A Bride To Honor. Arlene James

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СКАЧАТЬ put a finger to one temple, thinking. “I wouldn’t want to keep you late. When do you take lunch?”

      “I beg your pardon?” Lunch? What was that?

      “Before or after good old Tony?”

      “Er, after.”

      “About one, then?”

      She tried to reason out why this was not a good idea, but all she could think was that Tony had morning classes on Thursday. He wouldn’t want to, but he could come in by one. She nodded dumbly.

      “Great. Shall we go out, or it would be better if I brought something in?”

      He was going to feed her? “Oh, you don’t need to—”

      “Nonsense. I have to eat even if you don’t, and frankly, a good meal wouldn’t hurt you any. Not that you’re too thin! Heavens, no! I just meant...” His gaze traveled over her tall, slender form appreciatively. “Well,” he said, absently straightening his tie, “you obviously don’t have a problem with your weight. In fact, I’d bet you’re one of those naturally slender females other women just hate.”

      Her mouth was hanging open. She couldn’t help it. Unless she’d lost her mind, which was a distinct possibility, he was actually flirting with her. Her! Cassidy Jane Penno. “Uh, yab, dun, er...”

      He just laughed and chucked her under the chin, then abruptly checked his watch. “Gosh, I have to go.” He pointed a finger at her. “Thursday. One o’clock. I’ll take care of lunch. Right?”

      “Ah, erp, sure!”

      “Great!” He flashed her a wink and backed toward the door, turning, finally, to hurry from the room.

      Astonished, Cassidy flung an arm over the rolling rack. Then slowly her face crumpled. “Such a brilliant conversationalist, Miss Penno,” she mocked in a nasal voice. “No wonder your brother doesn’t trust you further than he can throw you backward through a hoop. Holy cow.” She smacked herself in the forehead with the heel of her hand. First the glop and then the ers and duhs. And she had to have designs by Thursday! Thursday lunch!

      Lunch with Paul Spencer. Holy cow!

      

      Absently Paul tapped in the code that unlocked the driver’s door of his sleek black Jaguar and slid beneath the wheel. Whatever had possessed him to insist on a luncheon date with Cassidy Penno? She was an engaging young woman, quite lovely even if she didn’t know it—and he rather liked that she didn’t—and fun in a way he hadn’t encountered in a very long time. Her creativity and her wholesomeness were refreshing. None of that changed the fact that he was practically engaged to Betina. Practically but not quite, damn her.

      Now, now, he chided himself, as he started up the engine and put the sleek auto in motion, that’s no way to think about your future wife.

      He was resolved, as his grandfather must have known he would eventually be, to making his stepcousin his wife. It was the only thing to do, really, considering that the scheming old man had left her thirty percent of Barclay Bakeries, the very same as he’d left Paul himself. Paul, of course, had another ten percent to go with his thirty, leaving thirty percent to be divided among other family members. His uncle Carl and his wife, Jewel, who was Betina’s mother had ten. And so did his uncle John, who had never married, ten percent had gone to his deceased uncle’s wife, Mary, and her daughter Joyce, who was now Joyce Spencer Thomas.

      No nonfamily member had ever owned a share of the business, not since Paul’s great-grandfather had founded it. Customarily, the spouses and children of family members shared in that member’s legacy. However, both Paul’s great-grandfather and grandfather had reserved huge majorities for themselves. The majority of the family had declined involvement in the business, content to pull in their financial rewards without bothering with the nasty details of enterprise.

      Paul was the exception. He had a fine mind for business and a great desire to use it, and when he had ascended to the position of CEO upon his grandfather’s retirement, he had foolishly assumed that eventually his grandfather’s sixty percent majority would be added to the ten percent he had inherited from his own parents. Family tradition demanded it. The family themselves expected it, knowing that Paul could be trusted to guide the business with the same skill and dedication as his predecessors. Then the old man had thrown him a curve.

      In truth, Paul partly blamed himself. He’d known for some time that his grandfather was concerned about his unmarried status. At thirty-eight, Paul was well past the age when most men married for the first time, but it wasn’t for lack of interest. He just hadn’t found the right woman. Perhaps she didn’t really exist, this woman of his dreams—not that he could even assign her specific characteristics. He only knew that none of the many women with whom he’d involved himself had inspired in him the desire to be joined with her for life. Not even Betina.

      He should never have allowed himself to be seduced by her. On the other hand, how many healthy, unattached men could resist a beautiful woman who walked into his office unannounced wearing nothing more than a hot pink raincoat belted at the waist, thigh-high stockings and three-inch heels? No, he couldn’t be blamed for submitting to temptation, even if temptation’s body had been surgically enhanced by the best plastic surgeons available. His true mistake had been in assuming that it was all in fun, and that the family at large would not assign significant expectations to what ought to have been private fun and games.

      He couldn’t prove that Betina had let the family in on what she had promised would be their secret, but he wouldn’t put it past her. When he had realized that the family was ignoring his often-repeated assertion that his relationship with Betina was “casual,” he had taken steps to put an end to the fun and games as well as the expectations. Privately Betina had expressed her perfect understanding of the situation. Publicly she had spent months dabbing unseen tears from her eyes every time he entered the room where she was or, apparently, his name was even mentioned. Paul found himself in the unpleasant position of having to reveal how the affair had started or enduring and hoping it would all eventually blow over. He’d thought it had blown over.

      Oh, he was aware that much discussion had been devoted to the “suitability” of the pairing by the family at large, and on the surface it did seem perfect. Betina had been twelve when her mother had married Uncle Carl. Sixteen years later she was very much a part of the family fabric without actually being a member of the family, especially as Carl and Jewel had had no children of their own. Having her married to a bona fide member of the family must have seemed somehow poetic and his own lack of enthusiasm foolish if not downright mean-spirited. On the surface Betina was the perfect woman—lovely, accomplished, graceful, sophisticated, warm—but only on the surface. Beneath the polished exterior, so far as Paul could tell, was only a vast amount of ambition and a cold sort of intelligence. Unfortunately he could not say as much to anyone else in the family, except perhaps Joyce. But what good would that do? Joyce was happily married to the plant manager of the business, the bakery itself, and busy trying to conceive a much-wanted first child.

      If only he had explained in detail to his grandfather the reasons for and extent of the affair, as well as his objections to Betina herself as a wife, he might have spared himself and the whole family their concerns. But he had played the gentleman—after playing the stud—and now he would pay for the privilege. He had no choice. The family depended on him, and Betina had revealed an alarming desire to meddle in business affairs. Worse, when thwarted, she had threatened to involve the family in the fight, and that Paul could not allow. He had pledged, literally, to protect the family from any unwanted involvement in the affairs of the СКАЧАТЬ