Читать книгу: «Convenient Cinderella Bride»

One

Another month, another breakfast. How many of these business breakfasts had they shared? Jonas Halstead had been the CEO of Halstead & Sons for five years... He did the calculation. Sixty Wednesday breakfasts.

Sixty three-hour meetings with the man commonly known as “The White Shark of the West Coast.” Jack was reputed to be the most ruthless, occasionally morally ambiguous, businessman on this side of the country. He was also Jonas’s grandfather, and Jonas would rather be water-boarded than sit through this monthly meeting.

When he’d first started as CEO he’d banned his staff from dealing directly with the chairman of the board because few people could deal with Jack’s harsh manner, his interrogations and his dire warnings about possible disaster situations. Few, even those who were corporate animals, could handle Jack’s aggression and his pursuit of perfection. Jonas had long ago realized that if he wanted to keep his key staff then he had to shield them from Jack.

But that meant it was his ass in the hot seat.

Jonas was a big boy, being paid the big bucks. He could deal with Jack. But, hell, he could not wait for the day when he could run Halstead & Sons without Jack’s constant input and criticism. Thanks to Jack’s ruthlessness and Jonas’s father’s reputation for cutting corners, the Halstead name was not one to be trusted, and while that didn’t bother Jack in the least—Let the bastards fear us, it’s good for business!—Jonas hated having his word doubted, his integrity questioned. He was a hard, tough businessman. He drove a hard bargain. But when he gave his word, he kept it. Always.

His family had a reputation for doing legal but morally dodgy deals, for losing their integrity in pursuit of the mighty dollar. Promises were broken; lies were told. Seeing the instinctual mistrust on the faces of his investors, suppliers and competitors burned a hole in his stomach and still, quietly and secretly, embarrassed the hell out of him. He was determined to rehabilitate the company’s reputation and was just as committed to establishing his own reputation as a man whose word could be trusted.

He thought, maybe, that he was making progress, but it was taking a hell of a long time.

Having Jack still serving as chairman of the board didn’t help. But, dammit, it was Jack’s company, and until he decided to release the reins, Jonas could only manage the old man. And keep his treasured staff away from him.

Jonas walked up the steps to Jack’s palatial, beachside home on the prestigious Palisade Beach Road in Santa Monica. The house had been in the Halstead family for many generations, long before Hollywood’s elite had discovered the area. Jonas had grown up here. Well, in this house and the one next door, spending his time between his father’s and grandfather’s mansions, a motherless boy looking for attention from his disinterested father and demanding grandfather.

Jonas entered the spacious hallway and greeted Henry, his grandfather’s man-about-the-house. Wanting to get this meeting over with, Jonas made his way through the Spanish Colonial Revival mansion to the outside entertainment area with its one-hundred-eighty-degree view of the beach and the ocean. The wind was up and the waves were high, perfect conditions for a bit of surfing or kitesurfing. Jonas jogged down the steps from the entertainment area to the tiled patio at the edge of the property, which held comfortable chairs and expensive outdoor furniture. Despite the distance from the kitchen, this tree-shaded spot was Jack’s favorite place to dine.

His grandfather sat at the head of the table, his hand wrapped around a coffee cup, his glasses perched on the end of his nose, reading the business section of the paper, a daily habit of his. Jack liked his habits, in business and in his personal life. He wasn’t fond of people—sons, grandsons, colleagues and staff—coloring outside the lines. Jonas’s fluid, going-with-his-gut way of managing Halstead & Sons was a constant source of irritation to his grandfather. Jack could be as disapproving as he liked, but he couldn’t argue with the numbers; since taking over as CEO of Halstead five years ago, cash flow and profits had steadily increased.

Jonas noticed Preston McIntyre. Why was Jack’s lawyer eating with them? Jonas shook Preston’s hand and slid a glance in Jack’s direction. He immediately recognized the stubborn I’ll-get-to-it-when-I’m-ready expression. There was no point in pushing; the old man was as stubborn as a mule. Which grated, since Jonas was a get-it-done-now type of guy.

Jonas pulled out a chair from the table. “Morning, Jack.”

He’d been Grandpa Jack when Jonas had been younger, but it had been a while since he’d called his grandfather anything but his given name. Jack wasn’t the sentimental type. “Jonas. Have some breakfast.”

Jonas reached for the fruit salad.

“How is Cliff House coming along?” Jack demanded, his eyes flashing.

The Cliff House was their newest project, a rambling, neglected property that had once been the most luxurious hotel in Santa Barbara. That had been in the 1920s and it was now just a mess and a money pit. But it had awesome views and potential, and, best of all, Jonas had bought the property out from under Harrison Marshall’s nose. Harrison might be a world-renowned chef, restaurateur and family friend, but going onto his turf and snagging a property he’d desperately wanted had been fun. And it had been a clean snatch; a simple offer of more money that the owner had quickly accepted.

“On time and on budget,” Jonas replied, knowing that was all Jack wanted to hear. And it was the truth. He ran a tight ship.

“That’s the least I expect,” Jack snapped, eyes flashing. “Elaborate.”

Jonas gave Jack his verbal report, his eyes flicking to the smaller but still impressive house next door. The windows were locked and the drapes were closed. That meant his father was in Europe looking for art that could be added to his already extensive collection.

Such wealth, Jonas thought, was attached to his surname. The houses, the cars...the option not to work another day in his life—that’s the choice his father had made.

Jonas shuddered. Work was what gave his life meaning, how he filled his days. It provided the context of his life, the framework that kept him sane. For him, having nothing to do would be a nightmare.

He was too driven, too intense, too ambitious. In that way, he was like his grandfather. A focused workaholic determined to grow the family company under his stewardship. Besides, what else would he do with his time? He didn’t have—didn’t want—a wife and kids, and he didn’t play golf.

Jonas wondered, as he often did, if he would be as driven if he’d had a gentler upbringing, if he hadn’t had his father and grandfather riding him to do better, to be better. They’d both assumed he would be the future of the company, the fifth Halstead to run their multigenerational empire. A lot of emphasis had been placed on his performance; success was praised, failure was disparaged and a perceived lack of effort ignited tempers. Jack had encouraged independence of thought and deed, and winning at all costs. Lane, his father, didn’t believe in expressing any emotion. As a child, Jonas had learned to suppress his feelings. They were tools his father used to mock or denigrate him. It was easier, he’d discovered, to avoid emotional neediness in both himself and others.

Jack asked him another series of questions and Jonas concentrated on the here and now. There was no point in looking back, it didn’t achieve anything. And since Jack was, technically, Jonas’s boss, he needed to concentrate. His position was reasonably secure. He’d pulled the company into the twenty-first century and both stocks and profit margins were up. He had the Halstead name, but he didn’t own the company. Yet.

Jack leaned back in his chair, asked Jonas to pour coffee and Jonas complied. Preston had said nothing for the past half hour and Jonas wondered, again, why he was there. Preston gave him an uneasy look, and Jonas knew he was about to find out. And he wasn’t going to like it.

What was his wily grandfather plotting?

Jonas watched his grandfather, who was looking down the beach.

Jack’s deep green eyes, the same color as Jonas’s, eventually settled on his grandson’s face. “I am rewriting my will.”

Jonas felt his stomach knot. Dammit, again? They went through this every five years or so. As far as Jonas knew, he would inherit Jack’s shares in the company and his father would inherit a massive life insurance policy and most of Jack’s personal properties, excluding this house.

“This property and my shares in the company will all be yours.”

Good. He’d be pissed if he’d worked sixteen hours a day for more than a decade for nothing. “Thank you,” he said, knowing that was the only response Jack wanted or would tolerate.

“But...”

Oh, crap.

“...only if you marry within the next ninety days.”

What the hell?

It took every iota of Jonas’s self-control not to react. He wanted to leap to his feet, slam his hands on the table and demand that Jack explain his crazy statement. He wanted to ask his grandfather if he’d lost his marbles. But the only gesture of annoyance he allowed himself was the tightening of his grip around his coffee cup.

“That’s a hell of a demand, Jack,” Jonas said, danger creeping into his tone. “Does it come with an explanation?”

“You’re pissed,” Jack said, and Jonas caught the note of amusement in his voice.

“Wouldn’t you be?” Jonas countered, straining to keep his tone even.

“Sure,” Jack agreed. “You can be as pissed as you like, but I’m not changing my mind. You’re going to marry or you lose it all.”

Jonas rubbed his forehead, not quite believing how Jack had flipped Jonas’s life on its head in the space of five minutes. Jonas turned to Preston. “Is this legal?”

Preston sent him a sympathetic look. “They are his assets. He’s allowed to disperse them any way he likes. It’s blackmail but its legal blackmail.”

Preston narrowed his eyes at his client and Jonas’s respect for the lawyer increased.

“I’ve made up my mind,” Jack said, ignoring his lawyer’s comment. “Marry in ninety days and I will sign over everything to you, giving you complete control of the company and ownership of this house. That way we’ll avoid paying the state a ridiculous amount of money in estate tax. All you have to do is marry.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Your father will inherit my shares. He wants them and feels they’re his right as the next in line.” Jack’s voice was as hard as nails. “He has expressed his wish to return to the company.”

Jonas struggled to look through the red mist in front of his eyes. He hastily bit back the words over my dead body.

“He is a Halstead, Jonas. He says he’s bored, that it’s time for him to come back and take his place as the next Halstead to run our company.”

But Lane stole from the company to support his gambling habit! The words were on the tip of Jonas’s tongue but he couldn’t voice them. Who was he protecting by keeping Lane’s secret? Jack? His father? Himself?

“He walked away, Jack.” It was all he could say in protest.

“He’s still a talented businessman. And my son.”

“And all the work I’ve done in the years since he left has meant nothing? You’d do this without my consent?” Jonas saw the answer on Jack’s face and shook his head. “You’re a piece of work.”

Jack just shrugged. “My first priority will always be what I think is best for Halstead.”

Of course it was, God forbid that he put his grandson’s wishes before his company. “You have done a reasonable job with the company,” Jack continued, “but what, or who, comes after you? In your twenties, you dated extensively and I wasn’t worried. I believed you needed time to sow your wild oats. But you’re about to turn thirty-five, you’ve never brought a girl home to meet me and I’m concerned you will never settle down.”

“You’ve been single for more than fifty years, so I think it’s a bit hypocritical for you to judge my lifestyle,” Jonas pointed out.

“I was married. I produced a Halstead heir and Lane did the same. You have not. You should be married. You should have had a child or two by now.”

“These days, people are marrying and having children later in life, Jack!”

Jack glared at him. “I want to see you married. I want to see your child. I want to be assured that the Halstead fortune will not pass out of our bloodline.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t demand that I produce a child in three months, as well,” Jonas snapped.

“I’m not that demanding. That being said, if you marry, then there’s a good chance children will come from the union,” Jack said, stubbornness in every word he spoke. “Eventually. And I know you well enough to know that you’d hate, as much as I do, the idea of Halstead money, generations of effort and hard work, benefiting someone not of our bloodline.”

Bloodline? Jack sounded like a medieval lord talking about his estates. “This isn’t sixteenth century England, Jack. And I do not appreciate you meddling in my private life!”

“Pffft! Arranged marriages have worked for hundreds of years before love clouded the issue. It’s simple, Jonas. Marry and I will give you Halstead. Do not and deal with your father.”

Jonas muttered a low curse. Jack knew exactly what buttons to push; he knew Jonas would do anything to keep his father out of the company and that he wanted complete control of Halstead & Sons.

But there was a price to that freedom and the price was marriage. The one thing he’d planned to avoid for as long as possible.

But Jack had left him without a choice. It was Jack’s way or the highway.

Jonas pushed his chair back, tossed his linen napkin onto the table and leaned across to shake Preston’s hand. He ignored his grandfather, too angry with him to speak. He started to walk away but Jack’s voice followed him.

“Well, what are you going to do?” he demanded.

Jonas relished the note of uncertainty in his voice.

He slowly turned and eyed his elderly relative, his smile cold. “I’ll guess you’ll find out in three months. You can wait until then.”

* * *

Katrina Morrison slid her hand beneath her hair and, discreetly, pushed her finger under the seam of her dress, moving the still attached price tag in the hope that it would stop scratching her skin. How she wished she was in the position to yank the tag off and be done with it. But Tess, her best friend, who happened to be the manager of The Hanger—a downtown Santa Barbara boutique selling designer dresses—would slap her silly if she did that. Tess still had to sell the dresses Kat had “borrowed.”

God knew what Tess would do if she ripped the dress or spilled wine or food on it. Katrina would probably be tarred and feathered at dawn.

Or, worse, she’d have to pay for the dress. And she didn’t have a thousand-plus dollars to spare. Even if she did have that sort of cash lying around, Kat doubted she’d spend it on a mid-thigh, sleeveless, pleated dress that was so understated it screamed “expensive.” But appearances, especially when you were the host at El Acantilado, the award-winning and flagship restaurant owned by America’s favorite chef and entrepreneur, Harrison Marshall, were everything. El Acantilado’s patrons expected a unique and expensive dining experience. Kat was the first person to welcome them into the restaurant, and her first impression had to be favorable. Hence the designer dress, expertly applied makeup, glossy lips and black suede three-inch heels.

She was happiest in a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt, her nearly waist-length hair in a ponytail or a braid and her face makeup-free, but this job paid the bills. If dressing up like a fashion model was what was required, she’d do it.

Kat tapped her pen against her leather-bound reservations book and looked into the wood-and-steel restaurant to watch the waitstaff. The newest waiter, Fred, seemed stressed, his hand wobbling as he placed Harrison’s iconic roasted duck between the solid silver cutlery in front of Senator Cordell. Thank goodness he wasn’t serving Elana Marshall, Harrison’s daughter, who was sitting at the best table in the house with Jarrod Jones.

Hmm, Elana wasn’t dining with her long-term boyfriend Thom. Jarrod’s wife, the feted Irish actress Finola, was also missing.

God, Kat could make a fortune selling celebrity gossip to tabloid newspapers. They’d made her offers before, promised her anonymity, and she’d desperately needed the money.

Kat sighed. Selling gossip would be an easy solution to her financial woes. Damn her integrity and self-respect.

Kat smiled as Fred walked passed Elana’s table, his gaze sliding sideways. The waitstaff was expected to turn a blind eye, to not notice a damn thing, but Fred was young and a little starstruck. And, really, since Elana Marshall looked like the millions of bucks she was reputed to be worth in that barely there dress highlighting her cleavage, how could Fred not notice that impressive rack, that fabulous face and those pouty lips?

Hadn’t Kat, when she’d first started as a waitress years ago, been equally impressed by the star power that lit up the room? She’d stuttered when she’d first spoken to Angel Morales, the hottest and most talented celebrity around. She’d blushed when the younger Windsor brother had thanked her, very nicely, for a wonderful dining experience. She’d nearly fainted when a table of Oscar nominees had left her a two-thousand-dollar tip.

After serving so many wealthy and famous people, she was no longer easily impressed, and that was why she’d been promoted to the position of hostess a year or so ago. Harrison Marshall had personally promoted her, his decision based, he’d told her, on her popularity with his well-heeled clients. She was polite and personable, but she didn’t fawn or simper. His clients, Harrison had said, liked that. They, apparently, liked her.

Kat looked down at her book and then at her watch. The Henleys were late, but then, they always were. Jonas Halstead and guest would be arriving within five minutes, and he was always on time.

Kat idly wondered who Jonas would be with tonight. By her calculations, the blond pop sensation he’d been dating for the past three months had reached her sell-by date, and there would be another girl on his arm tonight. Jonas, the billionaire property developer specializing in hotels and casinos, was a repeat visitor to El Acantilado over the past year. He’d recently bought Cliff House and was renovating the iconic Santa Barbara hotel. Rumor had it that he’d out-negotiated Harrison Marshall for the property, which suggested that Halstead was a hell of a businessman...or a shark.

Kat sighed. Tough businessman or not, his was the world she wanted to be in. The one she’d been destined for. The one that still beckoned to her. But, at twenty-eight years old, she was still working here and the closest she’d come to the world of finance was to show billionaire businessmen like Jonas Halstead to his table.

God. How sad.

“Katrina.”

Kat’s head snapped up and she silently cursed when she realized Jonas was standing in front of her, impeccably dressed in a black designer suit worn over a rain-gray, open-necked shirt. Her eyes traveled up, across a broad chest and wide shoulders, along a tanned neck, to a strong jaw covered with two-day-old stubble and a mouth that was slow to smile but still sexy. He had a long, straight nose and deep green eyes under strong brows. Rich, successful and hot.

He had the reputation for being a bit of a bastard, in business and in bed. That fact only dropped his sexy factor by a quarter of a percent.

“Mr. Halstead, welcome back to El Acantilado,” Kat murmured, ignoring her jumping heart and squirrelly stomach. Yeah, he was built and so damn handsome, but geez, she wasn’t a twenty-two-year-old waitress anymore.

“Call me Jonas.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d made the offer, but Kat had no intention of accepting. It wasn’t professional to call him by his first name, and not doing so kept a very healthy distance between her and the Jonas Halsteads of the world. Like her ex-husband and like her father, rich guys in fancy suits were not to be trusted.

Then again, what man could be?

But it really annoyed Kat that Jonas did funny things to her stomach and made her heart jump.

Fast, furious sexual attraction had led to her falling in love with and marrying Wes, and since he’d ended up using her heart as a Ping-Pong ball, she didn’t trust her pheromones’ ability to pick men wisely.

But every time she saw Jonas, her libido loudly reminded her that she hadn’t had sex in a very long time. Jonas Halstead would be damn good at sex. He’d had, it was said, a lot of practice.

But tonight he was here alone. “Is your guest not joining you tonight?”

Jonas placed his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. “Rowan will be joining me shortly.”

Kat widened her eyes in surprise. He was dating Rowan Greenly? The actress had just separated from her very volatile husband after a domestic abuse charge, and the hot-tempered rock star had threatened to kill anyone who made a move on his wife.

“You’re brave. I suggest you wear a bulletproof vest,” Kat couldn’t help murmuring, even though she knew she was being indiscreet. “Rock likes his guns.”

Jonas frowned, confused. Then his austere face softened as he released a low chuckle.

A thousand sparks danced on her skin as his smile turned his face from remote-but-still-hot to oh-my-God-I-want-to-rip-his-clothes-off. Kat placed her fist under her sternum and resisted the urge to scrunch her eyes shut.

No. God, no. She couldn’t have the screaming hots for Jonas Halstead. She’d married, and divorced, a ruthless and merciless man. A competitive and cutthroat billionaire should be the last person to interest her. She was avoiding the male species in general, and the hot and sexy ones in particular.

Jonas was not her type.

The front door to the restaurant pulled open and all six feet and five inches of the best basketball talent in the country stepped into the restaurant. Rowan Brady. God, of course it was.

Kat glanced at Jonas, who lifted one dark eyebrow. “My date.”

Rowan joined them, clasping Jonas’s shoulder as he did. “Joe, we’ve known each other since we were kids and I keep telling you you’re not my type.”

Kat heard the teasing note in Rowan’s deep voice and blushed as his dark eyes settled on her face. “And I’m curious as to why you’d want this gorgeous creature to think that I am.”

Jonas slid Rowan a droll look. “Katrina thought I was meeting Rowan Greenly.”

Rowan shuddered. “You have more sense than that. She’s hot but her husband is psycho.”

Jonas pulled his hands from his pockets and placed his forearms on her counter, the fabric of his suit bunching around impressive biceps. Kat lifted an eyebrow of her own, annoyed that she could easily imagine pushing that jacket off his shoulders and down his arms, ripping that shirt apart to find out whether his skin was as hot as she imagined.

She swallowed a moan. It was time to do her job. “Let me take you to your table, Mr. Halstead.”

“Since you felt comfortable enough to make assumptions about my love life, you should be comfortable enough to call me Jonas. Or Joe.”

Kat walked around the podium and gestured to the already full dining room. She deliberately ignored his provoking statement and his friend’s amused expression. “I’ve placed you by the window. It has the most wonderful view of the beach below. This way, gentlemen.” Kat started the familiar walk into the restaurant, forcing her expression into one of calm serenity.

Please don’t look at my ass, Kat thought as Jonas fell into step behind her. Or, if you do, please like it.

For God’s sake, Katrina! What is wrong with you?

“You have a—”

Thankful they were at his table, Kat turned and waited for his cocky comment.

But Jonas said nothing. He just moved to stand behind her, his height and width dwarfing her. He lifted his hand to her neck and Kat felt the tips of his fingers graze her skin. He barely made contact but suddenly her feet were glued to the floor and every cell in her body was set to vibrate. If he kissed her she’d spontaneously combust. She was sure of it.

Jonas twisted his hand and quickly snapped off the tag to her dress and held it up. “You obviously forgot to take it off. Here you go.”

Kat’s eyes bounced between the tag in his hand and his eyes, horror smothering the burning attraction she felt for the man.

Oh, crap, oh, crap, oh, crap. He’d ripped the tag when he pulled it off and she wouldn’t be able to reattach it.

Oh, God, Tess had made it very clear that the bar code had to remain intact, that it could not be reproduced. Kat wouldn’t be able to return the dress.

Her stomach climbed up her throat and lodged behind her tonsils. She was quite certain the air in the room was fast disappearing.

“Are you okay?” Jonas asked from a place far away. “Katrina?”

His voice pulled her back from the abyss, just a foot or so, enough for her to get some air into her lungs and oxygen to her brain.

You can’t faint. You can’t yell at him. You can’t even react.

You need this damn job.

But she couldn’t speak. She was unable to command her tongue to form even the smallest response. Intellectually she knew he thought he’d been doing her a favor, but his assumption had just piled another suitcase of stress onto the load she was already struggling to carry. Was this the straw that would break her back?

Kat suspected it might be. She snatched the tag from Jonas’s hand and spun on her heel, praying she made it to the staff restroom without throwing up.

She now owed more than a thousand dollars on a dress she couldn’t afford and it was Jonas Halstead’s fault.

God, sexy man or not, if he had been eating with Rowan Greenly, Kat would have called Rowan’s psycho husband and told him where to find Jonas.

And she would have suggested he bring his biggest gun.