Harlequin Desire September 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Claimed\Maid for a Magnate\Only on His Terms (33 page)

She tried to reply with something that made sense, but all that came out was “Lunch...? I...? Work...?”

He was clearly enjoying how much he continued to keep her off-kilter. “Yeah, lunch. Yeah, you. As for your work, which firm do you work for?” He glanced around the room. “Maybe I can pull some strings for you. I've known most of these people all my life. A couple of them owe me favors.”

“Firm?” she echoed, the single word all she could manage in her growing confusion.

“Which law firm, representing which one of my father's interests?” For the first time since they began chatting, he sobered. “Not that they're my father's interests anymore. Not since that trashy, scheming, manipulative gold digger got her hooks into him. Not that my mother and I are going down without a fight.”

It dawned on Gracie then—dawned like a two-by-four to the back of her head—that the man to whom she had been speaking so warmly wasn't one of the many attorneys who were here representing Harry's former colleagues. Nor was he one of those colleagues. It was Harry's son, Harrison Sage III. The man who had assumed he would, along with his mother, inherit the bulk of his father's fortune. The one whom Gracie had prevented from doing just that. The one she had earlier been thinking might be furious, vindictive and homicidal.

Then his other remark hit her. The part about the trashy, scheming, manipulative gold digger. That was what he thought she was? Her? The woman whose idea of stilettos was a kitten heel? The woman who preferred her hemlines below the knee? The woman who'd nearly blinded herself that morning with a mascara wand? The woman who intended to give away nearly every nickel of the fourteen billion—yes
billion
with a
b
—dollars with which Harry had entrusted her?

Because even without Mr. Tarrant's having told her about Harry's wish that she give away the bulk of his fortune to make the world a better place, Gracie would have done just that. She didn't want the responsibility that came with so much money. She didn't want the notoriety. She didn't want the pandemonium. She didn't want the terror.

Maybe she'd been struggling to make ends meet before last week, but she had been making them meet. And she'd been happy with her life in Seattle. She had fun friends. She had a cute apartment. She was gainfully employed. She was working toward her degree. She'd had hope for the future in general and a sunny outlook for any given day. Since finding out about her inheritance, however, she'd awoken every morning with a nervous stomach, and had only been able to sleep every night with a pill. In between those times, she'd been jumpy, withdrawn and scared.

Most people would probably think she was nuts, but Gracie didn't want to be a billionaire. She didn't even want to be a millionaire. She wanted to have enough so that she could make it through life without worrying, but not so much that she spent the rest of her life worrying. Did that make sense? To her, it did. To Harry's son, however...

She searched for words that would explain everything to Harrison Sage III quickly enough that he wouldn't have time to believe she was any of the things he'd just called her. But there was still so much of it she didn't understand herself. How could she explain it to him when even she couldn't make sense of it?

“I, um, that is...” she began. She inhaled a deep breath and released it, and then shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other. She forced a smile she was sure looked as contrived as it felt and tried again. “Actually, I mean... The thing is...”

Gah. At this rate, she would be seeing Harry in the afterlife before she was able to make a complete sentence.
Just spit it out,
she told herself. But all she finally ended up saying was “Um, actually, I don't have to go back to work after this.”

Well, it was a start. Not to mention the truth.
Go, Gracie!

Immediately, Harrison Sage's expression cleared. “Excellent,” he said. “Do you like Thai? Because there's this great place on West Forty-Sixth that just opened. You'll love it.”

“I do like Thai,” she said. Still being honest.
Forward, Gracie
, she told herself.
Move forward
.

“Excellent,” he said, treating her again to that bewitching smile. “I'm Harrison, by the way,” he added. “Harrison Sage. If you hadn't already figured that out.”

Gracie bit back a strangled sound. “Yeah, I kinda did.”

“And you are?”

It was all she could do not to reply, “I'm the trashy, scheming, manipulative gold digger. Nice to meet you.”

“I'm—I'm Gracie,” she said instead.

She was hoping the name was common enough that he wouldn't make the connection to the woman he probably hated with the burning passion of a thousand fiery suns. But she was pretty sure he did make the connection. She could tell by the way his expression went stony, by the way his eyes went flinty, by the way his jaw went clinchy...

And by the way the temperature in the room seemed to drop about fourteen billion—yes
billion
with a
b
—degrees.

Two

H
arrison Sage told himself he must have misheard her. Maybe she hadn't said her name was Gracie. Maybe she'd said her name was Stacy. Or Tracy. Or even Maisey. Because Gracie was a nickname for Grace. And Grace was the name of the woman who had used her sexual wiles to seduce and manipulate a fragile old man into changing his will to leave her with nearly every nickel he had.

This
was that woman? he thought, taking her in again. He'd been expecting a loudmouthed, garishly painted, platinum blonde in a short skirt, tight sweater and mile-high heels. One who had big hair, long legs and absolutely enormous—

Well. He just hadn't expected her to look like something out of a fairy tale. But that was exactly the impression he'd formed of this woman when she first walked into the room. That she was some fey, otherworldly sylph completely out of her element in this den of trolls. She was slight and wispy, and if she was wearing any makeup, he sure couldn't see it. Stray tendrils of hair, the color of a golden autumn sunset, had escaped their twist, as if all it would take was a breath of sorcery to make the entire mass tumble free.

And when had he become such a raging poet? he asked himself. Golden autumn sunset? Breath of sorcery? What the hell kind of thoughts were those to have about a woman who had robbed his family of their rightful legacy? What the hell kind of thoughts were those for a man to have, period? Where the hell had his testosterone got to?

On the other hand, he was beginning to see how his father had been taken in by her. Obviously, she was the kind of grifter who got better results as a vestal virgin than a blonde bombshell. Harrison had almost fallen into her trap himself.

It didn't matter
how
she'd conned his father. What mattered was that she'd swindled one of the last century's most savvy businessmen and convinced him to turn his back on everyone and everything he'd loved in life. Well, as far as his father
could
have loved anyone or anything—other than his fortune, his commercial holdings and his social standing. But then, what else was there to love? Money, power and position were the only things a person could count on. Or, at least, they had been, before everything went to hell, thanks to this, this...

Harrison took a step backward, and met Grace Sumner's gaze coolly. “
You're
the trashy, scheming, manipulative gold digger?” he asked. Then, because something in her expression looked genuinely wounded by the comment—wow, she really was good—he tempered it by adding, “I thought you'd be taller.”

She mustered a smile he would have sworn was filled with anxiety if he hadn't known she was a woman who made her way in the world by conning people. “Well, I guess zero out of five isn't bad.”

Harrison opened his mouth to say something else, but Bennett Tarrant—another thorn in the Sage family's side for the last two years—appeared next to Gracie, as if conjured by one of her magic spells.

“I see you've met Mr. Sage,” he said unnecessarily.

“Yep,” Grace said, her gaze never leaving Harrison's.

Tarrant turned to Harrison. “And I see you've met Miss Sumner.”

“Yep,” Harrison said, his gaze never leaving Grace's.

The silence that ensued was thick enough to hack with a meat cleaver. Until Tarrant said, “We should head for our seats. We'll be starting shortly.”

Instead of doing as Tarrant instructed, Harrison found it impossible to move his feet—or remove his gaze from Grace Sumner. Damn. She really was some kind of enchantress.

In an effort to make himself move away, he reminded himself of everything he and his mother had been through since his father's disappearance fifteen years ago. And he reminded himself how his mother would be left with nothing, thanks to this woman who had, by sheer, dumb luck, stumbled onto an opportunity to bleed the last drop out of a rich, feeble-minded old man.

Fifteen years ago—half a lifetime—Harrison had gone down to breakfast to find his parents seated, as they always were, at a dining-room table capable of seating twenty-two people. But instead of sitting side by side, they sat at each end, as far apart as possible. As usual, his father had had his nose buried in the
Wall Street Journal
while his mother had been flipping through the pages of a program for Milan Fashion Week. Or maybe Paris Fashion Week. Or London Fashion Week. Or, hell, Lickspittle, Idaho, Fashion Week for all he knew. So he'd taken his regular place at the table midway between them, ensuring that none of them was close enough to speak to the others. It was, after all, a Sage family tradition to not speak to each other.

They'd eaten in silence until their butler entered with his daily reminder that his father's car had arrived to take him to work, his mother's car had arrived to take her shopping and Harrison's car had arrived to take him to school. All three Sages had then risen and made their way to their destinations, none saying a word of farewell—just as they had every morning. Had Harrison realized then that that would be the last time he ever saw his father, he might have...

What? he asked himself. Told him to have a nice day? Given him a hug? Said, “I love you”? He wasn't sure he'd even known how to do any of those things when he was fifteen. He wasn't sure he knew how to do any of them now. But he might at least have told his father...something.

He tamped down a wave of irritation. He just wished he and his father had talked more. Or at all. But that was kind of hard to do when the father spent 90 percent of his time at work and the son spent 90 percent of his time in trouble. Because Harrison remembered something else about that day. The night before his father took off, Harrison had come home in the backseat of a squad car, because he'd been caught helping himself to a couple of porno magazines and a bottle of malt liquor at a midtown bodega.

Five months after his father's disappearance had come the news from one of the family's attorneys that he had been found, but that he had no intention of coming home just yet. Oh, he would stay in touch with one of his attorneys and a couple of business associates, to make sure the running of Sage Holdings, Inc. continued at its usual pace and to keep himself from being declared legally dead. But he wouldn't return to his work life—or his home life—anytime soon. To those few with whom he stayed in contact he paid a bundle to never reveal his whereabouts. He'd come back when he felt like it, he said. And then he never came back at all.

Harrison looked at Grace Sumner again, at the deceptively beautiful face and the limitless dark eyes. Maybe two judges had decided she was entitled to the personal fortune his father had left behind. But there was no way Harrison was going down without a fight. He would prove once and for all, unequivocally, that she wasn't entitled to a cent. He'd been so sure the appeals court would side with the family that he hadn't felt it necessary to play his full hand. Until now. And now...

Soon everyone would know that the last thing Grace Sumner was was a fey, unearthly creature. In fact, she was right at home in this den of trolls.

* * *

Gracie wanted very much to say something to Harry's son before leaving with Mr. Tarrant. But his expression had gone so chilly, she feared anything she offered by way of an explanation or condolences would go unheard. Still, she couldn't just walk away. The man had lost his father—twice—and had no chance to make amends at this point. His family's life had been turned upside down because of Harry's last wishes and what he'd asked her to do with his fortune. She supposed she couldn't blame Harrison III for the cool reception.

Nevertheless, she braved a small smile and told him, “I doubt you'll believe me, but it
was
nice to meet you, Mr. Sage. I'm so sorry about your father. He was the kindest, most decent man I ever met.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, she turned to follow Mr. Tarrant to the other side of the room, where chairs had been set up for everyone affected by Harry's will. They were arranged in two arcs that faced each other, with a big-screen TV on one side. She seated herself between Mr. Tarrant and two attorneys from his firm, almost as if the three of them were circling the wagons to protect her.

Gus Fiver, the second in command at Tarrant, Fiver & Twigg, looked to be in his midthirties and was as fair and amiable as Harrison Sage was dark and moody—though Gus's pinstripes looked to be every bit as expensive. Renny Twigg, whom Mr. Tarrant had introduced as one of their associates—her father was the Twigg in the company's name—was closer in age to Gracie's twenty-six. Renny was a petite brunette who didn't seem quite as comfortable in her own pinstripes. Even with her tidy chignon and perfectly manicured hands, she looked like the kind of woman who would be happier working outdoors, preferably at a job that involved wearing flannel.

Everyone else in the room was either connected to Harry in some way or an attorney representing someone's interests. Seated directly across from Gracie—naturally—were Harry's surviving family members and their attorneys. In addition to Harrison Sage III, there was his mother and Harry's widow, Vivian Sage, not to mention a veritable stable of ex-wives and mistresses and a half-dozen additional children—three of whom were even legitimate. As far as professional interests went, Harry had had conglomerates and corporations by the boatload. Add them together, and it totaled a financial legacy of epic proportion. Nearly all of what hadn't gone back to the businesses was now legally Gracie's. Harry had left a little to a handful of other people, but the rest of his fortune—every brick, byte and buck—had gone to her.

Oh, where was a paper bag for hyperventilating into when she needed it?

Once everyone was seated and silent, Bennett Tarrant rose to address the crowd. “Thank you all for coming. This meeting is just a formality, since Mr. Sage's estate has been settled by the court, and—”

“Settled doesn't mean the ruling can't be appealed,” Harrison Sage interrupted, his voice booming enough to make Gracie flinch. “And we plan to file within the next two weeks.”

“I can't imagine how that's necessary,” Mr. Tarrant said. “An appeal has already supported the court's initial ruling in Miss Sumner's favor. Unless some new information comes to light, any additional appeal will only uphold those rulings.”

Harrison opened his mouth to say more, but his attorney, a man of Mr. Tarrant's age and demeanor, placed a hand lightly on his arm to halt him. “New information will come to light,” the man said.

Mr. Tarrant looked in no way concerned. “Mr. Landis, it has been twice determined that Harrison Sage, Jr., was of sound mind and body when he left the bulk of his personal estate to Grace Sumner. Another appeal would be—”

“Actually, we'll disprove that this time,” Mr. Landis stated unequivocally. “And we will prove that not only did Grace Sumner exert undue influence over Mr. Sage of a sexual nature, but that—”

“What?”
This time Gracie was the one to interrupt.

Mr. Landis ignored her, but she could practically feel the heat of Harrison Sage's gaze.

Mr. Landis continued, “We'll prove that not only did Grace Sumner exert undue influence over Mr. Sage of a sexual nature, but that he contracted a sexually transmitted disease from her which rendered him mentally incapacitated.”

“What?”
Gracie erupted even more loudly.

She started to rise from her chair, but Gus Fiver gently covered her shoulder with his hand, willing her to ignore the allegation. With much reluctance, Gracie made herself relax. But if looks could kill, the one she shot Harrison Sage would have rendered him a pile of ash.

Especially after his attorney concluded, “She used sex to seduce and further incapacitate an already fragile old man, and then took advantage of his diminished state to convince him to leave his money and assets to her. We're hiring a private investigator to gather the necessary evidence, since this is something that has only recently come to light.”

“I see,” Mr. Tarrant replied. “Or perhaps it's something you've pulled out of thin air in a vain last-ditch effort.”

Unbelievable, Gracie thought. Even if she'd known Harry was worth a bundle, she never would have taken advantage of him. And she certainly wouldn't have used her alleged
sexual wiles
, since she didn't even have
a
sexual wile, never mind sexual
wiles
, plural. True friendship was worth way more than money and was a lot harder to find. And incapacitated? Diminished? Harry? Please. He'd been full of piss and vinegar until the minute that damned aneurysm brought him down.

Mr. Tarrant met the other attorney's gaze levelly. “Harrison Sage, Jr. changed his will in person, in the office of his attorneys, two of whom are seated in this room. And he presented to them not only a document from his physician stating his excellent health, both mental and physical, but his physician was also present to bear witness in that office. Your father's intent was crystal clear. He wished for Grace Sumner to inherit the bulk of his personal estate. Two judges have agreed. Therefore Miss Sumner
does
inherit the bulk of his personal estate.

“Now then,” he continued, “on the day he amended his will for the last time, Mr. Sage also made a video at his attorneys' office that he wanted Miss Sumner and his family and associates, along with their representatives, to view. Renny, do you mind?”

Renny Twigg aimed a remote at the TV. A second later, Harry's face appeared on the screen, and Gracie's stomach dropped. He looked nothing like the Harry she remembered. He was wearing a suit and tie not unlike the other power suits in the room, a garment completely at odds with the wrinkled khakis and sweatshirts he'd always worn in Cincinnati. His normally untidy hair had been cut and styled by a pro. His expression was stern, and his eyes were flinty. He looked like a billionaire corporate mogul—humorless, ruthless and mean. Then he smiled his Santa Claus smile and winked, and she knew this was indeed the Harry she had known and loved. Suddenly, she felt much better.