The Marriage Bargain (27 page)

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Kevin Wake rolled his six foot four inch frame out of bed and onto the cold linoleum floor of his boarding house room. His single luxury, his iPhone, was ringing. He’d set it on the dresser so he would be forced to get up when the alarm sounded.

He stumbled across the room and grabbed the phone. It wasn’t the alarm. He had a call. He stared at the number and fought a wave of panic. There was only one reason his mother’s lawyers would call him, and he feared the worst. He answered cautiously.

“Hello?”

“It’s your mother,” said Krystal.

His panic subsided. “Mom? Why are you calling from Ratigan and Sons?”

“Something is going on behind your back and I want you to have a fighting chance.”

Kevin glanced at the clock. “Talk fast, mom. I’ll be late for class.”

“Stop with the graduate school bull crap, Kevin. I know you’re not in the MBA program. I keep sending your allowance because you have a right to it.”

Kevin unplugged the iPhone from its charger and checked the mini fridge for a soda. He popped the lid and sat on the single chair in the corner.

“And I keep putting it in the bank, in case you need it back some day. You know I want to make it on my own.”

“Let’s not fight,” said Krystal. “I don’t have the energy for it. Besides, your father is the enemy, not me.”

“All right,” said Kevin. “What’s the old man done this time?”

“He has wagered your future away.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he intends to enforce the letter of the trust. It means he will not back down. He wants to control my wealth completely and in order to do that he must wrangle the last hope for your inheritance from your grasp. He has gone so far as to wager that you will fail to meet the terms and allow him to gain complete control. He and his Wall Street buddies are having a gay old time, making book on your eventual misfortune.”

“Look, mom, I know he can be a bastard when it comes to money, but Nicholas Ratigan promised us he could get those terms altered in court.”

“Your father has his own lawyers, Kevin, and they have countered Ratigan’s request. I overheard a conversation he was having with them—”

Kevin interjected, “You mean, you eavesdropped.”

“My children’s future is at stake. I do what I must. Your father’s lawyers will see to it that the requirements of the trust are met to the letter of the law. If you are not legally married by your twenty-fifth birthday, it will all come to me. You know I’m not strong, and my health is not improving. Failure to thrive, they say, which means they have no answers. You must be in a position to take over the inheritance, because if it comes to me, Douglas will find a way to rip it away, and believe me, Kevin, there will be nothing left by the time your brother and sister are of age.”

Kevin felt like he’d been hit with a hammer. “I was counting on the Ratigans.”

“I know. And I was counting on your father still having a shred of decency left.”

“But my birthday is only a month away!”

“I guess you better get busy,” said Krystal. “I’m taking Karla and Keegan to the ranch for the summer, and there will be a wedding on June 29th, the day before your birthday. You be there with your bride. And remember it has to be legal and believable. If there is a hint of suspicion, if your father’s lawyers get a toehold, they’ll hang this up in the courts for years. I have to go.” Her voice softened. “I love you, Kevin.”

Kevin hung up and began to pace. Ever since he was old enough to know the difference between rich and poor, he’d felt guilty for being a member of the privileged class. His mother came from old money, earned the hard way, but his dad’s wealth came from the worst kind of capitalism and Kevin wanted nothing to do with it. When he told his father how he felt, Douglas Wake’s rage turned physical, and when Kevin left for college, he never expected to return.

That’s why he lived the way he did, in a one-room convenience apartment. He rode a bicycle to work. He’d made a vow to himself that every penny of the allowance his mother sent him would go into a savings account. He needed to know how to make it on his own. And it had not been easy. Many times he’d been tempted to raid that savings account. He only succumbed once, to pay for his iPhone, his connection to the world.

But now he would have to dip into it for sure. If he was going to attract a bride, even a temporary one, he would need money. He would need to project the same kind of power and wealth that he despised in his father if he was going to find the right kind of woman. But he would have to go about it carefully. He didn’t want to attract gold diggers.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror. His square jaw, hazel eyes, and wavy dark hair attracted plenty of dates, but he seldom saw them twice. Besides, that wasn’t the kind of girl he could present as a bride. Not even a fake one. He needed a good, wholesome girl who could pass muster as a Wake. He made a disgusted noise. No, he needed a girl who could pass muster as a Fineman, his mother’s side of the family. The problem was, the kind of girl he needed was not the kind of girl who would take money to pretend to be his bride.

If it were only his future at stake, he would turn his back and walk away. But his sister Karla and his little brother Keegan had a stake in this as well. Like his mother said, by the time they were old enough to claim their inheritance, his father would find a way to turn all the assets into cash and stuff it into a Swiss bank account, hidden from them until the day he died. If there was any left by then. He’d already managed one legal maneuver after another to gain control of his mother’s wealth. The only portion left was that guarded by the trust fund that Kevin could only fall heir to by marrying before his twenty-fifth birthday. It was money from that trust that his mother, as a trustee, was using for his allowance.

So far, Kevin could support himself. But Keegan deserved a chance to go to a good school, and Karla should not be forced to do the kind of menial jobs he had chosen to do in order to get by.

He couldn’t turn his back. Like it or not, he was going to have a wedding on June 29th, and he’d better get busy and find a bride.

CHAPTER TWO

Saturday, June 23

MEGAN MULLY STEPPED
through the doors of the University of Washington Medical Center, her home for the last six months, and took a deep breath of fresh Seattle air. For a moment, she closed her eyes and let the sun beat down on her upturned face. It felt good to be outdoors again.

Oh, she’d been allowed outside during her stay, but she always knew she had to go back to her hospital room. Not this time. This time she was free to go anywhere she wanted.

She opened her eyes and gulped.

The only problem was, there was nowhere to go.

Her car had been totaled in the accident that put her in the hospital. She was moving to Seattle when it happened, so she didn’t even have an apartment. The job that was waiting for her went to another when she couldn’t show up for work. Everything she owned had been in that car, including her cell phone. All gone. But she couldn’t pay the cell phone bill anyway, without a job. So it didn’t matter.

She looked around at the acres of sidewalk that surrounded the medical center and realized she didn’t even know where to catch the bus.

Megan swallowed several times but the lump in her throat threatened to bring tears.

She shook off the loneliness, straightened her shoulders and clutched the battered purse slung over her shoulder. Inside, in her battered wallet, she had exactly forty dollars in cash. Her mother left it with her when she had to return to her father at the mission in Guatemala. There were lots of rewards in missionary work, but none of them were monetary.

The wallet wasn’t the only thing in her purse. She could almost feel the dreaded envelope through the bag. As broke and alone as she was, it was that envelope that threatened to fill her with despair. But there was nothing she could do about that at the moment. She braced herself to face her first day of freedom. But without the structure of physical therapy and hospital meals, she realized she had no plan for it.

Well, there was no time like the present to start looking for work. She patted her pockets for change, found a handful of quarters, and bought a newspaper from the box at the corner. She settled on a shady bench and turned to the want ads.

An hour later, the shade had shifted and the pleasant morning sun was turning into a noontime sunburn machine. Just her luck to be released on one of Seattle’s rare sunny days. Megan’s optimism was wilting in the heat. Column after column was filled with requirements and demands for experience that she did not have. Not one of them wanted a “twenty-fouryear-old-woman willing to learn, no experience necessary, will provide apartment and car.”

She laughed out loud at herself. The chances of finding an ad like that were almost as great as being abducted by aliens and learning she was a princess on another world. She turned the page. There were only two columns left. She might as well read through them all before she spent part of her precious forty dollars on something to eat.

She skimmed along the columns, hunger making her read faster. Journeyman Mechanic? Nope, not qualified. Radiology nurse? Wrong major. Nurse’s aide? By golly, she could do that one in her sleep, but the idea of moving from patient to caretaker in the hospital she just left did not appeal to her at all. The rest of the column was mostly clerical. And then there were sales positions. She could not stand on her feet all day, not for a while anyway. Those were out.

She just about gave up hope when the last ad in the last column caught her eye.

At first she thought it was a joke.

“Exceptional opportunity for a young lady, aged 22-25, willing to relocate. Gentleman’s personal secretary. Must be of high moral fiber. Lodging and transportation included in generous salary. Personal interviews only.” It ended with a phone number.

She read it ten times, trying to figure out what the trick was. But the words did not change. There it was. Gentleman’s personal secretary.

She wasn’t totally naive. She figured the “personal” part was very personal. But then again, it required “high moral fiber.” Goodness knew she had plenty of that. It was almost the only legacy her parents had provided for her before they took up missionary work.

No matter how many times she closed the newspaper and opened it again, the ad was still there.

After half an hour of shifting between too good to be true and sent from God, she decided it wouldn’t cost her anything but the price of a phone call. She knew there were pay phones in the lobby of the hospital, so she gritted her teeth and walked back into the megalithic structure she’d been so happy to leave a couple of hours before.

“Hello?” A man answered. He had a nice enough voice, and he didn’t sound like an old codger. But this could be an employee, she thought.

“Hi. My name is Megan Mully and I’m calling about the ad in the paper, the one for a gentleman’s personal secretary?”

“Yes?”

“Has it been filled yet?”

“No, not yet, Ms. Mully. Would you like to interview for the position?”

“Yes, please.”

“Can you be available at two today?”

Megan hesitated. “Well, I can, but...”

“Is there a problem?”

“I have no car. At the moment,” she added quickly. She didn’t want to sound destitute.

“I’ll send a car for you,” said the voice.

“May I ask who will be conducting the interview?”

“Certainly. Mr. Kevin Fineman Wake will do the honors. If you’ll give me your address, I’ll send a driver.”

Megan gave him the name of the medical center and the cross street. Then she added, “Oh, by the way, I need to, uh, leave the address of the interview with, with,...” —
with another human being in case you turn out to be a serial killer
— “...with my mother so she won’t worry.” She cringed. That sounded so stupid!

“Of course. I wouldn’t want your mother to worry.” He seemed amused, but he gave her an address in the downtown area. At least she thought it was downtown. Her entire six month stay in Seattle had been spent in the hospital. She only knew the area through television news broadcasts.

“My driver will be there in half an hour.”

“Great. Oh! How will I know it’s your car?”

“He’ll be driving the white limo today.” Click.

“Okay, then,” said Megan into the dead phone. “The white limo.” She replaced the hand set and headed purposefully toward the alcove where the snack food machines stood waiting. “Definitely the white limo,” she said in an affected tone. “One never drives black at this time of year.” Then she giggled.

A Snickers bar and a can of Coke had her buzzing with sugar by the time the white limo pulled up in front of the hospital entrance. A young Asian man hopped out and opened the back door for her. He was wearing a jacket that reminded Megan of a sea captain.

“You are Ms. Megan Mully?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

“I’m Jeffrey Wong, Mr. Wake’s driver. I’ll be delivering you to your interview this afternoon.”

For half a second, she wondered if she needed to tip the man. She wasn’t used to being driven around by a chauffeur. But then, if he worked for a wealthy gentleman, she shouldn’t have to worry about that sort of thing. She climbed into the limo and sat facing forward. Her purse had its own personal space on the roomy seat.

Wong leaned in to point out amenities. “If you’d like a refreshment, there’s a mini fridge. It will take us about half an hour to reach our destination. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

The door closed and Megan leaned back on the seat and exhaled with a whoosh. She wanted to get it out of her system before the driver got back in the car. She still had the newspaper with the ad in it, and she folded it tightly and clutched it in her lap for the first five minutes.

After that, she relaxed a bit and explored the mini fridge. She wasn’t hungry. More curious than anything. Even so, she couldn’t resist trying one of the little sandwiches on a tray. And a girl could never have enough caffeine. She popped the top on another soda, a diet drink this time. The fruit looked appealing, too, especially since she had no idea where she would be at dinner time or if she could afford to spend any of her forty dollars on a real meal. Very carefully, she smuggled an apple and a banana into her purse for later.