Falling For Her Fake Fiancé (The Beaumont Heirs 5) (4 page)

He set his knife and fork aside and leaned his elbows on the table. “I need you to help me convince the workers that joining the current century is the only way the company will survive. I need you to help me show them that it doesn’t have to be me against them or them against me—that we can work together to make the Brewery something more than it was.”

She snorted. “I’ll be sure to pass such touching sentiments along to my brother—the man you replaced.”

“By all accounts, he was quite the businessman. I’m sure that he’d agree with me. After all, he made significant changes to the management structure himself after his father passed. But he was constrained by that sense of family you so aptly described. I am not.”

“All the good it’s doing you.” She took another sip of wine, a slightly larger one than before.

“You see my problem. If the workers fight me on this, it won’t be only a few people who lose their jobs—the entire company will shut down, and we will all suffer.”

She tilted her head from side to side, considering. “Perhaps it should. The Beaumont Brewery without a Beaumont isn’t the same thing, no matter what the marketing department says.”

“Would you really give your blessing to job losses for hundreds of workers, just for the sake of a name?”

“It’s
my
name,” she shot at him.

But he was right. If the company went down in flames, it’d burn the people she cared for. Her brothers would be safe—they’d already ensconced themselves in the Percheron Drafts brewery. But Bob and Delores and all the rest? The ones who’d whispered to her how nervous they were about the way the wind was blowing? Who were afraid for their families? The ones who knew they were too old to start over, who were scared that they’d be forced into early retirement without the generous pension benefits the Beaumont Brewery had always offered its loyal employees?

“Which brings us back to the heart of the matter. I need you.”

“No, you don’t. You need my approval.” Her lobster was no doubt getting cold, but she didn’t have much of an appetite at the moment.

Something that might have been a smile played over his lips. For some reason, she took it as a compliment, as if he was acknowledging her intelligence for real this time, instead of paying lip service to it. “Why didn’t you go into the family business? You’d have made a hell of a negotiator.”

“I find business, in general, to be beneath me.” She cast a cutting look at him. “Much like many of the people who willingly choose to engage in it.”

He laughed then, a real thing that she wished grated on her ears and her nerves but didn’t. It was a warm sound, full of humor and honesty. It made her want to smile. She didn’t. “I’m not going to take the job.”

“I wasn’t going to offer it to you again. You’re right—it is beneath you.”

Here it came—the trap he was waiting to spring. He leaned forward, his gaze intent on hers and in the space of a second, before he spoke, she realized what he was about to say. All she could think was,
Oh, hell.

“I don’t want to hire you. I want to marry you.”

Five

T
he weight of his statement hit Frances so hard Ethan was surprised she didn’t crumple in the chair.

But of course she didn’t. She was too refined, too schooled to let her shock show. Even so, her eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect O, kissable in every regard.

“You want to...what?” Her voice cracked on the last word.

Turnabout is fair play
, he decided as he let her comment hang in the air. She’d caught him completely off guard in the office yesterday and had clearly thought she could keep that shock and awe going. But tonight? The advantage was his.

“I want to marry you. More specifically, I want you to marry me,” he explained. Saying the words out loud made his blood hum. When he’d come up with this plan, it had seemed like a bold-yet-risky business decision. He’d quickly realized that Frances Beaumont would absolutely not take a desk job, but the unavoidable fact was he needed her approval to validate his restructuring plans.

And what better way to show that the Beaumonts were on board with the restructuring than if he were legally wed to the favored daughter?

Yes, it had all seemed cut-and-dried when he’d formulated the plan last night. A sham marriage, designed to bolster his position within the company. He’d done a little digging into her past and discovered that she had tried to launch some sort of digital art gallery recently, but it’d gone under. So she might need funding. No problem.

But he’d failed to take into account the actual woman he’d just proposed to. The fire in her eyes more than matched the fire in her hair, and all of her lit a hell of a flame in him. He had to shift in his chair to avoid discomfort as he tried not to look at her lips.

“You want to get married?” She’d recovered some, the haughty tone of her voice overcoming her surprise. “How very flattering.”

He shrugged. He’d planned for this reaction. Frankly, he’d expected nothing less, not from her.

He hadn’t planned for the way her hand—her skin—had felt against his. But a plan was a plan, and he was in for far more than a penny. “Of course, I’m not about to profess my undying love for you. Admiration, yes.” Her cheeks colored slightly. Nope, he hadn’t planned for that, either.

Suddenly, his bold plan felt like the height of foolishness.

“My,” she murmured. Her voice was soft, but he didn’t miss the way it sliced through the air. “How I love to hear sweet nothings. They warm a girl’s heart.”

He grinned again. “I’m merely proposing an...arrangement, if you will. Open to negotiation. I already know a job in management is not for you.” He sat back, trying to look casual. “I’m a man of considerable influence and power. Is there something you need that I can help you with?”

“Are you trying to
buy
me?” Her fingertips curled around the stem of her wineglass. He kept one hand on the napkin in his lap, just in case he found himself wearing the wine.

“As I said, this isn’t a proposal based on love. It’s based on need. You’re already fully aware of how much I need you. I’m just trying to ascertain what you need to make this arrangement worth your time. Above and beyond making sure that your Brewery family is well taken care of, that is.” He leaned forward again. He enjoyed negotiations like this—probing and prodding to find the other party’s breaking point. And a little bit of guilt never hurt anything.

“What if I don’t want to marry you? Surely you can’t think you’re the first man who’s ever proposed to me out of the blue.” The dismissal was slight, but it carried weight. She was doing her level best to toy with him.

And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. “I have no doubt you’ve been fending off men for years. But this proposal isn’t based on want.” However, that didn’t stop his gaze from briefly drifting down to her chest. She had
such
an amazing body.

Her lips tightened, and she fiddled with the button on her jacket. “Then what’s it based on?”

“I’m proposing a short-term arrangement. A marriage of convenience. Love doesn’t need to play a role.”

“Love?” she asked, batting her eyelashes. “There’s more to a marriage than that.”

“Point. Lust also is not a part of my proposal. A one-year marriage. We don’t have to live together. We don’t have to sleep together. We need to occasionally be seen in public together. That’s it.”

She blinked at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you? What kind of marriage would
that
be?”

Now it was Ethan’s turn to fidget with his wineglass. He didn’t want to get into the particulars of his parents’ marriage at the moment. “Suffice it to say, I’ve seen long-distance marriages work out quite well for all parties involved.”

“How delightful,” she responded, disbelief dripping off every word. “Are you gay?”

“What? No!” He jolted so hard that he almost knocked his glass over. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that. But I’m not.”

“Pity. I might consider a loveless, sexless marriage to a gay man. Sadly,” she went on in a not-sad voice, “I don’t trust you to hold up your sexless end of the bargain.”

“I’m not saying we couldn’t have sex.” In fact, given the way she’d pressed her lips to his cheek earlier, the way she’d held his hand—he’d be perfectly fine with sex with her. “I’m merely saying it’s not expected. It’s not a deal breaker.”

She regarded him with open curiosity. “So let me see if I understand this proposal, such as it is. You’d like me to marry you and lend the weight of the Beaumont name to your destruction of the Beaumont Brewery—”

“Reconstruction, not destruction,” he interrupted.

She ignored him. “In a starter marriage that has a built-in sunset at one year, no other strings attached?”

“That sums it up.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t stab you in the hand with my knife.”

He flinched. “Actually, I was waiting for you to give me a good reason.” She looked at him flatly. “I read online that your digital art gallery recently failed.” He said it gently. He could sympathize with a well-thought-out project going sideways—or backward.

She rested her hand on her knife. But she didn’t say anything. Her eyes—beautiful light eyes that walked the line between blue and green—bore into him.

“If there was something that I—as an investor—could help you with,” he went on, keeping his voice quiet, “well, that could be part of our negotiation. It’d be venture capital—
not
an attempt to buy you,” he added. She took her hand off her knife and put it in her lap, which Ethan took as a sign that he’d hit the correct nerve. He went on, “I wouldn’t—and couldn’t—cut you a personal check. But as an angel investor, I’m sure we could come to terms you’d find satisfactory.”

“Interesting use of the word
angel
there,” she said. Her voice was quiet. None of the seduction or coquettishness that she’d wielded like a weapon remained.

Finally, he was talking to the real Frances Beaumont. No more artifice, no more layers. Just a beautiful, intelligent woman. A woman he’d just proposed to.

This was for the job, he reminded himself. He was only proposing because he needed to get control of the Beaumont Brewery, and Frances Beaumont was the shortest, straightest line between where he was today and where he needed to be. It had nothing to do with the actual woman.

“Do you do this often? Propose marriage to women connected with the businesses you’re stripping?”

“No, actually. This would be a first for me.”

She picked up her knife, and he unwittingly tensed. One corner of her perfect rosebud mouth quirked into a smile before she began to cut into her lobster tail. “Really? I suppose I should be flattered.”

He began to eat his steak. It had cooled past the optimal temperature, but he figured that was the price one paid for negotiating before the main course arrived. “I’m never in one city for more than a year, usually only for a few months. I have, on occasion, made the acquaintance of a woman with whom I enjoy doing things such as this—dining out, seeing the sights.”

“Having sex?” she asked bluntly.

She was trying to unnerve him again. It might be working. “Yes, when we’re both so inclined. But those were short-term, no-commitment relationships, as agreed upon by both parties.”

“Just a way to pass the time?”

“That might sound harsh, but yes. If you agree to the arrangement, we could dine out like this, maybe attend the theater or whatever it is you do for fun here in Denver.”

“This isn’t exactly a one-horse town anymore, you know. We have theaters and gala benefits and art openings and a football team. Maybe you’ve heard of them?” Her gaze drifted down to his shoulders. “You might consider trying out for the front four.”

Ethan straightened his shoulders. He wasn’t a particularly vain man, but he kept himself in shape, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t flattered that she’d noticed. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

They ate in silence. He decided it was her play. She hadn’t stabbed him, and she hadn’t thrown a drink in his face. He put the odds of getting her to go along with this plan at fifty-fifty.

And if she didn’t... Well, he’d need a new plan.

Her lobster tail was maybe half-eaten when she set her cutlery aside. “I’ve never fielded a marriage proposal like yours before.”

“How many have you fielded?”

She waved the question away. “I’ve lost count. A quickie wedding, a one-year marriage with no sex, an irreconcilable-differences, uncontested divorce—all in exchange for an investment into a property or project of my choice?”

“Basically.” He’d never proposed before. He couldn’t tell if her no-nonsense tone was a good sign or not. “We’d need a prenup.”

“Obviously.” She took a much longer pull on her wine. “I want five million.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I have a friend who wants to launch a new art gallery, with me as the co-owner. She has a business plan worked up and a space selected. All we need is the capital.” She pointed a long, red-tipped nail at him. “And you did offer to invest, did you not?”

She had him there. “I did. Do we have a deal?” He stuck out his hand and waited.

* * *

She must be out of her ever-loving mind.

As Frances regarded the hand Ethan had extended toward her, she was sure she had crossed some line from desperation into insanity to even consider his offer.

Would she really agree to marry the living embodiment of her family’s downfall for what, essentially, was the promise of job security after he was gone? With five million—a too-large number she’d pulled out of thin air—she and Becky could open that gallery in grand style, complete with all the exhibitions and parties it took to wine and dine wealthy art patrons.

This time, it’d be different. It was Becky’s business plan, after all. Not Frances’s. But even that thought stung a bit. Becky’s plan had a chance of working. Unlike all of Frances’s grand plans.

She needed this. She needed something to go her way, something to work out right for once. With a five-million-dollar investment, she and Becky could get the gallery operational and Frances could move out of the Beaumont mansion. Even if she only lived in the apartment over the gallery, it’d still be hers. She could go back to being Frances Beaumont. She could feel like a grown-up in control of her own life.

All it’d take would be giving up that control for a year. Not just giving it up, but giving it to Ethan.

She felt as if she was on the verge of passing out, but she refused to betray a single sign of panic. She did not breathe in deep gulps. She did not drop her head in her hands. And she absolutely did not fiddle with anything. She kept herself serene and calm and did all her panicking on the inside, where no one could see it.

“Well?” Ethan asked. But it wasn’t a gruff demand for an answer. His tone was more cautious than that.

And then there was the man himself. This was all quite noble, this talk of no sex and no emotions. But that didn’t change the fact of the matter—Ethan Logan was one hell of a package. He could make her shiver and shake with the kind of heat she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Not that it mattered, because it didn’t.

“I don’t believe in love,” she announced, mostly to see what kind of reaction it’d get.

“You don’t? That seems unusually cynical for a woman of your age and beauty.”

She didn’t try to hide her eye roll. “I only mention it because if you’re thinking about pulling one of those ‘I’ll make her love me over time’ stunts, it’s best to nip it in the bud right now.”

She’d seen what people did in the name of love. How they made grand promises they had every intention of keeping until the next pretty face came along. As much as she’d loved her father, she hadn’t been blind to his wandering eye or his wandering hands. She’d seen exactly what had happened to her mother, Jeannie—all because she’d believed in the power of love to tame the untamable Hardwick Beaumont.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Ethan’s hand still hung in the air between them.

“I won’t love you,” she promised him, putting her palm in his. “I’d recommend you not love me.”

Something in his eyes tightened as his fingers closed around hers. “I hope admiration is still on the table?”

She let her gaze drift over his body again. It wasn’t desire, not really. She was an art connoisseur, and she was merely admiring his form. And wondering how it’d function. “I suppose.”

“When do you want to get married?”

She thought it over.
Married.
The word felt weird rattling around her head. She’d never wanted to be married, never wanted to be tied to someone who could hurt her.

Of course, her brother Phillip had recently had a fairy-tale wedding that had been everything she might have ever wanted, if she’d actually wanted it. Which she didn’t.

No, a big public spectacle was not the way to go here. This was, by all public appearances, a whirlwind romance, starting yesterday when she’d sashayed into his office. “I think we should cultivate the impression that we are swept up in the throes of passion.”

“Agreed.”

“Let’s get married in two weeks.”

Just saying it out loud made her want to hyperventilate. What would her brothers say to this, her latest stunt in a long line of stunts? “Frannie,” she could practically hear Chadwick intone in his too-serious voice. “I don’t think...” And Matthew? He was the one who always wanted everyone to line up and smile for the cameras and look like a big happy family. What would he say when she up and got herself hitched?