Anne McAllister - The Inconvenient Bride

“We won’t—”

“It is possible,” Douglas went on as if Dominic hadn’t begun to speak, “that I could agree with you. If you and Viveca…”

Dominic slammed his pen down on the solid teak desk.

“Haven’t I spoken of Viveca?” Douglas was all mild innocence.

“No,” Dominic said through his teeth.

“Ah. Well, she’s why I called actually,” Douglas said with determined good cheer. “Lovely girl. Stunning, really. Pauline Moore’s daughter. You remember Pauline. Miss America pageant. Mensa. Phi Beta Kappa. Ran into Pauline and her daughter at the club on Monday. Pauline introduced us. Wondered if I didn’t have a son about her age. Of course she meant Rhys. Viveca’s much younger than you. Gorgeous girl. Long blond hair. Brilliant. Witty. Charming. Did I tell you she’s getting a Ph.D. in art history. She—” Douglas was gearing up for a long discussion of Viveca Moore’s best qualities.

“Cut to the chase,” Dominic said wearily.

“Marry her,” Douglas said flatly.

“What!”

“You heard me. Get married. To her. You need to get married. To have children. To carry on the line. Marry Viveca,” Douglas said, “and I’ll tell Tommy we’ve taken another direction.”

“I’ll tell Tommy we’ve taken another direction and I won’t have to marry her.”

There was a second’s silence. “Then I’ll tell the board I don’t support you.”

It was as if all of Manhattan had ground to a halt. For one long moment there wasn’t a sound, beyond the pounding of his own blood in Dominic’s ears.

And then he said with a calmness he didn’t begin to feel, “Is that a threat?”

“Of course it’s not a threat,” Douglas blustered. “It’s a damn promise, boy. You’re not getting any younger. You’re thirty-six years old! You should have got over that nonsense with Carol—”

“Carin.”

“Carol, Carin—whatever her name was—years ago! It’s like riding a horse, lad! If you fall off you don’t run away and lick your wounds, you damned well get back on again.”

“Marry the next woman down the pike, you mean?” Dominic was amazed his voice sounded so mild. He felt like the top of his head was about to come off.

“Of course not. Not just any woman! But there’s plenty of damn fine gals around. You’ve had a dozen years to find one and you haven’t done it!”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

“Nonsense!” Douglas didn’t even consider that. “You need to. For the business if not for yourself. People trust a married man. He seems responsible, reliable. They’ve given you the benefit of the doubt for years. But you’re walking the edge now. Besides,” Douglas changed his tack, “you’ve got the makings of a fine family man. A fine father.”

“Like you?” Dominic’s voice was scathing, but his father didn’t even notice.

“Chip off the old block,” Douglas agreed without missing a beat. “That’s why I know you’ll like Viveca.”

“I don’t want—”

“You don’t know what you want anymore! I bring you a redhead, you want a blonde. I bring you a homemaker, you want a Ph.D. I bring you a—”

“I want you to stop bringing me women!”

“I will.”

“When?”

“After tonight. After you meet Viveca. You won’t want another woman after Viveca! She’s everything you want. A blonde. A homemaker with a Ph.D.! And—”

“And if I don’t marry her you’re going to go to the board with a vote of no confidence,” Dominic said through his teeth.

There was a split second’s hesitation. Then Douglas said, “You’re damn right.”

Dominic understood that split second. It was the point-of-no-return. It was the jumping off spot. The last chance to turn back.

Douglas hadn’t turned back.

“Viveca and I will be in the city this evening,” he said firmly. “Join us—and Tommy—for dinner at Le Sabre’s. At eight.”

“I’ve got—”

“At eight, Dominic.”

The phone crashed down in his ear.

Dominic stared at it. Then he set it slowly back in its cradle. He tilted back in his chair and shoved it round so that he sat staring at the rain coursing down his window on the world. He drummed his fingers lightly on the arms of his chair and considered his options.

He supposed idly that he should have spiked his father’s guns before now. He should have put his foot down years ago, should have said, “Back off,” both in terms of the company and in terms of his life.

He hadn’t because he’d spent his life admiring his father. He’d admired the old man’s determination, his tenacity, his fierce, indomitable will. He’d grown up wanting to be just like him.

He’d dug in and endured the “from the ground up” apprenticeship that his father had deemed necessary for taking over the business. He’d got his hands dirty. He’d worked days and nights, holidays and weekends. He’d done everything that was ever asked of him—and he’d done it well.

A dozen years ago he’d even let the old man pick his bride because he understood why his father wanted ties between his company and Carin’s family’s. It had been good business sense, and he’d liked Carin—what he knew of her. He’d been sure he would have made a good husband.

It was Carin who had run. Not him.

And when she had, leaving him hurt and humiliated beyond belief, still Dominic had believed in the theory behind his father’s actions.

Even now—God help him—he believed Douglas was right. In business married men did seem more trustworthy. More predictable. Less like loners or loose cannons. Some of the CEOs in other corporations he’d done business with recently had implied as much. They’d suggested that he bring his wife to various functions and had lifted a brow just a little when he’d said he didn’t have one.

He imagined his father was right, too, that this Viveca, whoever she was, would be the consummate corporate wife. Blonde. Brilliant. Bloodless. Charming. Capable. Clever. The perfect accessory for a CEO to wear on his arm.

Dominic shut his eyes for a minute and saw the future. Saw himself and the bloodless blonde his father had chosen for him.

He opened his eyes and stared out the window at the streaming rain.

It was warm inside, cold out there. The windows were fogging up, reminding him of other foggy windows, of a night out of time—of steam and sex and a woman who wasn’t bloodless at all.

And he felt his body harden now at the mere memory of her—and of that night.

For the past three months he’d been doing his damnedest to forget.

He’d been trying since February to pretend it never happened, Then, because he couldn’t manage that, he’d tried to convince himself that it would never happen again.

He didn’t believe it ever could.

Sex like they’d had that night was a once in a lifetime thing. It had to be. He’d certainly never had it before—or since.

It certainly hadn’t happened with Marjorie.

What if—

He tried not to pursue that thought. He couldn’t help himself.

What if it hadn’t been a fluke? What if they could do it again? And again?

His mouth went dry. His palms got damp. A very unprofessional, unbusinesslike reaction was taking place in his fine worsted charcoal wool trousers. He tugged at his grey-and-burgundy striped tie. It was the same tie…the one she had…

He sucked air.

Then he shoved himself out of his chair, stalked across the room and flung open the door to the outer office.

Shyla held out the phone to him. “Dominic, Mr. Shiguru on line two and Ms. Beecher has been on hold—”

“Not now.” He didn’t even break stride as he grabbed his raincoat and headed for the door.

“Dominic! Where are you going?”