Married by Midnight (The BAD BOY BILLIONAIRES Series, #12) (4 page)

“What?  When the man has control of your father’s money and you can’t get a penny of it?  That does not sound like a situation that’s being handled well at all.”  Claire’s eyes flashed with an anger that told Golden her confidante was taking the whole thing personally and was getting quite agitated.  That was not good.  It was time to end the conversation.

She got up and leaned over to kiss Claire on her softly wrinkled cheek.  “It will all work out,” she said, her tone filled with a confidence she did not truly feel.  “Just give it some time.”

Claire’s look said she was far from convinced but Golden gave her no chance to prolong the discussion.  She turned away and picked up her handbag.  “I’ll be back next Sunday,” she said then turned back to give Claire a cheerful smile.  “Now you be a good girl until I get back.  Promise?”

Claire didn’t even bother to answer that.  She lifted a finger and pointed to Golden.  “Start standing up for yourself.  Do you hear me?  I got to where I am because I didn’t let anyone take advantage of me.  You be strong.  Understand?”

Golden gave her a nod.  “Understood, my lady.”

The old woman’s face cleared and she chuckled.  “And next Sunday don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”  Golden gave her a wave and then she slipped out the door just as her cell phone began to buzz.

“Mother,” she said in a whispered sigh as she hurried down the hallway, “will you ever give me space to breathe?”

As she walked she dug into her handbag and pulled out the phone.  “Yes, Mother?”  She was trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice but this time it was really hard.

“I need you home right now, Golden.”  Eugenia’s voice sounded breathless.  “Dunstan needs to speak with you.”

“With me?”  Golden frowned.  “About what?”

“A strange phone call he got.  Somebody called the house looking for a Golden Browne.  Something about a check?  It all sounded very strange.”

Golden came to a halt.  A check.  The call must have come from the agency.  “So why does Dunstan need to speak to me?  All he had to do was take a message.”

“Your Uncle Dunstan,” Eugenia said, putting noticeable stress on the last two words, “would like to know what this check is for.”  Then her voice fell to a whisper.  “And please have a reasonable explanation, Golden. You know he doesn’t like you doing things without his knowledge.”

Golden gasped in indignation.  “Mother, I’m almost twenty-one.  When is he going to stop this meddling?”

“Dear, let’s not discuss it right now.  Try to get home soon, will you?”  The pleading tone was back in Eugenia’s voice.

“I’m on my way,” Golden said, her jaws tight with anger.  “I’ll deal with him when I get there.”

D
unstan Manchester could be intimidating even when he was in a good mood.  Today, he was not in a good mood.

Over six feet tall with bushy eyebrows and a thick, old fashioned mustache, his face was set in what Golden’s stepbrother had jokingly described as a ‘permanent screw’.  Today he was wearing suspenders over his plaid shirt and even sported a tie although he was home on a Sunday afternoon with no plans to go out for the rest of the day.  He was usually home on Sundays, which was why Golden made it a point to keep herself busy with activities that would take her out of the house on that day.  Being in Dunstan Manchester’s presence was sheer torture.

But today it could not be helped.  He was demanding answers and this time her mother would have no explanations to calm him down.  Golden would have to handle him herself.

As she laid her handbag on her mother’s prized Chippendale breakfront china cabinet her stepfather glanced up from the Sunday paper and gave her a sour look.  His lunch was still sitting in front of him on the dining table, the half-eaten roast beef, carrots and Yorkshire pudding adorning his plate.  As usual, despite the admonition of his doctors, the meal was covered with a generous helping of gravy.

“You wanted to speak to me?” Golden asked, her voice as cool as her expression.  She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing his summons had upset her.

Slowly, he lowered his paper and gave her a cold stare.  “What’s this about a check?  Who is it from and what is it for?”

Golden felt her heart tighten in anger.  He was a presumptuous one to be asking such questions.  She folded her arms across her chest, refusing to be intimidated.  “I think that’s my business.  If you got a message for me the only thing you need to do is pass it on.”

There was a gasp and they both turned to see Eugenia standing in the doorway.  “Golden.  Please.”  On her face was a stricken look like she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

Golden almost groaned.  Now why did her mother have to come in right at that moment?  She knew it hurt Eugenia when she stood up to her husband but she wanted so badly to make Manchester understand that he might be her mother’s boss but he was certainly not hers.  Now she would have to back down all for the sake of her mother.  There was nothing she wanted less than to cause her grief.

“Sorry,” she muttered only for the benefit of her mother.  She drew in her breath then began again.  There was no way she could get around it now.  She would have to explain.  “I was a temp at a fashion show the other day.  They were probably calling to tell me my check was ready.  Did they say where I should pick it up?” 

Manchester didn’t answer.  For several seconds he just sat there, silent, staring at her with unreadable dark eyes.  The twitching of the left side of his mustache was the only indication of his anger.  “I thought it was understood,” he said slowly, “that there should be no employment without my prior knowledge and consent.  You are provided with food, shelter and an allowance which should be enough to satisfy your needs.”

“What?  Forty pounds a week?  How do you expect me to maintain my car, take care of my needs and clothe myself with that?”  Whether or not her mother was in the room there was no way Golden could leave that unanswered.  “And by the way, just in case you hadn’t heard, we’re now in the twenty-first century.  I’m twenty years old.  I don’t need to report to you for anything I decide to do.”

The scowl on the man’s face deepened and he pushed back his chair.  “Now, you listen.  As long as you’re under my roof-”

“Your roof?  You, you...” Golden began to sputter, so blazing was her anger, and that was when she knew she’d better shut up.  If not, she’d be bound to say something she would regret. 

She shook her head.  Then she drew in her breath and let it out.  Finally, she spoke.  “Do you know what?  I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.  I’m going to my room now.  Don’t bother to give me whatever message you got for me.”

Golden grabbed her handbag off the china cabinet then turned and stalked off, leaving both her guardians staring after her.

In her room, her only sanctuary, Golden threw her handbag onto the armchair then went and flopped down on the bed, feeling even more desperate than ever.  She needed to get away, move out on her own.  As much as she wanted to stay in the family home to be there for her mother how could she, with that despicable man trying to control her life?  She would have to go all out in her search for employment and as soon as she was earning reasonable wages she would move out.  She only hoped she could convince her mother to make the move with her.  Sadly, she didn’t hold out much hope for that happening.

But then there was one ever-present option that was available, one that she refused to even consider.  It would get her out of this cursed house and would even mean freedom for her mother.  But could she make that move?”

That one other option would take her far out of Manchester’s reach but wouldn’t that fate be even worse than this one? 

***

“T
he agency got the call,” Sharon said, her face beaming.  “We found her.”

“Great work, Sharon.  Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Oh, it was nothing.”

But Reed knew it was not ‘nothing’.  He’d been ready to hire a P.I. firm to help him find the runaway girl and had shared his plan with Sharon.

She’d waved off his idea.  “You don’t need a private investigator for that.  Let me handle it.  How many Golden Brownes do you think could be in the Greater London area?”

Slowly, he nodded.  “You’re right.  Browne’s pretty common but this is the first Golden I’ve heard of.”

“I’ve heard the name before,” Sharon said, “but it’s definitely not common.  Let me do a search before you bring a P.I. in.”  Then she cocked her head to one side and gave him a knowing look “You’re really taken with this girl, aren’t you?”

Her question took him by surprise.  Despite the fact that he and Sharon had an excellent working relationship he hadn’t expected her question.  “Taken?”

Sharon chuckled.  “I can see it in your eyes.  I’m sorry.  I know you too well.”  Still chuckling, she went out the door to tackle the task she’d assigned herself, the pursuit of Reed’s latest business interest.

He grimaced.  Unfortunately, he couldn’t use that as an excuse, saying she was his latest discovery, a girl who would make a perfect Davidoff model.  He could not pretend that his interest in this girl was purely professional.  Even his assistant could see through that story.

There was a tap at the door and Sharon stuck her head back in.  “I just spoke with them again.  The girl contacted the agency after we left a message at her house,” she said.  “She plans to stop by their office on Thursday.  What do you want me to tell them?”

“Let them gather all her particulars,” he said.  “They should be doing that anyway.  They’ll need that information for their database.”

Sharon nodded.  “Then what?  I’m not sure they’ll pass her information on to you.”

“Maybe not,” he said, giving it some thought.  “Tell them to give her my contact information.  Let them tell her that the owner of Davidoff Fashions would like to speak with her.”

“Very well,” Sharon said with a smile.  “Consider it done.”

But even after she’d gone back to her office, leaving him to soak up the good news, Reed could not rid himself of one worrying thought.

As much as she intrigued him, why was he even bothering to track this girl down?  In his situation it wasn’t like anything could ever come of it.

“O
h, shoot,” Golden mumbled under her breath.  She’d done it and there was no escaping the consequences.  She knew she shouldn’t have gone in but she’d been desperate and now she was paying the price.

She’d gone to the agency office to collect the pay they’d called about and was surprised when she was told they had a message for her.  Frowning in confusion, she took the envelope from the woman but she did not open it until she got back to her car.  “Mr. Reed Davidoff of Davidoff Fashions requests that you contact him as soon as possible,” it read.  “Please see telephone number below.”  Her heart lurched.  Reed Davidoff, the owner of the company.  Dear Lord, she was in big trouble now.

This could only mean one thing.  He was planning to have her head for destroying his show. She drew in her breath then let it out slowly.  What in the world was she going to do now?

But deep down she knew.  Whether or not she was skewered and roasted by the great Reed Davidoff himself she would not duck out of this meeting.  She was at fault so she would go in and apologize and do whatever it took to make things right...not that there was much she could do.  The deed was done and the show was over.  But still, she had to try...

That afternoon, as instructed, Golden called Reed Davidoff’s office, holding her breath while the phone rang.  She sagged in relief when she heard a woman’s voice on the other end of the line.

The woman thanked her for calling then set up an appointment for her to come in to see Mr. Davidoff the very next day.

“So soon?” Golden blurted out.  “I mean, I’m flexible.  I’m sure Mr. Davidoff is very busy.  I can come later this week or even next week if that’s better for him.”

“No, no,” the woman said, dismissing her offer.  “Tomorrow is perfect.  Please be here by three.”  Then she hung up and that was that.

Next day Golden dressed carefully, putting on her best suit, the one she saved for job interviews.  It was navy blue with a knee-length skirt and a jacket that sat just atop her hips.  She made sure to put on stockings before sliding her feet into black leather pumps.

The clothes taken care of, Golden turned to look at herself in the mirror.  Now what was she to do about make-up?  The truth was she owned very little, just lip gloss and rose-pink lipstick.  She didn’t even have foundation.  She bit her lip, pondering if she should slip into her mother’s room and borrow some of hers.

Then she shook her head.  Why was she trying to impress this man, anyway?  It wasn’t like he was considering her for a job.  Once he’d given her a piece of his mind he’d probably throw her out of there so fast it would make her head spin.  No, she would go as she’d always gone – devoid of embellishment except for her lips.  It made no sense to try to be who she was not.

That afternoon, Golden drove to the office of Davidoff Fashions in Canary Wharf.  She was early but she didn’t mind.  She needed the few extra minutes to gather her wits about her.  She had no idea what this Davidoff person was like but the fact that he’d decided not to let her blunder slide but had summoned her to his office meant that he must be a real beast.

She could just picture him.  An old goat sporting bushy eyebrows just like her stepfather, with beady eyes and a snarl he used to bully all his employees.  Well, she wasn’t going to let him bully her.  Just let him try it.

Golden waited until exactly two fifty-five and then she got out of her car and headed for the impressive building that housed Davidoff Fashions.  Bank Street was home to the head offices of several big businesses so even though she knew next to nothing about the fashion industry or Davidoff Fashions she could tell they were major.  There was no way you could be small fry and maintain offices at this location.

Feeling a little overwhelmed she pushed the door open and entered, the beat of her heart increasing pace with her every step.  Walking up to the reception desk she clutched her handbag in front of her and cleared her throat.  To her surprise the woman seated there greeted her with a friendly smile.  “Yes?  May I help you?”