Can't Buy Me Love

And then he’d caught the name of the bride on the papers. Alexis O’Hara. Alexis. Brilliant and ambitious Alexis.

She was working on a pretty good legend, herself, being Vincent’s right-hand man, or woman, as it were. Had she suggested Dylan? Nah. Not judging by the pinched look on her face when she’d walked into the lobby.

He hadn’t prepared himself for his first sight of her because he didn’t think he needed to. He’d been wrong, as his body quickly informed him. His heart had kicked up a notch—several notches—his blood had warmed and things had definitely stirred in the southern regions. Just like that. Seven years since he’d seen her and just like that his every nerve was attuned to her. He’d barely stopped himself from sweeping her into his arms and kissing her with a pent-up passion that would have left no doubt as to their former relationship. But he had stopped himself and returned Alexis’s cool, polite smile with one of his own.

Vincent had been standing there, of course, and Vincent was the sort of man who would have made it his business to learn that Dylan and Alexis were once involved. But that was law school, Dylan reminded himself. Puppy love. Over long ago. A fond memory, very fond as his reaction just told him, but nothing more. Certainly no threat to the big guy.

No, the reason Vincent had hired him was more likely Dylan’s record when they’d gone head-to-head. That must be it. The man respected him. Figured he was one of the best.

He was, but men of Vincent’s stature and experience wouldn’t like to admit it. And choosing Dylan to negotiate his pre-nup? Vincent had to know he was elevating Dylan to the legal stratosphere. But if he thought that entitled him to any special legal wrangling, then he thought wrong.

Dylan continued to read, conscious of the utter silence in the room except for the sound of his voice. No objections so far. And why would Alexis object? She was going to get her salary and a bonus for each year she stayed married to the guy. And it was payable during the marriage, not a settlement upon dissolution of the marriage. No, Alexis would be getting a nice little anniversary present each year. The funds were to become her separate property. Nice work, if you could get it, and Alexis apparently could.

He hadn’t figured her for the type, the give-it-all-up and-lounge-around-the-pool-between-spa-treatments type. Not before her legal brilliance had a chance to shine on its own.

What a waste.

But his opinion was completely inappropriate. He wasn’t supposed to be having opinions.

And he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Alexis. Seeing her again had an unnerving effect on him. It was as though he’d entered a classroom to find her waiting for him as usual, and he was entitled to the hot feelings that coursed through him. But he wasn’t entitled. Unfortunately, the feelings were still coursing. He was remembering long hours spent in her arms, kissing until their lips had gone numb, studying until they’d fallen asleep together. The scent of her skin and hair. The curve at her waist. The—no. Put the memories away, Dylan.

Alexis had become a striking woman, not that he’d expected her to go to seed or anything. He was going to have to watch himself this weekend.

Dylan glanced up to find her inky-black gaze on him. He’d always been fascinated by her eyes. They were the darkest brown he’d ever seen. It was unnerving to stare at them, and she knew it and used her eyes to excellent advantage.

Once or twice, he’d seen emotion in those eyes, but not often. And not now.

DYLAN STILL HADN’T DEVELOPED a poker face, Alexis saw. He’d always been easy to read, so when he’d split up with her without warning a few weeks before graduation, she’d been stunned that she’d never seen it coming. Even now, she could remember the expression in his eyes. Surprise that she was so upset. And pity—she’d hated that.

But no regret. No second thoughts.

Now, those warm, caramel-colored emotional semaphores were signaling disapproval across the polished walnut of the Victorian dining table.

As if he had any right to approve or disapprove of anything she did.

And so what if he or anyone else did disapprove? If Alexis wanted to marry Vincent, then that’s what she was going to do. She’d earned the right to do whatever she wanted. She’d worked hard for years, and guess what? She’d been working to achieve a certain kind of life and now that she was pulling in the kind of money to support that life, she didn’t have the time or the energy to enjoy it.

Alexis was tired of working at this insane pace. And darn it, she wanted kids eventually, but she didn’t want to be put on the mommy track because she couldn’t routinely work eighty to ninety hours a week or because she took off a couple of years.

That’s what had happened to every woman who’d given birth while Alexis had been at Swinehart, Cathardy and Steele. And it wasn’t just her firm, or even law, itself. Even Marisa, who’d joined the firm at the same time as Alexis, and who had her mother, younger sister and a nanny living with her, had given up and now consulted from her home.

So, it still came down to family or career. But why did women have to make this wrenching choice? Why couldn’t they do both? She’d never heard of the men in her office agonizing over it. She knew they had families. New photos of smiling wives and children regularly sprouted on their desks, although that could be so they could recognize them when they crossed paths at home.

Still, they had something she didn’t. Something she wanted. And by marrying Vincent, she could have it. She could have it all.

A week ago, she’d been looking forward to collapsing and sleeping late Saturday morning—maybe even sleeping the whole weekend. She so rarely had a weekend off. She’d just given herself the old pep talk, the one that said being primary associate on Vincent’s high-profile team was worth it. Worth no personal life, worth the lack of sleep, worth missing birthdays and holidays, worth never really getting to know her three-year-old niece.

She could slow down later, she’d always assured herself at the end. That was the point when she usually slipped into her fantasy, the one filled with shopping, salon appointments, lunches and sleep, glorious sleep.

Except, she wanted to slow down—stop—now. She wanted the fantasy now. She hadn’t felt the same sense of satisfaction that she used to feel at the end of a big project. And the oblique remarks made by her mother and sister now stung. She would never know her three-year-old niece, her sister, Leigh, pointed out, because she hadn’t seen her niece as a three year old. And unless Alexis managed a trip to Austin before May 24, Madison’s fourth birthday, she wouldn’t.

Alexis had checked her Palm and found out that Leigh was right.

It had given her something to think about.

She’d been thinking about it last Friday after she and Vincent had finished work on a huge merger. Vincent had opened a bottle of champagne and the two crystal flutes she’d drunk coupled with the feeling of accomplishment and the magnificent high-rise view from Vincent’s equally magnificent office had loosened her tongue.

Vincent had waved an arm at the lights of Houston winking at them and asked, “How does it feel to look out there and know you’re one of the best?” She’d answered, “Not the way I thought it would.”

“Then you need more champagne,” Vincent had said. That was when he’d poured the fateful second flute.

Alexis never drank more than one drink in a business setting. But, Vincent was her mentor and she was so used to following his advice that she’d held out her flute without a second thought.

He’d clinked their glasses together and then she’d rashly drained hers, never tasting the pricey Dom something or other that Vincent kept chilled in his office refrigerator.

“Well?” One thick eyebrow raised. His face was impossibly tanned. Impossibly as in, where did he find the time to have the fake tan sprayed on? Alexis hadn’t even managed to find a reliable manicurist to come to her office.

“How do you feel now?” Vincent had asked.

“I want more,” she remembered saying. But when he’d held up the bottle, she’d shaken her head. “Not champagne. More.”

A smile had curved his lips.

Now that she thought about it, Alexis recalled that it was the same smile he gave opponents before obliterating them. It was an I’ve-won-but-I’m-going-to-play-with-you-awhile smile.

She hadn’t been an opponent, had she?

“You’re entitled to more.” He’d named a figure.

To her astonishment, Alexis had realized she’d negotiated a raise without even trying. “Has all this been worth it to you?” she’d asked him.

He’d looked her right in the eyes, his blue ones so bright and so sharp they cut through her champagne haze. “Absolutely.”

Alexis had felt herself relax until he added, “But then my biological clock runs longer than yours.”

Biological clock. Hadn’t that become a cliché yet? And yet once he’d mentioned it, she’d realized all her unease was probably related to that same biological clock. Cliché or not, she was thirty-one and had no boyfriend and no time to find one, along with tattered friendships and blood relatives who were strangers. She’d poured out all this to an uncharacteristically sympathetic Vincent. Oh, it had been a calculated sympathy, Alexis knew that, but she’d pretended she didn’t.

And then he’d said, “I have a proposal for you.” And that’s exactly what it had been.

She’d been shocked and then the idea had grown on her. Though he was older, Vincent was by no means unattractive and quite frankly, he could provide a better life for her than she could provide for herself.

And she didn’t want to hear any of this letting-down-the-sisterhood stuff, either. She’d just like to see how many of the sisterhood would turn down an offer like the one Vincent had made. Not many, and not Alexis.

So here she was, a week later, marrying a man she admired, but didn’t love. Who admired, but didn’t love, her. Still, they both wanted the same thing—a family and children. Well, Alexis also wanted a personal trainer and a standing appointment with a masseuse, but basically, she and Vincent were on the same page.

It made so much sense—Alexis would settle in to the marriage for a couple of months, then work on having children right away, and by the time they were well into elementary school, Vincent would be ready to take over parenting duties and Alexis would pick up her legal career where she left off. Thanks to Vincent, there would be no mommy track for Alexis. As one of the founding partners, he had that kind of power, and he was putting it in writing, right in this pre-nup that she should be paying attention to instead of mentally justifying her actions to a pair of caramel-colored eyes that still had the power to affect her.

“Alexis?” Margaret, her lawyer, gave her a look that meant Alexis had missed something.

In her late forties, Margaret had never married. She was hard as nails, humorless, and her roots needed retouching.

She was Alexis’s future.

No, not anymore. Not now that she was marrying Vincent. “Margaret?”

“Do you agree to the terms of the preceding clause?”

“I…”

“There is a significant—” Margaret paused to emphasize just how significant “—monetary penalty should you return to work. In addition, there is a non-compete clause that troubles me.”

“It didn’t trouble Alexis,” Vincent inserted smoothly.

“We have had barely forty-eight hours to review the contract.” Margaret peered at Vincent over the top of some unflattering reading glasses. They were in no way stylish, nor had they ever been. Shopping for frames would take time, time a high-powered attorney like Margaret didn’t have.

“I would suggest that if Alexis works for another firm, you mitigate the financial penalty,” she said.

“I wouldn’t work for another firm.” That would be defeating the whole purpose of the marriage.

Margaret and her awful glasses turned to Alexis. “All the more reason to take a second look at those financial terms.”

Alexis didn’t want to take a second look. Truly, she was going to start on a family right away and planned to spend the next few years decorating nurseries and changing diapers in between rejuvenating facials. No sense in wasting time. No sense in destroying the lovely weightless bubbly feeling she’d had ever since she’d agreed to marry Vincent and let him worry about acquiring money for a while.

And then Dylan spoke. “Vincent, I usually advise my clients to provide for the unexpected. In this instance, a clause dealing with your possible incapacitation would not be amiss. Should your income stop, under these terms, Alexis would be penalized for supporting you.”

Dylan sure was a real lead weight.

Vincent gave him a patronizing smile. “If I had wanted such a clause, then I would have inserted it myself.”

“If you’d thought of it.”

“I did.”

“Judges like to see those clauses.” Dylan wasn’t intimidated in the slightest, Alexis would give him that, though not much more. “They’re a sign of good faith and make the pre-nup harder to break.”

“I expect an unbreakable contract from you, Dylan. Is my faith misplaced?”

“Not if your faith takes my advice.”

Sheesh. Why didn’t they just unzip their pants and get out rulers?

“Alexis has faith, don’t you, Alexis?” Vincent asked.

Dylan’s gaze flicked to Alexis at the same time Margaret’s foot nudged hers. Yeah, yeah. The clause should be there. She couldn’t help feeling that it was some kind of test, though.

“Vincent…” she began.

“If I’m incapacitated, then more than ever, I would want my lovely wife by my side.” He reached across the table and squeezed Alexis’s hand. “We’d hardly be destitute. I have a lifetime income from the firm.”

“Oh.” Wow. Maybe she’d never go back to work. Work was overrated. Spa paraffin and sea-salt scrub pedicures were not. Alexis slipped back into her fantasy as one of the rich and idle.

She heard a buzz and saw Vincent remove his cell phone. “Excuse me. I need to take this.” He raised his eyebrows at Alexis. “Briarwood.”

The next big case. One that she would have been working on with him if she hadn’t been planning a wedding in a week. “Of course,” she mouthed. But Vincent had already turned away and was leaving the room.

“Alexis, you and I need to talk.”

“Margaret—”

“But not now.” Margaret picked up her copy of the contract and stood. “I’m going to look up a couple of things.” She pointed at Dylan. “You know the rules. No discussing the contract unless I’m present.”

Dylan sat back in the chair, palms outward. “Hey. She’s a lawyer, too.”

“She was,” Margaret stated over her shoulder as she jogged out the doorway.

That stung a little until Alexis told herself that Margaret was just jealous. Who wouldn’t be?

She turned her gaze to the man across the table to find him watching her. She watched him back. He looked the same. More polished and with shorter hair, but basically the same. They might have been sitting across from each other at one of the heavy wooden library tables at school. They’d always had to put the table between them so they could concentrate on studying instead of each other.

It rarely worked then and it wasn’t working now.

Dylan had never been one of those catch-your-breath attractive men, but he made the effort with what he had and the effect was a nonthreatening handsomeness. Except now, it was threatening her peace of mind. She narrowed her eyes at his tan. Fake. When did these men have the time?

“So,” he said.

“So,” she said back. He was going to be trouble. She could tell already.

“Long time no see.”

“Commencement.” She’d stared at the back of his head two rows ahead and alternated between fury and heartbreak. But she’d recovered.

“So how have you been, Alexis?”

“Good. I’ve kept busy.”

“You’re being overly modest. The mere mention of your name strikes fear into the hearts of small-business owners everywhere.”

Was that a compliment, or not? And did she care? “I’ve heard your name bandied about, as well.”

“I’ll bet you have.”

“Usually ‘that damn Dylan Greene.’ You should change your letterhead to D. Dylan Greene.”

He laughed. “Yeah. Vincent has had to restructure a couple of deals when he couldn’t break one of my pre-nups.”

“Actually, I did the restructuring.” Hours and hours and hours of restructuring.

“You get to do the dirty work, huh?”

Alexis folded her hands on the table in front of her. Gripped her knuckles, actually. Hard. “I get the experience.”

“Which you are now throwing away.”

Alexis drew a deep breath. So much for their stilted little conversation. “Watch it, Dylan.”

“I am watching it.” He pushed back from the table and stood. Shoving his hands in his pockets he walked over to the huge windows looking out on the Colorado mountains. “I’m watching a woman throw away her career. What happened to you, Alexis?”

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