The Rented Bride (Highland Billionaires Book 1) (4 page)

Trent turned from the balcony and headed down the hallway. He reached his room first. His coat hung on the wardrobe valet looking no different than it had when Phillip insisted Trent not appear in public wearing such a disheveled coat. Trent swung the coat over his shoulders and was out the door as he slid his second arm into the sleeve. The tiny thump of the velvet box that contained Lindsey’s ring made him smile. Even at a private party in their own home, Phillip thought of everything. He’d put Trent’s cell phone in his pocket.

Trent entered his grandfather’s room to find him sitting in the wingback chair near the window, dressed in dinner slacks and white shirt. His jacket lay on the bed.

Trent nodded at Annie as he closed the door. She sat in her corner chair, a book open on one knee. “How are you doing, Annie?”

“Just fine, Trent. You and your grandfather look smashing.”

He smiled. “Thanks.” He’d met Annie ten years ago when his grandfather broke his leg skiing. By the time her two-month employment ended, she’d become a friend. An hour after they’d gotten his grandfather’s latest prognosis, Trent got on the phone with Annie and begged her to attend him for the remainder of his grandfather’s life. She agreed and Trent gave thanks every day for her presence. He felt certain that no one would have been able to handle his grandfather like she did.

“You sure you’re not too tired for this party?” he asked as he crossed the room to the bed. Trent wished like hell his grandfather would stay in his room and play cards with Annie. Trent didn’t like the drawn look at the corners of his eyes.

“Give me any trouble and I’ll take you over my knee,” his grandfather said.

Trent sat on the ottoman in front of his grandfather’s chair. “You look tired.”

He snorted. “I’m always tired.” His expression softened. “But I’m all right.” He stood and Trent stood with him, taking his arm. “Help me on with my jacket.”

Trent picked up the jacket and caught sight of the Wall Street Journal that had lain hidden under the jacket. Reading the Journal from cover to cover was one of Granddad’s greatest pleasures. A lump formed in Trent’s throat. How long would he be able to do something as simple as read his paper? As long as he wanted, Trent decided. He made a mental note to ask Annie if she would read to him in bed, if that’s what it came to.

Trent lifted the coat and held it up while his grandfather slid his right, then his left arm in. Trent pulled the coat up over his shoulders and his grandfather rolled his shoulders as Trent had seen him do more times than he could remember. The jacket settled over him like a second skin.

His grandfather turned and clapped him on the back. “You ready to introduce me to your girl?”

Trent was surprised to realize that he was ready. Ready to introduce his grandfather to Lindsey, ready to marry her, to have children. He was ready to have a life outside the boardroom. Sadness tightened his chest. Why had it taken his grandfather’s illness to bring him to this realization? He’d met Lindsey only eight months ago, but she was a perfect partner for him. She understood his schedule and the importance of his work.  She also wanted more than her career. She’d made it clear she was ready to leave the spotlight of Hollywood for the seclusion of Brettonwood.

Trent’s gaze caught on one of the article headlines on the folded Journal.

Horizon Media contracts Lindsey Fremont for Vicky Harris Detective Series.

For an instant, his mind went blank. Then he snatched up the paper and read.

In an unexpected merger with Horizon Media, Blood Silk Studios revealed a new three-movie contract with mega-star Lindsey Fremont for the Vicky Harris Detective series by Gordon Mars. Production is to begin immediately in New Zealand, with the first movie slated for the blockbuster summer release schedule. Horizon Media declined to name the actor who would play Vicky Harris’ love interest, Jason Mackenzie.

Trent’s mind jumped. Filming and production right away? Had the studio agreed to suspend filming during Lindsey’s pregnancy? They had planned, shared their hopes and, like any good negotiators, reached an understanding of expectations. What about the two-year sabbatical from acting, until their baby was old enough to be left with a nanny? They’d agreed. Kissed and made love to celebrate. What the fuck was she doing signing a movie deal? They’d even picked out a girl and a boy name for their child.

Trent’s gut churned. He balled his hand into a fist, crunching the paper as he thought about the words
trust, marriage, family
.

There had to be an explanation. He tossed the paper onto the bed. He was a smart man—smart enough to recognize when he was getting screwed in a deal. This time, however, he hadn’t seen it coming. With Lindsey, he’d let himself believe.

“Trent, you all right, lad?”

Trent jarred from his thoughts.

“What is it?” his grandfather demanded.

Trent stiffened his shoulders. “Nothing, Granddad.” Nothing he was going to discuss with his grandfather. Damn her.

“You can’t fool an old dog,” his grandfather said.

Trent forced back the emotion that further tightened his chest. “Not this time, Granddad. It’s business, which has nothing to do with tonight.”

“The look on your face wasn’t a man dealing with business.”

Trent gave him a grim smile. “There are some things about me that even you don’t know. Come on, we have a party to attend.”

Annie followed as Trent escorted James down the corridor.

“Tell me if you get tired,” Trent said.

“I’ll be close by if he needs anything,” Annie said.

James whirled and poked a finger at her. “Keep your distance, woman. I don’t need a babysitter. I don’t want you hovering.”

Trent chuckled. “I pay her to hover. Thank you, Annie. But I want you to enjoy yourself, as well. You can mingle at the party. I’ll be nearby.” And he had Celina and Greg on patrol. It was just a couple of hours at most. Trent took a deep breath and released it. He had other issues to deal with tonight, and he had no idea how he was going to tell his grandfather he had no bride.

Minutes later, they stepped from the corridor into the ballroom. The orchestra played a soft Debussy tune.

“Annie, get a drink,” his grandfather ordered. “Leave me be.”

She glanced at Trent and he gave a slight nod.

James wondered into the room and shook hands with a business associate. Tent followed but his thoughts dwelt on Lindsey.
Production is to begin immediately. New Zealand. Three-movie deal.
The article’s highlights played though his mind like bad cinema. How was it possible? Lindsey had held him tight when he’d told her about his grandfather’s illness. She’d cried and told him everything would be all right.

Trent needed answers and he knew just who might have them. He laid a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder. “I see a friend I need to speak with.”

“No work tonight, lad.”

Trent lifted his hand in the Boy Scout’s three-fingered salute. “No work. I promise.”

The all too familiar curiosity flickered in his grandfather’s eyes. The wheels in his head were turning. How the hell was Trent going to explain— He cut off the thought and smiled.

“I’ll be back in a wee bit,” he said in a soft Scottish burr, then winked at his grandfather to indicate that he wanted to meet his girl when she arrived.

“You won’t soften me with that accent,” his grandfather said, but the pleasure in his eyes elicited a combination of joy and sadness that pierced depths Trent hadn’t known existed in his soul.

He glanced at Celina and gave her a tiny nod toward his grandfather, and she nodded acknowledgement that she would keep an eye on him until Trent returned.

Then he stepped away. He wasn’t just afraid his grandfather would read the truth in his expression. Just how deep did Lindsey’s lies and manipulations go? Trent wound his way through the guests, scanning for the man who could help him.

***

Cassie pushed open the large oak door of the front entrance, bundled up in a down coat Meg had leant her. Until tonight, she hadn’t known the true meaning of cold.  Meg said the thirty-two-degree dip was pretty common for early spring. Cassie had known the weather would hover just at freezing today, which was why she’d ordered an ice sculpture that had failed to be delivered at the contracted time.

Her luck seemed to be running a little thin. She had thanked her lucky stars that she hadn’t told anyone about the sculpture. At least this way she wouldn’t have more mishaps to explain. Two hours ago, she’d called the company and told them that since they hadn’t delivered the sculpture prior to guests arriving, to simply not deliver it at all. This was the third substantial problem on this job, and she felt certain Gallagher Event Planning was behind all three.

A commotion from the drive drew her attention. Two parking valets were arguing with a delivery truck blocking the lane used to park cars on the north side of the property.

“Dammit,” she cursed. Bright lamplight illuminated the steps and Cassie hurried down and along the path where two men were unloading the sculpture from their truck.

“Hold on,” she called.

Cassie sprinted toward them, then cried out when she slipped. She caught herself and took two steps with the momentum, then stopped. Heart racing, she glanced back at the stone walkway behind her and saw nothing she could identify as ice. She blew out a breath and walked a bit more slowly toward the two men, who were lowering the sculpture to the ground in the center of the drive.

“Wait,” she said.

The man facing her flicked a glance her way, then looked back at the sculpture as he and his partner settled it on the ground.

Cassie reached them. “You need to take the sculpture back. It’s too late for delivery. You were supposed to deliver it this afternoon.”

The two men straightened and the one nearest her turned. “Our invoice says one ice castle by eight pm. We have fifteen minutes to spare.”

“Your invoice is wrong.” No surprise.

The man frowned and pulled a tablet from his back jeans pocket, then tapped the screen. “You can call the office tomorrow. I need you to sign for delivery.” He handed over the tablet. “Just sign here with your finger.” He pointed to the bottom of the screen.

She read the delivery information and shook her head. “No, I’m not signing. The sculpture was supposed to be here by 4:00 pm. Before guests arrived.”

“Please, ma’am. I’m just the delivery guy,” the man said.

She shook her head. “No. Load it back into your truck and move your vehicle…now.”

Headlights cut into the darkness beyond the yard and a large sedan appeared on the road ahead.

“See,” the guy said, “you still have guests arriving. The sculpture can be seen as your guests leave, too.”

Cassie whirled on him. “I’m not arguing with you.” She didn’t have time. Dinner was scheduled for eight-thirty. “Take it or leave it but I’m not paying for it.” Ugh, another catastrophe.

She started at a quick pace back to the house, then remembered her near fall and slowed. A silver Bentley passed on her left and disappeared through the far arch into the inner court where guests were entering through the courtyard door. Behind her, truck doors slammed. She glanced over her shoulder at the deliverymen who had gotten into their truck. The engine turned over and the truck lurched into motion and started around the circular drive where the sculpture now sat in the center of the circle.

The ground lights she’d had set up to surround the ice replica of Brettonwood illuminated the sculpture to perfection. Guests were sure to notice that the sculpture hadn’t been there when they arrived. In all her years as an event planner, she’d never had so many issues. One mix up, she expected. But to have problem after problem was more than coincidence. She hated to think she was paranoid, but what other explanation made sense than sabotage? Was she the target or Trent Weston?

Cassie climbed the steps to the porch and reentered the foyer. Warmth bathed her cold cheeks and nose. She hurried across the foyer and by the time she turned down the hallway she was stripping off the down coat. She turned left down another corridor, then right. In the two days since she’d been at Brettonwood she’d seen about a quarter of the massive structure and had been forced to keep her bearings or end up lost for what surely would have been a week.

She turned down another hallway and hurried down half a dozen steps to the hallway on the level with the kitchen and ballroom. She wondered if Mr. Bernard of Frozen Accents was still in his office. No, she decided. He would—Cassie collided with a large figure. She caught the familiar scent of cologne and registered the memory of the good looking waiter, Sam, as she felt herself falling.

She seized his jacket lapels and tensed in anticipation of them crashing to the floor, him on top of her. He hugged her to him and she buried her face in his shirt. It took two heartbeats to realize they hadn’t fallen.

“Are you all right, Ms. Adams?”

Cassie snapped her head up and stared into intense dark eyes. His grip tightened on her arms and she jarred from the stupor.

“I’m fine. You can let go,” she said.

That damn brow lifted again, but he released her, and said, “Excuse me,” then started past her.