Dirty Beautiful Rich Part One (5 page)

Putting down her fork, she folded her hands in her lap. She was not about to take this position on false pretenses but nor was she going to just out of hand say no. “I’m not a historian.”

“I said slightly kind which is why a creative writer is perfect for the task.” He shrugged. “I don’t need my grandmother knowing
everything
. Nor do I wish to bore her to tears. A creative writer will make our family history entertaining but not ruthless nor pedantic.”

She studied his face, hardly able to believe the words coming out of his mouth. Was this his plan for her? If it was, she’d be a fool not to take it!

“I will offer you an advance of fifty thousand dollars, your board and travel expenses will be taken care of. Upon completion, you will receive another fifty thousand dollars.” 

Now that, that was too much. The joy she’d just felt fizzled out. She felt immediately obliged to explain to him how much authors were generally actually paid unless an editor thought they had written the next
Fifty Shades of Grey
.  She did have friends who had received six figure advances but they were rare. Like four leaf clover rare. “You’re insane,” she said with a laugh. “Mr. Fitzgerald, do you know anything about publishing? That’s way too much. A first time advance for an author is under the twenty thousand mark and it's paid out in several installments. Besides, you don’t even know if I’m a good writer.”

“I read your thesis this morning. You’re quite talented,” he said before pinning her with an unyielding stare. “And I know a good deal about the injustices of publishing and any endeavor of the arts. When I commission an artist, I pay him well. Do you understand?”

His words were so wonderful, so antiquated, so much like some sort of grand patron of old she found herself feeling warm and fuzzy inside. The idea that a wealthy man should wish to treat an artist with value suddenly had her feeling sky high after hundreds of well to do people had all but sneered at her choice in education.

And, he thought she was talented?

Leaning forward, he said conspiratorially,  “And insanity, Ms. Doyle? Very possible. My family tree is laden with nuts of many variety.”

“This seems too good to be true.”

He put his salad fork down and gave a small signal to the servant who apparently was waiting just beyond the doorway.

Was that why their conversation had been so relatively polite?

The plates were cleared and a small plate of lamb and potato were put before her. As her extra wine glass was filled with a rich red, she couldn’t help her racing thoughts. What if this was all a disaster waiting to happen? Maybe it was. But no matter what, she’d be fifty thousand dollars richer, possibly one hundreds thousand if it all went right, and she’d have been to Ireland. “Will we have a contract?”

“Of course. I’ve already had it drawn up. Put in immediate notice at the coffee shop. I’ll compensate them for your sudden loss.”

Okay then. He meant business. This wasn’t some elaborate ruse to get her in the sack, though given his perfect behavior she really was starting to think she’d imagined the whole thing last night. “I’d like to have someone look over the contract.”

He nodded his approval. “I recommend Stella’s father.  He’s an excellent attorney, as you say here.”

Pursing her lips, she frowned and pointed her fork at him. “You just edged into creepy a little bit.” 

“Duly noted. But your name was linked to hers, and you must admit, the Delacourt family is well known in Colorado circles.”

Yeah. She’d give him that. Stella, while largely on her own financially, was a member of one of the wealthiest families in the state, the first Delacourts having struck gold in Leadville back in the boom.

Could she do this? Suddenly she felt crazy, having this conversation with a man who seemed to know most everything about her. But he couldn’t know the really intimate stuff. Not yet. “Let’s make a deal.”

“I love them,” he replied, skewering his lamb.

“Let’s stop stalking each other.”

He tilted his head to the side, studying her suddenly as if she’d suggested they go to Mars, not Ireland. “What do you mean?”

“Lets learn about each other the old fashioned way?”

“What?” he scoffed. “Conversation? How very traditional of you.”

“Uh. Thank you.” She chanced a smile. “Is that a yes?”

“Alright. I’ll agree. But you realize you’re now open to the powers of my interrogation.”

She laughed. “You never know, I might like your undivided attention.”

He grew still, his gaze growing suddenly molten. “Might you?”

It was impossible to speak with him looking at her like that and if she wasn’t mistaken, something was wrong with the thermostat. She was hot. Way too hot.

“My undivided attention can be. . . Overwhelming.”

She licked her lips, somehow finding the courage to say, “You made some suggestions last night. . .”

“Yes?”

“Did you mean them?”

Damian Fitzgerald, Earl of Clare, lifted a single black brow and gave her that enigmatic smile. “What do you think?”

Her breath caught in her throat. “I think. . . I think. . .”

“Julie,” he said, his voice suddenly low, dangerous, sexy as hell. “We have a business deal. But make no mistake. While there are many rooms in my castle, you are going to end up in mine.”

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J
ulie Doyle couldn’t catch her breath. Just yesterday she’d resigned herself to toiling over an espresso machine making cappuccino art for the next several years while her MFA diploma mocked her every night she walked into her studio apartment. Maybe just maybe, she’d write a good story and she’d make enough money to start paying back her debts.
Now
?

Now, she stared across the table at
him
. Her Rochester. Never in her wildest dreams would this guy ever be Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy would never have blatantly looked her in the eye and told her she was going to end up in his bed. Oh no. Mr. Darcy would have said something far more restrained.

She liked Rochester. Oh yes, she did.

Damian Fitzgerald, Earl of Clare, waited. Silently, now that he’d thrown that incendiary piece of news between them. 

But she couldn’t respond. How in the heck was it possible that he wanted her like that? I mean, he was the stuff of dreams. . . And well, she was the stuff of reality.

“Julie?” he prompted, breaking her reverie. “If you have a problem with that, then you shouldn’t take the contract.”

By
with that
, of course, he meant her finding her way into his bedroom for more than just a social visit. This absolutely gorgeous man wanted her.
Her
. It was panic inducing and wonderful at the same time.

For once in her life, she was determined to play it cool. She was not going to be a total idiot. So, she sat up a little straighter. “We’ll see. I’m coming to Ireland and taking the job. I’d be crazy not to. But as to the rest, well it’s not in a contract, so. . .”

“Are you negotiating with me?” he asked with a soft laugh.

“What?” she blushed. “No. But I don’t want it set in stone that we’re going to have sex.”

His brows rose. “We’d never do anything so plebeian as
have sex
.”

“We wouldn’t?” she asked, her eyes widening despite herself.
Argh
, she was acting like a total innocent.

“No.”

She was extremely tempted to ask what would they do then, but she was afraid he’d suggest a demonstration and well, really he was already overwhelming her.

“Do I frighten you?” he asked suddenly.

She folded her napkin then crumpled it.  How did she answer his question? “Not exactly.”

“What then?” His voice softened. “Help me understand.”

“I. . . I. . .”

“I promise I won’t bite.” He leaned forward, a glint of wicked humor in his gaze. “Not yet anyway.”

“No one has ever made me feel like you do,” she burst out. She drew in an audible breath to get a hold of herself. “And that’s frightening.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What kind of feeling?”

“Never mind.”

“Are you going to be cruel and leave me so curious?”

She studied him for a second. She could tell him. She could tell him she’d never had an orgasm. She could tell him that when men tried to make her come, she usually just ended up waiting for them to get it over with. About a year ago she’d arrived at the conclusion she was frigid. But she wasn’t about to admit that out loud. Especially not now that he’d brought to life some very non-icy feelings. So instead of hesitating, she grinned. “Yes.”