CEO's Marriage Seduction / His Style of Seduction: CEO's Marriage Seduction / His Style of Seduction

Griffin wouldn’t betray Marcus by competing with Tremont REH.

He paused now, his mind turning back to Eva.

As much as he wanted her, he didn’t understand her. She exasperated him with her blithe lack of interest in Tremont REH. As a family member, she had a position on the company’s board of directors, but that was the extent of her involvement.

He, on the other hand, could appreciate firsthand what Marcus had built. He’d spent years creating a company to match—and by many measures, exceed—Tremont REH’s reputation. He’d also put time and effort toward growing Tremont REH, especially since he’d become CEO.

Griffin stared unseeingly at San Francisco’s lights.

Still, he couldn’t escape the fact that, against all reason, he remained attracted to Eva. When he was around her, he got an adrenaline rush—a heady sensation that had him feeling as if he were drunk on euphoria.

She challenged him, and he thrived on challenges.

He’d never acted on the attraction because he couldn’t sleep with Marcus Tremont’s daughter without there being…consequences. And Eva’s obvious dislike for him made it easy to walk the line.

He’d also already had enough commitment to last a lifetime. He certainly wasn’t looking to jump into another to, say, a wife.

He’d been committed to raising his younger siblings and committed to making sure they found their paths in the world.

It was only in the last couple of years, in fact, that he felt as if he could exhale. His brother, Josh, had finished his medical residency and become a surgeon in Denver, where he’d recently married his college sweetheart, Tessa.

Likewise, his sister, Monica, the head of a school for learning disabled children, had gotten married two years ago to a film producer, Ben Corrigan, and was settled in L.A. She was expecting her first child in five months.

He was proud of his siblings, and relieved they’d become well-adjusted adults who’d found their personal happiness.

His job was finally done.

He wasn’t taking on responsibility for anyone else.

Still, the thought of Eva throwing herself away on a loser like Carter Newell made him want to put a hole in the wall.

If he couldn’t have her, he damned well wasn’t going to let her waste herself on a gamesman like Newell. Even if he knew that if Eva ever found out he’d done her father’s dirty work, he could kiss goodbye to any minimally civilized relationship they continued to have.

With that thought, he grimly reached for his cell phone. He had Ron Winslow’s number programmed in.

From time to time, he’d used the private investigator to smoke out the truth about potential real estate investments.

When Ron picked up, they exchanged brief greetings.

After a moment, Griffin cut to the chase. “I’ve got a new assignment for you.”

“He’s impossible.”

“He’s your father.”

Eva sighed. She’d left her parents’ estate earlier that day, right after the conversation with her father, and retreated to her town house condo in San Francisco’s Russian Hill neighborhood.

Now she sat, curled up on her couch with her cell phone, talking to her mother, who’d called to make sure everything was okay.

“I was hoping for the best.”

“He’ll come around.”

Eva silently disagreed with her mother’s assessment. She knew just how stubborn her father could be—and during moments when she was being honest with herself, she could admit she’d inherited his stubbornness.

“The more important question,” her mother continued, “is whether you’re sure you want to marry Carter—”

“Of course!” Her reply was quick and snappy. She was still smarting from the confrontation with her father—in Griffin Slater’s presence, of all people.

“Because there’s no rush,” her mother persisted. “The test showed you have time.”

“Yes, but how much?” she replied automatically.

She’d told her mother that she’d gone in for a test to gauge the quality of her egg supply. Now she wondered from her mother’s concerned tone whether she’d appeared too preoccupied with her biological clock.

“Eva—”

“Mom.”

Her mother sighed.

“What do you think of Carter?” Eva blurted, and then could have kicked herself.

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I want to marry Carter. I do,” she said, adopting her most reassuring voice—the one she used to sooth jittery clients before a big bash.

A beep sounded on her cell phone, followed by another.

“Mom, I have another call coming in.”

She checked the screen and realized it was her friend Beth Harding. She was deep into planning with Beth for a party the Hardings would be throwing at their mansion in a couple of weeks.

“It’s Beth,” she said to her mother.

“Okay, sweetie. I’ll let you go. We’ll talk another time about picking a wedding venue so you can set a date.”

She felt her spirits lift. At least her mother was willing to go into cheerful wedding mode.

“Thanks, Mom,” she said, before switching over to the incoming call.

“Hi, Beth,” she said. “I’ve found some great Art Deco props for the party. It’s a company that supplies movie sets down in L.A.”

Beth and her husband, Oliver, would be hosting a party in a couple of weeks at their Palo Alto estate to benefit San Francisco–area children’s hospitals.

She and Beth had decided that a 1930s theme would be a nice surprise for Beth’s octogenarian grandmother, who lived in a guesthouse on Beth’s estate and who was still spry enough to hit a dance floor.

Beth laughed. “Wonderful.”

“I’ve rented some fantastic mohair club chairs, a couple of burled wood wet bars and several frosted glass lighting pieces. And I found these ideal cobalt mirrored serving trays!”

“It all sounds great, but the party isn’t the reason I was calling.”

Eva slumped. “Let me guess.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t hold out on me.”

She’d filled in Beth on the fact that she and Carter were going to pick out a ring, and that she was making one last attempt to sway her father.

She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Where do I begin? The bad or the worse?”

“Oh, come on. It wasn’t that terrible!”

Beth had an unswerving sunny outlook. “Oh, come on” happened to be one of her favorite sayings.

“It was bad,” Eva replied ominously. “Let’s see, the bad was that my father went postal. The worse was that Griffin Slater happened to be around to witness it.”

Beth sucked in a breath. “Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes.”

She filled in Beth about the details of the confrontation in her father’s study, and Beth made sympathetic noises at regular intervals.

“I hope I never see Griffin Slater again,” she declared when she finished the sorry story, though she knew it was a vain hope.

“Umm…”

Beth’s tone made her suddenly wary. “Tell me you didn’t invite him to your party?”

“Eva, I had to! He and Oliver have known each other for years.”

She groaned. She and Beth had picked out the invitation together, but Beth had submitted her final guest list directly to the printer.

“Just my luck,” she grumbled.

“He may not come,” Beth pointed out.

“If he knows I’m planning it, he probably won’t,” she responded, the thought brightening her mood.

Griffin never showed at her parties. It was one of the reasons she’d concluded he was dismissive of her business.

“Have you thought about your costume?” Beth asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

“At the moment,” she said dryly, “I’m thinking that appearing with Carter as Nick & Nora would be appropriate.”

Beth laughed.

She’d been only half joking, Eva thought to herself. Appearing as the Dashiell Hammett sleuths—a retired detective and his wealthy socialite wife whose family believes she married beneath herself—would definitely ring true at the moment.

“Remind me to dig out my Nick & Nora cosmetics case for you then,” Beth said. “Whoever thought to create a women’s brand out of those characters had a stroke of genius.”

“Thanks,” she deadpanned.

After she ended her call with Beth, she sat back against her couch and closed her eyes.

Despite herself, she kept replaying the awful moment when her father had come out and said he’d entertained hopes of her marrying Griffin.

Griffin as her husband?

As if.

Yes, she felt the energy whenever Griffin entered a room, but only because he knew how to press her buttons, damn it.

“I’ve got some bombshell news.”

Griffin’s hand tightened on the phone.

It had been over two weeks since his call with Ron Winslow, but now the sound of the private investigator’s voice at the other end of the line brought his mind back to Eva.

As if he hadn’t been thinking about her enough already.

“What have you got?” he said evenly, swiveling his mesh chair away from his desk and toward the panel of floor-to-ceiling windows behind him.

His office at Tremont REH sat high above the bustle of San Francisco’s Union Square.

Ron cleared his throat. “Newell is an operator all right—”

“I figured.”

“—but not in the way you’re thinking.”

He tensed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean Romeo is two-timing his Juliet.”

Griffin cursed under his breath. He hadn’t been expecting this kind of dirt to be sticking to Newell.

“You’ve always delivered the goods, Ron, but I’ve got to ask—are you sure?”

This was, after all, Marcus Tremont’s daughter they were talking about. She moved in rarified social circles. If Eva’s scummy would-be fiancé was cheating on her, they were dealing with news that would eventually make the rounds of San Francisco society.

“I’m messengering the evidence to you as we speak,” Ron responded. “There’s a video, shots taken with the telephoto lens and even—” Ron chuckled without humor “—an audio recording. What you choose to do with this hot potato is your business.”

Griffin knew without asking what Ron meant. It would be up to him to decide what evidence to share with whom.

He didn’t relish the thought of disclosing Newell’s philandering to Eva. Especially since all he could think about was rearranging Carter’s elegant face.

“How did you discover Newell is seeing another woman?” he asked.

“Fell into my lap,” Ron replied. “I was tailing him, wondering whether I’d come up with anything interesting. A few days in, I followed him to a restaurant in Berkeley. Turned out he was there to rendezvous with a Jessica Alba look-alike.”

The bastard.

Griffin wondered whether Newell had a type. Eva didn’t fit as a Jessica Alba look-alike. She was more a Rose McGowan or Katharine McPhee.

And maybe, tellingly, he realized, that was the point. Eva wasn’t Carter’s type. The guy was only attracted to her money.

“While Newell and the woman sat at the restaurant bar,” Ron went on, “I greased the palm of one of the waiters to find out which table they’d reserved. I was able to slip a microphone onto the wall next to their seats before they sat down, and I laid claim to the next table.”

The investigator added with a snort, “You won’t believe the crap I’ve got on tape.”

Oh, he could believe it all right, Griffin thought cynically, picturing smooth-as-cream Carter in his mind. The problem was going to be explaining it all to Eva.

“Afterward, I got them pulling into a dim parking lot behind a nondescript office building,” Ron continued with dark relish. “Newell’s not even shelling out for a cheap motel on a regular basis.”

“Great.”

Not great. Ron’s information made him wonder just how empty Newell’s pockets were and how desperate Carter was to marry an heiress.

“I’ve got the video and telephoto lens for the parking lot interlude.”

“Are you sure this wasn’t a one-night stand?” Griffin asked.

He wanted to go to Eva with an airtight case if he had to rip rose-colored glasses from her eyes. He didn’t want Newell to be able to argue he’d just had a lapse in judgment.

“Not to worry, I got them on other occasions,” Ron responded. “They had a tryst at a motel two days ago.”

“Damn it.”

“I’ve also got evidence our man Carter has no significant assets and is living on credit to fund his lifestyle,” Ron said offhandedly. “In fact, he may be just about all tapped out.”

Griffin at last let himself acknowledge they’d hit the mother lode with Newell. It made him want to wring the guy’s neck.

And as much as he knew that Eva needed to comprehend Carter was a two-timing snake, he didn’t want her to be hurt.

He raked his fingers through his hair, his mind working. “Ron, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to anyone, including Marcus, about what you’ve uncovered.”

“Will do.”

“I’ll look for your package,” he said grimly before ending the call.

When Ron’s box arrived an hour later—just in time to be served up with lunch for his delectation—he told his secretary to hold his calls.

Griffin set the cardboard box on his desk and sliced it open with an envelope opener he kept in a desk drawer. He pulled out a financial profile, an envelope marked Photos, an audio CD and a DVD.

He surveyed the evidence with distaste. This was the material that could set Eva’s life on a different trajectory. Yet it looked harmless enough unless you were asking it to give up its secrets.

He flipped through the stapled sheets that constituted Ron’s financial dossier on Carter. The report was just as Ron had described. Carter had a mortgaged apartment in San Francisco and sizable loans at the bank. He was no Bill Gates, and probably not even in the ballpark of his Newell antecedents.

Griffin opened the envelope next. A dozen or so photos fell out, and he spread them out on the desk in front of him.

There were a couple of shots of a man who looked like Carter Newell in a parking lot, embracing and kissing a stacked brunette.

Another photo showed the couple walking hand in hand into a restaurant. From their body language, and the way the woman leaned close to the man next to her, it was clear the two were more than friends.

Griffin guessed these photos were taken when Ron had tailed Newell to the restaurant in Berkeley.

Griffin focused on the remaining photos. They looked like they’d been taken at another point when Ron had caught up with the pair. They showed the couple meeting in a park, embracing under a tree near a walking path, and then kissing and touching on a park bench.

The photos were decent evidence as far as they went. But they weren’t strong proof Carter and the woman had progressed to being lovers.

Griffin sat behind his desk and popped the DVD into his computer. Then he leaned back in his chair to watch.

The video began just as Ron had described.

A car was parked in a deserted lot illuminated by yellow streetlights. After a few moments, it began to shake and move with the exertions of its occupants. Eventually a disheveled Carter and a half-dressed woman emerged, and Carter helped the woman with the clasp of her bra and her sweater. While the woman brushed her hair and applied lipstick, Carter ran his hands over her. Finally the pair made it back into the car and drove off.

A second segment on the DVD showed Carter and the brunette arriving at a motel. Through the glass window of the motel’s front office, Carter and his female companion could be seen checking in. Afterward, the pair headed to a second-floor room.

When the video ended, Griffin leaned down to pop the DVD out of the computer.

His lips twisted. Apparently Carter wasn’t too cheap to shell out for a bed occasionally. Or maybe in some situations his sexual encounters didn’t need to be so hurried because he didn’t have to run back to Eva.

The bastard.

Griffin switched out the DVD for the CD Ron had sent, set it to Play and leaned back in his chair again.

After a few seconds, the audio came on. A man and woman could be heard conversing against a low murmur of background noise and voices.

At first the couple talked about banal things like the menu, but after a waiter had departed with their order, the conversation turned sexual.

The woman used Carter’s name a couple of times, while he referred to her as “Sondra” or, more often, “baby.”

Griffin rolled his eyes as the woman recalled her last sexual encounter with Carter, then pouted about not having more of his time.

Yeah, right, Griffin thought. If Carter wasn’t set on reeling in an heiress, he supposed the woman had a fighting chance of getting more of Carter’s attention.

Griffin listened as Carter tried to placate his companion with assurances that he’d soon whisk her away for a Mexican vacation and that he was expecting a windfall that he couldn’t go into details about.

Griffin felt his temper ignite. It was clear Carter’s windfall was his upcoming marriage. Obviously Carter wasn’t going to divulge to his lover that he was two-timing an heiress. It might expose him to blackmail.

Carter was toast, Griffin thought. If he ever got his hands on pedigree boy…

The audio recording continued to follow the couple through their meal. Toward the end of it, Carter began to describe in intimate detail what he wanted to do to Sondra.

When the audio recording ended, Griffin mulled over his options and didn’t like any of them.

Just how the hell was he supposed to share this with Eva? She’d hate him for life, if she didn’t despise him already.

Later that day, he had the misfortune of running into Marcus when the older man stopped by his office just as he was about to exit it.

“Have you heard anything yet from Ron?” Marcus asked.

“Nothing,” Griffin heard himself respond.

He didn’t even have to think about his reply.

But it occurred to him afterward it was the first time he’d had to lie to Marcus Tremont about anything important.

Three

Eva curled up on the couch. Her Bluetooth headset allowed her to speak with her mother while she paged through one of several magazines about San Francisco’s social scene. She liked to keep up with what her clients, as well as her business competition, were doing.

It was a Tuesday evening—a night of the week she could usually count on to be able to kick back and relax.

As a party planner, she lived on the opposite timetable from the rest of the world. Midweek was her weekend, while at the end of the week, she became turbocharged as things heated up at work. On weekends, she was often supervising her employees at some museum fund-raiser or at a socialite-hosted charity lunch, making sure everything went off flawlessly.

Now, however, her midweek was being consumed by wedding planning.

“What about the Fairmont?” her mother asked.

“I’m not sure it’s exactly what I’m looking for….”

It had quickly become apparent to her that her mother was picturing a wedding for hundreds of family, friends and assorted business associates.

The historic Fairmont Hotel, with its gilded rooms projecting an old-world elegance, was well suited for the purpose.

The problem was, Eva acknowledged, that she herself longed for something more intimate.

But Carter seemed to be on the same page as her mother.

“What about the Palace of Fine Arts then?” her mother asked, naming another popular and elegant San Francisco wedding location.

Eva sighed.

“I heard that,” her mother said.

“Did you?” she asked absently.

“It’s too bad your father owns only commercial office space,” her mother remarked with dry humor. “At a time like this, we could use an inside edge.”

“I’m not sure Dad will even attend the wedding.”

“Oh, he’ll come around,” her mother said breezily, repeating her unwavering opinion up to now. “You’re his only child, and though he may have a hard time showing it sometimes, he really does care about you.”

The buzzer sounded, and Eva wondered who could be ringing her doorbell.

Her town house condo was in a low-rise development in Russian Hill. Though she had friends nearby, no one was in the habit of dropping by unannounced. And she knew her close friend, Beth Harding, was out of town at the moment.

“Mom,” she said, “I’ve got to go. Someone’s at the door.”

“All right. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow so we can continue to talk about wedding plans.”

Her heart lightened. “It’ll be fun.”

This was what she’d looked forward to. Sharing one of life’s passages with her mother.

“Oh, I just know I’m going to get teary seeing you in a wedding gown,” her mother responded, her voice suddenly choked.

Eva felt tears clog her own throat. “I know, Mom. I know.”

After ending the call with her mother, she slipped her feet into her shoes and went to her front door.

Because the ground level of her condo housed a garage and storage area, her front door was one flight up from the street, accessible via an enclosed external stairwell, at the foot of which was a tall locked iron gate.

She opened the door and locked eyes with the last person she expected to see darkening her doorstep. Griffin Slater.

Automatically she tensed.

“Can I come up?” he called.

Her mind ran over the possibilities. Yes, no, when hell freezes over?

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone coming out more suspicious than she intended.

He seemed to find her question amusing.

“Would you believe I just happened to be in the neighborhood?” he responded.

“Actually, no,” she replied, even as good manners impelled her down the stairs to open the gate.

She knew he lived in nearby Pacific Heights, but she’d never run into him on her home turf.

They ran in different circles. She was too bohemian, too much of a free spirit, she was sure, for Griffin Slater’s taste. On the other hand, he probably even scheduled sex with the women he dated.

She didn’t understand why he was so irritating by nature. His siblings were pleasant people. She even counted his sister among her extended circle of friends.

With Griffin, however, she couldn’t shake the feeling she was letting the Big Bad Wolf in.

As usual, he wore a conservative business suit—this time set off by a herringbone shirt and bright yellow-and-blue striped tie. In contrast, her mauve shirt and tan pants—which she’d worn at work that day and hadn’t yet changed out of—felt almost casual in comparison.

Opening the gate, her eyes met his, her one step advantage on the stairs bringing her close to his height.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Am I invited in?”

“Are you on a mission for my father?” she countered, her eyes skimming over the envelope in his hand. “If so—”

“Mission impossible,” he said. “I know.”

She gave him a serene smile. Well, at least they both knew where they stood.

“Actually I’m here for a personal reason.”

Despite herself, she was intrigued. She didn’t think she and Griffin had anything of a personal nature to say to each other, but curiosity got the better of her.

She turned, leaving him to follow her up the stairs. “Come on in.”

On the way up, she could feel his presence behind her. Why, oh why, did she always have to be so aware of him?

When they stepped inside her condo, she shut the front door. “Can I get you something?”

“Nothing, thanks,” he replied.

She watched him look around her apartment, which was almost loftlike in its layout. From the marble-floored entry area, the cool ambiance of the living and dining room area was visible. The kitchen, with its granite surfaces and stainless steel appliances, was situated beyond a waist-high counter with bar stools.