The Billionaire's Con (2 page)

With a nervous chuckle, Jill did her best to redirect the conversation. “The gossip mill is a fact of life in Palmerton, Mr. Bryce, but it’s harmless.” She paused for a beat. “For the most part. Why don’t I show you the apartment so we can get out of Meggy’s way?”

Meggy fought a smile as he turned in a slow circle, taking in the first floor studio.

He flicked a long fingered hand in the direction of the queen bed, prominent in one corner. “The bedroom?”

Jill nodded, and pointed to the staircase along the opposite wall. “The second floor is a small loft bedroom.”

He didn’t bother checking the loft. “The place looks like it will suit my needs. I’ll take it.”

“Well,” Jill sputtered, shooting a surprised glance at Meggy before turning back to him. “Well, then. Why don’t we head back to my office to take care of the paperwork?”

Trevor nodded. “That works for me.”

“Do you have any questions before we leave?” Jill sashayed toward the door.

“Only one.” He didn’t move, and Jill stumbled to a stop when he asked Meggy, “Where can I find you, Meggy Calhoun? One never knows when one may need some painting or yarn spinning advice.”

Meggy blinked at the sultry southern drawl, as well as his dark and intimate smile. She returned the smile, deciding she’d been right about that dangerous tilt after all. The man was definitely dangerous.

She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the open doorway. “I live in the main house.” Her smile morphed into a grin at the thought of her tiny, third-floor apartment. “Top floor. Penthouse.”

“Then I’ll be seeing you. It’s been my pleasure.” He held out his hand and she didn’t hesitate in offering hers. His warm, slightly roughened fingers folded around hers. She jerked back her hand almost immediately.

Whoa! What was that?
Her palm and fingers tingled as though she’d just grabbed hold of a live wire.

His pale gaze swept over her once more. He smiled and followed Jill outside.

Chapter Two

“Cara! Are you here?” Meggy’s voice echoed off the gleaming, hardwood floors of the large studio. An unfinished canvas rested on the easel in the corner, and she wandered over to study it. The strong scent of turpentine assailed her senses.

She tossed her purse onto the couch behind her, turning her back on the disturbing letter tucked in the inside pocket of the bag.
Out of sight, out of mind? Yeah, right.
She’d been doing her best not to think about that letter since first reading the damn thing three weeks ago—without success.

If not for that letter, she would never have made that asinine trip to Martha’s Vineyard. The only thing she’d accomplished on her trip to Ashford Farm was feeling like a coward. The sensation didn’t sit well with her.

Instinct told her the smart thing to do would be to burn the letter, forget about Martha’s Vineyard and rich old ladies, and focus on making Palmer House into the North Shore’s most successful new restaurant. But her instincts had been on the fritz since the moment she’d learned of the letter’s existence.

“Hey! Mrs. Finnegan! Where are you?” she called out.

“It’s so weird to hear myself addressed as a Mrs.”

Meggy turned—and sputtered with laughter. Descending the spiral staircase from the second floor, her newly married friend looked tanned, rested, and otherwise gorgeous in spite of the ridiculous, oversized sombrero balanced on her head. “Nice hat,” Meggy quipped.

“I think it makes a statement.” Cara reached the bottom step and walked toward her.

“It makes a statement, all right.” When Cara stopped, Meggy flicked at the floppy brim. “It confirms that even intelligent people can be suckered into buying cheesy souvenirs while on their honeymoon.”

Cara grinned, her green eyes sparkling. She lifted the three-foot-wide hat from her head, and dropped it onto Meggy’s. “It’s not a cheesy souvenir. It’s a gift for my maid of honor.”

“Oh, goody.” She studied her reflection in the gilded mirror gracing the aged-brick of the studio’s back wall. She looked as ridiculous as Cara had in the oversized hat, but that was where the similarities ended. Behind her, Cara stood almost a head taller than her own five-foot-two. Her friend’s vivid green eyes, golden tanned skin, and long, riotously curling, dark red hair were a bohemian contrast to Meggy’s pale, pixie looks. Looking at them, strangers might assign personalities to go along with those contrasting exteriors—bold and daring to the statuesque, dark-haired bohemian, sweet and unassuming to the petite, pixie-faced blonde.

And they’d be wrong, as the exact opposite was true.

Meggy pushed up the brim of the hat, grimacing at her absurd reflection. “Any other maid of honor would expect something shiny with a big chunk of sparkle, but not me.” She shook her head. “There’s nothing I’ve wanted more than a woven hat that can double as a canopy.”

Cara laughed, and reached into the pocket of her paint-spattered shirt. A royal-blue box appeared in her hand. She waggled it back and forth over Meggy’s shoulder. “This must be for some
other
maid of honor then.”

The sombrero went flying when Meggy whipped around. She snatched the jeweler’s box from Cara’s fingers.

“The wicker hat is from me.” Cara pointed to the box. “That’s from Finn.”

Meggy lifted the lid. Her breath caught as sunlight flashed off the bluish-purple stone in the dazzling pendant.

“Oh, Cara.” She sucked air, dazzled by the beauty of it. “I was just kidding.” Cara’s smile was soft as Meggy lifted the silver and tanzanite necklace from its satin bed, and held it up to the light. “It’s too much.”

“I told Finn you’d say that.” Cara took the necklace to clasp it at the back of Meggy’s neck. “But he insisted. He dragged me all over Mexico looking for it.”

“I appreciate the effort.” Meggy grinned and fingered the beautiful bauble. “Thank him for me, Cara. And tell him I’m keeping it, even though it had to be wicked expensive, because I deserve it.”

Cara laughed, but her face remained serious. “Yes, you do.”

The tendons in her throat tightened, and she waved her hand in front of her face. She spun. “Okay, cut it out before you make me cry.” She nodded toward the canvas in the corner, all bold colors and sultry slashes. “I don’t have to ask if you enjoyed the honeymoon. What will you call it when it’s done? Satisfied Woman?”

Cara shrugged, eyeing the canvas. “What can I say? My groom knows his stuff.” Utter happiness sparkled in her eyes, even as wistfulness drew out her sigh. “As far as being satisfied, my memories will have to sustain me for tonight. Finn’s out of town.”

“Suck it up, Mrs. Finnegan.” She attempted to tease her friend out of her doldrums. “You’ll just have to rough it like the rest of us women who aren’t having newlywed sex with the town stud.”

“Jealousy is an ugly emotion,” Cara countered in a sweet voice. “It’ll give you wrinkles.”

“There’s always Botox.” She grinned at Cara’s chuckle. “Of course I’m jealous. The closest I’ve come to a meaningful relationship lately is when old man Watson winked at me in the hardware store last week.”

The memory of Trevor Bryce’s gray eyes and sexy, dimpled smile flashed through her mind, and a lovely little shimmer of pleasure tightened her belly. She shook the vision clear.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. Palmer House is taking all my energy these days. I’m too busy to worry over my non-existent love life.” Her gaze strayed to the purse on the couch where her birth mother’s letter waited. She scowled, grumbling, “Or anything else.”

“What’s wrong?” Cara’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem at Palmer House?”

Meggy shook her head. “There was a plumbing issue, but it’s been handled.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she blew out a breath. She knew she looked guilty when her eyes opened to meet Cara’s watchful gaze. “Remember when I mentioned that I was thinking about asking Mom and Dad about my birth parents?”

“You talked to them about your adoption?”

Meggy nodded.

“And?”

“And I wish I hadn’t.”

Cara’s brow furrowed in concern. “Were they upset that you have questions?”

“No.” She scooped her purse from the couch and rummaged through it. “No, they were fine with it. Better than fine, actually. They were great. Dad gave me the documents from the adoption, and they told me everything they knew. Which wasn’t much. There was no information about my birth father, but my birth mother’s name is Rachel Hadley.” She pulled the envelope from her purse and held it out. “And then there was this.”

Cara took the envelope. “What is it?”

“A letter. Rachel Hadley mailed it to my parents four years ago. She asked that they give it to me if I ever had questions about where I came from.” She gestured at the letter. “Go ahead. Read it.”

Cara pulled the single folded page from the envelope and lowered to the couch.

There was no reason to join Cara as she read, she knew the words by heart. There were precious few of them, and none that answered the nagging question of why Rachel had given her up. Neither did they give her any hope of ever finding her birth mother. Instead, the short missive had the tone of finality, as if Rachel were tying up a loose end. But as loose ends went, Rachel’s letter delivered a bombshell.

“Holy crap!” Cara looked up to meet her gaze.

“Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction too.” She crossed her arms under her breasts.

“Elizabeth Ashford is your biological great-grandmother?” Cara looked stunned.

As stunned as she’d been when she found out.

“Elizabeth Ashford of the Martha’s Vineyard Ashfords?”

“The very same.”

“Holy crap,” Cara repeated.

“Tell me about it. You should see her house, Cara. It’s a frigging mansion.”

“You’ve met her already? What’s she like? What did she say when you introduced yourself? Did she know about you?”

She jammed the heels of her palms into her eye sockets. “Since I haven’t actually met her yet, I can’t answer any of those questions.”

“Wait. What? I thought you said you went to her house.”

“I did. I just didn’t meet her.” She dropped her arms and moved to join Cara on the couch, slouching back against the pillows.

“You’ve lost me,” Cara’s eyebrows dipped.

“I asked Justin to check her out for me.” She exhaled an audible sigh. Justin Cooper remained her friend long after their short romance ended three years earlier. As a cop, he had access to information others didn’t, and he hadn’t hesitated when she asked him for information on the wealthy real estate matriarch. “One of the things he found out,” she added with a guilty grimace, “was that Elizabeth Ashford was in the process of looking to hire a chef for her estate on the Vineyard.”

“Oh, Meggy,” Cara groaned. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“Okay, but I’d be lying.” She scoffed at Cara’s pained expression. “Oh, come on. How could you expect me to learn something like that and not take advantage of the situation? Talk about serendipity. I applied for the job, and a couple of days later, the housekeeper called me for an interview.”

Cara snorted, half laugh, half groan. “You actually went through with the interview?”

“How else was I going to get inside? I’d already come all that way, and I couldn’t exactly tell them I wasn’t really interested in the job, just a chance to look around. Anyway, I almost chickened out once I’d seen the place, but I couldn’t, you know? So, I let them know I was there. A bodyguard met me at the door.”

“A bodyguard?”

“Yeah. Well, he didn’t introduce himself as the bodyguard or anything, but I could tell that’s what he was. He was huge, and he had this wicked-looking scar across one eyebrow.” She made a slashing motion to emphasize her words. “He stood there staring with these arms, as thick as hams, crossed over his chest in one of those moves guys make when they want to intimidate someone. He had the move down pat, believe me. I didn’t think he was going to let me in.”

“But he did?”

“The housekeeper did. She thought I was a lunatic, I’m sure. I told her I’d only come to let her know I wouldn’t be available for the job. The interview lasted about five seconds.”

“Sometimes you scare me, Meggy.”

“Sometimes I scare myself.” They shared a grin.

“Why didn’t you just explain who you were and ask to meet your great-grandmother?”

She frowned, tugging on the hem of her shirt. “I was scared.”

“Scared?” Cara gaped at her. “Meggy Calhoun, the Palmerton pit bull, was too scared to meet with a little old lady?” She snorted an exaggerated sniff. “Right.”

Meggy narrowed her eyes at her friend. The nickname was warranted, and normally hearing it gave her a laugh, but her natural assertiveness had deserted her completely with one look at the Ashford Estate. Though she’d forced herself to go inside, she’d run like a coward at the first opportunity. It was embarrassing. And worse, she knew she’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“I stood there, looking around that house. You should have seen it, Cara. The artwork in one room alone could fund several third-world countries for years. Why would anyone walk away from all of that? What kind of woman is Elizabeth Ashford that her own granddaughter didn’t want anything to do with her, that she chose to give me up rather than go to her grandmother for help?”