To Catch a Billionaire (2 page)

Together, she and Stockton had strolled past seascapes, on through the watercolor section, and into the twentieth century wing before reaching the security guard who watched over famous paintings done by the old masters. The artwork in the ‘dead and buried wing’ changed every few months as work became available for showing or had to be returned. These works often came from private collections or were on loan from other museums.

Her thoughts of how she’d come to know the business from the bottom up were replaced by those of future exhibits. Despite tight financials, everything was in place for the next six months. Beautiful exhibits that her father would be proud to have in the Cameron Gallery. These thoughts too, Erin pushed aside as Tristan Forsyth’s handsome face came to mind.

She drew her laptop onto her knees and tapped the ‘open’ screen. In seconds, she’d scrolled through whatever could be found on the man. She read it all and then visited the Forsyth website with its grandiose online gallery showing who was being exhibited where, and when. She even found a link to a recorded interview. She clicked the play arrow and watched the way Tristan carried himself, his mannerisms and oh, those green eyes. Rich as emeralds... She took a deep breath and felt her lower parts warm each time he stared into the camera, as if he looked directly at her. His magnetism came through the lens and grabbed her where it counted. She decided Cam would have to be on guard to avoid falling victim to his charms and wit.

*  *  *

The full-length mirror reflected her outfit, makeup and wig. The familiar image gave Erin the confidence she depended on to meet the day’s events. Not only would she embark on a mission to save her gallery from what was likely to be a hostile takeover, she’d also meet the man who she’d heard would do anything to wrest it from her once he decided he wanted it.

Long, sun-streaked, ash blond waves surrounded Erin’s oval face. The look was a drastic change from her shoulder-length, dark-haired real self, which made it all the easier for Erin to hide her true identity. Tinted lenses turned her light purple eyes to a warm brown. A pair of tortoise-shell rimmed glasses completed the look. Two sports bras bound her breasts for a flatter appearance, covered by specially designed blouses she’d had tailored for the disguise.

Shoes, a favorite to shop for, weren’t in Erin’s style. These were important to Cam’s overall costume and were flat and ugly. No Kate Spades for Cam. Erin slipped her feet into the shoes and viewed her attire. The plain pantsuit nicely denied her attributes. Inexpensive flat-soled loafers left her looking shorter than her five-foot-four inches, and the authentic hair wig finished the look perfectly.

Yep, she was ready for Mr. Tristan Forsyth. A throaty chuckle set Cam’s day off to a grand start.

“I’m leaving now, Mrs. Hardy. I’ll catch breakfast at Starbucks on my way to work,” Erin called as she crossed the foyer.

Mrs. Hardy popped around the corner, a dust cloth in one hand and furniture polish in the other. “You say that every morning. I do wish you’d consider ridding yourself of Cam and operate your fathers business as you should. There’s no need for a disguise anymore. You’ve come a long way in handling your father’s death and the troubling effect it had on you. It’s time to reclaim the total you... I wish you’d try.” Mrs. Hardy sighed lightly and asked, “Will I see you for supper, or do you plan to wine and dine with Mr. Forsyth?”

“I’m not sure what time I’ll get back. Don’t wait for me just in case I’m late. Please save last night’s leftovers for me, though. As for Cam, well, maybe after Mr. Forsyth is out of our lives, I’ll dump her and confess to the staff.”

Mrs. Hardy nodded her approval. “George Flint called from the garage. He picked up your car and will fix it properly today. He was quite apologetic.”

“I called him last night. He’s not going to like me very much when I refuse to pay him twice for repairs he said he’d made the first time.”

“Now that your tempers has cooled off, I know you’ll be kind. You always are,” Mrs. Hardy said as she watched Erin – as Cam – leave the house and scoot toward the garage that housed a Volkswagen Jetta and a variety of fast, expensive, powerful cars.

Cam drove past the cast iron gates onto the less traveled road that went past the Cameron estate. The quick drive into town was no longer than if she lived on the outskirts of Greenwich instead of a few miles from the distant entrance to the Connecticut highway.

Singing to rock music, she pulled into the Starbucks parking lot on the outskirts of the city. A Jaguar XJ slid into the slot next to hers and idled there. With her sunglasses hiding her eyes and her interest, Cam glanced at the expensive sports car. The beauty of its lines and the powerful hum of the engine thrilled her. For Erin, cars were as important as an accessory, as handbags and shoes.

Inside the coffee shop, Cam waited for her usual latte and ordered a carrot cake muffin. She paid for the purchase and turned to leave, stumbling back as she plowed into the man behind her in the line. Close behind her.
Too close.

The cup flew from her hands, landing with a splash. The pastry bag crushed flat as Cam blundered against his hard body.

“Oh, excuse me,” she blurted and looked into Tristan Forsyth’s face. Though rattled, her skin warmed when she saw who she’d run into. The instant Erin looked into his eyes, so like those in the video she’d watched, she was lost.

“No, excuse me, lass,” he murmured, catching hold of her arms to steady her.

Her sunglasses had been knocked askew. Cam straightened them before brushing strands of hair back from her face. She smiled nervously. His accent and smile had disarmed her completely. “I didn’t spill my latte on you, did I?”

“Not at all. The cup landed a good distance away.” His brogue was distinctive, his deep dimples charming... and those eyes, well, they were all-seeing and oh, so sexy.

Jittery, she stepped away from his touch, and smoothed her suit. A staff member mopped puddled latte from the floor and off the shelves. Before she could think what to do next, she heard Forsyth say, “Lass, they’ve poured another drink for you.”

Cam turned, took the latte Tristan offered and mumbled her thanks. She glanced at Stuart, the clerk who generally had her drink ready when she walked in every morning, and smiled.

“Thanks, Stuart. You’re a sweetheart.”

His thin face held a wide grin as he gave her a wink. “You’re welcome, Cam. See you tomorrow.”

Without another word to Forsyth, Cam strode to her VW and drove off as if the devil was hot on her rear bumper. She took the back streets and reached the gallery before even taking a sip of latte. All the while she worried over Forsyth’s ability to rattle her to the core and how he generated an unfamiliar sexual need in her, without even trying. His smile alone was enough to turn her bones to jelly. This attraction she felt for him had her rattled. How would she thwart his attempts at a take-over if she wanted to give herself to him and her body’s inclination was to tear off his clothes and screw the daylights out of him?

Heaving a sigh, she shut down the Jetta and sauntered into the gallery by way of the employee entrance. Her desk phone rang insistently as she entered her office.

“Good morning,” Meredith softly greeted her.

“So far it hasn’t been stellar, Meredith, but good morning. What’s up?”

“There’s someone here insisting on seeing Ms. Cameron. He refuses to make an appointment and Ms. Cameron isn’t answering her phone. Would you like to deal with him?” Meredith murmured into the phone.

Annoyed that her day was off to a bad start, Cam uttered, “Fine, I’ll be right out.” Cam checked her calendar. Christopher Medellin had an appointment to discuss his exhibit at ten. With a glance at her watch, Cam realized the man must have arrived early.

She swigged down a mouthful of latte and headed for Meredith’s reception station. She’d no sooner turned the corner when she choked back a yelp of surprise. Instead of Christopher Medellin, she gaped at Tristan Forsyth – so much for the predicted late afternoon meeting.

With determination, Cam summoned her courage and strode toward the duo. Meredith appeared flustered. Tristan walked to and fro, flicking his fingers as though he’d washed but not dried them. His body language showed his impatience, and the gesture seemed odd.

She smiled and said lightly, “Can I help you with something?”

He swung toward her and his eyes widened with surprise.

“We meet again,” Cam said with a chuckle.

She watched as he looked her over from head to toe, noting how his luscious lips tightened a tad.

“You aren’t Erin Cameron.”

With a soft laugh, Cam adjusted her glasses and said, “Right you are. I’m her assistant, Cam Boucher. Do you have an appointment with Ms. Cameron?”

His expression a bit disconcerting, he said, “I figured she’d be here, so I just stopped in.”

Cam held her ground though his intense gaze left her uneasy. “Ms. Cameron won’t be in at all today. She has business elsewhere. What can I do to for you?” she asked. She glanced up at him and all thoughts of work disappeared. He was just so good looking. Instead of dismissing him, her mind wandered into dangerous ground. What it would feel like to throw caution to the wind and invite him into her office for a quickie? Maybe even slam him onto the top of her desk, rip his clothes off and have wild, passionate sex for a few hours.

Steady, keep your mind on business.

Forsyth, as if he’d read her mind, stepped closer and asked, “Do for me? That depends. What are the options?” A good head and shoulders taller than Cam, he peered past her toward the gallery proper.

She turned and invited him to join her while she made the gallery rounds. She could smell the woody tang of his Bulgari Cologne. Sensual heat seemed to roll in waves from his body and wash over hers...

Cam struggled to stay focused on business. This man was her enemy, and would never be her lover. Though, he’d surely be a nice snack.

“Have you worked here long, Ms. Boucher?”

“It’s pronounced Booshay, but call me Cam. I’ve been here for quite some time. What’s your business with Erin, Mr. Forsyth?” she asked innocently.

“Then call me Tristan.” His flirtatious smile wasn’t lost on her, and again she struggled to keep her mind and wits about her.

Cam repeated, “And your business is?” They’d stopped before David Hatton’s “Coming Home” painting. Cam gazed at the soft hues that led to bold colors drawing the eye downward. The scene painted on the lower third of the canvas thrilled her every time she saw it.

“You display the work of many talented contemporary artists here. I’m impressed,” Tristan remarked as he swept his hand toward the work of Susan Elliot and Miya Ando.

“We do. These are but a few of the artists we have on display. They’re the newest additions to the gallery. Are you interested in acquiring some of them, Tristan?” Cam threw out the bait and waited to reel him in.

“I’d rather acquire the gallery itself,” he answered with sincerity.

Bluntly, she replied, “It’s not for sale.”

His sly smile should have warned her, but Tristan’s sexual magnetism enveloped her. “That’s not what I’ve heard,” he said smoothly.

She smiled at his bantering tone. “What
have
you heard, Mr. Forsyth?” Cam wondered who had said she’d be open to selling her family’s business, and why he’d believed it. Surely a man as worldly as Tristan would investigate the state of any business he wished to acquire.

“Tristan, please,” he said.

“Fine, Tristan, then. Where would you ever get an idea like that? This gallery has been in the Cameron family for generations and isn’t about the change hands now,” Cam said softly. Her husky voice was difficult to disguise. Only by speaking softly and at a higher pitch could she fool listeners like Forsyth. She persisted because he needed to know pursuit of this gallery’s acquisition was useless.

As he moved on to the next area, Cam had a clear view of his long-legged stride, wide shoulders and the dark hair that touched the edge of his shirt collar. His suit jacket covered his butt... Cam forgot about the gallery as she wondered if his ass was as tight as the rest of him.

Focus, now.
The command pushed her errant thoughts away and grounded her.

“When will Ms. Cameron be available?”

“Not for a few days, at least,” Cam assured him. “As I said, she has other business to attend to at the moment.”

“Too bad, I’d like to make her an offer for this,” he said waving his hand to encompass all.

“The gallery isn’t for sale. Not now and not in the future. I’m sure. I can guarantee that I would be the first to know,” Cam ventured.

“Really? You know Ms. Cameron that well? She’d take you so thoroughly into her confidence?”

Apprehensive about his line of questioning, Cam took in his keen stare and nodded. “She most certainly would, since I handle the everyday running of this gallery.”

“Are you so sure? I have an assistant, but when I’m about to make a life-altering decision, I speak to no one until I’m comfortable with the ins and outs of what I’m considering.”

Wary that he might have caught on to the fact that Erin and Cam were one and the same, Cam sidestepped the issue with a glance at her watch. “I must be getting back. I have an appointment in ten minutes, so if you’ll excuse me?”

His dark brows rose. “Go ahead, lass. I’ll take another look around. I’ll speak to, uh...” Tristan paused thoughtfully and then said, “Meredith on my way out.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be sure to tell Ms. Cameron of your visit when she calls in.” With that, Cam turned on her heel and left his range of vision. Once she’d entered the high-columned corridor, she leaned against a thick marble pillar and blew a sigh of relief. He hadn’t answered her question concerning what he’d heard, but he had sent her scurrying away like a frightened rabbit.
Get a grip on yourself, or you’ll lose everything.

Unwilling to allow her thoughts to tumble one over another, Cam focused on her meetings with artisans. The day was filled to the brim.

She didn’t see Forsyth leave.