The Bride and the Bargain Page 9

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’ll expect to hear from you tomorrow.” Then he turned around and walked away, leaving Amelia standing there in the opened doorway, clutching the envelope like a lifeline.

  Chapter Seven

  Amelia waited hours before she allowed herself to retrieve the card with his phone number. It was difficult, though, considering there wasn’t a minute that passed that she wasn’t thinking about the content of that agreement he’d left with her. Or to be more accurate, she’d been thinking about the content that had been left out of the agreement Grayson had left with her.

  Specifically, whatever he was supposed to get from her in return for assuming—for a limited time the duration of which would be specified later—the medical costs for her sister’s care. And at the termination of their agreement for these non-specified services, she’d receive a lump sum settlement of an amount that was so astronomical, Amelia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  Interestingly, however, there had been absolutely no mention whatsoever about Timmy.

  She didn’t trust Gray enough to feel relieved about that omission. It probably meant absolutely nothing.

  Both Jack and Molly had been mighty curious about her visit from the stranger, but Amelia hadn’t satisfied them.

  She wasn’t surprised that Jack hadn’t recognized Gray as the man who’d been involved with his mother. Since the death of her husband, Martin, when Molly was just two years old, Daphne had made it a strict practice never to bring her “friends” around her children. She’d told Amelia once that unless she had a diamond on her finger, there was no way a man was getting near her kids.

  Another hangover from their childhood. After their parents divorced, their mother had brought home men at the drop of a hat. Daphne had hated it even more than Amelia. She’d been two years older, and miles prettier. Half the time, their mother’s so-called boyfriends were just as interested in exploring Daphne’s charms as they had been their mother’s.

  Even when Amelia pulled out the cabbie’s business card with that distinctive, slashing handwriting on the back, though, She couldn’t make herself pick up the telephone and dial the number written there.

  So she slid the card back inside the pocket in her purse.

  Whatever game Grayson Hunt had decided to play, she knew it was way out of her league. What matter could she possibly assist him with that would be worth him spending thousands and thousands on Daphne? A cocktail waitress he claimed was so beneath his standards he’d have never even looked at her?

  Still, even twenty-four hours into pretending to ignore the agreement Gray had left, as Amelia fixed waffles for breakfast and braided Molly’s hair and bathed Timmy and gave him his bottle, she couldn’t help wondering. Couldn’t help…hoping. Here was her chance, after all, to give her sister a chance.

  Or was it just some trap, set by Grayson to rid himself of a nuisance?

  She wasn’t an uneducated woman. She knew enough to look before she leaped. Even as a child, she’d been the cautious one. The quiet one. The mostly invisible one. It had suited her just fine until John Czerny had noticed her. Convinced her that they were perfect for one another. Two quiet souls.

  Only in the end, John preferred someone not so boring.

  The morning passed without her dialing the number.

  But there was no pretending she wasn’t wondering whether or not she was making yet another mistake. Rather than torment herself until she was insane, she suggested a trip to the park since the weather outside was uncommonly clear.

  Not the park she’d staked out to meet Grayson, but their nearest neighborhood park. Even Paula joined them and off they all went, trudging down their six flights of stairs with Jack’s bicycle; the bulging diaper bag; stroller; picnic basket, which Paula had provided; and a tote bag full of things sure to keep the children active and happy on a sunny afternoon.

  “I wish we could have swum,” Molly said when, hours later, they all trooped back to their apartment.

  “It was a nice day,” Paula agreed, “but swimming is a ways away yet. You might have frozen your nose right off.”

  Molly wrinkled her nose, obviously pondering the matter as she skipped ahead of Paula and Amelia. Jack had already raced even farther ahead of them where his friend, Ty, was hanging around in front of the building, riding his bike off the concrete parking stops next to the building. When Molly saw Jack’s friend, though, she stopped trying to catch up to him.

  Amelia saw the droop of Molly’s shoulders and pulled out a small bottle of bubbles that she’d picked up at the dime store. “Here, Molly. See what kind of bubbles you can blow.”

  As a distraction, it worked admirably. Particularly when Molly figured out that she could just hold up the tiny plastic wand and run around on the sidewalk to send a wild stream of bubbles flying out behind her.

  “So are you going to call him?” Paula asked, when Molly was out of earshot again.

  Amelia had confided in her neighbor out of sheer desperation. “No,” she finally said.

  “You don’t sound very certain.”

  Amelia sighed. “I wish I knew what to do.”

  “Molly says you’ve told her to pray that her mother gets to come home soon. So,” she continued when Amelia gave her a what-else-could-I-say? look, “maybe your prayers haven’t been ignored as much as you think.”

  “Paula, the man is—”

  “—as rich as Midas. I’ll admit that I am pretty curious about what he stands to gain. You have to be, as well.”

  Amelia hitched the diaper bag more firmly over the handle of Timmy’s stroller as they crossed the street next to the building. The baby was kicking his legs, thoroughly delighted with the occasional bubble that drifted his way. “I don’t trust him. And he’s made it more than plain that he doesn’t trust me.”

  “That doesn’t explain the agreement he left.”

  Amelia chewed the inside of her lip. What if she were turning her back on her prayers’ answer?

  “Well.” Paula murmured, as they drew even with the brick building. “Maybe you can get a better answer now.”

  Amelia caught her breath as Grayson exited the building not five yards away from her. He spotted her immediately, of course, and headed straight for her.

  Paula nudged Amelia’s hands away from the stroller. “I’ll take the kids with me,” she murmured and continued forward without waiting for Amelia’s agreement.

  He was wearing another suit. Charcoal-gray with a blinding white shirt and a muted tie, and he looked every inch the business magnate that he was.

  Even though it was a Sunday and everyone around them was dressed in jeans and shorts, Amelia felt entirely underdressed and unarmed in her velour sweatpants and T-shirt when Grayson stopped in her path.

  “I’ve been expecting your call.”

  She managed to lift her shoulders in an uncaring shrug. “I’m not required to satisfy your expectations, Mr. Hunt.”

  “You read the agreement.” There was complete certainty in his deep voice.

  “Did I?” Through sheer will, she made her feet move, carrying her past him. His hand shot out, closing around her upper arm. She froze. “More manhandling, Mr. Hunt?” But his hold wasn’t tight at all. Just immensely…disturbing.

  He lowered his head closer to hers. “You read it,” he repeated confidently. “Isn’t that what you wanted from me? Why you brought up that ridiculous claim of your sister’s? We both know I didn’t father that baby of hers. But you want to get me to pay for her medical treatment so you’re looking for whatever means you can find.”

  Ridiculous claim. Didn’t father Timmy.

  She exhaled. The man would never believe that he’d fathered Timmy. Not without physical proof, and she wasn’t going to demand it. Not when it meant that his claim to the child would supersede hers.

  “Yes.” The word hissed from between her teeth. “But I notice that you didn’t bother telling me what price I’d have to pay in return. Just that if
I ever broke your condition of confidentiality over the matter, I’d be required to return every single dime, plus interest.” She’d be in debt to the man for the rest of her life, and they both knew it. Not that she wouldn’t jump on the opportunity if it meant Daphne’s recovery.

  If she believed his agreement was legitimate.

  “I need a wife.”

  She blinked. “I…excuse me?”

  For once, he looked pained. “You heard me.”

  “Not properly,” she assured. “What am I supposed to do? Play matchmaker for you? I think you’re more than capable of coercing some foolish woman into marrying you all on your own. Call directory assistance on that cell phone you’re incessantly checking.”

  “Are you being deliberately obtuse, Amelia, or does it come naturally?”

  Her cheeks heated. “Such charming words you always have for me.”

  “My father is in precarious health. He wants his sons married.” His fingers tightened for a moment around her arm. “And if that particular tidbit ever hits the newswires, I’ll know exactly who was responsible.”

  “That threat only works if I sign my name by the X.”

  His eyebrow lifted. “You think I need an agreement?”

  A shiver danced down her spine as if clouds were rolling in. But the sky overhead was still a brilliant, nearly painful shade of blue. “You’re implying that you want me to be your wife.”

  “I want to satisfy an old man and in the process, you can get your sister whatever treatment you want.”

  “But…your wife.” The notion was simply unfathomable.

  His lips tightened. “I believe that’s what I said.”

  She pushed her fingers through her hair, pulling it back from her face. “What’s the catch? Why me? You could have women lining up around the city wanting to marry you.”

  “Marry Grayson Hunt,” he agreed. “And all that the name implies. But not Matthew Gray.”

  “But you’re not Matthew Gray.” She shook her head. “This is too convoluted for words. You’re right, Mr. Hunt. I’m too simple a woman to understand the kind of games you play.” She pulled her arm free, only managing to brush the side of her breast against his fingers as she did so. She curled her hands into fists, resisting the strong urge to cross her arms protectively over her chest. “No. No thank you. You can take your weird desire for a wife elsewhere. I am not interested.”

  “Not even for your sister’s sake.”

  He knew perfectly well that was the one hitch for her, because she’d revealed that fact to him herself. She looked away from his face. His turquoise eyes that saw far too much.

  “Not even for her,” she lied, and strode toward the apartment building, afraid that if she remained in his company, desperation might have her caving to the lunacy.

  Gray watched Amelia hurry into the aging brick building as if the devil himself was nipping at her heels.

  Maybe he was.

  He stood there for a while, debating the merits of following her up those six flights of stairs.

  Since Marissa’s initial dossier, he’d learned much more about Amelia and her sister’s current situation. Of course he still dismissed Daphne Mason’s paternity claim where he was concerned, but that didn’t mean he didn’t recognize the real need that Amelia had now. It was his only leverage since he’d gone and told Harry what he had.

  But continuing to drill away at Amelia’s resistance held no appeal. Not because he was disinterested. But because every time he brought some pressure to bear, he felt as if he were doing something heinous. Kicking a puppy. Pulling the wings off a butterfly.

  He yanked out his cell phone and dialed, grimacing a little as Amelia’s words about it haunted him. “Loretta.”

  “It’s Sunday evening, Gray,” she reminded pointedly. “I’m on my way to church.”

  “I want to know who owns the building where Amelia White lives.” The place was in miserable repair.

  “Hold on.” He could hear muffled sounds for a moment before she came back on the line. “So why do you want to know? Planning to add to your real estate holdings?”

  In addition to HuntCom properties, he personally owned several buildings around the city. Not a one of them possessed an inoperable elevator or were constructed with interior walls that could have passed for tar paper. “Text me the information. I’ll be at the shack for dinner.”

  “How is your father? I was surprised to hear he was released from the hospital this morning.”

  “I don’t know if it was a release so much as him going AWOL,” Gray admitted. “My aunt insists on having a nurse on duty, though, so he’s not getting off quite so thoroughly.”

  “Give him my best.”

  “Will do.” He pocketed his phone, continued watching the building for a moment longer, then returned to the limo two blocks away where he’d instructed Peter to wait. Without ceremony, he climbed in the rear.

  The limo was attracting plenty of attention from the kids playing ball in the street. He should have come in something less conspicuous. But he’d come from a meeting with Edward Birchman, and had been laying on the trappings to soothe the man’s lingering reluctance to sign on the dotted line.

  “Where to, Gray?” Peter had been with them for so long there was no point in standing on ceremony.

  Gray had two hours before dinner with Harry and Cornelia. He tugged at his tie. “Take me to Biggs-Tolley convalescent hospital. It’s in Ballard somewhere.” It was time he saw this Daphne Mason, face-to-face. He knew her child wasn’t his. He also knew, in her condition, she wouldn’t be relaying any information about who the father was. But he still wanted to see her.

  Peter was looking back at him through the lowered panel separating the driver from the rear of the limo. “Everything all right, Gray?”

  “It will be.” Anything else was not an option.

  By Monday afternoon, the elevator in Amelia’s building was fixed. It caused quite a buzz of excitement, too, and Stan—the superintendent—was more than happy to accept all the accolades for finally accomplishing the task. Later, however, when Paula came over to share the batch of brownies she’d made with them, she told Amelia the scoop that she’d heard.

  The building had a new owner.

  Amelia finished rinsing their plates and began filling the sink to wash them. She looked over the narrow counter at Paula, who was holding Timmy in the middle of the living room, swaying him in gentle circles. “As long as the rent doesn’t go up, I don’t care who the owner is.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Amelia paused at the thought that leaped into her head. “No way.”

  Paula’s eyebrows lifted, tellingly. “None other.”

  “Ty wants me to go down to the store with him,” Jack announced, heading for the door.

  “Wait a second.”

  He paused, looking oddly annoyed. “Mom used to let me go.”

  “Which store?”

  “Heller’s.”

  “Fine. Wait. Here.” She dug in her purse for a few dollars. “We need a gallon of milk.”

  He pocketed the bills, grabbed his bike from behind the couch and was out the door in a flash.

  “Wish I had that kind of energy,” Paula said. “And I heard it from Tanisha Jones. You know she’s been—” her gaze skipped over Molly’s head where she was bent over a coloring paper from school “—keeping company with Stan for the past six months. That’s why she’s the only one who’s gotten her heating fixed without having to wait two weeks.”

  “Why would he do that, though?” What would be the point of him acquiring the run-down building? He surely didn’t want to add slumlord to his vitae. That went against his high-powered public image.

  “There can only be one reason,” Paula said, as if Amelia had gone dim-witted. “You,” she mouthed silently.

  “That’s ridiculous,” she dismissed. He couldn’t have. Wouldn’t have.

  Would he?

  She couldn’t turn off the specu
lation running rampant inside her head as she finished the dishes and bathed Timmy after Paula headed back to her own place. She was quizzing Molly on her spelling when the phone rang, and nuzzling Timmy’s sweet-smelling cheek, she went to answer it.

  “This is Officer Luke Stonebraker. I’m looking for Amelia White.”

  Alarm shot through her. “Speaking.”

  “I understand that you’re the guardian for Jack Mason. We have him down here at the station, ma’am.”

  “What happened?” Timmy let out a cry in response to her sharp voice.

  “He’s been arrested for shoplifting.”

  Her knees went watery. Jack? “But he was just going to Heller’s Grocery. What could he possibly want to take from there?”

  “He was at Rank Electronics, ma’am. They had over five hundred dollars worth of equipment on them.”

  She jiggled Timmy, who was crying in earnest now. “They?”

  “He was with a couple other kids. Older. You’re going to want to come on down to the station.” He gave her the address, barely waiting for her to grab a pen and paper before reeling it off.

  “Is he all right? What do I…Wait.” But the officer, having given his notification, had already hung up.

  Molly had left her list of spelling words on the couch and sidled next to Amelia, her arm slipping around her waist. Fear clouded her brown eyes as she stared up at Amelia, mute.

  Stay calm. She ran her hand down Molly’s head. “Don’t be afraid. Everything’s fine.” Timmy was still wailing and she automatically felt his diaper. Dry. He’d already finished his bottle, too. “I…I just have to go down and pick up Jack.”

  “Where is he?”

  Amelia’s lips parted. She didn’t know whether to lie or not. “He’s at the police station,” she finally admitted and wished she hadn’t when Molly’s eyes went wide as saucers and her mouth fell open.

  “Is he going to jail?”

  “Of course not.” Jack was only twelve. They didn’t put twelve-year-olds in jail.

  Did they?

  “I’m sure there is a mistake,” she told Molly. There had to be. Jack had never gotten into any trouble before. “Here.” She put Timmy in the girl’s arms. “See if you can calm him down.”