CHAPTER FOUR

      “WHAT?” HER EYES went round as big blue plates. “Why? No.”

      “It’s what she wanted.” He moved back to the safe and brought out the pages he’d removed from the portfolio, the one with his own head shot atop it. “I was in there, too.”

      “No.” She shook her head and spoke in a hurried, half-panicked tone. “She often asked me to include you as a comparison when I prepared reports like this. She regarded you very highly, always measuring other businessmen by the standards you set.”

      “She asked me nine different times in the last year to come visit. How many times were any of those men invited here?”

      “They live in the city. She didn’t like to travel. She probably wanted you to come so she could tell you she was leaving everything to you.”

      “She wanted me to meet you. Look.” He flipped past the summary of his holdings and showed her the contract with their names already written into it.

      Her sharp inhale told him that had been a blow she hadn’t expected. He’d been shocked, too. And had wanted to see her reaction, to be sure she hadn’t set this up. Her lips were white, her pupils tiny dots.

      “You don’t want to marry me! Do you?” she asked with trepidation.

      “Marriage has not been a priority for me,” he admitted, but frowned.

      Mae was the only person he had ever listed as his beneficiary because she was the closest relative he had. There were reasons he hadn’t pursued marriage and children, one of them being that he would have to wade through a swamp of gold diggers to find someone suitable.

      Regardless of how uncomfortable it made him that Mae had plotted like this, there was something very expedient and businesslike in having marriage and progeny sourced and negotiated so all he had to do was agree to the terms. It provided a beautifully simple means of keeping emotions out of the equation.

      “You could just give me the dowry,” Luli urged with faint hope.

      If everything she had told him was true—and he was beginning to think it was—then she was too inexperienced to strike out alone, especially in a major center like New York or Paris, money in her pockets or not. The idea of her disappearing into thin air didn’t sit well.

      “It’s very likely Mae intended to make our marriage a condition of my inheriting.” He likely would have refused, but now he’d met Luli and wasn’t so sure. He saw so much untapped potential in her. “In the same way I’m honoring her arrangements for the staff, I should provide you what she intended you to have.”

      “A husband? Lucky me,” she choked.

      He was both amused and insulted.

      “This is a very quick means of gaining you residency in New York, where you said you wanted to go. I’d prefer to get back there without delay.” He handed her the contract. “Read it. If you agree it’s favorable, we’ll sign it in the morning, marry and be on our way.”

      “New York? Really?” For the first time, an avid flash glittered in her eyes.

      It made him cautious enough to add, “And this way I can be sure you’re not embezzling to accounts in South America or dropping inconvenient PR bombshells.”

      She rolled the contract and held it in her fist, cocked her head in suspicion. “Am I supposed to disable everything now?”

      “This isn’t a trick.” He hid a smile at how much he enjoyed the way she held ground and presented a challenge at every turn. “Disable the timer. I’ll break in on my own time and assess what you’ve done. I don’t like that you’ve found vulnerabilities. I’ll examine those doors and seal them myself, ensure nothing like this can happen again.”

      Maybe this was the real attraction to marrying her, he mused as she frowned and left the room. He wanted to delve past her defenses and understand how she worked.

      * * *

      It was an opportunity that felt too good to turn down. And Luli had run out of options. Losing Mae had left her bereft in many ways.

      The marriage contract was quite generous, but he didn’t really want to give her an allowance, did he? Not that much? She crossed it out and set a question mark beside it for discussion. What about the settlements for children? Did he expect them to have sex? Or was this a marriage in name only?

      She went down early the next morning, wanting to talk it out, but he was much in demand. Solicitors and other officials were literally queued up, waiting their turn while he signed papers, made arrangements for Mae’s cremation and held a small press conference.

      She finally caught his eye by hovering in the doorway as he was dismissing someone.

      “Ready?” he asked, waving her in with a frown at what she was wearing.

      He had asked her to put on something for travel, but she didn’t own anything except her uniform dresses. She had stolen into Mae’s closet for the only clothes that fit her wide hips and ample chest. The pleated skirt was a mustard color, the brocade jacket double-breasted and so dated it had mattresses for shoulder pads.

      She smiled a hesitant greeting at Mae’s lawyer who sat with a clerk on the sofa, papers laid out before them on the coffee table. Another man rose as she entered.

      Gabriel took the pages from her, reading as he said, “Close the door. This is Mr. Johnson from the American embassy. He’s liaising with the Venezuelan authorities to obtain your emergency passport and issue your permit to enter the US.”

      “Oh. Thank you. Nice to meet you.” She shook the American’s hand.

      “I understand you’re both very much in love,” Mr. Johnson said, making a facetious V with his lips.

      “What...?”

      “He’s officiating our marriage.” Gabriel leaned on the desk to affix his signature to the bottom of the contract in a firm scratch. He offered the pen to her. “Which is, of course, a love match and not a work-around for residency.”

      She opened her mouth, wanting to say she had come in here to discuss the contract, not sign it. Not do this.

      But there was Mr. Johnson, waiting to issue her a passport and the right to enter the US. All she had to do was keep her mouth shut.

      She pressed her lips tight and took the pen in fingers that felt nerveless and clumsy. Her scrawl was jerky and not the least bit pretty. In fact, she couldn’t recall the last time she had written