The Millionaire Meets His Match (14 page)

 

Trish drove to the hospital and handed the vase filled with two dozen perfect red roses to the clerk at the front desk. “Please give them to someone who needs them.”

“They're so beautiful,” the admissions clerk exclaimed. “But that's the third bouquet this week. Is it your birthday?”

“Not exactly,” she hedged, then smiled. “Enjoy.”

Actually, the bouquet of red roses was the fifth arrangement she'd received this week. Day one was daisies. They were so cheerful, she hadn't had the heart to give them away. Day two, pink roses. Day three, a beautiful spring bouquet. Trish had spent half the day mooning over that one before deciding it would be perfect for cheering up a sick hospital patient. Day four, shiny balloons and homemade chocolate-chip cookies. One balloon said, “I Miss You.” She couldn't bear to give that one to the hospital so it was still bobbing around her tiny living room. How many more gifts and flowers would Adam send before he gave up and left her alone?

He'd called, too. Two, three times a day. She'd refused to answer or call him back. It was torturous enough just hearing his voice on her answering machine. If she actually spoke with him, how would she ever be able to block him from her mind and heart?

She should've been happy she'd proved him to be the bad guy she always knew he was. But she wasn't happy. She was miserable.

She pulled the car over and parked across the street from the pier. There weren't many tourists because it was winter, but the sun was still warm enough that she pulled a hat over her hair before walking across to the pier.

After buying a small box of caramel corn, she took the old wooden stairs down to the beach. The waves were forceful and the air was crisp and cold. She could smell the salt, feel the slight spray on her skin. She tried to think of happier times. Before Adam. She couldn't think about him because it hurt too much to wonder what might have been.

Was she being maudlin by coming down here? It was so close, only a block away from where the Victorian Village had stood. Now there was an ugly gray parking structure standing in its place, but Trish refused to look at it.

As she skipped through the waves that washed onto the shore, she thought of Grandma Anna, the only family she'd ever had. She barely remembered her father—killed in Operation Desert Storm when she was a little girl. Her mother died when Trish was nine and she and Grandma Anna mourned the loss together and grew to depend on each other.

Her grandmother had been her closest friend, her advisor, her teacher, her parent. Now she had no one, and it hurt so deeply to know that she was alone in the world. No family, no loved ones. Well, there was one man she loved, still. Even though he'd hurt her badly. She'd thought there was no greater pain than when Grandma Anna died, but she was wrong.

Losing Adam hurt even more.

She wasn't sure why it hurt so much. He'd never really been hers, after all. And she'd known his true nature all along. So why did it hurt so much now that she was alone again?

It had been three weeks since that fateful night at the Fantasy Mountain gala when that hideous man had spoken to Adam. If only she'd been able to stop him. If only Adam hadn't believed him. If only. Trish was sick and tired of moaning and groaning about things she couldn't change, things that could never be.

Such as the fact that she'd actually told Adam that she loved him. And he'd returned the favor by staring daggers at her as she walked out the door.

Oh, it was too humiliating to think about.

“So don't think about it,” she grumbled, kicking up sand. “Do something. You need a job. You need to get on with your life. You need to do something about Grandma Anna's things.”

She'd wondered what Grandma Anna would say about Trish falling in love with Adam, and now some words came to her mind. “Don't be ashamed for loving well.”

Tears prickled her eyes. No, she wouldn't be ashamed. But it was definitely time to stop wallowing. She'd given love her best shot and she'd grieved over it. Now it was time to pick herself up, dust herself off and all that other stuff. What she needed was closure.

 

“That's a one-of-a-kind item,” Trish said, wrestling the small treasure back from the woman who'd picked it up and shaken it. “An eighteenth-century pillbox. French, hand-painted with real pearls lining the edges. The cameo is carved ivory, inlaid on amber.”

“Does it come in red?” the woman asked.

Trish wanted to smack her but resisted, much to her credit, she thought. Honestly, she'd wanted to smack so many of the people she'd dealt with today.

She didn't know what was wrong with her. She wasn't usually so short-tempered. She could understand people wanting a bargain, but didn't anyone in the world want something of quality that would last a lifetime or even longer?

Maybe it had been a mistake renting a booth at the local antique swap mart, but she'd decided she needed to sell Grandma Anna's antiques and collectibles, which had been in storage for the past seven months. She'd thought for a while that she would open another antiques store. After all, the reason she'd gone for her MBA, with a concentration in retail management, in the first place was to bring the Victorian Village shops into the twenty-first century. She'd had so many great marketing ideas for the whole neighborhood group, starting with obtaining the historical landmark designation.

So much for that pipe dream. It was time to move on with her life, time to clear away the clutter, but it still broke her heart to think of her grandmother's beautiful treasures going to somebody who didn't know a pillbox from a pop tart. She began to straighten the items on the back shelf.

“How much for everything you've got?” a man asked.

Adam.

Trish didn't have to turn around to know it was him. Every part of her knew it was him, including her stomach, which was performing somersaults at the sound of his voice.

It was vain, but her first thought was that she really
wished she'd worn something prettier instead of the T-shirt and jeans she'd decided to wear today. It was dirty business, setting up the booth every day, although visitors didn't seem to care much what anybody wore in the vast tented hall of the old fairgrounds.

She turned and took a moment to drink him in. Oh, God, would she always want to swoon whenever she saw him? Today he looked incredibly handsome in his high-powered suit and tie, even better than he looked in the dreams that continued to haunt her every night. Her throat was suddenly so dry that she grabbed her water bottle and gulped down the liquid. It barely quenched her thirst and didn't do a thing to calm her stuttering heart.

She forced herself to take even steps until she stood in front of him, separated only by the table filled with Grandma Anna's vast collection of antique pillboxes. With her chin rigid, she looked him in the eye and said, “I'm afraid you can't afford it.”

His eyes narrowed as he stared back at her for what felt like minutes. Then he began to grin, slowly, calculatedly. Damn that cockeyed grin of his! It never failed to send her nerve endings spinning out of control.

“Hello, Trish,” he said, his voice still as deep and sexy as she remembered. “You look good.”

Well, she knew that was a lie, but it was a kind one. “What are you doing here, Adam?”

“Looking for a treasure,” he said, gazing straight into her eyes.

She swallowed. Could he hear her heart breaking? Had he come to destroy her once again? It wouldn't take much.

“Look, Trish. I understand that I hurt you. I know
you don't trust me as far as you can throw me, but we need to talk and I need to show you something.”

She sucked in a breath. “Adam, there's nothing you can show me or tell me that would change anything.”

“I know you think so, but I want you—no, I need you—to give me a chance to change your mind.”

She sighed. “Adam.”

“You said you loved me.”

She swallowed. So he was going to play dirty. “Oh, you heard that, did you?”

“Yeah, I heard you say it, so you can't take it back.” Not breaking eye contact, Adam shoved the tables of knickknacks and collectibles aside and stepped inside her booth. In her space. Breathing her air. “I know you, Trish. You never would've said you loved me if you didn't mean it. Did you mean it, Trish?”

She tossed her hair back. “You thought I was lying about everything else. Why not that, too?”

“Let's just agree that I was an idiot.”

“Okay, I can agree on that,” she said, biting back a smile.

“I want you back, Trish.”

Almost as quickly as it came, her smile was replaced by a frown. “Adam, it would never work between us. We're too different. You're wealthy and powerful and I'm just…me.”

He took a step closer and said quietly, “I was dumped outside a hospital when I was two years old.”

She hadn't known that and instantly, her heart wept for that tiny abandoned boy. “Oh, Adam.”

“Believe me, Trish,” he said. “My brothers and I have built a business and I'm proud of what I've done with my life. But I'm not all that wealthy and powerful on
the inside. I'm just me. And all of me wants all of you with every last fiber of my being.”

Tears threatened to erupt and Trish had to take some deep breaths before she could speak. “Adam, I don't know if I—”

He held up his hand. “I told you there was something I wanted to show you. Can you leave right now and come with me? I promise it won't take long.”

Without another thought, she called out to her old neighbor, Sam, who was helping his friend Howie repair bikes in Howie's booth across the aisle. “Sam, can you watch my booth for a little while?”

Sam looked up and winked at them. “Sure, honey. You go on. I'll take care of things for you.”

Adam said, “Thanks, Sam.” Then he swooped Trish up in his arms.

She let out a little shriek. “Is this really necessary?”

“I don't want you to get away.”

As he carried her down the aisle toward the door, people called out encouragement and a few ladies applauded.

“See?” he said, grinning. “It's a good thing.”

She shook her head. “You're impossible.”

“I just know what I want.”

 

The drive to the beach in his Ferrari only took a few minutes. Adam turned onto a side street and drove another block, then pulled to the curb in front of a row of six lovingly refurbished Craftsman-style bungalows. They had all been converted into small retail businesses.

Each house was painted a slightly different muted shade of sage green or terra-cotta. Flowers bloomed
along the walkways and charming signs were planted in the well-kept front lawns. Each house had a porch where goods were displayed, and each had a private owners' dwelling attached to the back.

“Oh, aren't they beautiful?” Trish whispered as she got out of the car. “I didn't know these were here.”

“I didn't, either, until I started looking,” he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. “But they were exactly what I wanted.”

She gazed up at him. “You own one of them?”

“I own all of them.”

“You—”

“Or rather, Sam Sutter owns that one.” He pointed to the house on the end. “See the sign?”

Trish stared, then read, “Sam's Beachside Bikes.”

“Oh, my gosh,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “He never said anything.”

Adam smiled. “The old guy's got the kind of poker face that could make him rich in Vegas. Mrs. Collins owns that one. Check out those mannequins on the porch. By the way, she's quite the diva.”

Just then, Mrs. Collins walked out onto the porch and waved a huge scarf in their direction. “Yooohoo, Trish! Isn't this marvelous?”

Trish choked out a laugh but said nothing.

Adam pointed to the last house down the row. “Tommie and Bert Lindsay have already started moving their beauty supply inventory into the place on the far end. And Claude and Madeleine Maubert want the one next door for their patisserie. I think a French bakery and restaurant like theirs will do really well in this area. This is a well-traveled area, close to the beach, with a lot of small, upscale businesses and pedestrian traffic. I ran some demographics for all your friends' shops and—”

She launched herself at him and he managed to catch her. “Thank you,” she said, as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I don't know how or why you did it and you're probably insane for doing it, but I can't thank you enough for this.”

He stroked her hair, kissed her forehead, then turned with her in his arms and pointed again. “Did you notice this place here in the middle?”

Adam had thought it was the prettiest house in the row, painted three different shades of muted green with beveled glass windows in front. The door was old oak with wrought-iron fixtures and the porch was wide enough for a table and chairs and lots of potted plants.

“It's beautiful,” she murmured.

“Read the sign, sweetheart.”

Trish turned her gaze toward the white sign that swung from a post in the middle of the lawn. She gasped. The sign read “Trish's Treasures.”

She stared dumbly at Adam.

“It's not Anna's Attic, but it's all yours,” he said. “If you want it.”

“Oh, Adam.”

“There's one more vacancy,” he explained quickly, hop ing if he just kept talking she would change her mind and take a chance with him. “That's in case one of your other friends from the old building wants to move their business here. I tried to track them down, but I haven't heard back. Anyway, whoever claims the last place, I'll sign over the deed to them.”

“But…why?”

He pulled her back into his arms. “Isn't it obvious? Because I love you, Trish.” His gaze roamed over her face as he took in every inch of her. “I want to make you happy, sweetheart. I swear, I never would've torn
down your beautiful home. It's my fault that I didn't keep better track of what my company was doing, but that will never happen again. I hope one day you'll believe me.”