Lee Wilkinson - The Marriage Takeover

A hand beneath her elbow, he urged her towards the table and the appetizing smell of coffee. ‘This is California. Even up here, where the air’s cooler, you’re already wearing more than you need.’

Seeing nothing else for it, she sat down, hiding her legs under the table.

Smiling a little, he took his own seat and poured coffee for them both, before asking, ‘Would you like to start with some cereal?’ When she shook her head, he helped her to scrambled eggs and thin slices of crispy bacon.

Sitting in the sun, a balmy breeze rustling the palm fronds and wafting the scent of frangipani, the mountains making a majestic backdrop, they ate in silence, Lang looking relaxed and easy, Cassandra anything but.

What had he meant by plans? she wondered uneasily. It had sounded almost like a veiled threat…

Oh, don’t be a fool! she scolded herself crossly. What possible reason could a man in his position have for threatening her? Until the previous day she’d never even met him, let alone given him any cause to want to harm her.

Lang Dalton was her boss, nothing more or less. A wealthy, influential, highly respected entrepreneur, not some kind of bogeyman.

Probably plans had been a reference to some quite innocuous outing. He’d told Alan that he would show her ‘something of the area’.

When, eating abstractedly, she’d done justice to the meal, Lang refilled her cup and, his voice casual, said, ‘Oh, by the way, your fiancé wrote you a note while he was snatching a quick coffee.’

Why hadn’t he mentioned it before? she wondered vexedly.

As though in answer to that thought, he added with an ironic smile, ‘In the general excitement, I’m afraid it almost slipped my mind.’

Feeling in the pocket of his shirt, he produced a folded piece of paper and handed it to her.

Confirming Alan’s haste, his almost painfully neat writing had degenerated into a scrawl.

Cass, darling, sorry to leave without seeing you, but in the circumstances it seemed a shame to disturb you. While we were talking last night, Mr Dalton told me where he planned to take you, so enjoy your weekend, and I’ll catch up with you in Las Vegas Sunday evening.

Love, A.

Looking up, Cassandra asked blankly, ‘Las Vegas?’

‘I thought you might like to see the place,’ Lang said easily. ‘We can drive over to Nevada—you’ll find the journey itself is a pleasure—and stay a couple of nights at the Golden Phoenix… I’ve arranged for your fiancé to be flown straight there from LA…

‘Apart from the fact that Vegas is well worth seeing for its own sake—it was a frontier outpost and railway town before becoming a gambling mecca—it’s surrounded by some magnificent desert scenery.

‘Death Valley lies to the west, and from nearby McCarran International Airport there are flights that offer a bird’s-eye view of the Grand Canyon.’

‘That sounds wonderful,’ she admitted, feeling both excited and relieved. A trip to Las Vegas in a chauffeur-driven car, and staying at a hotel with plenty of people, had to be a great deal easier than remaining here with only Lang Dalton for company.

‘I’m glad you approve.’ So far so good, he thought, and asked softly, ‘Are you anything of a gambler, Cassandra?’

‘No. Are you?’

He smiled thinly. ‘Not in the usual sense. I have been known to play for high stakes, but only when the odds are stacked in my favour.’

Something about his answer made her feel uneasy, but, telling herself that she mustn’t start imagining things again, she asked, ‘When do you plan to start?’

‘As soon as possible. How long will it take you to get ready?’

‘Ten minutes?’

Nodding his approval, he rose to his feet and pulled out her chair.

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