Worth Everything (4 page)

“We need to get you out of here.”

He took her by the arm—again—because it was as if he couldn’t keep his hands off her. She was small, soft and so innately feminine. He was drawn to her, there was no denying it, as stupid as it was. Emotion, lust, whatever he wanted to call the odd feelings that overcame him when she was near, shouldn’t cloud his judgment. He’d never allowed it to happen before. His reputation painted him cold, calculating, ruthless in negotiation. An unfeeling machine was how a fellow attorney had most recently described him.

What he was experiencing in this woman’s presence wasn’t cold or unfeeling. Looked like Anastasia Renaldi was the exception to his long-standing rule.

She struggled against his hold, doing her best to get away from him. Ironic considering how much he wanted to be near her, despite his reluctance. “You’re not going to let me talk to him, are you.” She made it a statement, not a question.

“Not here, where anyone could overhear your very personal conversation and sell all the gory details to some slimy tabloid. Come on.” He led her through the room, nodding and smiling at passersby. It wasn’t prudent to leave, not yet. Didn’t want to give the woman monitoring the front door any more fodder to consider. It was bad enough they’d made that particular spectacle earlier. They didn’t need to make another one.

Yet he was starving and exhausted after a long day at work, and dealing with a hostile woman was pushing him closer and closer to his breaking point. All that soft femininity was clearly a façade—she was hard as steel and more determined than any woman he’d ever met.

Determined to get at a fortune, no doubt. He was a cynical bastard; he knew this, and he’d seen it all. What Stasia Renaldi wanted to do, what she wanted from him, didn’t settle well.

He plucked a stuffed mushroom off the tray of a passing waiter and popped it in his mouth, thankful for some sort of sustenance. Stasia took one as well, nibbling delicately, her gaze scanning the room. Looking for Rhett, no doubt.

Gavin knew he needed to get her out of there before she found Rhett and pounced. He wasn’t as close to the youngest Worth brother as he was to Alex, so Rhett might not recognize him if something went down.

And then all hell would break loose at a very swanky party. Not the sort of image he wanted portrayed.

“Five more minutes and then we’re leaving,” he told her.

She glared. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Like hell I can’t. You’re now my client. And I advise you that we should leave in five minutes. Staying any longer could end in disaster.”

Rolling her eyes, she shoved the rest of the mushroom into her mouth. “Are you always this dramatic?” she asked after she swallowed.

“Listen. Being in the same room as Rhett Worth isn’t prudent. Let me…” He took a deep breath, chastised himself for even thinking it, let alone suggesting it. Keeping this newly formed relationship strictly professional was going to be a testament in self-control. “Let me take you to dinner and we can discuss everything. Lay out some sort of plan so we can figure out where to go next.”

“I already know what I want to do. I want you to call Alexander Worth first thing tomorrow morning and set up a meeting. And all three of them should be present. They need to know they can’t avoid me forever.” She lifted her chin.

“Sounds like a starting point, though I have other ideas.” He glanced around, noticed that the crowd was thinning. His gaze drifted to the farthest corner of the room, tension riveting him completely still when he realized he was looking at Rhett.

The man was oblivious, concentrating solely on the woman who stood so close to Rhett, you couldn’t slip a piece of paper between the two of them. The perfumer girlfriend, no doubt. Gavin had heard they were sickeningly in love.

Gavin tore his gaze from the youngest Worth brother and offered Stasia a quick smile, guiding her toward the door as quickly as possible so he wouldn’t cause suspicion.

“Our five minutes aren’t up,” she protested, automatically suspicious.

He swore she dragged her feet. “My watch must be fast, then. We need to leave.”

Thank Christ he got her out of there and swiftly, ignoring the pointed glare the woman at the door gave them when they left. They didn’t speak to each other until they exited the restaurant, standing together on the edge of the sidewalk as he tried to grab a taxi.

“You saw him, didn’t you?”

He turned at her quiet question, his quest for a cab momentarily forgotten. “Saw who?”

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.” She sighed and shook her head. “I saw him too.”

“You did?” It wasn’t worth pretending he didn’t know whom she spoke of. Of course, they were talking about Rhett.

Stasia nodded. “I was tempted to approach him. Again. Did I tell you how I talked to him at the perfume launch party?”

He frowned. “I read about it.” Everyone had read about it. It was how the entire tragic story first came to light.

Her lush mouth twisted into a grimace. “Oh right, I forgot. Everyone knows about the night little orphaned Anastasia approached her brother and he turned her away. Though he really didn’t. He was very kind. So was his girlfriend.”

“Orphaned Anastasia?”

“You haven’t heard that one?” She sounded surprised. “The media speculates whether my mother named me that on purpose. After all, it’s not an Italian name, and we come from a very traditional Italian family. I’m like that Russian princess. You know the story, don’t you?”

“Vaguely.” The media was having more of a field day with this story than he’d realized. The minute he got home, he was pulling out his laptop and doing some quick research.

“She was supposed to be killed with the rest of her family. Her father was the Tsar of Russia. She was a grand princess or duchess or some such thing.” Stasia waved her hand. “But there were always rumors of her escape, even years after the killings happened. A woman came forward and said she was Anastasia, that she’d been lost all this time and wanted to find her family again.”

The sadness in her voice, radiating from her body, was palpable. The temptation to comfort her, wrap her in his arms and promise to take care of her, was so strong he had to fight every impulse to keep under control. “You’re nothing like that Anastasia, you know.”

The tremulous smile that curved her lips sliced straight through. “I’m a sad, lost little princess in search of her family. Isn’t that close enough?”

Chapter Four

The restaurant Gavin took Stasia to was small, dark and nearly empty. The overly friendly waitress seated them at the most intimate table in the entire place, a booth tucked into the farthest corner. The lighting so dim, Stasia’s face was cast in shadow, giving her a mysterious air.

Making her even more alluring, which was the stupidest thing he’d ever thought, but goddamn, that story about the lost Russian princess had done something to him. Touched him deeply, made him feel awful. Made him angrier than hell and more determined to help her in her quest. It was insane, these feelings of tenderness she evoked within him. He knew what she wanted, what she was all about. It was obvious. She’d been disinherited from one extremely wealthy family, so she planned to latch her claws into another fortune, no matter what it took.

He needed to remember that. Focus on the calculating way she was going about this. All that sob story bullshit was a way to get to him and it had worked. She was good. Real good.

But Gavin was better.

Only after the waitress took their dinner order did Stasia meet his gaze, hers steady and clear, all traces of the earlier princess woe disappeared. “Tell me your plan.”

Nothing like cutting to the chase. “I’ll contact Alex tomorrow.”

“How? Are you going to tell him you’re representing me? I think being upfront is the best approach.”

“Not quite.” He drank from his water glass, trying to figure the proper tactic how to handle this. How to handle her. “The soft approach is best, I think.”

Her eyes flashed with the briefest hint of anger. “What are you going to do, then? Call him up like an old friend and ask him out for drinks?”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

If looks could kill, he’d be dead, sprawled across the floor in less than ten seconds, what with the irritated glare Stasia was shooting in his direction. “That is a ridiculous idea. I didn’t hire you to become reacquainted with him, have a few drinks and reminisce over old times.”

“That’s not my intention—”

“Good,” she interrupted. “I’m not funding your happy hour reunions.”

Jesus, she was pissy. “We never did discuss terms or payment, now did we?” He leaned against the back of the booth, the velvety soft fabric cushioning him comfortably. “I’ll have you know my services don’t come cheap.”

She nearly choked on her drink. “You sound rather cheap with that sort of statement.”

Ah, a sense of humor. He didn’t know the woman had it in her. “I’ll have a document drawn up tomorrow with my normal rates and fees. If they meet your approval, we can have it signed and official in a matter of minutes.”

“Fine. I’ll pay you whatever’s necessary if you can convince the Worths to accept me as one of their own.” She nodded once, looking momentarily pleased. “But I must say, I don’t agree with your approach.”

“And how would you handle the situation if you were in my shoes?”

“I would set up a meeting immediately. Tell them that I want to talk to them, learn more about them.”

“They won’t believe that.”

She scoffed. “Why not?”

“They think all you want is a piece of the Worth pie.” When she frowned, he continued. “They think you’re after the money, Stasia. Which of course, you are, right?”

“I don’t want their money.” Her voice was cold, sending a chill straight down his spine.

“You can be honest with me. Attorney/client confidentiality and all that.”

“That’s all you think I care about?” Her voice rose, became almost shrill, and he knew he’d touched a nerve.

Fine, she could pose and bluster all she wanted. But why else would she go to such lengths to get in contact with the Worths? “I thought that’s what this was about.”

“Money.” She sneered, the disgust written all over her face. “That’s what makes the world go ’round, does it not? What everyone wants, what everyone believes they deserve.”

“Easy for you to say, considering you have no idea what it’s like to be poor.” He knew, knew more than any boy should have to witness. With abject poverty came absolute desperation, and he’d endured much at the hands of his mother. Never abuse, she wasn’t cruel.

No, more like she’d been completely naïve and horrendously impulsive, always at the detriment to both of them. For that was all they’d had—each other.

“I’m sure you don’t suffer,” Stasia tossed at him. “Being the greedy, ruthless lawyer that you are.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” he practically snarled.

“And you don’t know anything about me.” She sniffed, her gaze narrowed, elegant in her anger. “You have no business passing judgment.”

The waitress appeared with Stasia’s salad, setting it in front of her quickly, as if she were afraid she might get bitten. The tension at the table was palpable, his anger mixing with Stasia’s a living, breathing thing and in any other situation he would’ve marveled at that. Wondered why she invoked so much damn passion within him.

But tonight he was too furious.

“If you want me to represent you, then we’re going to have to get a few things straight,” he started when the waitress made her escape.

“No, you need to get a few things straight first. I’m not some money-grubbing woman looking for the next pile of money to fall into. I don’t care about that, I never have.” She stabbed her fork into her salad viciously, like she wanted to kill the lettuce with one precise thrust. “There’s more to this than you can imagine.”

“I’d love to hear all about it.” He rested his forearms on the edge of the table, truly interested in her explanation. Would it be another excuse? He’d heard plenty through the years, had grown rather weary of it all. She was so indignant, so offended by his implications he knew this story would be a good one.

That’s all it would be too. A fabricated story created to convince him that she was a good person with a generous heart. Utter crap, he knew.

“I am not about to tell you anything.” She pointed at him with her fork. “Not tonight. The look on your face says it all. You won’t believe a word I say.”

She was damn perceptive, he’d give her that. Grudgingly, he nodded, deciding it best he not answer her. They were going at it for no reason. If they were to continue this relationship, they needed to get along.

It wasn’t going to be easy. He knew this. But he had to get over whatever resentment he had for her and let it go. He wasn’t about to let her walk out of his life, not like this.

Not that he’d ever admit that to himself.

Stasia watched him eat, afraid to say anything for fear he’d snarl and growl at her again like some sort of feral beast. She’d had no idea the polished, handsome attorney could turn so coarse and rough in such a short amount of time. It had surprised her.