Weekend Agreement (2 page)

Or was that how he was supposed to feel? A bitter taste rose in his mouth as he pulled his hand away from hers. Her insistence on meeting face-to-face made sense. She had to know what those moisture-rimmed eyes would do to a man. And, if that failed, then there was the dress and those gorgeous long legs. She was waiting for his answer. “Mr. Moretti?”

Daniel squeezed his fist tight, his nails digging into his palm, their sting erasing the memory of her touch. Without realizing it, his gaze had switched to the discarded invitation on his desk. So Charlotte Doherty wanted to know if they could make some kind of arrangement, did she? Fine, he’d offer her an arrangement. He’d offer a doozy. A straight-up exchange of assets. If she wanted this farm as badly as she claimed, she’d accept.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I’ll sell back the land—at the price I paid your brother—on one condition. There has there to be something in this deal for me.”

“Such as…?”

“You. A weekend.”

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“Quid pro quo, Professor. You want something from me; I should get something in return. Something worth my while.”

“And you think that
something
is me?”

Why not? Wasn’t she pretty much offering herself a few seconds earlier? This way, they’d both get what they wanted without either of them maintaining the illusion that their relationship meant anything more to either of them. “I’m going to Nantucket this weekend. I’d like you to accompany me. You asked if there was anything you could do to change my mind. This is it. I have to attend an anniversary party on Saturday. I want you to come with me.” He leaned back in his seat.

“Unbelievable.” She folded her arms. “Is this how you get all your dates?”

“I don’t need to go looking for women.” His assets guaranteed they’d come looking for him. “However…” His gaze darted to the magazine on his desk. “It seems I find myself without a companion this weekend, and while I could go alone, for business reasons, I prefer to be seen with someone. You’re educated, well known enough to carry some social cachet. Not to mention, you’re fairly attractive. You fit the bill.”

She flashed him a smirk. “I have all my teeth, too.”

“Good to know. I’m sure you have many attributes. I look forward to discovering them. Or rather, the ones I haven’t seen yet.”

He waited as she digested his offer. To her credit, she actually looked surprised and confused. One might almost believe she was taken off guard. “I can’t believe you want me to date you for my family farm,” she said, shaking her head.

“Not date. Attend a party. We’re talking business here. You want a date, go online.”

“Or grab up someone else’s family legacy,” she said.

“If you ever find yourself in that position, go ahead. In the meantime, we’re talking about your farm this weekend. Do you want the deal or don’t you?”

“Unbelievable.” She stood up and began shoving papers back in her briefcase. ”You know, I came to see you because Bob Wharton said you were a fair and honorable businessman. Apparently he was mistaken.”

“I’ll take that as a no.” He rose and strolled back to the row of windows. “I’m sure you can see yourself out.”

…

Charlotte glared at Daniel Moretti’s back, unable to think of a proper reply. She settled for an exasperated groan between clenched teeth.

So it was a bit naïve of her to think he would sell her back the land. She had at least expected him to be proper and businesslike, not suggest she date him for it. Talk about a pompous jerk. No wonder he didn’t have a date. Angry and disappointed, she gathered the last of her papers and prepared to leave.

This whole situation was Michael’s fault. He never should have sold the land out from under her in the first place. She’d been sitting in a Seattle hotel room when she read the e-mail giving her the news. Coward that he was, he didn’t dare call her.

“How could you?” she’d demanded, tracking him down at his office. “That farm’s been in our family for generations. Why do you think Aunt Helen left it to us in the first place?”

“Aunt Helen left it to us because she didn’t have anyone else,” her brother had said. “I did what any good executor would do.”

“Mom grew up on that farm.”

“I know. And now she can do something for us, for once.”

“You should have talked to me first.”

“Why? To listen to you argue about family history and all that nonsense? Look, Mom didn’t give two hoots about family. I got a good price for that cow pasture. Take your share and be grateful.”

But she didn’t want the money. She wanted that farm. So she came here and made a fool of herself with one of the country’s richest men.

She gave one last look at the infamous Mr. Moretti. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark suit. Dark personality. He reminded her of the heroes in those Gothic novels, all brooding and formal and detached.

Not to mention angry. The emotion hummed beneath his cool exterior, like lava trapped in a volcano. She wondered what it was that made him so upset at the world.

And what would happen if he ever erupted.

Not that his feelings mattered to her. A reasonable business arrangement was out of the question; she’d have to find another way to undo her brother’s actions. Perhaps a petition citing the historical ramifications.

“The farm’s scheduled to be razed a week from tomorrow,” he said as she reached the door.

The breath rushed from her lungs.
A week from tomorrow.
Eight days, and her last, best link to her mother would be gone forever. The emptiness hit her like a steam train. Her connection, her history…
her context
…wiped away as if it never existed.

What Daniel Moretti was suggesting was ludicrous. She couldn’t go to Nantucket with him.

An image of the old white farmhouse with its faded green shutters and overgrown roses flashed before her eyes. She’d never been there as a young child, only as a teenager and later an adult. Her father never approved of her visits. He, like her brother, preferred to erase the memories of her mother. But not her. She’d sit for hours at the scarred kitchen table sipping weak lemonade and listening to her great-aunt ramble about the past. She got to know her mother when she was young and happy. The mother she always dreamed of.
The mother who wanted her.

That farm made her mother real. Without it, she had nothing more than a handful of fading memories. And now, thanks to her brother and Daniel Moretti, her farm was slipping through her fingers.

The desperate feeling grew stronger. Charlotte hung her head. She didn’t have much choice, did she? Not if she wanted to hang on to the last maternal tie she had.

“So who’s this party for?”

He turned, obviously surprised she was still there. “My parents.”

“You need an escort to go to your parents’ anniversary party? What? Trying to impress Mommy and Daddy?”

“I don’t need to impress anyone,” he said. “As I said before, it looks better to have an appropriate companion. I assure you, however, I can muddle through alone.”

“You act like you’re doing me a favor,” Charlotte said.

“Aren’t I though?”

It sure didn’t feel like it. She joined him at the window, wondering what it was he found so fascinating. All she saw was the harbor, which, though beautiful, hardly seemed enough to captivate a man like him. Maybe he was calculating the price per square foot.

A short distance away she could make out the tip of the
Constitution
’s mast. The connection calmed her. If Old Ironsides could weather any storm, so could she. She’d play Daniel Moretti’s game. But she’d lay down the ground rules.

“I want it in writing,” she said. “If I attend this party Saturday, I want a legally binding contract that says you agree to sell me back the land for the purchase price.”

“Naturally,” he said. “I’ll have my legal department draw up the papers.”

“I want the agreement to stipulate that my accompanying you is strictly business. Nothing further. A weekend agreement, that’s all.”

“You mean a propriety clause?”

“Propriety, decency, hands-off—call it whatever you want. But any move on your part to turn this trip into something other than business results in the land automatically revoking to me. At no charge.” She added the last part for emphasis.

“You make quite an assumption, Professor. What makes you think I would have to make the first move?”

Despite the arrogance of his statement, tingles ran down Charlotte’s spine. Forcing them away, she folded her arms across her chest, issuing a silent No Trespassing sign that couldn’t be missed. “Trust me, I won’t be issuing any invitations.”

His gaze fell to her lips. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice suddenly low and sweet. “Or should I put that in writing, too?”

“No need. Romance will be the last thing on my mind this weekend.” She meant the retort to sound saucy, but noticed to her dismay that her voice caught a little.

“That, Professor, makes two of us.” The sweetness disappeared from his demeanor so quickly that Charlotte blinked at the abruptness. “Very well. You can have your propriety clause, Professor. No private parties will be expected.”

“Thank you.”

“So does this mean we have an agreement?”

Every ounce of her better judgment screamed for her to throw Daniel Moretti’s offer in his face. Common sense told her she would be making a deal with the devil.

She extended her hand. “Very well, Mr. Moretti. You’ve got yourself a date.”

Chapter Two

“I can’t believe you actually agreed to an arrangement like that.”

“It’s no big deal.”

Charlotte was shelving books in her office. Almost twenty-four hours had passed since she’d signed away her soul for the weekend. She hadn’t heard from Daniel Moretti since, making her wonder if he’d simply been playing games with her.

They said very little after striking their agreement. Then again, what could they say? Small talk seemed a little superfluous. He wore a strange smile when shaking her hand, as if he knew she’d agree all along. Charlotte didn’t analyze it too long at the time, distracted as she was by the way her hand nestled in his grip. His handshake was strong, steady, in control. Not unlike the man offering it. She doubted he was ever
not
in control. Much as that annoyed her, she couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit impressed.

The late morning air hung stagnant, the humidity close to one hundred percent. Beads of perspiration trickled down her back. “Man, it’s hot.” Every time she moved, her tank top pulled against her skin. “I wish they’d run the air-conditioning.”

“I heard someone say it died in this part of the building.”

Her friend Judy Cleghorn fanned herself with some rolled-up papers from Charlotte’s desk. Charlotte had known Judy since Judy was a graduate student and Charlotte was a senior frantically trying to fulfill her English requirement. Since then, Judy had been mentor, friend, and big sister. She was the first to encourage Charlotte to send her manuscript on John Adams to publishers. The result catapulted Charlotte from unknown history professor to highly regarded historian.

Judy had called the book quirky and irresistible. Charlotte thought the same words described her friend perfectly. At the moment, her friend sat in a most unladylike fashion, her tight red skirt bunched high on her mocha-colored legs.

She turned the fan so it blew directly on her. “Did you ever notice they put the history department in the oldest section of the building?”

“Ambiance,” Charlotte said.

“The taco place across the street has ambiance
and
air-conditioning. Come on, I’ll buy you a burrito.”

“Is lunch going to come with a lecture?”

“Absolutely. What kind of idiot goes away with a man she just met?”

Charlotte recalled his whiskey-coated voice and dark penetrating eyes that took in every inch of her. The room grew another degree warmer. She shoved another book into place, shelving her train of thought. “It’s not like I’m getting into his car on some dark, deserted road. I’m attending a cocktail party.”

“Yeah, for his parents. You’re going to have to explain that one to me again because I don’t get it. A good-looking, rich, famous guy who doesn’t have a date for a party that’s only a couple days away? Don’t you think that’s a little weird?”

“He said his date canceled.”

“And what, he hadn’t put the next starlet on speed dial yet? Seriously, there’s got be a reason he picked you.”

“Thanks a lot. First I was an idiot, now I’m what…chopped liver?” Charlotte plunked herself into her desk chair. “For a best friend, you’re really tossing the compliments around.”

“That’s not what I meant. You’re a terrific catch. Think about it, though. If this guy can get any woman he wants, why is he strong-arming you, a total stranger? In my book, when a guy has to resort to such drastic measures to snag a date, something’s not quite right.”