Can't Buy Me Love Page 4

  “What ever made you suggest he was gay?”

  Paige shrugged and took another stitch. “He could have any woman he wants, and yet he’s being forced to marry. I sat there today, and I kept hearing you say ‘Why you, Paige? Why you?’ over and over again. The only answer I could come up with was that he had to be gay.”

  “And so he kissed you to prove that he wasn’t? Oh, Paige, this is terrible.”

  “It was just a kiss.”

  “A kiss that has you all dreamy-eyed.” Maddie pointed a stern finger at Paige. “You stay away from him.”

  “Maddie, I’m going to marry him, remember? For better or worse, for one year for two million dollars?”

  “You’re going to need that money. When this is all over, we’ll hire the best cardiac surgeon in the world and have him fix your broken heart.”

  “Don’t be such a pessimist, Maddie. It’s just another ‘temp’ job.” Paige said the words and wished she could follow her own advice. After her reaction to him today she knew the next twelve months would be anything but a breeze.

  “What about the doctor? You two are going to the doctor and stuff, right? You know...just in case. You never know what may happen with the two of you playing man and wife and sleeping together every night.”

  “We both had blood tests to—sleeping together?” Paige dropped her needle but managed to stop short of jumping to her feet. “Oh, my God, I didn’t think about that.”

  “Well, you’d better. If he wants to keep the terms of the marriage a secret you can bet you’ll be in his bed every night just like a normal wife. He couldn’t have the servants talk, now could he?”

  “I just hadn’t thought of that. I mean, I’ve thought about it. I just never thought about it.”

  “What about your mom and Lydia? What are you going to tell them?”

  “I hadn’t thought about that either,” Paige agonized. “Maddie, what am I going to do? I can’t tell my mom I’m getting married in three days, and she’s not invited to the wedding. And I surely can’t tell her the marriage is a business deal and will end in a year.”

  “When they call I’ll tell them that you’re house sitting or something. If Blake keeps this marriage as much of a secret as planned, then they’ll never even know that you were married, or divorced. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Yes.” Paige wished she believed it herself. But if they did find out, how would they ever understand why she had hired herself out as a professional wife?

  ****

  Paige cast a look at Blake from the corner of her eye. He looked cool and detached. Almost angry. So she turned her gaze back to the judge and tried to listen to what he said. Something about troths to be plighted and vows to be repeated. She said the words not recognizing her own voice.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

  She turned to face Blake, his hazel gaze locking with hers. Her heart pounded, then his lips covered hers with the same fevered intensity they had that day in Noah’s office.

  Paige felt herself liquefying against him, clinging to him with both nervousness and desire. Then his lips were gone.

  Blake avoided her gaze and turned away without speaking. He shook hands with the judge and slipped him his fee.

  Paige lifted a hand to her lips. It was going to be one long year.

  ****

  “I never thought I’d see the day when a divorce attorney was the best man at a wedding. Kind of a bad omen, wouldn’t you say?” Noah asked as the wedding party walked out of the judge’s office and down the hallway.

  Blake frowned, trying to erase the feel of Paige from his memory. “You alone are a bad omen.”

  “Then what do you call that?”

  Blake pushed open the heavy door of the courthouse, allowing Paige and Maddie to exit before him.

  Reporters swarmed up the massive concrete steps. He saw microphone ID’s from three local TV stations, along with the Tribune, the Times, and two national tabloids.

  Blake cursed under his breath and grasped Paige’s arm and dragged her behind him through the throng of reporters and camera men. Blinding flashbulbs exploded around them, further igniting his anger.

  “Mr. Caldwell, is this your new bride?”

  “Mr. Caldwell, is it true your aunt’s will forced you to marry?”

  “When did you meet?”

  “Mr. Caldwell—”

  Blake forced his way through the crowd until he reached Noah’s Lincoln Towncar. He paused to take a deep breath so he didn’t immediately strangle Paige. She was the only one who could have tipped the press—her or her friend. He needed to get a grip on his temper; it would not help his case of defense to kill her in front of so many witnesses with video cameras. Some things were meant to be carried out in private.

  “I thought you understood this was to be kept out of the papers.” His voice was tight with barely controlled anger. He was furious, and he planned to stay that way. He would too, just as long as he didn’t look into her eyes. He centered his attention on the tip of her nose.

  “Blake, I—” she started over the din of the reporters’ hounding questions.

  “Shut up, Paige.” He was tired, and it was only mid-afternoon. He had not planned for his wedding day to go this way. Nice, quiet and simple. That’s how it should have been.

  Noah opened the back door of car for the newlyweds, then opened the front for Maddie. Blake forced his manners to the surface, then forced Paige into the luxurious back seat before folding himself in behind her.

  “I didn’t tell anyone,” Paige said. “I wanted to keep it as much a secret as you did.”

  Her words sent an odd pang through Blake’s stomach, something he didn’t have time to analyze. Nor did he want to.

  “Maddie?” he asked.

  Maddie turned and held up two fingers. “Scout’s Honor.”

  “Then how did they know?”

  “I didn’t tell them,” Paige said. “Neither did Maddie.”

  “Take it easy, Blake,” Noah admonished. “Anyone could have tipped the press. I cast my vote for Masters. Despite professional etiquette, there’s something about that man I don’t like.”

  “Shut up, Noah,” Blake said.

  He leaned back in his seat and rubbed his eyes. “Aunt Ginny trusted him enough to write the will in the first place, then I’m sure he was paid well to keep his mouth shut.”

  “Maybe it was like resale,” Maddie suggested. “And he was paid again by the reporters to open his mouth wide.”

  “Shut up, Maddie,” Blake said.

  Noah glanced in the rear view mirror at the steady stream of cars pulling onto the street behind them. “I guess Goosefoot is out of the question for dinner.”

  “Not unless you want to hold an impromptu press conference. Put this ark in high gear and lose those guys.” Blake turned around in his seat and looked out the tinted glass of the back window.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Noah said. “This car was made for luxury driving, not the Indy 500.”

  Blake sat back right in his seat and flicked the sleeve of his suit coat away from his watch. “Just step on it then. Maybe we can lose them in five o’clock traffic. I just can’t imagine who would have told them about the wedding and the will. But when I find out...”

  All three heads turned in his direction and three voices said in unison, “Shut up, Blake.”

  ****

  Paige had seen photos of the Caldwell mansion on the web, but no picture could compare to the real thing. Somehow the house managed to be both sprawling and regal. Tucked back in a forest of oaks and pines, the large red-bricked, white-columned, blacked-trimmed structure was barely visible from the road. It was further separated from the rest of the world—reporters included—by a tall, electronically controlled, wrought iron fence. The long, winding drive ended in a circular sweep that wound around a marble fountain surrounded by dancing cherubs and a rainbow of early-blooming flowers.

  Paige hugged Maddie in farewell as Bl
ake took her overnight case from the cavernous trunk of the Towncar. The whole situation was surreal as Blake assisted her up the wide brick steps that led to the tall black doors of the house. Before he could knock or ring or make any move to summon someone to the door, it opened.

  The man that stood before them was, in Paige’s opinion, the epitome of a butler. Dressed in a variation of a classic tuxedo, the man was cool, composed, and looked down his nose with just tiniest bit of expected contempt, and all without seeming obnoxious. Only the tiny black poodle he had tucked under one arm marred the look of Perfect Butler.

  “Master Blake.” His voice held just the slightest trace of an English accent. He gathered her suitcase in his free hand and bowed slightly at the waist.

  “Holmes. I’d like you to meet my bride,” Blake said as he stepped into the gigantic structure the Caldwell family called home.

  Blake’s manner was so casual Paige wondered if he had practiced both the words and the movement before they were actually executed to get them perfected to their current lazy art.

  The butler bowed again. “The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Caldwell.”

  “Paige,” she corrected. “Please, call me Paige.” She had no intention of using Blake’s name now or in the future. Just another way for her to keep her distance over the coming year.

  “As you wish, madam. I’ll take your bag up to the suite.”

  “Thank you, Holmes,” Blake said.

  “And I’ll tell Sylvia you have arrived. Dinner should be served shortly.” He bowed his head again, then handed Blake the squirming dog before trudging up the wide, winding staircase.

  Paige watched him depart. “I’ve never met a butler before.”

  “Pretentious, isn’t he?”

  Paige turned to stare at Blake. “I’m not sure how to answer that.

  The dog in his arms wriggled and panted obviously happy that his master was home.

  Blake smiled. “Until a few years ago Holmes was homeless. I took him in and gave him a job. You’d never know by looking at him now that he had ever been anything but a butler.”

  “Oh.”

  “I suppose I should warn you now. The rest of the staff is made up of people just like Holmes. Sylvia, the cook used to be a stripper. She’s originally from England; that’s where Holmes got his accent.”

  “You mean he’s not English?”

  “No, he’s from Wisconsin, but he thinks all good butlers must come from England. He made Sylvia teach him how to speak with an accent.”

  “You’re teasing me.”

  Blake shook his head and raised his hand echoing Maddie’s earlier oath. “Scout’s Honor.”

  “And you say the rest of the household is like this?”

  “The upstairs maid, Julie, was a prostitute. I’m not sure what the downstairs maid used to do, but I’d swear she packs a gun half the time. Her name’s Dancy. And the gardener, Maurice, is a recovering alcoholic.” He shrugged as if everyone’s domestics were as varied as his.

  “What about him?” Paige asked, unable to take her eyes off the wiggling black curls that made up the tiny dog.

  “This is Bruno,” Blake said. “He belonged to my aunt.”

  “Can I hold him?”

  “By all means.” Blake handed her the dog and Paige fell instantly in love.

  Bruno squirmed and grunted doing his best to lick her face. Paige laughed. “I’ve always wanted a dog.”

  “I guess it’s your lucky day.”

  Paige scratched the dog behind his ears and cradled him so his perfectly manicured nails wouldn’t snag the lace of her dress. It wasn’t a new dress, but it was her wedding dress. And it should be treated as special as it was.

  “Come,” Blake said taking her elbow and leading her up the stairs that Holmes had just ascended. “I’ll show you to our suite.”

  “About this afternoon,” he started quietly as he led her down an immaculate hallway of gleaming hard wood floors and pristine-white painted walls. “The servants are very loyal, but they’re still servants. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “You think I tipped the press.” Hot emotion filled her. How could he? They had a contract, and she would uphold that contract. “You couldn’t believe any of your angelic servants would tell the press, now could you?” She resisted the urge to set Bruno down so she could slam her hands onto her hips.

  “None of them know this marriage isn’t real.”

  “Oh.”

  “I plan to keep it that way.”

  Well, that had sufficiently taken the wind out of her sails and taken with it the only hope she had of getting a decent night’s sleep in the next year. After Blake’s confession on the origin of his servants, she had hoped they could drop the pretense of man and wife when they were at his house. She had hoped she wouldn’t have to sleep in the same bed with him night after night, after night...

  “You’ll sleep here.” Blake opened the door to a large sunny room, decorated in varying shades of yellow mixed with white. It was airy and clean, like sunshine and lollipops.

  “It’s beautiful.” In fact it was the most beautiful room she had ever seen. Not that saying that was saying much. She had been raised in a one room hut.

  She scratched Bruno under the chin and tried not to look at the four-postered oak bed with its buttercup yellow spread. Then what he had said struck her. She snapped her attention back to her husband. “Where are you going to sleep?”

  He walked over to a door and opened it revealing a bathroom decorated in sunny yellows and navy blue. He pointed to the door on the opposite side of the huge, rectangular room. “My room is through there. When my uncle first became ill, it became very difficult for him to share a bed, even to sleep. My aunt had the master suite redesigned. I’ve had my things in there,”—he pointed to the door—“since his death. The servants will expect you to sleep in the suite with me. There’s no need to alert them to which bed, but we’ll have to share the bathroom. I hope you don’t mind. I promise not to squeeze the toothpaste from the middle, and I’ll do my best to keep the toilet lid down.”

  Paige struggled with the intimate thoughts of sharing toothpaste and toilets with this man. She had survived in the jungles of Africa with no bathroom for miles. Sharing the elegant suite with the man at her side should be a cakewalk. Should be…“That won’t be a problem,” she finally said.

  “Good.” He turned and walked through the large bathroom toward the door he had indicated led to his room. He paused and turned to face her, a sheepish look on his face. “Just one more thing. In the mornings, so Julie doesn’t ask questions, would you mind making your own bed? Being an ex-prostitute and all....Well if the truth is ever made public, I don’t think she would understand why I’m paying you to sleep alone.”

  ****

  Paige held her ring up in the half-light of the moon that filtered into her room through the gauzy pale yellow curtains. It was a knuckle to knuckle band of gold that signified nothing more than she was married. Blake wore one almost identical to hers though not as wide. She couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps he was lying in his bed looking at his ring with the same wonderment.

  Paige shook her head at her fanciful thoughts, then rolled over in her big white and yellow bed. Men like Blake longed for women like Lydia: beautiful, elegant, and serene, not plain women like her: ordinary, average, and medium. A fact that she would do well to remember in the months to come.

  She pulled the covers over her head and drifted off to sleep.

  ****

  Blake wrapped the dark blue towel around his waist and stepped from the shower. The bathroom steamed with a cloud of fog. He liked his showers hot. Hot enough to make his skin red. Hot enough to mist over the mirror. Hot enough to ease the tension brought on by too many problems at Caldwell.

  He flexed his shoulders trying to dispel the tightness that remained even after his scalding shower. With the corner of a hand towel, he wiped clear a large circle on the mirror. The Hollywood lighting a
bove the mirror caught the band of gold on his left hand and sent the Midas sparks to reflect in the mirror.

  The restless night he had spent hadn’t changed any of the problems he faced. Caldwell needed new blood and fast or else it would be the company of yesterday. The last thing he needed right now was a new bride to care for. He had other responsibilities, like the jobs of the many people that worked for him. Like the new designs they needed to keep them afloat. Caldwell was the largest clothing manufacturer in the mid-West, but it had been slowly crumbling under his aunt’s short-sighted reign.

  Blake lathered his face with shaving cream and mulled over the problems of outdated designs, jobs, and brides. If only he could get his hands on a talented designer like the one who had fashioned Paige’s wedding dress.

  He made a mental note to ask her where she had bought the dress. It had to be someplace off the beaten path. Temp secretaries didn’t make enough to buy one-time dresses from the swanky boutiques on Michigan Avenue. Temp secretaries didn’t make enough buy dresses from there period.

  What was he thinking? Chances were that Paige had bought that dress off the rack in some discount store and had no idea who designed it or even what country it was made in.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  Blake whirled around at the sound of Paige’s voice. Her eyes were saucer-wide as she looked at him. He carefully avoided her gaze, casually turning back to his reflection. He scraped the blade down the side of his face, acting as if having a woman watch him shave was an everyday occurrence.

  “Come on in,” he said.

  In the mirror her glorious gaze captured his. The razor sliced.

  “Damn.” He knew better than to look her in the eye. The rest of her may be medium, but her eyes....were not. Every time he looked her in the eye he did something stupid, like kiss her. And her kisses hadn’t been any easier to forget than the other problems he faced.

  The blood from his chin mixed with the stark whiteness of the shaving cream turning it bright pink.

  “Are you coming in?” he asked again, then realized that she might need her privacy. “I’ll be done in a few. Ten minutes tops,” he said turning to face her, his eyes fixed on the delicate bow that held scooped neck of her robe together. Bruno was tucked under one arm, looking all the more like it was he place to be.