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  A Negotiated Marriage

  Noelle Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Noelle Adams. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  One

  Molly was running late.

  She had scheduled a breakfast meeting for six-thirty and woke up at four minutes past six. After blinking at her alarm clock for far too long, she jumped out of bed in a panic, knocking over the uncapped bottle of water on her nightstand in the process.

  She cursed under her breath and tossed a towel over the spilled water. Then she rushed through her shower and threw on a bathrobe.

  She obviously couldn’t blow-dry her hair or get dressed without coffee, so she hurried barefoot to the kitchen, trying to tie her robe closed at the same time—a difficult maneuver since her skin was still damp.

  She’d sped up to a jog when Luke appeared unexpectedly in the hallway, heading back to his bedroom after his usual morning workout.

  Molly plowed into him, causing him to huff and grab her by the upper arms to keep them both from falling over.

  He was soaked with perspiration, his attractive face and close-cropped dark hair dripping and his t-shirt and shorts sticking to his skin. She pulled away from him with a rushed, “Sorry. Don’t get me sweaty.” Then she continued her sprint to the kitchen.

  She heard him laughing absently as he made his way to his bedroom.

  Coffee acquired, she ran to her room and half-dried her blond hair before twisting it up with pins. She made a gesture toward make-up and pulled on a navy-blue suit with a fitted jacket and pencil skirt.

  It wasn’t really her style, but her client was a traditional sort who expected those he worked with to look professional.

  Since Molly was a freelance corporate investigator and didn’t actually work for the man, she livened up her outfit with bright red heels and grabbed a vintage multi-strand pearl necklace. She tried to latch it with one hand as she returned to the kitchen to refill her coffee.

  Luke was already there, simultaneously pouring himself coffee and checking his smartphone. He was fully dressed in a dark suit and power tie. As always, he appeared business-like and unruffled.

  Molly was flushed from her hurried morning. She’d missed a button on her silk blouse. She still hadn’t managed to latch her damn necklace. And a few strands of hair were already slipping from her up-do.

  She snarled at Luke. It was woefully unjust that he could shower and dress in literally ten minutes.

  He half-smiled when he glanced up from his phone and saw her expression. “Don’t blame me. You could be less high-maintenance if you chose.”

  “Right,” she said, moving him out of the way, since he blocked their high-end coffee maker. “Maybe if I buzz-cut my hair.” She poured herself another cup of coffee.

  Glancing at her watch, she groaned and poured her new cup of coffee into a travel mug instead. Topping off the larger mug with more coffee from the pot, she asked, “Do you think I can get down to Frittata Mama in five minutes?”

  “Not possible.”

  Molly made a frustrated sound as she went to grab her purse and leather satchel from the entry hall, where she’d dumped them the previous evening.

  Luke followed her, carrying the necklace she hadn’t managed to put on. “You’re the expert. Make him wait.”

  “He’ll have to,” she admitted, leaning her head forward so Luke could latch the necklace. “By the way, yesterday we finished that fraud investigation for you. Rachel will send the final report to your office this morning.”

  “Good.” Luke’s breath tickled the back of her neck and blew a few loose strands of her hair. “I’ve been waiting for that. How does it look?”

  “Not good.” She adjusted the collar of her blouse around the necklace. Turning around, she mumbled, “Thanks,” and slung the strap of her satchel on her shoulder.

  She was on her way out the door when Luke said, “Don’t forget we have cocktails with the Mertons at seven.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” she called back, blatantly lying. She’d completely forgotten, and all the way down the private elevator from the apartment, she grumbled about having another thing added to her already packed schedule.

  But she didn’t have a choice. Going with Luke to six social events a month was part of their negotiated agreement.

  * * *

  Molly’s career in corporate investigations had begun shortly after college.

  She’d always planned to be a journalist but couldn’t get a decent job. Bored and frustrated, she’d let a friend recommend her for an entry-level job in corporate investigations at James Coffee Inc., one of the biggest chains of coffee shops in the world. She’d gotten the job, probably because of her friend’s connections, but Molly had found herself remarkably good at it.

  After seven years, she was one of the top corporate investigators in the company and making a very good living. She was also in a hot and heavy affair with Baron James, the son of company’s founder.

  It was simply unwise to have an eight-month-long affair with a notorious bad boy like Baron. As much as she tried to keep the relationship purely about sex, she’d fallen for him anyway. Their affair had ended messily, with her making herself embarrassingly vulnerable and him practically screaming at her that he’d told her from the beginning he didn’t want a commitment.

  She’d quit her job, wanting to get as far away from Baron and everything associated with him as she could. Angry and bitter, she’d applied for a job in corporate investigations at a large company based in Toronto. It happened to be James Coffee’s chief competitor, another hugely successfully chain of coffee shops.

  Luke Lyons was the company’s founder and CEO. Unlike Baron, he wasn’t born into the company. He’d earned his fortune through innovative business and marketing practices and by working harder than anyone else.

  A year later, she’d quit that job too and started her own freelance corporate investigations business.

  She could no longer work fulltime for Luke’s company. They had an unavoidable conflict of interest.

  * * *

  Molly went non-stop all day. After her breakfast meeting, she headed over to her office to wrap up a number of completed contracts, including the project she'd done for Luke. Then she had two other meetings—both preliminary information meetings on new jobs. She spent most of the afternoon wading through the research her assistants had done on a corporate espionage case she could tell would be really big.

  She was so absorbed she worked too late. When she got back to the apartment, it was after six-thirty, and she was relieved to see Luke hadn't yet arrived.

  At least, he wouldn't know she was running late.

  She dumped her satchel and purse in the hall and gave a yearning glance at the kitchen. She hadn't had time to eat lunch, so—other than a light breakfast—her food intake for the day consisted of six cups of coffee, some chocolate candies, and half a scone.

  She didn’t make a stop in the kitchen, however. She needed a quick shower, so she jumped in and out, keeping her head out of the spray. Then went into her closet and looked through the section of dresses she only wore to Luke’s social events.

  She gr
abbed the one she hated the least—a charcoal-gray silk sheathe—and pulled it on. She was buckling the ankle straps of her silver heels when she heard a tap on the door. “We've got to go, Molly.”

  “I’m ready,” she lied, snatching some jewelry and two clutch purses on her way out. She could put the jewelry on and decide which purse to carry in the car.

  Luke waited in the hall, wearing the same suit he’d worn all day and looking just as professional and pulled-together as he had that morning.

  She snarled when she saw him. It was woefully unjust that he didn't have to change clothes to go to a cocktail party.

  “I see your mood hasn’t improved,” he murmured dryly, pushing her toward the door with a hand in the middle of her back.

  Molly’s hands were full of jewelry and clutch purses, so when they got to the entry hall, she asked, “Can you grab my purse there?” She referred, of course, to the purse she’d been carrying earlier today and had dropped on the floor next to her satchel.

  Luke stared down at the brown designer bag. Then over at the clutch purses in her hand. “How many do you need?”

  Her sense of irony tickled, she had trouble suppressing a laugh, but she managed a condescending look. “Well, obviously, I’ll only carry one. I just need to move some stuff from that one into one of these.”

  Although he still looked vaguely baffled, he obediently leaned over to pick up her purse and carried it for her as they went downstairs.

  “Will anyone I don’t know be there tonight?” she asked, as they stood side by side in the elevator.

  “It should be mostly people you know. The Mertons’ normal guest list. Plus, I think Dan Jonson and his brother will be there.”

  Molly huffed with displeasure. “Make sure you keep his sleazy brother from grabbing my ass again.”

  Luke arched an eyebrow. “I’d suggest you keep your ass out of the vicinity of his hand.” Before Molly could object to this inconsiderate statement, Luke continued, “Try to speak to Geoffrey Barbee’s wife, Alice, if you can. I’m trying to close a deal with him and he’s digging in his heels.”

  “Sure,” Molly agreed, climbing into the backseat of the plush chauffeured car. She put down the clutch purses, necklace, earrings, bracelet, and rings she’d been carrying on the seat beside her and noticed that her skirt had gotten hiked up around her hips as she’d scooted in, revealing the tops of her thigh-high stockings.

  Glancing over at Luke, she saw he’d noticed the same thing. With an impatient sigh, she lifted her hips and pulled down the hem of her skirt. “No need to look at me like I’m a sloppy plebeian. Yours would do the same thing if you had to wear dresses like this.”

  She thought it was rather rude for Luke to stare so pointedly at her thighs.

  “Then perhaps it’s just as well I don’t. And I don’t think sloppy plebeians wear stockings like that.”

  She snickered. “They were ridiculously expensive. But a girl’s got to have a few indulgences. Can I have my purse back?”

  Luke had absently set her purse on his lap, but now he passed it over. She started moving stuff into the clutch purse she’d decided to use. Then she happened to notice the other half of her scone from earlier today, wrapped in a couple of napkins at the bottom of her purse.

  She pulled it out, pleased with the discovery.

  Luke watched with slightly raised eyebrows as she took a bite.

  “I’m starving,” she said, by way of explanation. “Do you want any?”

  He made a breathy sound she took to be amusement. “No, thanks. I like your hair like that, by the way.”

  Molly gasped and brought her hands up to her hair, which was still tousled messily around her shoulders. "Shit. I was going to put it up."

  "You shouldn't. It looks nice."

  She gave him a suspicious look, but he didn't appear to be teasing her. If she tried to put her hair up now, in the car without a mirror, it would end up looking terrible. So she would have to just leave it down, even though she didn't think it looked sophisticated enough for Luke's crowd.

  She’d managed to finish off the scone and put on her jewelry before they made it to the Mertons’ building.

  The door of the car was opened by a well-trained doorman, who murmured politely, “Good evening, Mr. Lyons, Mrs. Lyons. Welcome.”

  * * *

  They stayed at the cocktail party for over two hours, and at the end of it Molly drooped with fatigue and hunger. Half a scone, three cocktails, and a few stingy hors d’oeuvres just didn’t do it for her.

  On the way home, Luke talked on his phone to one of his assistants about some project he wanted done tomorrow, and Molly just leaned back against the seat and stared at the street.

  They passed a James Coffee shop on the corner. A knot tightened in her gut at the sight.

  She’d been so foolish. Not just to fall for Baron James, but to think her feelings for him were the most important thing in the world. After their affair had imploded, she’d shaped her life around symbolically getting back at him.

  That was why she’d taken the job in Toronto with Luke’s company.

  And that was why she’d accepted Luke’s very unconventional proposal a year later.

  Luke had been tired of fending off hapless women who were desperate to become Mrs. Lyons, and his habit of indulging in one-night-stands—the only kind of sex he was willing to make time for—was making him paparazzi bait too often. So to clean up his reputation and take him off the market to undesirables, he wanted an attractive, intelligent wife who understood the nature of a business transaction and had no romantic interest in him.

  Molly fit the bill in every way. She’d been working with him as a corporate investigator for a year, and he trusted and respected her.

  He’d listed a number of advantages he could offer her, should she agree to his proposal. But the name, the lifestyle, the resources, and the contacts would never have convinced her to accept such a bizarre offer.

  Molly knew, however, that nothing would get under Baron’s skin as much as her marrying Luke Lyons. That was why she’d agreed to it.

  She’d been hurt and angry and certain she would never fall in love again. Then the perfect answer to the injustice of the universe had fallen into her lap.

  She could be Mrs. Luke Lyons. And that would show…everyone.

  It had been a petty, foolish thing to do, and she thought she’d grown out of most of her bitterness, despair, and insecurity. She wasn’t in love with Baron anymore. In fact, in the last year, they’d started talking again and were back on friendlier terms. She didn’t have anything to prove to him or the rest of the world, and there wasn’t any particular reason to continue this arrangement with Luke.

  Except it was working for her.

  She liked Luke. They got along. He didn’t expect anything she didn’t want to give. She enjoyed her lifestyle and she enjoyed her work. She hadn’t wanted to date in the last three years, having been burned so badly by Baron, and there was a sense of safety in being so completely off the market.

  Despite all of that, seeing the James Coffee shop made her feel kind of depressed. She didn’t like that she’d been so incredibly foolish. So weak.

  “You shouldn’t still be thinking about him,” Luke said, his voice breaking into her glum reverie.

  She turned toward him and blinked. “Huh?”

  “James. He’s not worth still brooding over.”

  She studied Luke’s face, trying to figure out why he was bringing it up at all. Obviously, he knew about her former relationship with Baron, but they didn’t often talk about it. “I wasn’t. I’m over him.”

  “Are you?”

  He sounded so skeptical that she stiffened her back. “Yes. You didn’t think I was still hung up on him after three years, did you? I’m not that pitiful.”

  “I don’t think you’re pitiful.” His expression was casual and unrevealing, as usual. “But, because of James, it’s going to be hard for you to trust another man. Isn’t it?�
�

  She made a face, although she knew in some ways he was right. “I trust you, don’t I?”

  “Not with your heart.”

  She stared at him, completely perplexed by what looked like diffidence in his expression.

  “I’m not saying you should,” he continued, barely missing a beat. His hazel eyes rested on her face with a strange sort of caution. “Obviously, that’s not what our marriage has ever been about. I just meant your thing with Baron still has an effect on you—and I don’t think he’s worth it.”

  She shrugged and glanced out the window, since Luke’s steady gaze was too unsettling. “It’s not really about whether someone is worth it.”

  When Luke didn’t respond, she turned to look at him again. Still couldn’t read his expression. “I don’t think I’m bitter because of him.”

  “Not bitter. Just wary.”

  “What about you?” she demanded, feeling vulnerable in the face of his perception. “You’re too much of a workaholic to even date someone for real. When was the last time you trusted someone with your heart?”

  His lips tightened.

  “Well?” she prompted, when he didn’t answer.

  “Wasn’t that a rhetorical question?”

  “No. I want to know. If you think I’m so damaged—”

  “I never said you were damaged—”

  “Whatever. If you think I’m so burned by Baron that I can’t jump into love again, what about you? What exactly burned you?”

  She knew Luke well—maybe better than anyone else—but even she didn’t really know the answer to that question. Luke was a great listener and a very engaging conversationalist, but everything personal about him she had to learn indirectly. Never from his willingly sharing it with her.

  “Nothing burned me.”

  She arched her eyebrows.

  “That’s the truth. I haven’t had any tragic love affairs.” He cut his eyes away from her briefly. “I just prefer to do what I’m good at.”

  “What do you mean? You’re good at almost everything.”

  “I’m good at business. I’m not good at relationships.”