“I’m sure I don’t know all the particulars of your situation. But I know that you need cash, and you have few options left, especially considering your…record.” That blush rose in her cheeks again before she continued, “I need cash as well. I’m desperate too, actually.”
I let out a sigh. “I’m sure if you went to Daddy, all this could be resolved. Things are rarely as desperate as they seem.” Except in my situation they actually were.
Her eyes spit fire at me, but her expression remained neutral. “No,” she said. “Things will not be resolved with my daddy. We had a falling out over a year ago.”
“Uh-huh. And how have you been getting by since then?”
She paused as if she was considering her answer. “I’ve been overseas.”
Shopping, most likely. Or sunning herself. I ran my eyes down her legs again—lightly tanned legs. And now her personal funds had run out and Daddy wasn’t going to supply her with more. How tragic.
“Do you have something against getting a job? Do you have an education?”
“My college career was…cut short. And no, of course I’m not against getting a job if need be. But”—she sat up even straighter—“suffice it to say, I came here today believing this was the better course of action for all involved.”
My head throbbed again. What did I care about her exact situation anyway? “Okay, can we cut to the chase here? Like you so succinctly pointed out, my vineyard is failing. I’ve got a lot of work to do today.”
“Right. Well, yes. Mr. Hawthorn, you see, my grandmother, my father’s mother, lived modestly, but thanks to some fortuitous investments my grandfather made, she died with quite a bit of money. She left it to her two grandchildren, me being one, the other a cousin I don’t know well. However, she stipulated in the trust that we only get the money either when we turn thirty or get married, whichever comes first.”
I sat back again, steepling my fingers.
“And so,” she went on quickly, “what I propose is this: we marry, split the money, and in a year’s time, file for divorce.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Split the money? How much money are we talking exactly?”
“Almost a million dollars.”
My heart started beating faster. Five hundred thousand dollars. It was even more than the loan I’d hoped the bank would approve. It would be more than enough to make all the equipment and house repairs. Enough to bottle the wine sitting in barrels right now. Enough to add at least a couple employees too. And if the newest harvest was as good as I predicted, this winery would be successful again in less than a year. I could fulfill the vow I’d made in my father’s name.
I remained silent, not only going over what she’d just said but also to make her squirm. She didn’t. Finally, I said, “Interesting. There’s no clause about how long we’d have to remain married?”
She released a breath and shook her head, no doubt assuming my question meant I was actually considering this insane idea. Was I? Was this even legit? Surely there was some catch. It was too preposterous to be true. My head was reeling just a bit and not only from the hangover anymore. “No, but my father would be…displeased if he knew I had married to get the money my grandmother left only to split it with you…that is, with anyone.” Something raced across her expression, but I couldn’t read it. “If he had any indication this was a fake marriage, he might very well try to contest the payout of the trust. It would be in both our best interests to make the marriage look as legitimate as possible. However, like I said, my father and I are estranged. I imagine our effort would only need to be minimal but convincing.”
I raised my eyebrows, allowing myself another moment to go over what she’d said. It was outrageous, unbelievable. “Wait, you’re not”—I leaned forward—“one of those crazy women who used to write to me in prison offering marriage, are you?”
Her eyes went wide. “What?”
I reclined back again. “Yeah, there were lots of them. Apparently, some women find a sick thrill in that sort of thing.”
“For what…why?” She shook her head slightly as if she wasn’t sure how the conversation had veered off track. Her confusion seemed genuine.
“Apparently, some women like a bad boy.”
She looked at me blankly for a moment. “I can assure you, I’m not one of those women.”
I nodded slowly, regarding her. “Well, good, because I can assure you that you’re not my type anyway.”
She bristled, sitting up straighter. “Even better, then. What I’m proposing is strictly business, nothing more.” She looked away, and I couldn’t see those witchy eyes, but when she looked back, her cheeks were rosy again. “However, it would look suspicious if I didn’t live here, and frankly, Mr. Hawthorn, I need somewhere to live. And so I was thinking that in exchange for the housing, I could do accounting work for you. I assume you no longer have much of a staff.”
I leaned forward. “I’m impressed by your research, Ms. Dallaire. No, I had to let my bookkeeper go. And my secretary. And most of the rest of the staff as well.” Not that any of them had lived on the grounds.
She nodded. “I’m good with numbers. I worked as an intern for my father’s accounting team. I’m well acquainted with accounting programs. I could work for you in exchange for room and board, and obviously for appearance’s sake. I don’t propose I’d have to live here for a year—maybe just a couple months or so, or until I know my father has accepted the marriage and resumed ignoring me. I could discreetly move away, and we would never have to see one another again—except, of course, in divorce court. It really would be very straightforward. And very temporary. And of course, we’d put it all in writing. And please, just Kira.”
I studied her for several long moments, noting the way she’d just rambled. She looked to be polished and sure, but was she actually nervous sitting here in front of me? I held eye contact for just a beat too long, but she didn’t look away and didn’t flinch. “And what will you do with your half of the money, Kira? If I may be so bold as to ask.”
She cleared her throat. “Well, other than live, I’m involved in several charities in San Francisco. One of the centers is in dire straits and will have to close if they can’t come up with the funding.”
I smiled a tight smile. Ah. Just like my stepmother. An heiress with an empty life. I could just see her pulling up in her Bentley to save the lowly peasants from starvation so she could refer to herself as a philanthropist before dashing off to the Louis Vuitton store to add to her luggage collection. “I see.” What did it matter to me what she did with her money? Or what her purpose was? I needed only to be concerned with my own situation. “It’s a highly unusual proposition. I’ll think about it and get back to you.” I started to stand.
“Well, see, I kind of need your answer quickly.” Her voice came out fast and breathy. My body, or at least the parts between my legs, twitched again. Dammit. Something about my body’s reaction to her made me angry. Although the parts reacting had never been very discerning.