Fury boiled up inside Amy. Fury for Regina Winterborne. How dare this man speak so harshly about her when the woman wasn’t even here to defend herself.
But then…he didn’t know that.
Well, she’d just have to do the defending.
“I beg your pardon,” Amy retorted, allowing him to hear and see the depth of her indignation.
Beckman smirked. “Come on, Miss Winterborne, I’ve heard all about your exploits. The last one…what was his name?” Beckman stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Ah yes, Kevin something-or-other. He helped you go through a few hundred thousand of your daddy’s money and then he disappeared. Does that about sum up your most recent relationship?”
Kevin…that was the name of the guy Regina had been speaking with when Amy arrived. She was running off to meet him at that very moment. In Vegas no less. Amy blinked, momentarily disconcerted. Should she just tell Beckman the truth here and now? What if she were wrong? What if Calhoun was all that he appeared to be and Regina was the wacky one? What if Amy had this thing all wrong?
Then she remembered the suspicions in the report. Suspicions that amounted to far worse than having a fling and running through a little money with a scumbag boyfriend.
Amy leaned forward, putting herself several inches closer to the condescending jerk who’d dragged her into this mess. “Mr. Beckman, you have no idea who I am. That you would judge me on such hearsay is appalling. Perhaps I should take up the issue with Mr. Calhoun when we arrive.”
Beckman’s smirk wilted instantly. “That won’t be necessary, Miss Winterborne. I’m certain you’re right.” He squirmed a bit more before he added, “You surely understand that Mr. Calhoun’s well-being is my only concern in the matter. I simply would hate to see his heart broken.”
Amy doubted his sincerity but let it go at that. Besides, she was pretty sure Mr. John Robert Calhoun, IV, could take care of himself. He certainly looked man enough. Another shiver swept over her skin. In fact, she imagined he could take care of most anything. Like a toe-curling, full-body orgasm. The kind magazines raved about all the time. The kind she’d never had. What was she saying? She hadn’t had one, period, in about two years. Work, she reminded herself. She was too busy for a personal life.
John Calhoun, IV, would be about work. No matter how good-looking, no matter how seemingly perfect, she would not be swayed from her ultimate goal. Cracking his apparently impervious veneer and revealing the fraud behind it would certainly test her ability. Would show once and for all that she was agent material. Amy had faith in herself. She’d wanted this opportunity for far too long to allow anything to stop her. Not for love nor money would she be deterred.
Mr. Calhoun had better be on his toes because Amy Wells was onto him.
JOHN JERKED his string tie loose once more and muttered a curse. Why the hell did it matter what he looked like? This weekend wasn’t about what he looked like or even what he wanted in life, it was about closing the deal his father had worked half a lifetime to bring to fruition.
He should just greet the woman naked and let her see all there was to see. She was, if the powers that be had their way, going to be his wife. Why bother with a courtship ritual? It wasn’t like any of it mattered?
This was a business merger. One he wasn’t fool enough to not see the benefits of, but one he didn’t have to like.
John had dated extensively, had had his share of physical relationships. But he’d always assumed that when he settled down for the long haul it would be with a woman who would love him for the man he was, not for the oil business he operated.
That wasn’t going to happen. Love, trust, neither of those ingredients would enter into the negotiations. He tugged the tie into a bow once more. Hell, why bother with any of these pretenses? Why not just call over the justice of the peace and have the ceremony performed this very weekend? No point in dragging out the inevitable. All that would do was prolong the agony.
John had never been a glutton for punishment. But he would have more than a wife in name only. That was the one thing he had to make clear this weekend. Infidelity was not his style and he refused to be forced down to that level for sexual gratification. If they were to be married, he would have her in his bed…willingly.
Though he had never met Regina Winterborne, the one photograph he’d seen when his father shoved it in front of his face promised an attractive woman. Her dark hair had been up in a ponytail and equally dark glasses had shielded her eyes, but she’d looked appealing otherwise even if the photograph had appeared to have caught her off guard. He had to ask himself, however, why a woman like that would allow herself to be manipulated into a loveless marriage?
For the same reasons he allowed it, John supposed.
He was the only heir, as she was. Their fathers obviously had their futures plotted out to the best interest of their respective companies. John wasn’t oblivious to the long-term benefits. But, dammit, this was the twenty-first century. Arranged marriages were a thing of the past. Offspring didn’t go to these kinds of extremes anymore to please their parents.
Well, he admitted, most didn’t, anyhow.
But here he was, primping to meet the woman he was supposed to marry in order to facilitate a business merger.
“You’ve lost your mind,” he said to his reflection in the full-length mirror.
He wouldn’t go back on his word. That was a given. John never broke a promise. He would see this weekend through and, if possible, he would come to an agreement with the woman. But he would have to know that there was hope for something more. That was the one promise he made to himself.
He would spend this weekend getting to know Regina Winterborne and, when it was over, if there was even a hint of hope, he would take the next step. But first he had to know that falling in love was at least a possibility. It wouldn’t take long to make that determination. He had three days and three nights. She would leave on Monday afternoon. The fact that her father probably wouldn’t be able to join them until around noon on Sunday was all the better. He needed time with the woman alone. Without interference from anyone else, including Nate. John intended to send him on his way as well. This had to be between John Calhoun and Regina Winterborne.
By the time their seventy-two hours together were up, he would know if she was the kind of woman with whom he could spend the rest of his life…to whom he could give his heart.
As sentimental as it sounded, that was the bottom line for John. Though his mother had been dead for more than a decade now, he still remembered the way his father had looked at her. The way she had looked at his father. That was what he wanted. Admittedly, under the circumstances, he might have to wait for it. But he had to have some promise that it could be forthcoming.
Anything less was unacceptable.
A light knock on his bedroom door dragged John from his troubling musings.
“It’s open.”
The door eased away from the frame and Liam stuck his head inside the room. “They’re here,” he said in his usual annoyed tone. Liam had worked on the Wild Horse for as long as John could remember and he hated when his normal routine was disrupted. “Nate called in and said they’d just turned onto Stampede Lane.”
“Thanks, Liam,” John said, mustering a smile for the old man.
He grumbled something resembling a “you’re welcome” and shut the door.
John took a last look at himself. His jeans were clean and freshly starched, as was his white shirt. The black string tie and freshly polished boots finished off the getup. Good enough for church, good enough for this, he decided. Anything more than that would have been too much. He had no intention of going out of his way until he saw further. Until he knew she was worth the extra exertion.
That was callous, he railed silently. But this was enough to make any man callous.