy job all these years.

“Your shirt cleaned up okay.”

Marc glanced up as Sierra slid onto the worn bench seat opposite and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he struggled not to gawk like a hormonal teenager on a first date

She eyeballed him. “What? Do I have a smudge on my nose or something?”

“Or something.”

He grabbed a menu in an attempt to do something with his hands other than make a grab for the gorgeous redhead.

Copper. Burnished copper threaded with gold. He’d dated redheads before but none had come close to having hair the color of this woman, hair that made his fingers itch to tangle in the silky waves as it danced around her face in fiery ripples before falling to below her shoulders.

She stood out like a bright beacon, a siren that could shipwreck the entire US Fleet and he couldn’t fathom why a woman like her was holed up in a dead-end town like this.

Someone with her looks and sass, not to mention brains and business acumen by her fancy office set up, could take LA by storm. Yet here she was looking a million bucks in a killer black dress which belonged at the Beverley Wiltshire rather than some decrepit diner and fitting in anyway.

“No compliment? You’re losing your touch, Slick.”

Her eyes twinkled as she picked up a menu and fanned her face like an Elizabethan coquette. “And here I was, thinking this dinner was a move on your part to start a beautiful friendship.”

“Wasn’t this dinner your idea?”

He quickly scanned the menu, surprised at his hunger for a juicy burger with the lot. Insanely, the usual Nouvelle cuisine he ate at Jacques almost on a nightly basis seemed boring. Tonight, he needed something substantial to sink his teeth into. Something that would take his mind off the crazy fantasy of nibbling on the woman seated opposite.

She waggled her finger at him. “Uh-uh. You wangled an invitation and around these parts we’re too polite to tell city folk to leave even if they deserve it.”

“Hey, what did I do?”

Apart from burst into her office twice and rant like a madman over the paperwork his mother had filled out. He hadn’t been proud of his outburst, hadn’t been thinking rationally since he’d jumped into his Jag and hotfooted it out of LA and into this time warp.

Besides, it wasn’t about what he’d done, more about what he was about to do. Acquiring her company would be strictly business. It had nothing to do with her sparkling eyes or cheeky grin taunting him to match wits. As for his newfound guilt niggling like an annoying burr, he’d ignore it. The Tech file was too important to jeopardize over a bad case of lust.