A Family Circle 1 - A Very Convenient Marriage (2 page)

Max smiled. "Well, at least you agree on something." His smile faded and he fixed them both with his best stern, lawyerly look. "Look, this meeting is for your benefit, not mine. You've both got problems. I came up with a solution. If you don't want to take it, it's not my problem. I've got better things to do with my time than play referee for the two of you. Are you going to get married or not?"

Sam looked at Nikki.

Nikki glanced out the corner of her eye at Sam.

He frowned.

She shrugged.

And Max wondered how many years he'd get for killing two clients.

"The idea is nuts," Sam said finally.

"Completely crazy," Nikki agreed firmly.

"Do either of you have a better solution?"

"No"

"Not at the moment."

"The moment is all you've got," Max pointed out. "You're both in somewhat time-critical situations."

Sam shifted uneasily beneath his look, thinking of his niece's surgery, of his family's worry.

Nikki frowned, reminded that she was running out of time to comply with the terms of her grandfather's will.

"It might work," Sam offered grudgingly.

"Of course it will work.'' Max's smile reflected his relief at having gotten a marginally positive response. "What's not to work? You just have to get married, live together for a year, and then you part company with no hard feelings."

"It's the living together that disturbs me," Nikki said, casting Sam's large frame an uneasy look.

"I can't say I'm all that crazy about it either," he threw back.

"Living together is one of the terms of the will," Max reminded them. "Nikki's house is big enough that you won't even have to see each other. It shouldn't be a problem."

Sam's mouth tightened at the reminder of her wealth. "Maybe I'd prefer that we live in my apartment."

Since he lived in a studio apartment in a rough area of Hollywood, it was a ridiculous suggestion. Max, who knew where he lived, gave him a disbelieving look. Nikki, who didn't, looked at him coolly.

"I have no intention of moving out of my home, Mr. Walker."

"Maybe I don't want to move out of mine, Ms. Beauvisage." He ignored Max's astonished look. "Not everyone wants to live in a mansion in Beverly Hills."

"Pasadena. It's a mansion in Pasadena," she corrected sweetly. "And unless you have room for a housekeeper and a maid in your apartment, it seems more logical that you should move into my home, rather than the other way around."

Housekeeper? Maid?
Sam choked on the image of himself living in a house with servants. "I suppose you've got half a dozen gardeners and a chauffeur, too."

"One gardener and some part-time help. I drive my own car."

"Should I be impressed?"

"I really don't care one way or another. As long as it's understood that if we were to get married, we'd be living in my house."

Their gazes clashed, and it occurred to Sam that he'd never seen eyes of such a clear, deep green. It also occurred to him that he was making a production out of nothing. He really didn't give a damn where they lived.

"I guess I could sublet my apartment," he conceded grudgingly. He ignored Max's snort of laughter at the idea of subletting the scruffy one-room studio.

"So you'll live at Nikki's house," Max said cheerfully.

"There is one thing I want to make perfectiy clear," Nikki said. A hint of color tinted her pale skin, but her eyes were steady on Sam. "You do understand, Mr. Walker, that this is to be strictly a marriage in name only. I don't want any question about that."

Sam's eyes chilled to an icy blue. He let his glance go over her, from head to toe and then back again to meet her look.

"You don't have to wony, Ms. Beauvisage. I don't think I'll have any trouble controlling my animal lust around you."

His tone made it clear that he didn't find her in the least attractive. Nikki's flush deepened, but she nodded as if satisfied with his response. "Good."

Sam returned his attention to the desk.

Nikki studied the tip of her shoe some more.

Max resisted the urge to tear his hair out.

"So, is it settled? Are you going to get married?"

"I want the money up front," Sam said abruptly.

"You'll get it. I'll have to insist on a prenuptial agreement."

"If you don't, I will," he snapped. His pride was already stung by the necessity of taking any money from her. "Other than the money agreed on, you don't have anything I want."

"Other than your name on a marriage license, you don't have anything I want, either. Isn't it nice that we can agree on something?" she purred.

Max chewed another antacid and considered another line of work. Something with less stress. Air-traffic controller at LAX, maybe.

"A prenup is a given," he told them. "To protect both of you. I can have one drawn up by tomorrow afternoon. It should be pretty straightforward. I'll specify that, aside from the agreed-upon sum of money, you both give up all claims to each other's property."

"Fine with me," Sam said, wondering what the odds were that Ms. Nicole Beauvisage would try to lay claim to his five-year-old Bronco or his collection of baseball cards, the only items of any particular value he owned. Somehow, he doubted either one would hold much appeal.

"There is one other thing that concerns me," Nikki said slowly.

"I promise not to play basketball in the ballroom or leave my dirty socks lying on the Louis XV," Sam offered facetiously.

"That's quite a relief." Her smile was as icy as her eyes. "But my concern is more basic, Mr. Walker. Once you have your money, what guarantee do I have that you'll stick around for a year?''

"You have my word."

"I don't know you, Mr. Walker. I hope you'll understand my hesitation at staking my financial future on your word."

He did understand. And if it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have been offended. But there was something about this woman that got under his skin and made him react in ways he wouldn't have normally.

"Sam's word is good," Max said nastily, reading the anger in his friend's face.

"Draw up a contract," Sam snapped without looking away from Nikki. "She's paying me in advance for a year of my time. Make sure it's nice and legal and binding. You can do that, can't you, Max?"

"Sure. But it's really not—"

"I wouldn't want Ms. Beauvisage to have any doubts about getting her money's worth." Sam's voice was smooth as silk and sharp enough to draw blood.

"Thank you," Nikki said calmly.

"You're welcome."

The deadly politeness had Max reaching for another antacid. Maybe he should buy stock in the company, he thought, studying the wrapper. The silence stretched.

Nikki waited for Sam to speak.

Sam waited for Nikki to break the silence.

Max waited for the antacids to settle his stomach.

None of them knew how much time passed before the sound of Max's secretary settling in at her desk in the outer office finally broke the stillness.

"Well, are you going to do it or aren't you?" Max demanded, no longer trying to hide his exasperation.

There was a brief silence.

Sam spoke first. "I want it understood that no one is to know this isn't a real marriage."

If he actually went through with this insane idea, he didn't want Cole to know what he'd done. It would be hard enough to get his younger brother to take the check without him knowing the full circumstances of how Sam had acquired the money.

"As I'm sure Max told you, one of the provisions of the will is that this should be a genuine marriage." Since Nikki was very carefully not looking at Sam, she missed the sharp look he shot in Max's direction, a look that made it clear that he had not been informed of this particular fact. "Of course, in our case, it would only have the appearance of being genuine," she continued, "even if the will didn't require it, I'm not particularly eager for the world to know I had to get married in order to receive my inheritance."

"That includes my family," Sam said. "As far as they are concerned, we'd have to appear to be a normal couple."

A Norman Rockwell kind of family
. Nikki remembered Max's description and wondered if it was possible that the hostile, scruffy, irritating man in front of her really came from that kind of family.

"I think I could manage that," she said. "If you can manage to convince my friends and family that you married me for something other than my money."

The reminder stung, making Sam's response sharper than it should have been. "I think my acting ability will stretch that far," he said smoothly.

The color that tinted her cheeks made him regret the words. He was marrying her for her money, dammit. It shouldn't be so aggravating to be reminded of that fact.

"I hope so'' was all she said.

"So you're agreed that the marriage is to appear real," Max said.

"I haven't agreed to a marriage," Nikki pointed out sharply.

"Neither have I."

Max reached for another antacid and chewed furiously. "Look, I'm not a white slaver. I'm not going to force you two to get married. But as your attorney, I'm going to point out that this is the perfect solution to both sets of problems and that I think you're a pair of fools if you walk away from this opportunity. And as your friend, I'm going to tell you that you're acting like a couple of idiots. Now, are you going to get married or aren't you?"

There was a long silence.

"I don't like him," Nikki said without looking at Sam.

"I'm not wild about you either, honey."

Max threw up his hands. "You don't have to like each other. You just have to get married! Are you going to or not?"

There was another pause.

Sam shrugged. "I'm game if she is."

Nikki nodded slowly. "I can't believe I'm saying this but, all right, I'll marry him."

"Don't act like you're doing me a favor, honey," Sam snapped.

"I am doing you a favor. And don't call me 'honey.'"

"You're doing each other favors," Max said, verbally stepping between them again. "You need each other, and for the next year, you're going to be living together. You might as well get used to the idea."

Sam glared at Nikki, thinking he'd never met a woman he disliked more. Or one with better legs.

Nikki glared at Sam, thinking it was a shame Max couldn't have found her someone a little less overwhelmingly male. And wasn't it a good thing she didn't find him in the least bit attractive?

Max looked at the pair of them and wondered if his own sanity would survive the next year.

O
nce an agreement, however grudging, was reached, it didn't take long to work out the details of the arrangement. Aside from the fact that the bride and groom detested each other, the only possible barrier to the upcoming nuptials was the necessity of convincing Nikki's grandfather's attorney that they were getting married for the usual reasons.

Lymon Beauvisage had foreseen the possibility that his granddaughter might make a marriage of convenience in order to get her inheritance and had done his best to circumvent the possibility. As the final proviso in an already complicated bequest, he'd left his friend and lawyer, Jason Drummond, the final say in whether or not Nikki received her inheritance. If he believed the marriage was real, he'd release the money at the end of the year. If he didn't, the money went to Nikki's older brother, Alan, who'd already received—and squandered—his half of their grandfather's estate.

"You just have to convince Jason Drummond that you're in love with each other," Max said.

"Unless he's deaf, dumb and blind, that may not be so easy," Sam said, looking as if he were starting to reconsider the whole idea.

"All it takes is a little acting," Max coaxed.

"There's a limit to my acting ability," Sam muttered. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Nikki stiffen and realized that his comment could be taken as a slap in her direction, which wasn't what he'd intended.

"I'm surprised, Mr. Walker." Her voice was sweet enough to send chills down his spine. "You're so convincing as a rude, filthy wino." She paused and her delicate brows drew together in a small frown. When she continued, her tone was one of concern. "Perhaps that isn't as much of a stretch as convincing Uncle Jason that I might actually want to marry you."

Sam winced in acknowledgment of the hit, but restrained the urge to respond in kind. The last thing he wanted was to prolong this meeting, not even for the pleasure of continuing the verbal warfare with the woman he'd just agreed to marry. He wanted to go home, wash off the smell of that alley and get some sleep. Maybe when he woke up, this idea would seem as logical as Max claimed it was and not the insanity it looked to be at the moment.

"Uncle Jason?" he questioned.

"My grandfather's attorney is also a family friend."

"That should make him fairly willing to be convinced," Max put in optimistically.

"Less strain on your acting ability, Mr. Walker," Nikki pointed out with a saccharine smile.

"Thanks."

It was agreed that Nikki would contact Jason Drummond and arrange for him to meet Sam as soon as possible.

"The sooner you get his approval, the sooner you can get married," Max said.

"A thrilling thought," Nikki said as she rose, preparatory to leaving.

Sam, who'd been about to gather his energy to rise, a courtesy his mother had drummed into him, relaxed back into his chair. He was damned if he was going to waste his time on polite forms with this stuck-up little ice princess.

"I'll let Max know when I've arranged a meeting with Uncle Jason."

"You do that."

Max started to suggest that it would be easier if she contacted Sam directly, but immediately thought better of it. The way things stood right now, it was probably safer if the bride and groom had as little contact with each other as possible before the wedding.

"I'll be in touch," she said to Max. She glanced at Sam and gave him a cool little nod. "Mr. Walker."

"Ms. Beauvisage." He returned the nod, his tone mocking her formality.

Nikki's mouth tightened, and he saw fire flare in her green eyes. He waited for the explosion, but it didn't come. She turned and walked out of the office without another word. Sam watched her leave, surprised to realize that he actually felt a twinge of regret at her restraint.

He let his eyes drift down her narrow back to her legs. She had the disposition of a pit viper. It was too bad she also had legs like an angel. It didn't take much imagination on his part to picture those legs sliding into the expensive car she undoubtedly drove.

Or between a set of black silk sheets.