The Boss's Fake Fiancee (2 page)

Garth nodded. “Is he bothering you?”

Pleasure mixed with even more guilt. Was he
worried
about her?

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

He had a way of asking questions that demanded utter honesty. “Absolutely.” She smiled, and even though Garth didn’t return her smile, she thought she saw something soften in his eyes.

“Good.” He straightened, and just like that, she knew the matter had been erased from his mind. “How’s my tie?”

It was a tiny thing, but it was something a man would only ask a woman. And while she knew he saw her as nothing more than one of the many people who worked for him, the barest suggestion that he
did
see her as a woman—coupled with his concern that she was being bothered by Mark—sent a tingle straight through her body.

“May I?” She gestured toward his tie, and he nodded. She reached up to straighten it, and shivered when her hands touched the smooth cotton fibers of his shirt. The heat of his skin burned right through them and she quivered inside.

He’s your boss! Stop it!

Melissa knew she was being silly. But her body didn’t know that. And the warm rush of excitement that followed from the brief, almost imperceptible contact didn’t know that, either.

As she adjusted a wrinkle from the knot, Melissa had the odd feeling that she was being watched. She shot a quick look over her shoulder to see Mark staring at her from across the room. With a fresh surge of pleasure, she left her hands on Garth’s tie a fraction of a second longer than was necessary. Not long enough so that he’d notice, surely, but long enough so that Mark would.

“You’re perfect.” She forced an easy tone as she dropped her hands.

“Has anyone asked you about ThinkSpeak?”

ThinkSpeak was Garth’s pet project—an artificial intelligence system that read and interpreted the brainwaves of children with severe autism, enabling parents and caretakers to understand their basic needs. Many doubted the technology—which was, admittedly, incredibly expensive—could ever be made commercial. Just last month, several members of the Solen Labs board of directors had suggested the company shelve the project indefinitely. In response, Garth had dumped millions of his personal funds into the development, but even his pockets weren’t bottomless. He needed a big investor to sponsor continued development of ThinkSpeak, and he was determined to find one.

“I’ve had a few questions. I dodged them.”

“Good. Until we hear back from Orelian, we need to keep things quiet.”

Even before Melissa had started at Solen Labs, Garth had been courting one particular investor, Natalie Orelian, who expressed an interest in ThinkSpeak. Orelian was the only child of an old New York banking family. She had begun funding autism research when her grandson was diagnosed with a mild form of the disability at age three. While Orelian believed in funding new research, she shied away from projects that seemed too speculative or controversial. Garth was determined to keep any rumors about ThinkSpeak—good or bad—at bay until he had Orelian’s support buttoned down.

A woman in a black shirt and pants approached them from the back of the stage. “They’re ready for you, Mr. Solen.”

“Right. Thanks, Melissa.” Garth’s intense gaze met hers for a moment before he turned away, and a delicious shiver passed up and down her spine. She glanced from his broad shoulders to the narrow line of his waist, perfectly displayed by his tailored suit. Her gaze followed him as he took the stairs in an easy bound.

But then, like a magnet, she found herself glancing at the back of the room, watching with a renewed feeling of dread as Mark caught her eye for one brief moment before he disappeared from the back of the room.

If Garth ever found out what she’d said…

Her stomach twisted in a painful knot of regret. She shouldn’t have done it. Nothing justified her lies. Mark wasn’t worth jeopardizing her job, or threatening the tiny, imperceptible chance that Garth might be developing some kind of interest in her.

Melissa turned back toward the stage and pushed the dark thoughts from her mind. Garth would never find out what she’d said. And she would never make this mistake again.

…

Garth Solen pulled his silver Tesla Roadster parallel to the line of cars parked in front of a row of snug Brooklyn townhouses, and glanced at the woman sitting only a few inches away. He knew she’d stayed late to help him manage the crowds and steer away the more determined reporters, and he hadn’t wanted her on the subway at night because of him. But now he was regretting the decision to give her a ride. The car had suddenly become a tiny, intimate space—a space he shouldn’t be inhabiting with one of his employees.

“Thanks for bringing me home,” Melissa said, shooting him a quick smile.

A fragrance moved across the dark interior as she bent forward to retrieve her purse. Something like flowers. Maybe roses. It was subtle and beautiful, like her.

Garth nearly choked on his own tongue as the thought slipped, unbidden, into his mind. “You’re welcome,” he managed to spit out. He jumped out of the car and walked around to open her door, forcing himself to take a slow breath as he did.

Forget it. She’s off limits
.

The truth was, Melissa Bencher had been getting under his skin for weeks. He found himself glancing at her in meetings far more often than he should, and then wondering if anyone had noticed. She had a creative, agile mind and a lovely smile—a little shy, like she wasn’t sure how it would be received, yet infectious. And being with her tonight had been oddly…well…
comfortable
. Of course, they’d talked about work—challenges with a particular model, an issue with a patent—yet even that had been more relaxed somehow than he was used to.

But Melissa was in a class of women he absolutely refused to date. Employees, for one. Soft-hearted, for another. He preferred cold-hearted women. Women he knew weren’t going to get messy and emotional. Life was simpler that way.

He tugged open the door, keeping his face carefully impartial. She stepped out of the car and he forced his eyes from her long legs to her piquant features. Too late, he realized that he’d blocked her from moving away from the car, and for a moment she stood just a few inches away, trapped beside him. The streetlight frosted her hair and illuminated a pair of full red lips.

“Did you—” Her voice trailed off as he stepped away quickly.

“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “What were you going to say?”

She adjusted her purse over her shoulder. “Nothing. Just good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She hurried off toward her apartment. He watched as she unlocked the outer door and headed inside. Then he walked to the car and drove away without looking back.

Chapter Two

The next morning, Garth flicked the touch screen security lock on his tablet computer and then opened his email. He sipped his coffee as he scrolled through the messages, glancing every now and again through a large bay window as a show of pink and purple lit the morning sky. The fall colors of the maple trees surrounding the house sparkled and glowed as the sun hit the dew that had accumulated on their leaves.

He loved quiet mornings at his home in Scarsdale. The sprawling old Colonial mansion sat in the middle of ten wooded acres, about forty miles north of New York City. The house was close enough to commute to the Solen Labs office in Manhattan, but far enough away to avoid the traffic, tourists, and crowds of the city.

Garth had been accused of disliking people, but that wasn’t true. He simply didn’t trust them. He’d learned early in life that he was hardwired differently than most other people, and if there was one thing human beings didn’t like, it was difference. People could be cruel, and that made it very difficult to want to strike up a relationship with them.

“Mr. Solen?” His housekeeper, Jessalyn Cislo, called from the doorway. She had short black hair tipped with pink, a long string of earrings in one ear, and a colorful tattoo that curled from her wrist to her arm. His grandmother, who collected misfit people the way Garth collected hard drives, had suggested that he hire her a few years ago. He had been skeptical, but within a few minutes of meeting her, he’d been sold. Jessalyn was cynical, snarky, and the human equivalent of a lioness when it came to protecting him and privacy.

“Yes?”

“Nurse Simpson said your grandmother wanted to see you.”

Garth’s parents had died in a car accident when he was five, and he’d been raised by his grandmother, Patricia. Tender-hearted Nan had loved him like crazy, but she hadn’t been much help to an awkward teenage boy trying to figure out how to navigate a world filled with bullies and girls who either laughed at him or looked right past him. It wasn’t until college, when he’d grown into his tall frame and learned to mask his emotions, that he’d been able to make his way socially. But until then, Nan had provided the unconditional love he’d desperately needed, and he would lay down his own life to save hers.

At eighty-five, Nan still lived on her own, or at least she had until two weeks ago, when she developed a serious case of pneumonia. After spending a week in the hospital, she had begged to be allowed to go home. Reluctantly, Garth had spoken to her doctor, who had agreed to release her only after Garth had set up a virtual hospital room at his house, including round the clock care and a variety of machines to monitor every breath, heartbeat, and vital sign. The doctor said her condition was very serious, and she needed a lot of rest and quiet. While they had put her on a serious antibiotic, they couldn’t be sure she would pull through.

Garth refused to consider that an option.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, a faint echo of nervousness curling in his stomach.

“I think so. She was smiling when I saw her.” Jessalyn cocked her head at him. “Remember I’m leaving early today. Should I make something for you to heat up for dinner?”

Garth nodded. “Please. I have a conference call with Beijing at nine. I’ll eat in my study.”

“How about beef stroganoff and mashed potatoes?” She phrased it as a question, but it was really more of a statement. Or rather, a dare.

Garth winced. “Could you make a salad?” Jessalyn was obsessed with feeding him rich, heavy meals. Having Jess as a housekeeper was a little like having a second grandmother—in a pierced, tattooed body.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I can make a Caesar.”

Garth sighed. “Dressing on the side?”

Jessalyn sniffed loudly. “Fine. But I’m tossing in the bacon bits.”

“Of course you are.”

“Some reporters came to the gate last night,” Jessalyn said. “I told them if they didn’t get two hundred feet back, I would let out the dogs. And I’d bring my pepper spray. That seemed to convince them.”

“Jess, you are a marvel,” Garth said.

“Just earning my bonus.”

He left Jessalyn and walked to the rear of the house, to a large bedroom suite he’d remodeled years before to accommodate a wheelchair, should his grandmother someday need it. So far, she didn’t. Or hadn’t. She’d been using one since she came home from the hospital, because the illness had left her so weak and unstable.

He knocked lightly on the door, and then headed in when he heard a chipper voice call out, “Come in!”

Looking more alert and energetic than she had for weeks, Garth’s tiny, frail grandmother was sitting up in bed, cheeks rosy, a smile splitting her face. Her snowy-white hair was wrapped in bright blue curlers and covered with a lavender chiffon scarf. She clutched a newspaper in one hand.

“Is it true?” she demanded, as soon as he walked through the door. She clasped the paper to her chest and smiled even wider. “Oh, please tell me it’s true!”

“What? Did they find the cure for cancer? Is Princess what’s-her-name pregnant?”

She extended the paper toward him, tapping a picture. “No, no, don’t be silly. Look for yourself. On page seventeen.”

Garth raised a skeptical brow. “Is that the
New York Star Herald
? How many times have I told you to stop reading that tabloid, Nan? It doesn’t actually contain news, you know. They make those stories up. Like the one about the aliens.”

Nan pouted. “That could have happened. The government covers up all sorts of things.”

“There are no aliens living in West Virginia.”

“I hope not,” she said fervently.

“And that time they said zombie elephants had been discovered at the Central Park Zoo?”

“Those creatures never move much,” Nan said. “Haven’t you always wondered about them?”

Garth masked a smile. Nan had always been gullible—it came with her trusting nature.

“I can’t wait to see this,” he said, taking the paper with a shake of his head.

As he focused on the picture, every muscle in his body tightened. The picture Nana had pointed to so eagerly was of him, opening the car door for Melissa the night before. And the headline above screamed, “Garth Solen’s Mystery Fiancée—Revealed!”

A wave of nausea passed over him. Quickly, he scanned the article. “Billionaire Garth Solen, notorious for discreet one-night stands and a stubborn refusal to settle down, is finally ready to take a bride. Sources close to the couple say new Solen Labs associate Melissa Bencher has stolen his heart, and the two are now engaged to wed…”

He looked up. “Nan, you don’t—”

She interrupted him with a happy chirp. “Now, now, I know you didn’t want me to find out this way. Really, dear, I know how private you are. You probably weren’t quite ready to share the news with anyone, let alone the whole world at once. But it’s out now, so you can tell me the truth.” She held out a bony, arthritic hand, her fingers twisted with age, yet still surprisingly strong. He took her hand and sat down next to her bed. “It’s a bit naughty of you to start a relationship with an employee,” she continued, “but I understand. You must have a lot in common.”

“Nan,” he tried again. “Melissa and I, we aren’t—”

“You aren’t quite ready for marriage? Well, you’re engaged now, dear. You’ll have to get over that.” She fixed him with an intense gaze. Her eyes—misty blue to his gray—began to sparkle with a hint of tears. “Garth, I know things haven’t been easy for you. Girls can be terribly mean, and when that Samantha-hussy ran off with that necklace you gave her, well, my heart just broke.”

Garth closed his eyes. “Not this again. That was years ago, Nan. Besides, the necklace was nothing special.”

Nothing special.

That’s what she said.

Garth laughed, humorlessly, to himself. How many times had he replayed Samantha’s words? Her look of amusement when he’d given her the necklace, with its tiny diamond charm. Her response that she had no interest in getting serious. That she’d thought they were “nothing special.” That she was dating other people, and he should, too. That maybe he shouldn’t call her again, though she’d be glad to keep the diamond. It was pretty, after all.

Nan continued, unabated. “You can’t be afraid. If you really love this girl, this Melissa, then you’ve got to take the leap. There are good women out there, and good people. You’ve got to let them in, or you’ll always be alone.”

This was a familiar argument, one he could respond to in his sleep.

“Nan, I wasn’t meant for relationships. Women and I speak different languages. There’s really no point in trying.”

“I’m not saying it will be easy. It wasn’t easy for your grandfather, either, but he found me, didn’t he?” Nan smiled at the memory.

Garth rolled his eyes. “Yes, he did. But we can’t all be so lucky. Besides, I’m not alone,” he added, as he always did. “I’ve got you, and Solen Labs, and—”

“Solen Labs isn’t a person,” she interrupted, in a surprisingly fierce voice. “And I’m not always going to be here.”

He paused. She’d given her standard response, but somehow it felt different when she was lying in a bed, surrounded by blinking machines, with a nurse on standby. “Don’t say that.”

Nan gripped his hand tightly. “Life is meant for love, dear, not solitude.”

Garth forced a laugh. “I’m the human computer, remember? I’m doing just fine.”

She waved a hand. “That’s nonsense. They don’t know you.” She paused to cough, and the deep, rattling sound made Garth’s stomach twist. When the fit had passed, she leaned back against the pillows, her face white and drawn. “You’re more than what they see.”

He tried one more time. “I was just dropping Melissa off after the conference,” he said. “I can’t imagine why they followed us home.”

Nan’s eyes popped open and she sucked in a breath. “Oh! I hadn’t even thought about that.” She tapped the newspaper. “There must be a leak. The article says ‘sources close to the couple.’ They can’t make that up, you know. There must have been someone who told them the news. You should get Jessalyn to hunt down the culprit. She’s very good at that. I suspect she could have been a detective.”

Garth ran his fingers through his hair. Why did he always seem to lose control of the conversation when he was with Nan? Next thing he knew, she would be sending Jessalyn into Solen Labs to track down a Russian spy. Or an alien. Or a zombie elephant.

“When can I meet her?” Nan asked. “I don’t mean to sound like a silly old lady, but I can’t tell you how much easier I’ll sleep, knowing that you’ve finally found a match.”

The absolute conviction in her voice chilled him. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Insist that there was nothing between him and Melissa? Demand that she listen to him, when she was so convinced that the story was true? And so damned happy about it?

“Nan,” he started again. “Nan, there’s been a mistake. You see, Melissa and I are friends.”

She giggled, a tiny, happy sound. “That’s wonderful, dear. The best matches always start out that way. But I can see it in her eyes. She’s terribly in love with you.”

Garth focused on the soft, fragile hand he held inside his own. He pictured Dr. Caldy, telling him to keep Nan quiet and rested, explaining that elderly people with pneumonia often became fatigued and confused, and required extra care, rest, and an absence of stress.

Which meant one thing: he couldn’t tell her the truth.

She was still so fragile, barely sleeping at night because of the violent coughing. Her body, with a weak heart and an aging set of lungs, was struggling to recover from the ravage of the disease. This story gave her peace, without which she’d never heal.

“I don’t know,” he hedged. “Maybe once you’re recovered.”

Nan sat up a few inches. She shook her head sadly. “Garth, dear, you have to be realistic. I may not recover from this.”

He snorted, even as a deep, sick feeling twisted his gut. “Now you’re talking nonsense.”

“I’m eighty-five. You know the odds.”

“Don’t talk to me about odds, Nan.” He stood and paced to the window, staring at the lush green lawn beyond. “You’ve beaten every odd you’ve ever been given. You will recover. Look how much better you’re feeling already.”

“Garth!” Her voice took on the stern quality that had always brought him round as a boy. He turned and slowly met her gaze. “Garth, no more pretending. No more kidding around. I’ve got a bad heart and a case of pneumonia. If this cough doesn’t kill me, my ticker will. I’ve been holding on because I know you need me, but I can’t do it forever. I need the rest, and I can’t get it as long as I’m sitting up at night wondering what will happen to you after I die.”

Garth felt the blood drain from his face. “Nan,” he said, “is that how you’ve been feeling lately? Like you can’t rest because of me?”

She set her jaw in an expression he knew from his childhood. “No pity from you, young man. I’m just saying I want to meet this girl while I still have the chance.”

He paused, his thoughts spinning. How in the world could he pull this off? “She’s had a cold, Nan. Maybe it isn’t a good idea.”

“I need to meet her.”

The underlying pain in her voice was his undoing. He would make this work. He
had
to make it work.

“I’ll do my best,” he said, his eyes flicking to the machines beside her bed. “Maybe this weekend.”

“Thank you, dear. Now, I probably ought to take a nap. I want to be at my best when I meet your bride-to-be.” Nan sighed with obvious relief and closed her eyes.

Garth rose, filled with equal parts dread, pain, and frustration. He had no idea how to extricate himself from this situation without sending Nan into a tailspin, which meant that he would have to play along with her for a little while. At least until she was out of the woods, and the pneumonia had passed.

Meanwhile, whatever fool had made up this story would suffer. He would see to it personally.