Her face turned pure white, and she groped to steady herself on the back of a chair.
Then his cell phone jangled on the table. He snagged it, hoping it was an emergency that would get him out of here and away from his unreasonable guilt.
“Yeah?” he barked.
“Where the hell are you?” his grandfather’s voice boomed.
Perfect. Could the moment get any worse?
“Vegas,” Jack answered, while Kristy blinked at him with big, round, accusatory, blue eyes. He was tempted to turn away from her censure. But he was in the right. She was the one who’d hatched the plan to get his family’s money.
He held his ground.
“Hunter tells me you’ve got Kristy.”
“Yeah,” said Jack, holding her gaze. “The two of us got married last night.”
“Well, get your asses to California. I’ve got seven people sitting around the boardroom table waiting for her.”
Gramps reaction threw Jack. “Didn’t you hear me? We got married last night.”
“Bully for you. Nanette and I bought a Ferrari last night.”
“Who’s Nanette.”
“My fiancée.”
The sensation of being sucker-punched was so strong that Jack actually flinched.
He stared at Kristy in horror as she held the oversized robe around her for protection—her confused eyes, her sleep-mussed hair, her over-kissed lips.
What had he done?
What had he done?
Stupid question.
He’d married the wrong woman.
HEARING JACK’S explanation, and listening to his side of the telephone conversation with Cleveland, it took Kristy about thirty seconds to put the pieces together. The whole thing was a fraud. Jack hadn’t been falling in love with her this weekend. He’d been making a preemptive strike against her.
Her feelings of hurt, confusion and embarrassment were quickly replaced by anger. What kind of a cold, calculating snake did it take to fake a romance, marry a woman and then make love to her, not once, not twice, but three times?
Jack snapped his phone shut, and they stared at each other in silence for a long second.
“We’ll get a divorce,” he pronounced.
“You bet your life we’ll get a divorce.” She yanked the belt tight on the robe. “Although keeping your hands to yourself last night and leaving open the option for an annulment would have been a nice touch.”
“I couldn’t take that chance.”
Her bark of laughter came out a little high-pitched. “Of course you couldn’t take that chance, what with me being a sleazy gold digger and all. Any reasonable man would have had sex with me so I couldn’t get an annulment.”
“Kristy—”
“Don’t you dare try to defend yourself.”
“It’s happened before.”
She looked him up and down. “What? You’ve married other women who were engaged to your grandfather?”
“No! I mean he—”
“I don’t want to hear about it.”
“He’s married bimbos—”
“Stop.”
“—before!” Jack shouted over her protest.
A bimbo? That’s what he thought of her?
She coughed out a harsh laugh. It was either that or cry.
“Well, in that case, Jack. You came up with a great plan. I mean, if you take away morals and ethics and, well, every scrap of reasonable humanity. It was a great plan.”
“I thought you were—”
“A bimbo. Uh-huh. You’ve made that clear. So, is my meeting in L.A. still on or what?”
“This afternoon.”
“Good.” She stomped back to her own room, intending to call an airline and book a commercial flight. If she never saw Jack Osland again, it would be far too soon.
“You take the jet.” His voice was directly behind her.
“Get out of my bedroom.”
“You take the jet,” he repeated. “Simon is ready. I’ll make other arrangements.”
“Don’t do me any favors.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
“Under the circumstances, there is no least you can do.”
“It’s the only way for you to get there on time.”
She sucked in a breath between her clenched teeth. He was probably right, and maybe she was a fool to strive for any scrap of dignity at this point anyway. The man had kissed every inch of her body last night. And she’d told him she loved him.
A sharp pain pierced her chest.
She truly thought she had.
“Fine,” she bit out. “I’ll take the damn jet. But only as long as you’re not on it.” Then she turned away from him to jerk open a dresser drawer and plucked out the skirt and sweater she’d arrived in.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Jack” she said. “No. Actually. Go ahead and take it the wrong way if you like. But I never want to see you again.”
“Understandable,” he muttered.
She twisted around to look at him. “Gee, thanks.”
“I had my reasons,” he said.
“It was a great plan,” she mocked. “You must be really disappointed that it failed.”
ONE LOOK at the expressions on the Sierra Sanchez buying team told Kristy she was going to fail.
Her sketches littered the top of the polished mahogany boardroom table, with swatches and samples draped on racks around them.
“The lines are technically strong,” said one of the men. She thought his name was Bernard.
“The fabric works, but it’ll be a challenge for the skirt to stand out in a crowd.” Irene Compton was the lead buyer for the chain.
“Overall,” said the one named James, sifting through her sketches like greeting cards. “The collection is … competent.”
Kristy felt herself shrinking in the luxurious armchair. Competent. Thousands and thousands of budding designers were competent. She didn’t have a hope unless she was outstanding.
“Hmm,” Irene nodded. “Maybe we could think about testing it in Value-Shoppe?” She named a European discount chain.
Value-Shoppe? Kristy had to bite down on her tongue to keep from protesting out loud.
The room went silent, while each of the team members contemplated the drawings. Bright yellow sunshine streamed through the window. Car horns honked a dozen stories below, and a mist of clouds gathered in the distance over the bay. The world outside was still spinning, even while her dreams were being dashed.
“Well, I think she shows promise,” said Cleveland.
Six jaws snapped shut, and everyone’s attention flew to