The Billionaire's Fake Engagement / Man From Stallion Country. Robyn Grady
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he hurled the paper at his kitchen counter.
His girl had left him, he’d been publicly hailed as a two-timing bastard and, as a side order, Dai Zhang must be wondering if Alexander Ramirez wasn’t a chip off his amoral grandfather’s block.
Every one of his ventures was run above reproach. Zhang’s money was destined for a sound project, one into which Alex had invested a fair stake of his own capital. He believed these research studies would make a difference, not only to his personal worth but also to the medical community who would benefit from improvements made to vascular tolerance of dialysis-dependent patients.
After reading that headline, however, it would be no surprise if Zhang, a respected businessman known for his high standard of principles, pulled out. Alex had worked hard to convince Zhang that these studies would succeed where others had failed, but this publicity made Alexander Ramirez look like a man who couldn’t be trusted. Particularly if this so called engagement was called off the same week it was announced.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
Unfortunately after last night’s events, Natalie had pulled the pin on their affair. This morning’s headlines would have her back up all the more. But Alex wasn’t prepared to have it end there.
The living room extension pealed.
Alex strode over, grabbed the receiver and growled, “Call back.”
“Mr. Ramirez?”
Unease rippled up his spine. “Who is this?” The voice sounded familiar. The next second he knew why.
“Mr. Ramirez, when are your nuptials taking place?”
His teeth clenched. “How did you get this number?”
“Natalie Wilder is unavailable for comment,” the reporter continued. “Does this mean the engagement’s off? Can you confirm that the party last night was a double celebration?”
Imagining the phone was the reporter’s head, Alex slammed the receiver down. Throwing up his hands, he strode away.
How to go forward.
What to do to save this mess from disintegrating more.
Then his faculties doubled back and swooped upon a phrase. Natalie was unavailable for comment? That reporter must’ve put her through the wringer already this morning.
He speed-dialled Natalie’s cell phone. Message bank. He got voice mail at her home number. Only one other place she would be.
When Natalie answered her office extension on the second ring, Alex sank into a nearby chair.
He smiled. “Good morning, carino.”
“Alex?” Two beats of silence. “I’m at the office.”
“We need to talk.”
“I’m not talking to anyone today unless they want to buy a property. I—I’m sorry but I have to go.”
She disconnected and he hung up, drummed his fingers on the desk and glared at the phone. “Stubborn woman.” Which was one of the reasons he liked her so much.
Alex stopped midthought.
What if, rather than a brash invention, his statement to that reporter had merely been a little premature? Now that the claim was out, perhaps he ought to make use of it, and in more ways than one.
Zhang was a man of principle, as was Alex. At the moment, nothing could be done about the paternity accusation. But perhaps he should stand by his engagement announcement. To retract now would only make him appear even less honorable in Zhang’s eyes, and when the paternity test came back, his name would be cleared.
And then there was Natalie.
When he married, he wanted a solid union: a calm, safe harbour for his children to grow up and excel in. Natalie seemed to possess all the qualities he admired—independence, charm, intelligence. And he couldn’t downplay how good they were together in the bedroom. Surely he could never tire of holding such a warm, giving body close to his. It stood to reason that kind of sexual compatibility would be a significant asset to any marriage.
No doubt Bridget would make some other man extremely happy. Her pedigree as A1 and she was sweet natured as well as attractive. But, even if it was proven that he had indeed fathered her child, Alex couldn’t contemplate sharing his life with Bridget Davidson. Natalie, on the other hand, would make a perfect wife. A wonderful mother.
Perhaps it was time.
He pushed up out the chair, entered his study and dialled open the sequenced lock on his desk’s drawer safe. A moment later he held the doubloon, a near priceless heirloom handed down from generation to generation. He’d respected its history, had every intention of following tradition. But now, as never before, he understood its true worth. He would do what was needed to carry on its proper succession.
And that meant winning Natalie Wilder back.
Chapter Four
Mateo Celeca swung open his harbor-side residence front door and gripped his friend’s hand. After a brief brotherly hug, he waved Alex through to the parquet entry.
“There’s a lot to be said for success,” Mateo closed the heavy door. “Finding time to catch up unfortunately isn’t one of them.” He folded his arms and slanted his head. “You look well, my friend.”
Alex took in Mateo’s olive complexion, striking today against his billowy white shirt and calico trousers. “You look better than well.”
“It’s the Mediterranean sun. When I visit home, I don’t want to return. Then Mama starts with her matchmaking, setting up chance meetings with ‘nice girls’, and I’m reminded why I need to get back.”
Alex joined in Mateo’s hearty chuckle. He’d visited “home” with Mateo one summer in their university days. Mama Celeca, Mateo’s grandmother, was a small lady with a big heart who believed every good man deserved a good woman. That summer he and Mateo had barely escaped Italy with their bachelorhood intact.
“You’ll find your Miss Right one day, Mat.”
“Perhaps you can give me some pointers.”
Alex cocked a brow. “You’ve read this morning’s paper, then.”
His hand resting on his friend’s back, Mateo ushered Alex through, past the polished honeywood staircase and down a wide hall, which boasted countless heirlooms and antiques, some dating back many centuries. Alex’s three-story Vaucluse residence was outstanding by anyone’s standards, but it still fell short of this kind of grandeur.
Mateo strolled with Alex toward the rear of his immaculate home. “From this morning’s story, your situation sounds…complicated.”
Alex exhaled. “I’ve heard that before.”
“From the expectant mother?”
“From the woman I’m sleeping with.”
“I take it you’re not happy with the father-to-be situation.”
“I could think of better scenarios.” Like Natalie being the woman pregnant with his child. That he could handle.
They entered the kitchen, an enormous sparkling affair, made all the more inviting by the faint scent of citrus and freshly grilled bacon.
Mateo retrieved two demitasses from an overhead cupboard and set the cups next to the espresso pot. “How are the women in your life coping?”
Alex gripped the back of a Chippendale chair. “One I haven’t spoken with in over six months. The other doesn’t want to see me again.”
Reaching for the pot handle, Mateo paused. “Perhaps I should offer you something stronger.”
Alex grinned. “Coffee’s good.”
Drinks