The Rented Bride (Highland Billionaires Book 1) (5 page)

“Whoa, hold on there,” she said.

He stopped and looked at her.

“The kitchen is that way.” She pointed the way she’d been headed.

“I know where the kitchen is,” he said. “I’m headed that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction, toward the private section of the castle, and started to turn.

Cassie grabbed his arm. “Hey. I need your help. Dinner is about to be served. So no, this is not the time to wander around the castle. Let’s get back to the kitchen.”

“Ms. Adams, it’s time you understood that you’ve made a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Cassie narrowed her eyes. “Catering staff, whether employed by Mr. Weston or hired in, is limited to the kitchen and ballroom. So please,” she held her arm toward the kitchen, “I need you to do your job.” Her mind registered the jacket he now wore. “And I specifically asked for black pants and white shirts. Lose the jacket. I don’t want you mistaken for one of the guests.” Her gaze narrowed. “Or are you up to something?”

Could this be yet another strange coincidence? Dressed like one of the guests?
Of course.
“You—look here, you can go back and tell Teri Gallagher that this little game is over. If she has a problem with me, come to me directly. Don’t sabotage this party. And if the problem is with Mr. Weston, tell her she’s not going to use my event to settle the score. I won’t have it. So whatever you’re planning, forget it.” She lowered her voice. “Do you want to make this ugly? If you don’t get your well-dressed ass out of here, I’ll have security throw you out.”

“Security?” he repeated.

“That’s right.” She poked him in the chest. “I’ll sue for damages. So tell Teri that we can settle this in litigation, or you can leave now. If this goes viral, I’ll make sure she doesn’t host a five-year-old’s birthday party. She’ll be lucky if she serves hot dogs and potato chips at a tractor pull.”

“Ms. Adams, I don’t have time for this. I—”

“I just bet you don’t,” she cut in.

His expression darkened. “Look, it was funny when you mistook me for the delivery guy, and I went along with being a waiter. But this has gone far enough.”

“You’re damn right it’s gone far enough,” she snapped. “Another thing, you can tell your boss she’s going to compensate me and Mr. Weston for the damages already done.”

“Believe me, I know who pays the bills.”

“I’m glad we understand each other. You can leave through the delivery entrance in the kitchen.”

“Ms. Adams, I applaud your tenacity, but—”

“That’s it.” Cassie pulled her phone from her back pocket and tapped the number twelve for security.

“Ms. Adams,” Sam began.

The phone picked up on the first ring. “Security,” said a deep male voice on the other end of the line.

“This is Cassie, I have a problem in the—” she glanced at the hallway “—dammit, which hallway is this?”

“The rear east hallway,” Sam said.

“The rear east hallway,” Cassie repeated into the phone. “I have an intruder who—”

“Dammit,” the waiter cursed and snatched the phone from her ear.

Cassie seized the wrist of the hand holding the phone, and twisted it into a wrist lock. She was a single woman from Miami with two sisters and four brothers. This guy didn’t have a chance.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

“Ms. Adams,” the security man’s voice boomed through the phone as it slipped from the waiter’s fingers.

Cassie yanked Sam over her shoulder as the phone thudded to the carpet. He landed on his back with an audible whoosh of air from his lungs.

Cassie scooped up the phone, then said into the phone, “Please send someone to the rear east hallway.”

She jerked her head around at the pounding of booted feet approaching from the kitchen.

The waiter drew in a slow breath, then shifted onto an elbow.

“Don’t move,” Cassie warned.

A tall, muscular man came into view, followed by two equally muscular men.

“Hiring you was just another mistake in a string of mistakes,” Sam said. “You’re fired.” He heaved onto his side and Cassie took a step back as the men neared.

“Are you all right?” The security guard demanded, as he extended a hand to the waiter.

“Yes,” Cassie said in unison with the waiter’s reply, “I’ll live.”

The head of security looked from Cassie to the waiter. “What happened?”

“I caught this man trying to gain access to the private section of the castle,” Cassie said.

The man frowned, then shifted his gaze to the waiter. “I’m sorry, Mr. Weston. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

“That’s okay, Blakely. I think we can safely say the only danger is to me. And possibly of missing dinner.”

“Mr. Weston?” Cassie echoed. She jerked her gaze onto the man rising from the carpet. He gained his feet and Cassie lifted her gaze as he rose to his full height. “Mr. Weston?” she said. “Trent Weston?”

He cupped the back of his neck and rubbed. “Yes.”

“Oh no.” Cassie frowned. “I don’t understand. Why are you working as a deliveryman?”

“You assumed I was a deliveryman. You needed help and I was available.”

“And when you stepped in as a waiter,” she cut in. “What the hell was that all about?”

He stopped rubbing his neck and turned his gaze to her. “What that was all about was you not bothering to ask who I was.”

Cassie blinked. “Give me a break. You looked like hired help.”

His gaze bore into her. “That was your assumption. In my experience, you learn more about a person by remaining silent.”

Ire shot to the surface. “I arrive to plan your party, to salvage this party at the last minute, which I have done. Yet in the two days I’ve been here you failed to introduce yourself. Instead, you let me believe you were a deliveryman, then a waiter, and now you expect that I should somehow deduce you were the man who hired me?”

Something flickered in his eyes—there, she had him. He knew she was right.

“Maybe the mistake was mine,” he said.

“Maybe? You aren’t supposed to be mingling with the help. Unless perhaps you enjoy serving your own guests.”

“Enough. I didn’t wait on them. I set the tray on the bar,” he said and a small smile curled the left side of his lips.

Cassie shook her head. “By all that is unholy,” she whispered.

His smile turned to a hard line. “What does that mean?”

“You’re an ass.”

“Excuse me?”

“You just fired me, so you might as well know my real thoughts. Good looks don’t give you a right to manipulate people. I deal with wealthy clients every day. None have ever made me feel the way you just did. You enjoyed watching me make mistakes. Will your recommendation for Daley Enterprises include ‘laughs at no extra charge’?” she demanded.

His expression darkened. “My recommendation is more likely to include ‘aggravation at no extra charge.’”

Cassie stared, her fury warring with the dozen retorts that were struggling to let loose like stampeding cattle. “I guess that says it all. We’re done.” She whirled and strode down the hallway toward the kitchen.

“Blakely, stop her. I’ll be right back. I have some business requiring my immediate attention.”

***

Trent growled as he strode toward the ballroom. Perhaps he’d acted in haste when he’d fired her. She had been attempting to protect his home. But before he could speak with her and smooth things over, he needed to speak with Tomas. He was about to make an announcement to three hundred of his and Lindsey’s supposed closest friends and business associates. An announcement about a woman he wasn’t sure he knew at all.

If Trent needed insider answers, Tomas would have them.

Trent reached the ballroom and scanned the crowd, smiling at those who greeted him, but moving with purpose. Tomas sat across from Matt Bolten, a young up-and-coming director. He’d worked on a film with Lindsey. Trent took a deep steadying breath and tried to relax his shoulders. Was Lindsey planning another film with him, too? She had insisted he be invited.

Trent stopped beside the two men and Matt extended a hand. “Hey, good to see you, Mr. Weston. Thanks so much for the invitation.”

Trent accepted his hand and shook. “I hate to interrupt but, Tomas, can I speak with you privately?”

Tomas met his gaze and smiled. “Of course. Excuse us,” he said to Matt in his cultured Spanish accent.

“We can talk in the front parlor,” Trent said.

Tomas canted his head in acknowledgement. Trent walked near the wall as he headed for the exit.

“The party is great,” Tomas said after they’d passed a large group of guests. “Christ Trent, do you need a drink? You look like hell.”

“Thanks. I know I can always get the truth from you.” Which was why he needed him now.

“Is it your grandfather? I haven’t seen him yet.”]

Trent shook his head. “He won’t slow down.”

“Still on your ass about settling down?”

Trent’s throat tightened. “I’m doing all I can for him. It won’t be enough.”

Tomas’ expression sobered. “I’m sorry.”

They headed down a short corridor toward the courtyard entrance. They reached the foyer and Trent opened the door to the small parlor and stood aside as Tomas entered, then followed his friend and closed the door behind them.

“Let’s have that drink.” Trent crossed to the buffet located against the left wall. “Scotch all right?”

“Perfect,” Tomas said.

Trent poured scotch into two glass tumblers then returned to Tomas and handed him the drink. Trent drank half the contents in one gulp, then said, “I have a favor to ask. It’s personal.”

“What’s wrong?” Tomas asked.

He was falling off the edge of the world. “I’m not sure.” He bowed his head, hating the direction of his thoughts, but needing to know the truth. “This is strictly off the record.”

“Anything my friend.” Tomas lifted a brow. “As long as you’re not asking me to kill someone.”

Trent appreciated that his friend was trying to lighten the mood, but said, “Nothing illegal. But I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what you need?” 

“I need information. Information that has to stay between you and me.”

“You have my word.”

“I assume you heard about the merger between
Horizon
and
Blood Silk
?”

Tomas nodded. “I did.”

“Did you also hear that
Blood Silk
signed Lindsey Fremont for the role of Vicky Harris?” Trent asked.

“That movie deal is what attracted
Horizon
to
Blood Silk
—though, in truth, that’s what
Blood Silk
was counting on.”

“What do you mean?” Trent asked.

“My source tells me that negotiations between Ms. Fremont and
Blood Silk
stalled in its fifth month.”

Fifth month? Trent jarred. That meant—His gut wrenched. She’d lied from the beginning.

“But then
Blood Silk
approached
Horizon
with a merger proposal that included a movie deal with Ms. Fremont. That put negotiations on the fast track,” Tomas went on. “Two weeks later, barely long enough for the lawyers on both sides to review the paperwork, both parties signed.”

“Was signing Lindsey Fremont enough to make
Horizon
take the deal?” Trent asked.

“In my opinion, no. She’s got a good name, made some money for the studios, but she’s not Meryl Streep or even Jennifer Lawrence. She’s not box office gold.
Horizon
works with mega stars. They don’t have to make many concessions. Plus, they could have signed her for another movie deal at any time—though not the Vicky Lewis movies.
Blood Silk
owns those rights.

“Are you interested in the studios?” Tomas’ gaze narrowed. “Or the actress?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Let’s just say I know your type. And I heard someone talking about Lindsey being here tonight, although I haven’t seen her.”

Someone was talking about Lindsey being here tonight? They had agreed her presence at the party would remain a secret. They didn’t want the paparazzi getting wind of their relationship. That meant she leaked the news.

He took another drink, then said, “So essentially,
Blood Silk
got
Horizon
to back a movie
Blood Silk
couldn’t afford.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know
Blood Silk’s
financial, but they can’t be more than one fifth the size of
Horizon
,” Trent said. “They’ll get swallowed up.”

“Try one tenth the size,” Tomas said. “But Luther Dungate wanted out, and Ms. Fremont wanted in.”

Trent jarred. “Wanted in—as in ownership?”