Vivian Arend - High Passion

He shook his head. “Too late and too little. There is another solution, and one that I think would benefit us both.”

She waited.

He raised a brow. “You could take advantage of the loophole in your grandfather’s will.”

Loophole?

What he’d said finally sank in and she went numb.

Oh. My. God.

Vincent sat back in his chair and smiled.

Alisha’s jaw hung open until she caught herself. “You’re insane,” she muttered. “Did you just . . . propose to me?”

He nodded. “It’s a simple solution, really. As soon as we’re married you’ll receive your shares, and with our joint influence I’ll be able to take control. Together we could save the company.”

Alisha picked up her wine and drank far too deeply. She needed something to combat the ringing in her ears that cautioned that her internal comment about him being insane had not been off the mark. She clutched the glass for a moment, staring out the window beside her at the twinkling lights decorating the thick stone balconies and tall black-iron posts. The mountains of the Bow Valley range beyond the ground of the hotel were blurred, fading into the clouds and the haze of nightfall.

This couldn’t be real. She’d slipped into a dream world— nightmare world —and she had to say the right words to break the spell, or she’d be trapped here forever.

“I’m honoured you consider us a good match, but we’re not in love.”

Vincent didn’t shift position. He didn’t change expression. “I didn’t mention being in love. I don’t expect it, even though I think we’d suit each other well.”

This was unbelievable. “That’s a little trite, isn’t it? Getting married to save the company? Because there’s an important dynasty to be preserved—”

“Isn’t there?” Vincent moved now, capturing her fingers again before she could pull away. “I’m going about this all wrong. I do care for you. Don’t mistake my lack of gushing for indifference. I simply see no reason to pretend unnecessary emotions.”

“And I see no reason to pretend this isn’t some monumental joke. I’m sorry, but I’m not marrying you. Not to save the company. I’ve chosen a different life, and I do not want to go back to the old one.” She shook her head at the impossibility of it all. “Please, Vincent. There are other options. Convince my father to change business tactics, or find someone who will sell you the shares you need so you can take control and fix things. I’d sell you mine if I could access them—but I’m not for sale.”

“You think I haven’t tried to find another solution?” Vincent demanded. “I’ve gone over all the options, and it’s the only possibility. I had hoped you would agree to a short engagement and quick wedding, but if you have a boyfriend, that complicates matters. You’ll have to find a reasonable explanation to call it off. Soon. Once you’ve done that, we’ll wait a few weeks, then announce our engagement, and we could still be married by Christmas.”

He hadn’t listened to a single thing she’d said. “I. Am. Not. Marrying. You. Why is that so hard for you to accept?”

Vincent shrugged. “It’s in your best interest.”

She glared, arms folded over her chest. “Don’t threaten me.”

“What have I said that was threatening?” He laughed, glancing around the room in amusement, his smile shining out to the world his supposed happiness. “I offered you a proposal of marriage. Hardly front-page news.” His face tightened, and suddenly he wasn’t so handsome anymore. “Unless you want to tell them everything I’ve mentioned tonight. Wouldn’t that information look wonderful splashed everywhere in the media.”

She clutched the arms of the chair so hard her fingers ached.

“No, Alisha. Even if you don’t mind your father losing everything, I don’t see you as the type to enjoy causing his downfall.” The sorrowful smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, that would be horrific, wouldn’t it? You, announcing your father’s incompetency to run the company? That kind of press would undoubtedly lead to a drop in stock value, and set off what you claim to not care about.”

“I would never get involved in that manner. I simply want to be left alone.” She hated that she was nearly begging.

“I agree. Forcing your father to be hurt like that would be cruel.” He ignored her real concerns again and pressed the issue. “It would be so much better to take a different approach regarding the media—perhaps announcing a far more lighthearted news item. Alisha Bailey being courted by Vincent Monreal, the two of us madly in love. One call, and I could have the paparazzi here—”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He motioned with both hands as if he were soothing a wild animal. “I think we’ve discussed this enough. You’re upset, and I can appreciate that hearing about your father’s incompetence has been shocking news. Once you’ve had time to process it, I think you’ll agree that marrying me is the best—”

“Dammit, Vincent. Listen to me.”

He focused on his plate as if she hadn’t even spoken. “Eat your dinner, it’s getting cold.”

The man was impossible. “I’m not hungry,” she snapped.

“You are being terribly rude.” Vincent lifted the wine bottle as if to refill her glass and finish the meal. As if the entire conversation hadn’t just headed off into crazyland.

Alisha left. She didn’t look back. Didn’t glance over her shoulder to see if he was watching her. She knew he was, though. Felt it.

His scrutiny wasn’t like the constant surveillance Devon had kept over the years. This was cold. Calculating.

She pulled out her phone as she waited for her car to be brought around, her fingers hovering over the link to call Devon.

The impossibility of it all made her pause. What would she tell him?

Vincent had . . . proposed to her? Intended to use her to take over the company? The whole situation was unbelievable. Heck, she’d give Vincent her shares if that were possible. She hadn’t lied—she didn’t want any part of her old life.

If she had to struggle to pay the bills her entire life, it would be worth it as long as she got to be in the mountains doing something incredibly valuable.

To Vincent and her father, she was nothing but a game piece to be used and moved to their best advantage. Even if Vincent had lied about the business side of things, one part was true—her father did expect her to return in a year, all her wild passions satisfied. Prepared to be a quiet, docile member of the family. She’d never intended to return. This . . . option . . . offered by Vincent didn’t encourage her, either.

Only this wasn’t something she could explain to Devon. How could she explain it when she could barely comprehend it?

She pushed her phone into her purse and got back into her car, the ride home colder and lonelier than she ever remembered.

It was far too early for the phone to ring. Devon blinked through the haze in his vision as his body responded to the call-out from Lifeline faster than his brain. He was on his feet. Pouring himself into his gear, waking up enough to get himself to respond. A glance at his watch showed he’d actually slept in, which he must have needed considering he still felt like hell.

The short trip to the Lifeline building passed in a blur.

“Looks as if we’ve hit stupid season early.” Marcus’s voice carried over the speakers in HQ as they scrambled to gather gear. “Sorry I’m not there, but I got stuck in Calgary last night. I didn’t expect another emergency so soon. Lana will be your contact in the office for any information you need.”