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Holy shit. Linda isn’t exaggerating, either. Not if Barclay’s face is any indication. That’s how much this man wanted money and power, enough to whore out his own wife?
“Prenuptial agreement, remember?” The man smiles acidly.
“It’s ancient,” she insists with a stomp of her foot.
“But binding.”
“We’ll see. In the meantime, I’m taking Weston’s money and spending my life with Marco, arealman who gives a damn about someone besides himself.”
“He’ll give a damn about you as long as you have cash, Linda. As soon as it’s dried up, so will his affection.”
“You don’t know anything about us.” She turns back to me. “Where do I sign?”
“It’s not quite that simple,” I say, glad the bickering twosome finally gave me an opening. “Mr. Reed—”
“I don’t need your money.”
“You don’t.” I nod. I’ve had this guy investigated over the past couple of days. He’s got a healthy bank balance to go with his rotting heart. “But as I understand it, you’re about to close on big deal with some slightly reluctant owners of a lucrative family-owned business. Great product, by the way. With the right exposure, it will take off and make everyone millions. You have an obviously good nose for business.”
“I do, which is why if you stop listening to whatever nonsense Harlow is spouting, you’ll see that you and I can make serious bank together and—”
“How would an openly religious family feel about knowing that you have a nasty predilection for seducing your very young secretaries and getting them pregnant? How would they feel about knowing you have two illegitimate children and another on the way?”
“You have no proof!”
“I do. Evan Cook bumped his DNA against Maxon’s. We have the test results. I’m also in the process of tracking down your other daughter, Bethany, right now.”
“That was decades ago. I’ll tell them I’m a born-again man.”
“Well, I also have a sworn statement from one of your more recent assistants, Liselle. She signed an affidavit that you hired her at twenty and had her pregnant a few months later. You fired her when she had an abortion and refused to warm your bed again. You’re on the verge of settling her lawsuit, aren’t you?”
“You bastard! What do you want?” He flushes red, green eyes flaring as if he’d like to get violent.
But Barclay is too smart for that. As much as it clearly chaps him raw, he knows I’ll annihilate him if he throws down.
“I want you to sign an agreement that, in exchange for my silence on this matter, you’ll never speak to Harlow again unless she makes a written overture to you first, which I will have to approve and have my lawyers vet. This offer is only good tonight. If you leave the reception before agreeing, I’ll be leaking the information of your indiscretions the second you drive away.” I turn back to Harlow’s mother. “And you won’t get a dime unless your husband falls in line—and stays there. So I suggest you start talking him into it now. I’ll give you two minutes to discuss.”
It doesn’t even take them that long to come to a consensus. They start whispering furiously before I’ve even walked away. Thirty seconds later, Barclay clears his throat. “Fine. We’ll sign. That whore of a daughter never lived up to her full potential. I’m happy to dump her worthless ass in your lap. You can take care of her now. But you mark my words…” He points a finger in my face, and it takes every ounce of my self-control not to punch the smarmy sneer off his lips. “She will be nothing but a disappointing albatross who drags you down. Enjoy that.”
* * *
It’s late when we leave the merriment. Harlow and I finally retire to the suite Maxon and Keeley reserved for us. A big tester bed draped in pure fluffy white, almost like a cloud, beckons. As we reach the threshold of the room, I hear the revelers fading in the background. Harlow fidgets by my side.
When I lift her into my arms, she clasps her hands around my neck and relaxes into my hold. “I can’t believe we’re married.”
“We are. And now I’m going to make sure you don’t forget it.”
Even in the low, flickering light of a dozen candles scattered around the room, I see her flush as I kick the door shut and carry her across the room while her shoes drop to the bamboo floor in a tumble.
“What doesmale ánamean?” she asks about the decorative sign on the door.
“Wedding.” I set her on her feet at the side of the bed and draw the gauzy white drapes shut.
“That’s fitting, then.” Her voice shakes. “You know, Maxon and Keeley have done a lot to spruce up this place in a short time and I think they—”
“Do you really want to discuss their decor right now?”
Harlow presses her lips together. “No. I’m just…nervous.”
