A Family Circle 1 - A Very Convenient Marriage Read online

  His tone made it clear that he didn't find her in the least attractive. Nikki's flush deepened, but she nodded as if satisfied with his response. "Good."

  Sam returned his attention to the desk.

  Nikki studied the tip of her shoe some more.

  Max resisted the urge to tear his hair out.

  "So, is it settled? Are you going to get married?"

  "I want the money up front," Sam said abruptly.

  "You'll get it. I'll have to insist on a prenuptial agreement."

  "If you don't, I will," he snapped. His pride was already stung by the necessity of taking any money from her. "Other than the money agreed on, you don't have anything I want."

  "Other than your name on a marriage license, you don't have anything I want, either. Isn't it nice that we can agree on something?" she purred.

  Max chewed another antacid and considered another line of work. Something with less stress. Air-traffic controller at LAX, maybe.

  "A prenup is a given," he told them. "To protect both of you. I can have one drawn up by tomorrow afternoon. It should be pretty straightforward. I'll specify that, aside from the agreed-upon sum of money, you both give up all claims to each other's property."

  "Fine with me," Sam said, wondering what the odds were that Ms. Nicole Beauvisage would try to lay claim to his five-year-old Bronco or his collection of baseball cards, the only items of any particular value he owned. Somehow, he doubted either one would hold much appeal.

  "There is one other thing that concerns me," Nikki said slowly.

  "I promise not to play basketball in the ballroom or leave my dirty socks lying on the Louis XV," Sam offered facetiously.

  "That's quite a relief." Her smile was as icy as her eyes. "But my concern is more basic, Mr. Walker. Once you have your money, what guarantee do I have that you'll stick around for a year?''

  "You have my word."

  "I don't know you, Mr. Walker. I hope you'll understand my hesitation at staking my financial future on your word."

  He did understand. And if it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have been offended. But there was something about this woman that got under his skin and made him react in ways he wouldn't have normally.

  "Sam's word is good," Max said nastily, reading the anger in his friend's face.

  "Draw up a contract," Sam snapped without looking away from Nikki. "She's paying me in advance for a year of my time. Make sure it's nice and legal and binding. You can do that, can't you, Max?"

  "Sure. But it's really not—"

  "I wouldn't want Ms. Beauvisage to have any doubts about getting her money's worth." Sam's voice was smooth as silk and sharp enough to draw blood.

  "Thank you," Nikki said calmly.

  "You're welcome."

  The deadly politeness had Max reaching for another antacid. Maybe he should buy stock in the company, he thought, studying the wrapper. The silence stretched.

  Nikki waited for Sam to speak.

  Sam waited for Nikki to break the silence.

  Max waited for the antacids to settle his stomach.

  None of them knew how much time passed before the sound of Max's secretary settling in at her desk in the outer office finally broke the stillness.

  "Well, are you going to do it or aren't you?" Max demanded, no longer trying to hide his exasperation.

  There was a brief silence.

  Sam spoke first. "I want it understood that no one is to know this isn't a real marriage."

  If he actually went through with this insane idea, he didn't want Cole to know what he'd done. It would be hard enough to get his younger brother to take the check without him knowing the full circumstances of how Sam had acquired the money.

  "As I'm sure Max told you, one of the provisions of the will is that this should be a genuine marriage." Since Nikki was very carefully not looking at Sam, she missed the sharp look he shot in Max's direction, a look that made it clear that he had not been informed of this particular fact. "Of course, in our case, it would only have the appearance of being genuine," she continued, "even if the will didn't require it, I'm not particularly eager for the world to know I had to get married in order to receive my inheritance."

  "That includes my family," Sam said. "As far as they are concerned, we'd have to appear to be a normal couple."

  A Norman Rockwell kind of family. Nikki remembered Max's description and wondered if it was possible that the hostile, scruffy, irritating man in front of her really came from that kind of family.

  "I think I could manage that," she said. "If you can manage to convince my friends and family that you married me for something other than my money."

  The reminder stung, making Sam's response sharper than it should have been. "I think my acting ability will stretch that far," he said smoothly.

  The color that tinted her cheeks made him regret the words. He was marrying her for her money, dammit. It shouldn't be so aggravating to be reminded of that fact.

  "I hope so'' was all she said.

  "So you're agreed that the marriage is to appear real," Max said.

  "I haven't agreed to a marriage," Nikki pointed out sharply.

  "Neither have I."

  Max reached for another antacid and chewed furiously. "Look, I'm not a white slaver. I'm not going to force you two to get married. But as your attorney, I'm going to point out that this is the perfect solution to both sets of problems and that I think you're a pair of fools if you walk away from this opportunity. And as your friend, I'm going to tell you that you're acting like a couple of idiots. Now, are you going to get married or aren't you?"

  There was a long silence.

  "I don't like him," Nikki said without looking at Sam.

  "I'm not wild about you either, honey."

  Max threw up his hands. "You don't have to like each other. You just have to get married! Are you going to or not?"

  There was another pause.

  Sam shrugged. "I'm game if she is."

  Nikki nodded slowly. "I can't believe I'm saying this but, all right, I'll marry him."

  "Don't act like you're doing me a favor, honey," Sam snapped.

  "I am doing you a favor. And don't call me 'honey.'"

  "You're doing each other favors," Max said, verbally stepping between them again. "You need each other, and for the next year, you're going to be living together. You might as well get used to the idea."

  Sam glared at Nikki, thinking he'd never met a woman he disliked more. Or one with better legs.

  Nikki glared at Sam, thinking it was a shame Max couldn't have found her someone a little less overwhelmingly male. And wasn't it a good thing she didn't find him in the least bit attractive?

  Max looked at the pair of them and wondered if his own sanity would survive the next year.

  Chapter 2

  Once an agreement, however grudging, was reached, it didn't take long to work out the details of the arrangement. Aside from the fact that the bride and groom detested each other, the only possible barrier to the upcoming nuptials was the necessity of convincing Nikki's grandfather's attorney that they were getting married for the usual reasons.

  Lymon Beauvisage had foreseen the possibility that his granddaughter might make a marriage of convenience in order to get her inheritance and had done his best to circumvent the possibility. As the final proviso in an already complicated bequest, he'd left his friend and lawyer, Jason Drummond, the final say in whether or not Nikki received her inheritance. If he believed the marriage was real, he'd release the money at the end of the year. If he didn't, the money went to Nikki's older brother, Alan, who'd already received—and squandered—his half of their grandfather's estate.

  "You just have to convince Jason Drummond that you're in love with each other," Max said.

  "Unless he's deaf, dumb and blind, that may not be so easy," Sam said, looking as if he were starting to reconsider the whole idea.

  "All it takes is a little acting," Max coaxed.

  "There's a lim
it to my acting ability," Sam muttered. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Nikki stiffen and realized that his comment could be taken as a slap in her direction, which wasn't what he'd intended.

  "I'm surprised, Mr. Walker." Her voice was sweet enough to send chills down his spine. "You're so convincing as a rude, filthy wino." She paused and her delicate brows drew together in a small frown. When she continued, her tone was one of concern. "Perhaps that isn't as much of a stretch as convincing Uncle Jason that I might actually want to marry you."

  Sam winced in acknowledgment of the hit, but restrained the urge to respond in kind. The last thing he wanted was to prolong this meeting, not even for the pleasure of continuing the verbal warfare with the woman he'd just agreed to marry. He wanted to go home, wash off the smell of that alley and get some sleep. Maybe when he woke up, this idea would seem as logical as Max claimed it was and not the insanity it looked to be at the moment.

  "Uncle Jason?" he questioned.

  "My grandfather's attorney is also a family friend."

  "That should make him fairly willing to be convinced," Max put in optimistically.

  "Less strain on your acting ability, Mr. Walker," Nikki pointed out with a saccharine smile.

  "Thanks."

  It was agreed that Nikki would contact Jason Drummond and arrange for him to meet Sam as soon as possible.

  "The sooner you get his approval, the sooner you can get married," Max said.

  "A thrilling thought," Nikki said as she rose, preparatory to leaving.

  Sam, who'd been about to gather his energy to rise, a courtesy his mother had drummed into him, relaxed back into his chair. He was damned if he was going to waste his time on polite forms with this stuck-up little ice princess.

  "I'll let Max know when I've arranged a meeting with Uncle Jason."

  "You do that."

  Max started to suggest that it would be easier if she contacted Sam directly, but immediately thought better of it. The way things stood right now, it was probably safer if the bride and groom had as little contact with each other as possible before the wedding.

  "I'll be in touch," she said to Max. She glanced at Sam and gave him a cool little nod. "Mr. Walker."

  "Ms. Beauvisage." He returned the nod, his tone mocking her formality.

  Nikki's mouth tightened, and he saw fire flare in her green eyes. He waited for the explosion, but it didn't come. She turned and walked out of the office without another word. Sam watched her leave, surprised to realize that he actually felt a twinge of regret at her restraint.

  He let his eyes drift down her narrow back to her legs. She had the disposition of a pit viper. It was too bad she also had legs like an angel. It didn't take much imagination on his part to picture those legs sliding into the expensive car she undoubtedly drove.

  Or between a set of black silk sheets.

  ❧

  Nikki heard the rapid tap of her heels against the tile entryway of the office building and realized she was almost running. She forced herself to slow down as she exited the building and stepped out into the bright sunshine.

  She wasn't running, she told herself as she pulled open her car door and slid onto the genuine imitation sheepskin-covered seat. Sam Walker might be a bit larger than life, and some women—susceptible women—might even find him wildly attractive, but she herself hardly noticed such things, and they certainly wouldn't send her fleeing from her lawyer's office.

  She had an appointment with her mother, that was all. The fact that she wasn't meeting Marilee for three hours and that Marilee would probably not arrive for another forty-five minutes after that was irrelevant. She'd concluded her business here and she was leaving. Nothing odd about that.

  Nikki's hands weren't quite steady as she put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. She'd done it. She'd actually agreed to marry a man she'd just met. A man she didn't know and wouldn't like if she did. Her mind reeled at the thought.

  When Max had suggested the idea as a way to get her inheritance, he'd made it sound so simple, so businesslike that she'd had no hesitation in agreeing to meet with his friend. But she hadn't been expecting Sam Walker and she hadn't been prepared for the jolt of awareness she'd felt when they shook hands. What had sounded like a simple business arrangement suddenly seemed much more complex.

  Nikki turned the car onto the Glendale Freeway and headed north. She'd planned to do some shopping before meeting her mother for lunch, but that was before she'd met Sam Walker, before she'd agreed to marry him. Right now, she needed to talk to someone she could trust, someone who had no ax to grind.

  Twenty minutes later, she parked the scruffy ten-year-old Chevy in front of a neat little house on a street lined with other neat little houses. The front door opened as she walked up the driveway and a short, thin man of about thirty came out. Bill Davis had married Nikki's best friend four years ago, right after Liz graduated from UC Santa Barbara. They had little money, a house made chaotic by a toddler and all the attendant problems of raising a family, but they loved each other deeply. Nikki was unabashedly envious of their happiness.

  "Hello, Bill."

  "Nikki." His plain face creased in a smile when he saw her. "Isn't it a little early for the idle rich to be out slumming?" he asked as he hugged her.

  "I like to get started early. Slumming, properly done, takes more time than most people realize. Is Liz around?"

  "In the kitchen, feeding the holy terror."

  "Don't call my godchild a terror. He's adorable."

  "You don't have to live with him," he said darkly. "When I left, Michael had just tried to put the goldfish in his oatmeal and Liz was trying to convince him that Oscar didn't need a hot breakfast."

  ''And you fled in the midst of that?"

  "Like a coward," he admitted cheerfully. "I've got cars stacked up like cordwood, waiting for work."

  "Nice to be busy." Bill was manager and chief mechanic at an auto repair shop in Montrose. He and Liz were saving money in hopes of buying the business when the current owner retired in a couple of years.

  "Bring that junk heap by and I'll take a look at it," he said, nodding toward her car. "I still think you ought to sell it for scrap and buy a real car."

  "Barney is a real car," she protested. "It had been Bill's four-year-old son who'd named Nikki's car, thinking the faded purple paint job was reminiscent of the dinosaur he watched every day on television.

  They spoke a moment longer before Bill left for work. Nikki let herself in the house with the familiarity of an old friend. She called out Liz's name and received a frazzled-sounding response from the kitchen. Picking her way across the mine field of toys strewn across the living room floor, she could hear Liz telling Michael firmly that Oscar did not want his fishbowl filled with milk, any more than he wanted to swim in Michael's oatmeal.

  "Aunt Nikki!" Michael's greeting was enthusiastic as only a four-year-old's could be. He scrambled off his chair and hurled himself at her, oblivious to his mother's command not to touch anything until his face and hands were washed. An instant later, Nikki had an armful of four-year-old boy and smudges of oatmeal and jelly on her silk suit.

  "You have to learn to dodge," Liz said as Nikki stood.

  "I don't want to dodge. The suit will clean." Nikki grinned down at the little boy, who was rifling through her cavernous purse, looking for the small treat she never failed to bring him. Today it was a palm-size dump truck, and Michael immediately began scooting it across the kitchen floor, making engine noises.

  "You spoil him."

  "He's too sweet natured to be really spoiled," Nikki said.

  "Sweet natured?" Liz repeated disbelievingly. "Ask Oscar how sweet natured he is."

  Nikki followed her gesture to the goldfish bowl perched on top of the refrigerator beyond the reach of four-year-old fingers. Oscar swam lazily around his small home, undisturbed by his close encounter with Michael's breakfast.

  "Oscar looks none the worse for wear. I can't say the same about
you, though." She gave her friend a critical look as Liz collapsed into a chair. Liz's hair stood out from her head in springy carrot-red curls and her hazel eyes held the dazed look of a disaster survivor.

  "Michael woke us up at four-thirty. Then the toilet stopped up. Bill spent half an hour working on it and finally pulled out one of Michael's action figures. Apparently Michael wanted to send him on a diving mission. The remains were so mangled, there wasn't even enough left for a decent burial. I didn't get to the laundry yesterday, so the only clean underwear Bill could find is a pair of tiger-striped bikinis I bought him as a joke. He's convinced he'll be in some kind of accident and be rushed to the emergency room where the doctors will find him wearing kinky shorts. The bread was moldy, there was only one egg, which I cooked for Bill, and Michael has spent the morning trying to introduce Oscar to the joys of breakfast."

  Nikki let a few moments go by at the end of Liz's recital of the morning's disasters and then lifted her brows in surprise. "Is that all?"

  "Get out." Liz threw a paper napkin in her direction, watching as it drifted into Michael's half-eaten bowl of oatmeal. "If I had the energy, I'd throw something more lethal. Worse, I'd send the holy terror home with you."

  Grinning, Nikki lifted the kettle off the stove and carried it to the sink. "A cup of tea will restore your energy. And anytime you want a couple of days off, you know I'd love to have Michael." She set the kettle on the stove.

  "Friendship only goes so far," Liz said broodingly as she watched her son crawling across the floor with his new truck. "I may hit you up for enough money to run away from home instead."

  "Yeah, right." Nikki found the tea bags and two cups. "You wouldn't give up your life for anything, and you and I both know it."

  "This morning I'd sell it for a wooden nickel and consider myself lucky."

  "Liar." Nikki poured the water over the tea bags before carrying the cups to the table. She sat down across from Liz. "You adore Bill and Michael."

  "Maybe." Cradling her hands around the mug of tea, Liz looked as if she might be getting her second wind after her hectic morning. "Enough about my miserable existence. What's up with you?"