His Black Sheep Bride / The Billionaire Baby Bombshell: His Black Sheep Bride / The Billionaire Baby Bombshell. Anna DePalo
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with a quirk of the lips, “Your father would stop trying to interfere in your life. He’d be forever in your debt.”
She frowned. “Only because I’d be married to you!”
The price was too high.
“We’d seem to be married for a short while,” Sawyer allowed. “But we’d both know the truth.”
She felt an unexpected twinge, and then despite herself, she asked, “What about divorce? What happens to the companies then?”
“Once the companies have merged, I’m betting there’ll be no turning back. Your father will have his money, and he’ll be forced to concede the efficacy of the deal.”
“How convenient for you,” she responded. “You get your hands on Kincaid holdings without the long-term baggage of a Kincaid bride.”
Sawyer’s lips quirked again, and this time, she itched to wipe the smile off his face.
“I wouldn’t call you a piece of baggage,” he said.
“I’m not marrying you.”
“There’d be additional benefits for you.”
“Those being what?” she retorted.
“I’m in a position to help you move your jewelry business to the next level,” he said. “In a way your father hasn’t been.”
Her spine stiffened. “There are too many strings attached,” she said warily. “Anyway, what do you know about my design business?”
“I know Kincaid has refused to become an investor.”
Tamara relaxed. It was apparent Sawyer’s only clue about her business had come through her father.
She conceded that Sawyer’s persistence was a valuable business trait. But she wasn’t going to base her married life on a business deal—especially one where she had little to gain and all of her hard-won independence to lose.
“No thanks,” she retorted. “I’ve got the situation well in hand.”
“There you are!”
At the sound of a familiar voice, Tamara turned around and discovered Tom making his way toward them along the line of draped curtains, one champagne flute in each hand.
How had Tom thought to look for her here? Still, she was grateful for the rescue.
“Sorry, babe,” Tom said. “I was intercepted by someone I knew. He was a guy who used to play some of the same gigs as Zero Sum.”
Tom was the quintessential yet-to-make-it-big rocker. He was slightly unkempt, his brown hair curling at the neck of a black T-shirt and matching jacket. He and his band, Zero Sum, hadn’t given up on looking for their big break.
Tom had been her occasional date for the past year, whenever he was in town. But right now, Tamara couldn’t help contrasting him to Sawyer, who stood about half a head taller, and a world of difference away in smoothness.
Tamara considered herself tall—or at least, not short—at five-seven, but Sawyer had a considerable height advantage on her.
“Tom, you know his lordship, the Earl of Melton, don’t you?” she asked, using Sawyer’s title in order to strive for some emotional distance between them.
Sawyer’s look said he saw right through her ploy.
She ignored him. “My lord, may I present Tom Vance?”
She watched as Sawyer and Tom shook hands and took each other’s measure.
“Melton as in Melton Media?” Tom asked.
“One and the same,” Sawyer replied.
Tom’s face brightened. “Pleasure to meet you, ah—”
“My lord,” Tamara supplied, trying not to roll her eyes.
“My lord,” Tom repeated, and then shot a grateful look at her. “Thanks, Tam.”
“Tam?” Sawyer queried sardonically. “Like Tom and Tam?”
“You’ve got it.” Tom grinned, happy as a puppy.
Tamara could see the wheels turning in Tom’s head. To Tom, meeting Sawyer was like hitting the networking jackpot. Sawyer’s media outlets presented limitless opportunities. Free publicity! Advertising! Name recognition! In short, the kind of opportunity that Tamara’s father refused to provide to Zero Sum.
Sawyer glanced at her. “Tam—Ms. Kincaid, excuse me, won’t you? There’s someone who’s expecting me.”
Tamara had no doubt Sawyer had switched from Tam to her surname in order to mock her. Still, she was grateful their encounter was at an end.
Unfortunately, she didn’t think they’d also put an end to the subject of a dynastic merger—marital, corporate or otherwise.
Three
The bar of the Carlyle Hotel was as good a place as any for three notorious bachelors to lie low.
Or rather, two notorious bachelors and one notorious groom, Sawyer amended.
It was ironic for him to lie low, since he was the press. But these were his friends.
Like his two fellow aristocrats, he’d grown up here, there and everywhere. Still, despite their peripatetic existence, he and his bar companions had managed to become friends.
And now they had another thing in common. Ever since the wedding fiasco at St. Bart’s nearly two weeks ago, they were imbrued by the scandal of the moment.
The bar, with its dark woods and mellow lighting, was masculine and clubby and the perfect atmosphere to come together and commiserate.
It was also discreet without being sequestered. Because Sawyer would be damned if he was going to tuck in his tail and hide.
“Hell of way to crash a wedding, Easterbridge,” James Carsdale, Duke of Hawkshire, said, going straight to the heart of the matter.
“You could have given us some warning,” Sawyer added drily.
Sawyer had to admire Colin’s sangfroid. Of the three of them, the marquess was the most reserved and enigmatic. And now he’d just thrown not one, but two ancient British families into upheaval with his surprising news at the wedding—and his shock-maximizing method of delivery.
In response, Colin Granville, Marquess of Easterbridge, who’d been the last to arrive, took a swallow of his Scotch on the rocks.
They were sitting at one corner of the bar, away from the few other patrons. Since it was a hot and sunny day, and still a couple of hours from sunset, the dark bar was not even half-full.
“You’re the media, Melton, and you were a groomsman,” Colin finally pointed out lazily. “A double conflict of interest. You’ll understand why I didn’t take you into my confidence.”
Sawyer took issue. “You know I was picked as a groomsman because Dillingham and I are distantly related through our mothers. We’re not friendly in a true sense.”
“Yes,” Colin responded wryly, “but that fact, along with your role as one of the world’s most famous press barons, made you dynamite for the wedding party. The expectation of glowing press coverage was likely more than Dillingham could pass up. Not to mention cementing the extended family relationship.”
Sawyer shook his head. “As it turned out, the only dynamite at the wedding was you, and Dillingham got more media coverage than he bargained for.”
In response, Colin raised his glass in mock salute.
“If you couldn’t confide in Melton,” Hawk said, resting his elbow on the back of his chair so he could lean back in his position between his companions, “you could’ve at least