The Millionaire Meets His Match (4 page)

“Dammit.” He couldn't blame Trish. She was efficient, discreet and intelligent. She seemed to have a good sense of humor. Adam noticed he'd been laughing a lot more lately and wondered if too much laughter was rotting his brain.

The woman was not only good at her job, but actually seemed to care about him. Hell, she even made sure he ordered something healthy for dinner every night he worked late. She'd stood her ground on the health food issue again last night and he'd admired her style while at the same time he'd debated whether he could rip off her clothes, throw her onto his couch and satisfy his true hunger.

Adam had already identified the problem. Lust. Pure and simple. He knew it. He just didn't know what to do about it. Well, no, actually, he knew exactly what to do about it, he thought ruefully. He just couldn't figure out when he would have a free minute to find a willing woman and satisfy that particular itch until the Fantasy Mountain resort was a done deal.

He wasn't going to give in to what he felt for Trish. Not while she was working for him.

So it promised to be one hell of a frustrating month.

 

An hour later, the intercom rang and Adam grabbed the phone. “What?” he asked a little too curtly.

“It's your brother Brandon on line 2,” Trish announced.

“Thanks.”

Adam pushed the speakerphone button. “What's up?”

“Who was that?” Brandon asked immediately.

“My new assistant.”

“Is she hot?”

“I'm hanging up now.”

“She must be hot.”

“Goodbye, Brandon.”

“Wait,” Brandon said quickly. “Just wanted to alert you to the fact that Mom had dinner with Marjorie last night.”

“So what?”

“Don't you get it?” Brandon demanded. “Marjorie's one of Mom's oldest friends. She's got to be in on the scheme. Think about it. Mom's got our own Human Resources manager working to sabotage us from within the company. They're perfectly positioned to bring you down.”

“You're nuts.”

“Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you. Mom's turned desperate and ruthless. I actually heard her say that you're going down first, so you'd better be on your guard. Don't be surprised if they pull an inside job.”

Adam shook his head as his brother's ranting came to an end. “When did you become so paranoid?”

“Call me names but heed my words,” Brandon said in a serious tone, then added, “Mom wants grandkids and to get what she wants, she has to sacrifice us. You're her first target, so I'm just saying you might want to beware of strange and beautiful women running amok in your office.”

Adam laughed. “Were you hit in the head with one too many footballs?”

“This is the thanks I get for watching your back?”

“Talk to you later, bro,” Adam said, shaking his head.

“I can only hope so,” Brandon said mournfully, then quickly reminded him about the weekend barbecue at their mother's house.

Adam was still chuckling when he hung up. He buzzed Trish and asked her to bring him the North Vineyard file. She entered his office and his gaze was immediately drawn to her legs. Again. The dress she wore was office appropriate. Almost too conservative, in fact. It shouldn't have been sexy, so why were his nerves humming as he watched how well the silky material clung to her curves and skimmed her knees as she made her way across the room?

Small silver buttons ran up the front of Trish's dress and Adam wondered how long it would take to unbutton them enough to allow the soft fabric to slide off her shoulders and reveal her enticing breasts. In no time, he would have her naked, under him, on his desk.

“Do you want it on your desk?” she asked.

Adam flinched. Could she read his mind? He looked up to see her smiling as she held the thick client folder out for him to take. He exhaled heavily. Chances were, she wouldn't be smiling if she knew which direction his mind drifted off to whenever she walked into the office.

“Adam?”

“Yeah.” What the hell was wrong with him? He felt a headache brewing and pinched the bridge of his nose. “On the desk. Thanks, Trish.”

“I didn't know your company owned vineyards.”

“What?”

She pointed to the file. “North Vineyard is part of Duke Cellars. I never made the connection until now.”

“Oh.” He rubbed his forehead and tried to concentrate on the mundane topic. “Yes. We own a number of vineyards and we've just had our fourth press. It promises to be a good one. We'll be opening a resort in the wine country next year.”

“Oh, that sounds exciting.”

“Yeah, it should be a fantastic opening.”

Her eyes glittered with interest and all he could think about was making them shine with passion.

“Are you all right?” she asked, concern in her voice.

“Oh, yeah, great,” he said, clamping down on his urge to pull her onto his lap.

“Are you sure I can't do anything for you?”

Not unless she was willing to give him a full body massage. “Thanks, no. I'll be fine.”

She didn't look convinced. “Okay, but I'm right outside and I have aspirin if you need it.”

A cold shower would be more of a help, but Adam nodded. “I appreciate it.”

She turned to leave and he caught the lightest scent of oranges and vanilla. Against his better judgment, he savored the sweetness as he watched her long-legged gait carry her across the thickly carpeted office toward the door. The sway of her curvaceous bottom hypnotized him completely.

Dammit, would he ever be able to relax in his own office again?

Beware of strange and beautiful women running amok in your office.

“What the—?” He looked around, then made a face as Brandon's words managed to filter through his distracted mind.

Trish turned. “Did you say something?”

“No,” he said in a strangled tone he barely recognized as his own.

“Okay.” She smiled, then slipped out and quietly shut the door behind her.

An inside job.

“Stop it,” he said aloud, shaking his head in protest. Brandon was seriously deranged and Adam was buying into his obsession, that was all.

You're her first target.

“No, I'm not.”

She's ruthless and desperate.

“There's no way.” He shook his head again and cursed under his breath, then brusquely opened the North Vineyard file and started to study the lease terms. After reading the same convoluted sentence three times, he stopped, looked up and stared at the closed doors leading to Trish's work area.

They're perfectly positioned to bring you down.

He raked his fingers through his hair as he recalled Marjorie's words four days ago, the morning she brought Trish in to take Cheryl's place as his assistant.

I've got the perfect person for you,
Marjorie had said. And she'd been damn cheery about it, too.

“Ah, hell,” he muttered. There was no way his brother Brandon was right. It was ludicrous. Trish? A plant? A willing player in his mother's scheme to marry him off?

Or was she just a pawn?

Adam pushed away from his desk and began to pace. He stopped. Shook his head. Paced some more. Stopped again.

He was driving himself crazy.

How could his mother and Marjorie pull off something like this? First of all, they would've had to have
orchestrated Cheryl's departure. Or would they? Maybe it was just a happy coincidence that Cheryl had left the company, and Marjorie, coerced by his mother, had jumped at the opportunity to bring in a certain attractive woman who just might be capable of seducing him into love and marriage.

His eyes narrowed as he conjured up a picture of Mom and Marjorie meeting, scheming, conniving to pull it off.

Suddenly, it didn't seem at all far-fetched.

Abruptly, he remembered Trish's own words, the ones he'd overheard her say to someone on the phone the other day.

Trust me, he won't know what hit him.

Had Trish been talking to his mother? Or Marjorie, perhaps? It was obvious from her words that something shady was going on.

Did he really need more proof than that?

No. He had all the ammunition he needed.

He had to hand it to them, he admitted with a short laugh. Nice try. Trish was definitely attractive, and while he might enjoy the seduction part, there was no way in hell he'd fall for the whole love-and-marriage package.

He stared out the window at the waves crashing against the cliffs south of Dunsmuir Bay. He and his brothers had bought this land and built their company in this spot specifically to take advantage of the view. Despite the advantages Sally Duke had given them, they'd worked their asses off to get their company to the place it was today. He wouldn't allow some gold digger to get her greedy paws on half of all that.

Raking a frustrated hand through his hair, he turned from the window and grabbed a bottle of water from
the sideboard. It just figured that Mom would pick out someone smart and nurturing like Trish to be his mate. Yes, she was beautiful, too, but her beauty was fresh and healthy, nothing like the calculated, sophisticated, worldly women he'd always dated in the past. He knew his mother disapproved of those types of women, but they filled the bill as far as Adam was concerned. Women who wanted no strings, no obligations, just healthy, raucous sex when the spirit moved them. Nothing wrong with that.

He suddenly recalled his mother's face as he'd introduced her to one of those women at a charity ball they'd both attended a few weeks earlier. At the time, he thought he'd read disappointment in the way Mom stared at him, the way her lips were pursed and her jaw was set. But it wasn't disappointment at all, Adam realized now. It was determination. He'd seen a new sense of purpose in his mother's eyes that night.

Determination to marry him off at the earliest possible date.

Adam rubbed his jaw, unsure of his next move. It was beginning to sink in, what Brandon had been dealing with since he'd temporarily moved back in with their mother. Sally Duke was a force of nature and it would be dangerous to underestimate her.

The more Adam pondered the odds that Trish had been planted here by his mother and Marjorie, the more plausible the whole thing seemed. The only question that remained was whether Trish was aware of their scheme. If she was in on the plan, and landing a rich husband like Adam was the only reason she was working here, then that made her a gold digger—plain and simple. An attractive gold digger, to be sure. But that meant she was fair game and ripe for outmaneuvering.

Pacing the length of his office and back, Adam mused over the possibilities. Trish James was perfect, absolutely perfect. Not for him, certainly, but for Mom's imaginary view of what a prospective wife for her son should be like.

And the more he thought about it, the more he had to admit how impressed he was. His mother had almost pulled one over on him.

“Well played, Mom,” Adam murmured with a calculated grin. “And don't worry, there'll be a seduction, all right.”

He'd seduce the lovely gold digger, enjoy a few nights of hot, delicious sex, then send her on her way.

“But not right away,” he murmured as the plan took shape in his mind. After all, he had Fantasy Mountain to consider, and Trish was doing a great job organizing everything that would make the opening gala an event that would be talked about for years to come. Once it was over, though, he would kiss Trish James goodbye. Literally. He'd send the gold digger packing while also sending a clear message to his meddling mother that he would not tolerate her interfering in his life again.

With any luck, that would put an end to this ridiculous matchmaking scheme once and for all.

“S
o it's as horrible as you thought it would be?”

“No, no,” Trish said, keeping her voice perky. “It's going great.”

It was Friday night, the end of an exhausting week. Trish tried to relax with a glass of chilled chardonnay while her best friend Deb Perris coaxed her three-month-old baby to drink milk from a bottle. They sat in Deb's comfortable family room directly across the breakfast bar from the kitchen.

“You never were a very good liar,” Deb remarked.

“Why would I lie?” Trish asked.

“Gosh, I don't know.” Deb brushed a few soft strands of Gavin's hair off his forehead. “Maybe you're trying to hide something. But here's a little hint. If you think raising your voice two octaves higher than normal makes you sound happy, you're wrong.”

Trish leaned forward to tug at little Gavin's tiny
foot. “Poor baby, you'll never be able to get away with anything.”

“That's right,” Deb said proudly. “So you might as well spill the beans. Is the man as bad as you thought he would be?”

“Worse,” Trish muttered before taking another hearty sip of wine to dull the misery.

“Really? Worse? How thrilling.” Deb pulled the bottle out of Gavin's mouth to check how much milk was left. The baby began to fuss.

“Don't worry, sweetie,” she crooned. “There's plenty more.” She popped the bottle back into his mouth, then looked at Trish, unable to hide her excitement. “You know, I'm not surprised. Everyone at DDI seems to love him, but it's always a different story when you get them behind closed doors. Figures the richest ones are always the biggest jerks.”

“But that's the problem,” Trish grumbled. “The big jerk isn't turning out to be quite the jerk we thought he'd be. Just the opposite, in fact. He's thoughtful and funny and a true Good Samaritan—if all those charity files are to be believed. You should've seen how angry he got when he found out the contractors messed things up for handicapped guests at the resort.”

“You're kidding,” Deb said. “He sounds like some kind of white knight.”

“I know.” Trish took another healthy gulp of wine. She wasn't about to mention the orphanage Adam had spent time in. Not that she cared about his sensibilities. But good grief, how was she supposed to deal with the man she'd declared her sworn enemy when, despite what he'd done to her home and her family, she was actually starting to like him?

“Huh,” Deb said. “There's got to be
something
wrong with him.”

“Not so far,” Trish griped.

“Oh, come on,” Deb persisted. “I can tell you're holding out on me and that's not fair. I'm stuck here blathering baby talk all day, every day. So throw me a bone, would you? A little gossip? Something? Anything?”

Trish laughed. “I've got nothing.”

“I'm not above begging,” Deb said as she fiddled with the baby's blanket. “I don't get out much. And not that it's an issue or anything, but let's face it, you owe me.”

“Hey, I steered you toward wearing the red dress, didn't I?”

“Not good enough,” Deb said, laughing. “Although Ronnie was a happy man. Come on, spill.”

Trish sighed. It's true that if it weren't for Deb, she might never have been hired by Duke Development International in the first place. When Deb left her administrative job at DDI to stay home with the baby, she'd recommended Trish to Marjorie Wallace, the HR manager, who'd immediately hired Trish for the special assignment department. Trish never would've been able to infiltrate the company so quickly if not for Deb. So, yes, she owed her friend the truth—if only she could figure out exactly what the truth was.

“You could've warned me how dangerous this job could be to my health,” she groused, getting up to pour herself another half glass of the delicious crisp, dry wine. As she pushed the cork back into the bottle and returned it to the refrigerator shelf, she noticed the label.
Duke Cellars.
Oh, great. She couldn't escape the man for one minute.

Deb gave her a quizzical look. “What do you mean, dangerous?”

Trish waved a hand to negate her words. “It's nothing.”

Deb persisted. “Hey, if there's a problem, you don't have to handle it alone. You could—”

“It's just—” Trish exhaled heavily. “It's hard to breathe when he's standing by my desk.”

Her friend's smile was smug. “He really is cute, isn't he?”

“Cute?” Trish repeated, stunned by the word. When had Deb become such a master of understatement?
Cute
was for puppy dogs and two-year-olds.
Devastating
would more accurately describe Adam Duke.

“But as I recall,” Deb continued, “I
did
warn you. You just weren't ready to listen. You were on a mission, remember?”

Trish sipped her wine. “I still am.”

“You still intend to go through with it?”

“I have to.”

Deb shrugged, put the now-empty baby bottle on the side table, then lifted the baby to her shoulder. After a few pats, Gavin let out a healthy burp and they both laughed.

“What a good boy,” Deb whispered, bouncing the baby lightly in her arms.

Trish couldn't prevent the pang of envy that tripped up her heart as she watched. Deb and she had been best friends since fourth grade when Deb's parents moved their family to Dunsmuir Bay. Two years ago, Trish had been maid of honor when Deb married her high school sweetheart, Ronnie, in a beautiful ceremony on the cliff overlooking the bay. Then little Gavin was born three months ago and Deb quit her job to stay home.

Trish smiled wistfully. She didn't really envy her friend's happiness, but sometimes she wished things had turned out differently in her own life. If Grandma were still alive, if Anna's Attic and the Victorian Village were still standing, her life might've taken another road, might've turned out more like Deb's. She might have a husband or even a baby of her own by now.

Resolve trickled through her as she reminded herself that whatever else he appeared to be, Adam Duke was the reason her world had fallen to pieces. And Trish wasn't the only one who'd been affected. There were others depending on her to keep her word to bring Adam down. If she ever wanted to face her old friends and neighbors again, she needed to be strong and follow through on her plan.

Maybe someday, when Adam Duke and his machinations had been dealt with and were a thing of the past, she might think about settling down. But not yet. Not until she could look herself in the mirror and feel some amount of pride at having fulfilled the promise she'd made to Grandma Anna on her deathbed.

Content that little Gavin was settled and happy in his infant seat, Deb sat back down. “I know this plan of yours is something you've thought about for a long time, but if you've had a change of heart, it's okay. You're free to change your mind anytime you want.”

“I won't change my mind,” Trish said.

“There's no shame in it,” Deb insisted. “You've got an accounting degree and an MBA. You could get a job anywhere.”

“I know, and I will,” she said, gazing at her friend with renewed resolve. “But first things first. My personal feelings about Adam Duke don't matter. He deserves to be taken down and I won't give up until I've done just that.”

 

Trish spent most of Saturday morning running errands. She stopped at the dry cleaners, the grocery store, the bank and finally the library where she returned two books, then strolled over to browse the new arrivals shelf.

“My goodness, is that you, Trish?”

She turned, then smiled and gave the chic, older woman a hug. “Mrs. Collins, how are you?”

“I'm as well as can be expected for an old gal.” Selma Collins was a neighbor from Victorian Village. She'd owned the stylish clothing shop that had provided Trish with dresses for all the significant events of her life, from her first communion to her senior prom.

Today Mrs. Collins wore one of her vintage Chanel suits. It was almost as old as she was, but it was elegant and timeless, just as she was. Her subtle scent of Chanel No. 5 filled Trish's sense memory and, just for a moment, transported her back to a happier time.

“Oh, Mrs. Collins,” Trish said with a grin, “you look as fresh and young as the day I met you.”

The woman slapped Trish's arm. “My dear, you were a toddler when I first met you, so stop pulling this old gal's leg.”

They both chuckled, then Trish wasn't sure what to say. Most of the neighbors knew her plan to infiltrate Duke Development and they'd applauded her for taking action. But if she came up with nothing, she didn't know how she would face them. And that outcome was looking more and more inevitable with every day she spent with Adam Duke.

“You probably heard that Claude and Madeleine had to declare bankruptcy,” Mrs. Collins whispered.

The news hit Trish like a physical blow to the chest.
Claude and Madeleine Maubert had operated the Village Patisserie for over twenty years. Their chocolate croissants were the stuff of dreams. Trish had loved hearing Mrs. Maubert's stories of her life in Paris before she met her husband and they ventured “across the pond,” as she always said. “Oh, no. Are they going to be all right?”

Mrs. Collins shook her head. “They went through most of their savings trying to set up another patisserie like the one they'd had at the Village, but they just couldn't make it work. I don't think their hearts were in it.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“Oh, dear girl, you're doing everything you can.” Mrs. Collins squeezed her arm. “We have such great hopes for you.”

Trish smiled thinly but said nothing. She wished now that she hadn't raised the expectations of her neighbors by telling them of her plan to find some dirt on Adam Duke. Even if she did discover something they could use against their nemesis, it wouldn't bring back their shops or their homes.

But eight months ago, after Grandma Anna died, Trish had been so angry and hurt that she'd stormed into City Hall and demanded to know why the city hadn't approved the historical designation for Victorian Village. They'd told her that renters couldn't apply for the designation; it had to come from the owners.

She remembered the overwhelming desire to throw something at the clerk. It shouldn't have mattered who applied for the designation. It was an objective fact that the block-long building was a town landmark, well over one hundred years old and lovingly preserved in the classic Queen Anne Victorian style. How dare the city
allow it to be bulldozed into oblivion and replaced by a concrete slab?

After receiving no satisfaction at City Hall, she'd marched into the large Duke Development construction trailer that was camped on the site of her razed home and made silly threats. The head guy, a wormy little man who made her skin crawl, had warned her to get out or he would call security, so she left of her own accord, but not before foolishly ranting her intention to “take down Duke Development” if it was the last thing she did.

Now, she could only laugh ruefully at the memory but back then, she'd been carrying around a grudge that weighed her down like a stone. Soon after the embarrassing scene at the Duke construction trailer, Trish had attended a barbecue with her old neighbors. She'd shared her plan with them, boldly promising that she would find something—anything—that could be used to hurt the Dukes in some way. It had been rash of her, but her friends had hailed her as their heroine and bolstered her confidence, so she knew she had to give it her best shot.

And so she had. But so far, she'd found nothing remotely damaging to the corporation or to Adam Duke himself. On the contrary, the man appeared to be a saint.

Mrs. Collins hugged her again and told her to “keep the fight alive.” Trish promised to arrange a get-together soon, then watched the older woman walk away. Trish knew she had no choice but to renew her pledge to continue her search. She just prayed that Adam never found out her true intentions because, if he did, she had no doubt that he would make it impossible for her to ever find work in this town again.

 

“Who wants hot dogs?” Sally Duke cried as she slid the patio door open while balancing two full platters of hot dogs and buns.

“Let me help you with that, Mom,” Adam said, jogging over to grab something from her capable hands. He set the trays on the patio table.

“Thanks, sweetie,” Sally said. “Could you make the hamburger patties? You're so good at that.”

“I'll take care of them. You relax.”

“Oh, and I think we'll need more sangria.”

“You got it.” Adam signaled to Brandon, who stood behind the tiki bar on the other side of the wide terrace, beyond the pool. “Mom needs more sangria.”

“Coming right up,” Brandon called.

Adam entered the big, sunny kitchen where Cameron stood at the stove, putting the finishing touches on the latest batch of his world-famous chili.

Adam snatched a pickle from the relish tray in the refrigerator and chomped it down before heading over to taste-test the chili.

“Needs salt,” he said after the first spoonful.

“I know,” Cameron said.

Adam pulled the hamburger meat from the refrigerator, grabbed a large glass bowl from the cupboard and cleared a spot on the kitchen island to work.

“I need to talk to you and Brandon some time today,” Cameron said as he stirred the pot. “The environmental report came in on the Monarch Beach property and I want to take action on Monday.”

“Sounds good,” Adam said. “I've got an ADA issue going on at Fantasy Mountain, too.”

“Speaking of fantasies,” Brandon said as he walked
into the room carrying the empty sangria pitcher. “How's that sweet new assistant of yours doing?”