The Last-Minute Marriage

Not seeing this deal through this afternoon might well cost him thousands. But it couldn’t be helped. When Marcus made a decision the decision was made—and his decision was made right now.

‘If you’ll set everything back a few hours, I’ll take Peta over,’ he told Ruby. And then, as his assistant’s eyebrows hit her hairline, he clinched it.

‘I’ll face Charles Higgins with her.’

‘You…’

Marcus was left in no doubt of what she thought of him. She was still seated, with Marcus and Ruby speaking over the top of her. She was still—waif-like? Her mop of chestnut curls was tousled and wild, her freckled nose was completely free of make-up and that dollop of jelly was still there. And so was her antagonism towards him. Peta stared up at him and he thought ruefully that he might as well be Charles Higgins himself. Was it the suit? he wondered. Or the presence of his assistant? Tokens of power… Whatever, there was no doubting that she was looking at him with contempt, as if such an action as he proposed was just a figment of his imagination.

‘Why not?’ he demanded. He looked from Peta to Ruby and found their expressions matched. Both women were looking at him as if he’d lost his mind.

‘The project is important,’ Ruby murmured, but he thought he detected a trace of a smile behind her normally expressionless eyes.

‘I know. I’m trusting you to keep things on ice until I can take over again.’

‘And when will that be?’

‘A couple of hours.’

‘Let’s keep you clear until tomorrow,’ Ruby suggested and there was no mistaking the laughter now. ‘You might find ankle-fixing and clothes-shopping and lawyer-facing takes a bit longer than you think.’

‘Um… Maybe you can do the ankle fixing and the shopping,’ he said, suddenly uneasy. ‘Then I can take her in to see Charles.’

‘No!’ Astonishingly, Ruby shook her head in definite disagreement. ‘No, Mr Benson, I shouldn’t do that. This is a fine gesture on your part and it’d be unfair of me to take over.’

‘Ruby…’

‘Hey.’ Still seated beneath them, Peta was catching her breath. Catching her dignity. Sort of. ‘There’s no need for any of this. I told you. I don’t need help.’

‘If you need to face Charles then you need help,’ Marcus told her and Ruby nodded.

‘Take his advice, miss,’ she said gently. ‘You’re Australian?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘If I was in Australia, then I’d take your advice on your territory,’ she said. ‘But this is corporate America. There’s no one more at home in this territory than Marcus Benson. You put yourself in his hands and you’re putting yourself in the hands of an expert.’

‘I don’t want to be in anyone’s hands.’

‘You truly think you can get what you want without me?’ Marcus demanded and she faltered.

‘To be honest…’

‘To be honest, what?’

‘To be honest, I don’t think I can get what I want anyway,’ she admitted. ‘I was a fool to come. But I need to try.’

‘So if you’ve come all this way,’ Marcus said, his tone becoming gentler, ‘why not give yourself the best chance you could possibly have? Take my advice.’

‘Put myself in your hands?’

‘That’s right.’

She stared up at him, bemused, and he gazed back down. Astonishingly, her eyes were bright and challenging. Her chin tilted upward, somehow defiant. She might look bereft but she certainly didn’t act bereft. She had spirit, Marcus thought appreciatively. And courage.

It seemed she also had the sense to know when to concede. ‘Okay.’ She swallowed. ‘Okay.’

Ruby beamed. Marcus Benson’s assistant, it seemed, was enjoying this. Enjoying this a lot. ‘You do exactly what Mr Benson says,’ Ruby told her, and Peta gave her a rueful smile.

‘I’m not much good at doing what anyone tells me.’

‘Then be tactful,’ Ruby told her and his assistant even had the temerity to chuckle. ‘Maybe it’ll be good for both of you. Okay. I’m off to save the world—or your deal, Marcus—while you two front the awful Charles. I know which I’d rather. Good luck.’

‘Um…do you employ her?’ Peta asked as Ruby disappeared down the fire-escape with an airy wave. Ruby had come to work this morning looking tired, but now she was practically bouncing down the fire-escape.

‘I acquired Ruby,’ he said, watching her disappear. ‘By accident. Sort of like getting hit by a bus.’

‘You really like her.’ Peta’s face had focused. All at once she seemed really interested. Her distrust backed off a pace.

‘I don’t do like,’ he told her. ‘I’m a businessman.’

‘So if Ruby threatened to quit…’

‘I’d raise heaven and earth to keep her,’ he admitted. ‘Of course I would. As I said, I’m a businessman.’

First the ankle. Which she intended to ignore.

‘My ankle’s just a bit bruised. It’s no problem.’

‘Your ankle’s puffing while we watch.’

‘I’ve done worse than this and lived without a doctor. I’ve come too far and time’s too important to waste any in a doctor’s waiting room.’

‘You won’t have to wait. Put your hands around my neck and I’ll carry you…’

‘You? Carry me? What, are you crazy? I’ll be sorry for myself with a strained ankle; you’ll be a cripple for life.’

‘I can carry you.’

‘No one carries me. Ever.’ She hauled herself up against the stair rail and took two tentative hops.

It clearly hurt. A lot.

‘Peta…’

‘No.’

Enough. ‘Yes,’ he told her. And, although he’d never done such a thing in his life, he stepped forward and hoisted her into his arms.

She weighed nothing.

‘Do you ever eat?’ he demanded, stunned, and she gave an indignant wriggle.

‘Eat? Are you kidding? Of course I do. Except when corporate businessmen throw my lunch downstairs. Put me down.’

‘No.’ Maybe she wasn’t too thin, he decided, tightening his grip. Maybe there were curves—just where there should be curves. She smelled good. She felt…good.

Inane. It was a stupid response but he couldn’t help it.

‘Are we catching the lift?’ she demanded and he stared down into her overbright eyes.

‘No. We’ll take the stairs.’

‘You’ll drop me.’

‘I won’t drop you.’

‘I’ll do more damage than a bagel if I hit anyone below.’

‘I won’t drop you.’

‘No one’s ever carried me before,’ she said, and to his astonishment she stopped her indignant wriggle and suddenly relaxed. ‘Good grief.’ Her green eyes twinkled. ‘Okay. Let’s do it. Maybe I’ll even like it.’

‘Maybe.’

‘And if you burst a blood vessel we’re going to an emergency department after all.’

‘So we are,’ he said faintly and held her a little tighter. ‘So we are.’

She had him intrigued. Her reaction when she saw his car intrigued him as well. Robert, his chauffeur, was waiting at street level. He must have been pre-warned by Ruby. He didn’t blink an eyelid when he saw his boss approach with his strange burden and by the time Marcus reached the car the back door was already open.

Peta, however, was less than ready to enter a black limousine with tinted windows.

‘Holy cow. I’m not getting in that thing.’

‘You’re sounding like a country hick,’ Marcus told her and she glared at him.

‘Yeah, well, you sound—or look—like a mafia boss. I know which I’d rather be. Chauffeurs. Limousines. Tinted windows, for heaven’s sake.’

‘I need them tinted. I work in this car.’

‘Right.’ She hesitated, removing her arms from around his neck, and as she did he was aware of a sharp jab of loss. She’d put her arms around him for security but it had felt…good. But she wasn’t thinking about the sensations he was feeling. She was doing some forward projections. ‘No one can see in. How do I know if I get in this car I won’t end up in concrete shoes?’

Enough. ‘Robert, help me put her in the car—with force, if necessary,’ he told his bemused chauffeur. ‘And open the blasted windows! Mafia… Good grief!’

Then there was the medical clinic—a personalised service only available to New York’s mega-rich. Peta was almost hornswoggled.

‘You just roll in here and someone sees you?’ They were waiting for X-rays and the chairs they were sitting in were luxurious leather. Gorgeous!

‘Of course.’

‘There’s no of course about it,’ she snapped. ‘If I’d had this when Hattie…’ She took an angry breath. ‘Could Charles Higgins afford this sort of place?’

‘If the rent he pays is any indication, of course he can.’

‘I’ll kill him,’ she muttered and sat back and glowered the entire time her leg was bandaged.

‘You’re lucky. It’s not broken but it’s still badly bruised,’ she was told by the attendant doctor. ‘Stay off it. The nurses will fit you with crutches.’

Fine. Obviously still angry and with Marcus silent by her side, she hobbled her way to reception. And grew angrier still when Marcus paid.

‘I can pay.’

‘I’m very sure you can’t,’ Marcus told her gently. ‘It was my fault. Let me.’

‘Money,’ she whispered. ‘It solves everything. As long as you can screw the world to get more of it.’

Then there was the little matter of her clothes. With Peta safely resettled in his mafia car, Marcus directed Robert to Fifth Avenue.

‘I just need a wash and I’ll be fine,’ she told him, but he shook his head.

‘No. Charles is never going to admit you into his office looking like this.’

‘But—’

‘But nothing. It’s stupid going back there now to wait for a reception you’re not going to get. Let me help.’

Let him help more. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Was he crazy?

He didn’t get involved—he never got involved—and for him to make this offer…

She had no expectations of him, he thought. He could back away right now. There’d be no repercussions. He’d never hear from this woman again.

But he couldn’t. He stared down at the defiance in her face, and he saw the trace of desperation behind the defiance. There was no way he could walk.

He wanted to help. Come what may. For the very first time in many, many years, Marcus Benson wanted to be involved.

CHAPTER TWO

MARCUS thought he knew women. Marcus was wrong. And so was the shop where he took Peta.

One of the women he’d dated had told him once that the shop stocked fabulous business clothes but Peta hobbled in and looked around in suspicion. The shop assistants reacted the same way.

They smiled at Marcus. They were cautiously and patronisingly polite to the waif he had in tow.

Still, they were here for clothes. Not for pleasantries. Marcus didn’t have time to mess around.

‘Can you fit Peta out in something corporate?’ he asked the assistant and Peta flashed him a look of annoyance.

‘That makes me sound like a Barbie doll. Let’s dress her in Corporate today.’

‘Don’t you want me to help you?’

‘No.’

‘Peta…’

‘All right.’ As the assistant searched the racks for something suitable she flashed him a look that was half apology, but the defiance was still there. ‘I know. You’re being really nice. I’m being really stupid. But this feels…wrong.’

‘It’s sensible. Just do it.’

‘Try this,’ the assistant said, with a bright smile at Marcus. Peta was ignored. She held the suit up against Peta, but it was Marcus who was clearly expected to make the decision.

He might have, but he never got the chance. As the girl smiled across at Marcus, Peta lifted the price tag.

She yelped.

Marcus doubted if he’d ever heard a woman yelp before but she yelped. She pushed the suit away and stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

‘What, are you crazy?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Look at the price. I can’t afford this.’

‘I’m paying. I told you. I ruined your clothes.’

‘Yeah, you spilled my drink over my five-buck shirt and you’re intending to replace it with stuff that costs three thousand dollars?’ She fended off the suit some more. ‘Three thousand dollars! Look, this seemed a really nice idea, and I’m delighted to have a bandage on my ankle and these neat crutches, but suddenly it’s out of hand. You’ve done enough. I can’t take any more. Can I leave? Now?’

She was backing towards the door.

‘You won’t get in to see Charles,’ Marcus warned. He watched the conflicting emotions play over her face and felt the same conflict himself. He’d been enjoying himself, he decided. It wasn’t half bad—millionaire playing benefactor to very attractive waif. But the waif was supposed to be grateful. She was supposed to smile sweetly and acquiesce.

This was like Cinderella saying the glass slipper didn’t fit. Or didn’t look right.

She was still backing, no mean feat on brand-new crutches, and the conflicting emotions were giving way to overriding distress. ‘I just have to deal with Charles my own way,’ she muttered.

‘You agreed to do this.’

‘I was stupid. I must have hit my head on the way down the stairs. So now, somehow, I’m standing in a swish store with a guy who has more money than I’ll ever dream about—and he’s offering to spend enough money on a suit to feed my family for a year.’

‘Your family?’

Her face shuttered even more, and the pain intensified. ‘I don’t need to talk about my family. I’m out of my depth. I need to leave. I’m sorry.’ She backed a bit more until she was balancing in the doorway. ‘I’m sorry. Thank you very much for all you’ve done.’

‘Peta…’

‘I can’t do this. I can’t.’

He caught her three doors down. She’d tried to move fast but she was on crutches.

He’d followed. Of course he’d followed, even though he was unsure why he was still intent on helping. But he let her have a little space until she cooled down.

She was forced to cool down. Her anger could only carry her so far before the pain in her ankle caught up with her. He watched her slow. He saw her steps falter as if she was unsure where to go from here.

He saw her shoulders slump. Saw the despair catch up.

And when he caught her… As he put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around to face him, he wasn’t surprised to see tears welling behind those lovely eyes.

The tears stopped the moment he touched her. She swiped her cheek and pulled back. Swaying dangerously. He put out his hands to steady her but she backed some more.

‘Leave me alone.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You shouldn’t be sorry. You were trying to be nice.’

He carefully pushed away the urge to play fairy godfather some more. He tried to put himself in her place. It was hard, but maybe he could manage it.

Once upon a time he’d been dependant, too, and he knew how much harder it was to take than give. It was just… In the last few years there had been so many takers.

Peta was a novelty. But he could adjust.

‘I was a bit insensitive,’ he managed. ‘I had this idea that I could help. And I’d like to.’

‘You can’t.’

‘I can, you know,’ he said softly. ‘It would be my privilege. If you let me.’

‘Yeah, toss money.’ Another angry swipe at tears she clearly despised and an angry sniff. ‘It’s all you know how to do.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He was stymied. He didn’t have a clue what was happening. How had he got himself in this situation?

He could just stop. He had no reason to persist.

Why did he?

He had no idea what this woman wanted with Charles Higgins. He had no idea whether he could help her.

All he knew was that he wanted to know more.

‘Can we start again, please?’ he asked, and she sniffed once more and stared up at him, her face loaded with suspicion.

‘Start again?’

‘I’ve driven into this like a blunderbuss,’ he admitted. ‘I have no idea what’s going on. I want to help. I don’t even know why I want to help but I do.’ He reached out and touched her hand. He didn’t hold. He simply touched.

He knew that she still had the urge to run. He had it himself.

‘Tell me what you need,’ he told her. ‘What can I do to help? Right now.’

She took a deep breath. Regrouped. Around them were a bustle of Fifth Avenue shoppers—smartly dressed women, suited businessmen. Marcus fitted right in.

Peta didn’t fit in at all. But she obviously wasn’t thinking of her appearance. She stared at him for a while longer and then made a confession—as if she was forced to admit something she was ashamed of.

‘I need something to eat,’ she told him.

‘You’re hungry?’

‘I lost my bagel—remember? I didn’t have breakfast and that was my lunch. And then I need a ticket on the subway to the backpacker’s where I have my things. I need to stay until tomorrow—for Aunt Hattie’s funeral. But that’s it. I was stupid to try to see Charles. I just want… I think now that I just want to go home.’

‘Right.’ He nodded, aware all the time that she was poised for flight. ‘Okay. I’ll organise you transport. But let me feed you first. No.’ He shook his head as she backed again and he gave a rueful smile. He knew what she was thinking. At long last he was getting the idea. Money didn’t impress this woman. Money made her want to run. ‘There’s a great deli nearby and it’s not expensive. It’s simple food but it’s good. Concede at least that I owe you a meal. Can you cope with me for a little while longer?’

She stared up at him, seemingly bemused. She balanced on her crutches while she surveyed him. Her green eyes were suddenly thoughtful.

It wasn’t the sort of look he was accustomed to receiving from the women he moved with. To say it disconcerted him was putting it mildly.

‘You must think I’m really ungrateful,’ she said at last, and it was so far from what he was really thinking that he blinked.

‘I don’t. Let me feed you.’

‘Like something in a cage at the zoo?’

He smiled. ‘I’m sorry. That was badly phrased. Share a meal with me. Please.’

‘Out of charity?’

‘Out of my need to give you recompense.’

She stared at him for a long moment—and in that moment something shifted. The Cinderella image receded still further. There was a strength here, he realised. A latent force.

She was out of her depth. She wasn’t sure what was happening to her right now, but this was a woman who would normally be in charge of her world.

Things were out of control but she was still fighting.

He’d be lucky if she’d agree to have a meal with him.

But she did, and he was aware of an absurd surge of gratitude as she did the thanking. ‘Thank you,’ she told him. ‘I’d like that.’

‘So would I.’ And he meant it.

The deli he took her to was one he hadn’t eaten at for years, but still he knew it. The proprietor, a big man in his late sixties, greeted him with pleasure.

‘Well. If it isn’t the great Marcus come to patronise this humble establishment…’

‘Cut it out, Sam,’ Marcus growled and Sam grinned.

‘Yeah, right. To what do we owe this honour?’ He glanced at Peta and his wide smile was a welcome all by itself. ‘A lady. Of course. And a lady of taste. I can sense that already. I bet you could wrap yourself around one of my specials and not even think about counting calories.’

‘I bet I could.’ In the face of Sam’s friendliness she seemed to finally relax—just a smidgeon. ‘Tell me what’s good.’

‘What’s good? In this establishment everything’s good. Tell you what…’ He cast a sideways glance at Marcus and got an almost imperceptible nod for his pains. Sam’s deli was famous in this city and his reputation was richly deserved. He sensed what people needed and he provided it. You came to Sam’s for comfort food and friendliness and good humour. Sam provided it in bucketloads. ‘Why don’t I bring you my specials?’ he told them. ‘My lunch works. You sit back, think of nothing except what you need to talk about and let me worry about your meal. It’s what I do best.’

Think of nothing except what they needed to talk about…

It seemed there was nothing to talk about. Or Peta didn’t seem to think there was. The food that Sam brought them was wonderful: a vast, steaming bowl of clam chowder— Sam’s speciality, handed down from his grandma, who’d invented clams herself, he told them—and some sort of corn flapjacks that were truly spectacular.

It was good food. No. It was great food, Marcus conceded, and he found himself wondering why it had been so long since he’d been here. He sat back, enjoying the food but also enjoying the buzz. The place was full of students and young mothers and academics and artists who looked as if they didn’t have a buck to their name. All of them were attacking their food the same way Peta was. This was food to be relished at every mouthful.

And while she ate, he found himself thinking of the date he’d been on last night. Elizabeth was a corporate lawyer—a good one. She was smart and sophisticated and beautiful. But she’d toyed with her salad, she’d drunk half a glass of wine and refused dessert.

Her beautiful waistline came at a cost, Marcus had thought, and though she’d invited him up to her magnificent apartment afterwards for coffee, coffee was all they’d had. He’d felt no desire to take things further.

But now…sitting on the far side of the table and watching Peta devour her chowder and relish every mouthful of her flapjacks, he thought he’d rather have this contented silence than smart conversation. Genuine enjoyment.

‘What?’ she demanded suddenly, and he looked a question.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You’re looking at me like I’m an interesting kind of bug. I don’t like it.’

‘You’re Australian,’ he told her. ‘What do you expect?’

‘You’ve never met an Australian?’

‘Not one who likes clam chowder as much as you do.’

‘It’s the best.’ She smiled up at him and he blinked. Whew! That smile was enough to knock a man sideways.

Where had it come from? It was a killer smile. Wide and white and there was a dimple right at the corner of her mouth…

Yeah, right. Get a grip, Benson, he told himself. You need involvement here like a hole in the head.

He needed any involvement like a hole in the head.

‘You want to tell me why you need to see Charles Higgins?’ he asked and her smile faded. He was aware of a sharp stab of regret. Damn, he shouldn’t have mentioned it.

But it was why they were here. It was important. And, to tell the truth, he was intrigued.

This girl had just knocked back a gift of a three-thousand dollar suit. Just like that. Would any other woman he knew do that? It wasn’t as if it had come with strings. It would have been a gift, pure and simple.

‘You might have knocked me down, but it was partly my fault,’ she told him, and it was as if she’d read his thoughts. ‘I don’t want to be beholden. To anyone. You spend three thousand bucks on a suit for me and I’ll feel sick about it for the rest of my life. And Charles will know it’s a front.’

‘Charles knows you?’

‘I told you. He’s my cousin.’

‘Then why…?’

She could see where his thoughts were heading and she was way ahead of him.

‘You think because I’m family I should have an entrée with him.’

‘Something like that.’

‘I’m over here because my aunt died,’ she told him. ‘Charles’s mother. I spent the last few days sitting by Aunt Hattie’s bedside. I haven’t seen Charles. Hattie is due to be buried tomorrow. Charles may or may not come to the funeral. He’s certainly not paying for it.’

‘So…’ He took a wild guess. ‘You’re not a close family?’

‘I’m a very close family,’ she told him, and took another mouthful of her flapjack. Difficult conversation or not, she wasn’t forgetting that she was truly enjoying this food. But her voice, when she spoke again, held more than a trace of bitterness. ‘I’m so close I’m practically glue,’ she added. ‘Good old Peta. She’ll do the right thing. The family thing. But not Charles.’

‘So why do you need to see him?’

She took a deep breath. She seemed to brace herself. Her fork was set down and her chin tilted in a gesture he was starting to recognise.