The Tycoon's Misunderstood Bride (3 page)

             
One more thing.  You can try and search her out yourself.  I warn you though that, given all my resources, it took me seven years to
find her on my own, even while
she was fighting for custody.  The bitch has herself well hidden. 

             
Mind me well, daughter.  The fastest way to find your mother is to obey my will. 

             
Sincerely yours

             
Edward Mason

Emma crumpled the paper in her hands, her whole body working to maintain control and not release the tears of anger and frustration which welled up inside her with her father’s words. 

Her mother was alive!  It was too much to take in.  After so many years and no contact in any way, Emma had long ago assumed that her mother had died.  And her mother had been fighting for her?  Did her mother even know that her father was dead? 

The solicitor once again cleared his throat, effectively breaking into Emma’s tortured thoughts.  “I regret that Mr. Montenegro has declined the offer to attend this reading so he has not heard the terms of the will.  I will make an appointment with Mr.
Montenegro
at the earliest opportunity to explain the terms and ask for his compliance.”

Emma started shaking her head at the last sentence.  “No, Mr. Bernstein.  Please don’t do that,” she said, hearing the strain in her voice.  “I think it would be better coming from me,” she explained.

Mr. Bernstein obviously liked that idea if the relief showing in his eyes was any indication.  “The will is solid but if you would like to
contest the terms, I can give you the names of several attorneys,” he explained. 

Emma considered the idea but had heard that contesting wills sometimes took years, even decades.  Emma didn’t think she could wait that long.  And if she didn’t marry the man, she would have no resources to start a search herself. 

Emma realized that Mr. Bernstein was waiting for a reply.  “Thank you for your consideration.  Let me think on the issue.  I will get back to you if I need further assistance.”

Mr. Bernstein nodded and stood up.  “I have left a copy of the will for both you and Mr.
Montenegro
as well as a letter from your father to him.
  While you live in this house, your expenses will be taken care of by the estate with an allowance for incidental issues, by the way.
”

Without another word, he left.  Emma sat there in the large, uncomfortable leather chair, listening to the rain pounding down against the windows outside.  At some point, the rain turned to sleet and she noted that the slaps of rain drops turned to pings of ice but she remained, still and unseeing.  Defeated. 

She had two options as she saw it.  She could ignore her father’s will, find a job and use all her money to start a search for her mother.  Or she could find Jason Montenegro and offer him a solution.  The man was a businessman.  Perhaps there was something she could offer him.  Emma had no need for her father’s money.  And as far as she was concerned, it was all tainted anyway.  If she had her way, she would find all the people her father had cheated and pay them back. 

But that wouldn’t help her current predicament.  She wanted to find her mother.  If it was true, that she was alive and had been fighting for custody ever since she’d left, then that must mean she still loved her daughter. 

The need to find that woman, to see if the love was real and untarnished as her father’s had been, was deep and painful. 

It was almost
seven o’clock
at night when she finally moved.  But it wasn’t to leave her father’s study.  It was only to walk to his large, mahogany desk and pick up the phone.  Flipping through her father’s rolodex, she found the phone number she’d been looking for. 

He probably wasn’t there, she told herself.  But when he picked up himself on the third ring, Emma’s heartbeat started racing. 

“
Montenegro
,” was all he said as a greeting.

Emma tried to get a sound past her throat, but nervousness welled up and she started shaking. 

“Hello?” the strong, deep voice demanded impatiently. 

“Yes!” Emma finally said.  “Mr.
Montenegro
, please, don’t hang up.”

There was a long silence.  “Who is this?” he demanded.

“Its Emma.  Emma Mason,” she squeaked.  “Listen, I’m very sorry to bother you.  But I was hoping you…I mean…if it is at all possible….” Emma took a deep breath and closed her eyes, concentrating so she would stop sounding like a ninny.  “I was wondering if you might have a moment to spare tomorrow.  I need to speak to you about something that is urgent.”

“Are you okay?” he asked instantly. 

Emma considered her state of mind.  “Yes.  I’m fine,” she lied.  “And if you are too busy, I understand.  This really doesn’t have anything to do with you but….”

“How about
ten o’clock
?” he suggested, cutting her off in mid sentence. 

Emma almost sobbed with relief but she controlled herself.  “
Ten o’clock
tomorrow morning?  Absolutely,” she gushed.  “Thank you very much for your time.  I promise to make it very short,” she said.

“Until tomorrow, then,” Jason said. 

Jason hung up the phone and stared at it for a long moment.  The nervousness in her voice was obvious as was her desperation to speak with him.  He had no idea what the timid woman wanted to talk to him about but he suspected it was about the will he’d ignored.  She probably just needed some advice, he told himself and turned back to the spreadsheet he’d been reviewing.  But the image of her leg kept popping into his mind.  And her lips.  Jason had watched her lips after the funeral and now they were commingling with his memory of her leg before it had disappeared
under her long, shapeless skirt
.  Her lips had been red and full, incredible. 

Jason shook his head and went back to his reports.  He didn’t really have time to meet with her tomorrow but he’d have Betty shuffle some meetings.  He could spare five minutes, he thought. 

Emma dressed carefully for her meeting the next day.  She wanted to appear confident and businesslike.  But all of her dresses were horribly too big for her.  Which meant they looked frumpy and awful, drowning her body in fabric. 

She
chose
the least offensive dress, a brown jumper with the matching cream turtleneck.  Looking at her face in the mirror, she grimaced.  A picture of Jason Montenegro had appeared in the morning’s newspaper.  A fabulously beautiful blond woman was holding onto his arm, dressed in a stunning beaded gown
that had clung to all of her voluptuous curves while she smiled
up at him with a perfectly made up face. 

How in the world was she supposed to put a marriage proposal
to a sophisticated man
dressed in a brown sack
when he
was used to
being around
women dressed like
m
ovie stars?  Was this really the best she had?
She pulled the fabric away from her figure, realizing there was about six inches of fabric on each side of her that could be cut away and the jumper still wouldn’t cling like that other woman’s dress. 

Looking at the clock, she knew there was nothing she could do to change what she was wearing.  And all he had to do was say no
to her proposition and that would be the end of their meeting.  But during the long, restless hours of darkness,
she’d come up with a plan and she was hoping she could convince Jason Montenegro to go along with it.  She didn’t know her father’s total net worth, but she was hoping it would be enough. 

She picked up her coat and shrugged it on.  She didn’t even have a purse since her father didn’t think it was necessary.  What would she carry in it anyway?  He hadn’t allowed her to learn to drive and there was always
a housekeeper or other servant in residence
so the house was
rarely
locked up
or someone was available to open the door for her,
meaning she had no need for keys.  Makeup was forbidden
to
her and she didn’t wear glasses, not even sun glasses since her father said that she would only try and hide her eyes from him so he wouldn’t allow that.  She had been allowed money at certain times but only enough for whatever event she was attending.  Credit cards had been
prohibited
so a wallet with no money and no credit cards was just pointless. 

“Montenegro Industries headquarters,
Tim
,” she told
her
driver who quickly nodded and closed the door for her. 
The only thing she carried with her was a copy of the will and the
still sealed
envelope addressed to him. 

She arrived within five minutes of
ten o’clock
and presented herself to the lobby receptionist.  Emma was relieved that her name had been given to security and she was handed a
visitor’s
badge and instructed to go to a private elevator which would take her to the top floor where Ms. Betty Walsh would be waiting for her.

Emma followed the instructions and was greeted by a smiling, elderly woman who was efficiency and
friendliness
personified. 

“Emma Mason?” Betty asked.

“Yes.  Are you Ms. Walsh?” Emma asked, returning the smile. 

“Oh, pish.  Call me Betty.  Jason is waiting for you.  Come this way please.”  She led the way down a quiet, beautifully decorated hallway that was done in creams and dark mahogany with brass name plates on the doors.  At the end of the hallway was a large office with a sitting area which Emma thought she would just wait on.  But Betty opened a large set of double doors and waived Emma inside.  “Jason?  Emma Mason is here for you,” she said, then closed the door behind a now terrified Emma.

Emma stared at the huge office in awe.  Her father’s office had been done in dark wood with heavy furniture and dark, velvet curtains
which almost always closed
off the sunshine.  But this office was filled with
natural light
and there were no curtains anywhere to be seen.  The office was luxurious but not heavy, still portraying a sense of power and wealth but not
coming across as
overwhelming.

Well,
until her eyes rested on the man now standing up behind a huge, highly polished wooden desk.  “Emma!  Good to see you again.  How are you?” he asked. 

Emma’s shivering intensified as the tall, incredibly gorgeous man walked over to stand in front of her.  His jacket was off, thrown over the large, black leather chair behind his desk and she could tell that the shoulders were extremely wide with muscles padding their width, not tailoring. 

She swallowed, pulling up the last vestiges of her courage and extended her freezing cold hand to his.  “Hello, Mr.
Montenegro
.  Thank you so much for taking the time to see me today.” 

“My pleasure,” he
said and wa
ved her over to a set of comfortable leather chairs and sofas, surrounding a low, marble coffee table.  “Can I get you something to drink?  Some coffee perhaps?  Or tea?”

Emma shook her head as she slipped down onto the leather sofa gratefully.  He sat down in a chair next to her and waited patiently for her to start.

“I guess you’re wondering what I wanted to talk to you about,” she started.

Jason smiled, encouraging her to continue, “The thought crossed my mind.  Your father and I weren’
t exactly business partners.”  If she didn’t know what her father was like, he
wasn’t going to elaborate on the man’s
unethical business practices. 

Emma laughed nervously.  “No.  I know that you and he weren’t friends.  Which makes this meeting so much more awkward.”