The Millionaire Meets His Match

Four

“So it’s as horrible as you thought it would be?”

“No, no,” Trish said, keeping her voice perky. “It’s going great.”

It was Friday night, the end of an exhausting week. Trish tried to relax with a glass of chilled chardonnay while her best friend Deb Perris coaxed her three-month-old baby to drink milk from a bottle. They sat in Deb’s comfortable family room directly across the breakfast bar from the kitchen.

“You never were a very good liar,” Deb remarked.

“Why would I lie?” Trish asked.

“Gosh, I don’t know.” Deb brushed a few soft strands of Gavin’s hair off his forehead. “Maybe you’re trying to hide something. But here’s a little hint. If you think raising your voice two octaves higher than normal makes you sound happy, you’re wrong.”

Trish leaned forward to tug at little Gavin’s tiny foot. “Poor baby, you’ll never be able to get away with anything.”

“That’s right,” Deb said proudly. “So you might as well spill the beans. Is the man as bad as you thought he would be?”

“Worse,” Trish muttered before taking another hearty sip of wine to dull the misery.

“Really? Worse? How thrilling.” Deb pulled the bottle out of Gavin’s mouth to check how much milk was left. The baby began to fuss.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” she crooned. “There’s plenty more.” She popped the bottle back into his mouth, then looked at Trish, unable to hide her excitement. “You know, I’m not surprised. Everyone at DDI seems to love him, but it’s always a different story when you get them behind closed doors. Figures the richest ones are always the biggest jerks.”

“But that’s the problem,” Trish grumbled. “The big jerk isn’t turning out to be quite the jerk we thought he’d be. Just the opposite, in fact. He’s thoughtful and funny and a true Good Samaritan-if all those charity files are to be believed. You should’ve seen how angry he got when he found out the contractors messed things up for handicapped guests at the resort.”

“You’re kidding,” Deb said. “He sounds like some kind of white knight.”

“I know.” Trish took another healthy gulp of wine. She wasn’t about to mention the orphanage Adam had spent time in. Not that she cared about his sensibilities. But good grief, how was she supposed to deal with the man she’d declared her sworn enemy when, despite what he’d done to her home and her family, she was actually starting to like him?

“Huh,” Deb said. “There’s got to be something wrong with him.”

“Not so far,” Trish griped.

“Oh, come on,” Deb persisted. “I can tell you’re holding out on me and that’s not fair. I’m stuck here blathering baby talk all day, every day. So throw me a bone, would you? A little gossip? Something? Anything?”

Trish laughed. “I’ve got nothing.”

“I’m not above begging,” Deb said as she fiddled with the baby’s blanket. “I don’t get out much. And not that it’s an issue or anything, but let’s face it, you owe me.”

“Hey, I steered you toward wearing the red dress, didn’t I?”

“Not good enough,” Deb said, laughing. “Although Ronnie was a happy man. Come on, spill.”

Trish sighed. It’s true that if it weren’t for Deb, she might never have been hired by Duke Development International in the first place. When Deb left her administrative job at DDI to stay home with the baby, she’d recommended Trish to Marjorie Wallace, the HR manager, who’d immediately hired Trish for the special assignment department. Trish never would’ve been able to infiltrate the company so quickly if not for Deb. So, yes, she owed her friend the truth-if only she could figure out exactly what the truth was.

“You could’ve warned me how dangerous this job could be to my health,” she groused, getting up to pour herself another half glass of the delicious crisp, dry wine. As she pushed the cork back into the bottle and returned it to the refrigerator shelf, she noticed the label. Duke Cellars. Oh, great. She couldn’t escape the man for one minute.

Deb gave her a quizzical look. “What do you mean, dangerous?”

Trish waved a hand to negate her words. “It’s nothing.”

Deb persisted. “Hey, if there’s a problem, you don’t have to handle it alone. You could-”

“It’s just-” Trish exhaled heavily. “It’s hard to breathe when he’s standing by my desk.”

Her friend’s smile was smug. “He really is cute, isn’t he?”

“Cute?” Trish repeated, stunned by the word. When had Deb become such a master of understatement? Cute was for puppy dogs and two-year-olds. Devastating would more accurately describe Adam Duke.

“But as I recall,” Deb continued, “I did warn you. You just weren’t ready to listen. You were on a mission, remember?”

Trish sipped her wine. “I still am.”

“You still intend to go through with it?”

“I have to.”

Deb shrugged, put the now-empty baby bottle on the side table, then lifted the baby to her shoulder. After a few pats, Gavin let out a healthy burp and they both laughed.

“What a good boy,” Deb whispered, bouncing the baby lightly in her arms.

Trish couldn’t prevent the pang of envy that tripped up her heart as she watched. Deb and she had been best friends since fourth grade when Deb’s parents moved their family to Dunsmuir Bay. Two years ago, Trish had been maid of honor when Deb married her high school sweetheart, Ronnie, in a beautiful ceremony on the cliff overlooking the bay. Then little Gavin was born three months ago and Deb quit her job to stay home.

Trish smiled wistfully. She didn’t really envy her friend’s happiness, but sometimes she wished things had turned out differently in her own life. If Grandma were still alive, if Anna’s Attic and the Victorian Village were still standing, her life might’ve taken another road, might’ve turned out more like Deb’s. She might have a husband or even a baby of her own by now.

Resolve trickled through her as she reminded herself that whatever else he appeared to be, Adam Duke was the reason her world had fallen to pieces. And Trish wasn’t the only one who’d been affected. There were others depending on her to keep her word to bring Adam down. If she ever wanted to face her old friends and neighbors again, she needed to be strong and follow through on her plan.

Maybe someday, when Adam Duke and his machinations had been dealt with and were a thing of the past, she might think about settling down. But not yet. Not until she could look herself in the mirror and feel some amount of pride at having fulfilled the promise she’d made to Grandma Anna on her deathbed.

Content that little Gavin was settled and happy in his infant seat, Deb sat back down. “I know this plan of yours is something you’ve thought about for a long time, but if you’ve had a change of heart, it’s okay. You’re free to change your mind anytime you want.”

“I won’t change my mind,” Trish said.

“There’s no shame in it,” Deb insisted. “You’ve got an accounting degree and an MBA. You could get a job anywhere.”

“I know, and I will,” she said, gazing at her friend with renewed resolve. “But first things first. My personal feelings about Adam Duke don’t matter. He deserves to be taken down and I won’t give up until I’ve done just that.”

Trish spent most of Saturday morning running errands. She stopped at the dry cleaners, the grocery store, the bank and finally the library where she returned two books, then strolled over to browse the new arrivals shelf.

“My goodness, is that you, Trish?”

She turned, then smiled and gave the chic, older woman a hug. “Mrs. Collins, how are you?”

“I’m as well as can be expected for an old gal.” Selma Collins was a neighbor from Victorian Village. She’d owned the stylish clothing shop that had provided Trish with dresses for all the significant events of her life, from her first communion to her senior prom.

Today Mrs. Collins wore one of her vintage Chanel suits. It was almost as old as she was, but it was elegant and timeless, just as she was. Her subtle scent of Chanel No. 5 filled Trish’s sense memory and, just for a moment, transported her back to a happier time.

“Oh, Mrs. Collins,” Trish said with a grin, “you look as fresh and young as the day I met you.”

The woman slapped Trish’s arm. “My dear, you were a toddler when I first met you, so stop pulling this old gal’s leg.”

They both chuckled, then Trish wasn’t sure what to say. Most of the neighbors knew her plan to infiltrate Duke Development and they’d applauded her for taking action. But if she came up with nothing, she didn’t know how she would face them. And that outcome was looking more and more inevitable with every day she spent with Adam Duke.

“You probably heard that Claude and Madeleine had to declare bankruptcy,” Mrs. Collins whispered.

The news hit Trish like a physical blow to the chest. Claude and Madeleine Maubert had operated the Village Patisserie for over twenty years. Their chocolate croissants were the stuff of dreams. Trish had loved hearing Mrs. Maubert’s stories of her life in Paris before she met her husband and they ventured “across the pond,” as she always said. “Oh, no. Are they going to be all right?”

Mrs. Collins shook her head. “They went through most of their savings trying to set up another patisserie like the one they’d had at the Village, but they just couldn’t make it work. I don’t think their hearts were in it.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“Oh, dear girl, you’re doing everything you can.” Mrs. Collins squeezed her arm. “We have such great hopes for you.”

Trish smiled thinly but said nothing. She wished now that she hadn’t raised the expectations of her neighbors by telling them of her plan to find some dirt on Adam Duke. Even if she did discover something they could use against their nemesis, it wouldn’t bring back their shops or their homes.

But eight months ago, after Grandma Anna died, Trish had been so angry and hurt that she’d stormed into City Hall and demanded to know why the city hadn’t approved the historical designation for Victorian Village. They’d told her that renters couldn’t apply for the designation; it had to come from the owners.

She remembered the overwhelming desire to throw something at the clerk. It shouldn’t have mattered who applied for the designation. It was an objective fact that the block-long building was a town landmark, well over one hundred years old and lovingly preserved in the classic Queen Anne Victorian style. How dare the city allow it to be bulldozed into oblivion and replaced by a concrete slab?

After receiving no satisfaction at City Hall, she’d marched into the large Duke Development construction trailer that was camped on the site of her razed home and made silly threats. The head guy, a wormy little man who made her skin crawl, had warned her to get out or he would call security, so she left of her own accord, but not before foolishly ranting her intention to “take down Duke Development” if it was the last thing she did.

Now, she could only laugh ruefully at the memory but back then, she’d been carrying around a grudge that weighed her down like a stone. Soon after the embarrassing scene at the Duke construction trailer, Trish had attended a barbecue with her old neighbors. She’d shared her plan with them, boldly promising that she would find something-anything-that could be used to hurt the Dukes in some way. It had been rash of her, but her friends had hailed her as their heroine and bolstered her confidence, so she knew she had to give it her best shot.

And so she had. But so far, she’d found nothing remotely damaging to the corporation or to Adam Duke himself. On the contrary, the man appeared to be a saint.

Mrs. Collins hugged her again and told her to “keep the fight alive.” Trish promised to arrange a get-together soon, then watched the older woman walk away. Trish knew she had no choice but to renew her pledge to continue her search. She just prayed that Adam never found out her true intentions because, if he did, she had no doubt that he would make it impossible for her to ever find work in this town again.

“Who wants hot dogs?” Sally Duke cried as she slid the patio door open while balancing two full platters of hot dogs and buns.

“Let me help you with that, Mom,” Adam said, jogging over to grab something from her capable hands. He set the trays on the patio table.

“Thanks, sweetie,” Sally said. “Could you make the hamburger patties? You’re so good at that.”

“I’ll take care of them. You relax.”

“Oh, and I think we’ll need more sangria.”

“You got it.” Adam signaled to Brandon, who stood behind the tiki bar on the other side of the wide terrace, beyond the pool. “Mom needs more sangria.”

“Coming right up,” Brandon called.

Adam entered the big, sunny kitchen where Cameron stood at the stove, putting the finishing touches on the latest batch of his world-famous chili.

Adam snatched a pickle from the relish tray in the refrigerator and chomped it down before heading over to taste-test the chili.

“Needs salt,” he said after the first spoonful.

“I know,” Cameron said.

Adam pulled the hamburger meat from the refrigerator, grabbed a large glass bowl from the cupboard and cleared a spot on the kitchen island to work.

“I need to talk to you and Brandon some time today,” Cameron said as he stirred the pot. “The environmental report came in on the Monarch Beach property and I want to take action on Monday.”

“Sounds good,” Adam said. “I’ve got an ADA issue going on at Fantasy Mountain, too.”

“Speaking of fantasies,” Brandon said as he walked into the room carrying the empty sangria pitcher. “How’s that sweet new assistant of yours doing?”

Cameron turned. “You’ve got a new assistant?”

“Mind your own damn business,” Adam said gruffly to Brandon.

“Ouch,” Brandon said, grinning as he ladled more sangria from the punch bowl into the pitcher. “I seem to have touched a nerve.”

He left the kitchen to deliver the sangria but was back in less than a minute. “What did I miss?”

“I believe we were about to discuss Adam’s new assistant,” Cameron said drily.

Dammit, this subject wasn’t going to go away. Might as well discuss it with people he trusted. Adam walked to the sink and pulled the kitchen curtain back in order to scan the patio. “Where’s Mom?”

“Marjorie and Bea just arrived,” Brandon said. “They’re all out at the bar, drinking sangria and wolfing down chips and salsa.”

“Good,” Adam said, suddenly feeling almost as paranoid as Brandon had earlier in the week. “Let’s make sure they stay out there.”

“What’s going on?” Cameron asked. “You don’t want Mom to know about this ADA issue?”

Brandon snickered as he grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. “I’m betting he’s not really worried about the ADA issue right now.”

“Shut up,” Adam grumbled as he kneaded garlic powder into the meat.

“He hates when I’m right,” Brandon said, smirking.

“Luckily, that rarely happens,” Adam said drily.

“Good one,” Brandon said, too amused to counter the jibe. “So go ahead, just spill it.”

It wasn’t that easy, Adam thought, staring at his brothers. They’d always shared their problems with each other. Despite Brandon’s easygoing nature, he had instincts as sharply drawn as Adam’s and Cameron’s. Besides being his brothers, these two men were his business partners and the two people he most trusted with his life. So he took a breath and spilled his guts.

“It’s this thing Brandon’s been harping on,” he said, glancing from Cameron to Brandon. “You know, about Mom’s latest campaign.”

Cameron looked puzzled for a second, then said, “The matchmaking thing?”

“Yeah.”

“What about it?”

Adam hesitated, then said, “I’ve got this new assistant.”

Brandon nodded. “She’s very hot.”

“You’ve seen her?” Cameron turned to Adam. “When did he get to see her?”

Adam rolled his eyes. “He hasn’t seen her.”

“No,” Brandon said, “but I’ve talked to her on the phone. Her voice is very hot.”

“So?” Cameron turned to Adam. “Is she hot or what?”

Adam shook his head as he added more seasonings to the meat. His brothers were nothing if not predictable when it came to women. “Yeah, she’s hot. That’s the problem.”

“I don’t really see that as a problem,” Cameron said, grinning. “But that’s just me.”

Brandon chuckled, then took a sip of beer.

“Okay, I’ll bite.” Cameron shrugged. “So what does your hot assistant have to do with Mom and…” He stopped, stared at Adam, then Brandon, then back to Adam. “No way,” he whispered in amazement.

“Way, bro,” Brandon said, nodding sagely.

“She wouldn’t,” Cameron said. “Would she?”

“Wouldn’t she?” Adam asked. “We are talking about Sally Duke, right? The woman known far and wide as the Steel Camellia?”

“Right,” Brandon said, then added, “the woman everyone in town calls when they need to accomplish the impossible.”

“But…how?” Cameron thought for another few seconds, then asked, “Wait a minute. You already have an assistant. Where’s Cheryl?”

“She quit,” Adam said flatly.

“Cheryl quit?” Cameron frowned at the chili, then glanced at Adam. “What’s happening with the Fantasy Mountain opening?”

“Trish hit the ground running with that project,” he said, realizing again that no matter what her reason was for being in his office, she was damn good at her job. “She’s got it covered.”

“Trish. Your new assistant.”

“Yeah.”

“So she’s good.”

“She’s excellent.”

“Where’d you find her?”

Adam paused, then admitted, “The floater pool.”

Cameron whipped around. “What?”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Brandon said.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Cameron’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure you do.”

“Does she know what she’s doing?” Brandon asked.

“Completely,” Adam said as he pulled a cookie sheet from one drawer and wax paper from another. “Possibly better than Cheryl.”

“Wow,” Brandon said. “Cheryl was great.”

“I know.”

Again Cameron stared at the chili, deep in thought, as though chili beans might hold the secrets of the universe. You just never knew, Adam thought.

Finally, Cameron looked up and said, “So let me get this straight. You think Mom got Trish a job as a floater, then arranged for Cheryl to quit, then made sure Marjorie put Trish in her place in hopes that you might fall…?”

“When you say it out loud, it sounds pretty farfetched,” Brandon admitted as he took a seat at the kitchen table.

Adam bit back an expletive as he formed the first hamburger patty. He watched Cameron stir the chili some more as his brother tried to work out this conundrum.

Cameron added a bit more salt while he muttered, “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, it’s Mom,” Brandon said, slouching in his chair as he took a long sip of beer.

“I know,” Cameron said. “I’m trying to work out all the angles, but I’m coming up with nothing. There’s no way she could’ve pulled this off. It’s impossible.”

“You sure?” Adam said, his eyes narrowing. Cameron always weighed the odds, studied all the angles. If he said it was impossible…

“I’m absolutely sure.” Cameron nodded with conviction. “I mean, Mom’s good, but that’s really out there.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” Adam pounded another lump of hamburger meat into submission and put it on the cookie sheet. “I can’t help feeling it’s all a little too coincidental.”

“You’re right,” Cameron said as he added more salt and chili powder to the pot. “But how could she have arranged everything? The scenario borders on labyrinthine.”

Brandon’s eyebrows shot up. “Labyrinthine. Nice.”

“Thanks,” Cameron said with a nod. “Bottom line, it’s impossible.”

When the kitchen door opened and Sally popped inside, Adam couldn’t help but grin. With her platinum-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, their mother looked like a teenager in pink shorts, a white tank top and purple flip-flops. “I’m going to set the table, and the girls need more sangria.”

“I’ll bring another pitcher out in a minute, Mom,” Brandon said.

“Thanks, sweetie.” Sally began pulling knives and forks out of the drawer, then glanced around at each of the men. “What are you boys cooking up in here?”

Brandon gave her a look of complete innocence. “Chili, Mom.”

Sally eyed him suspiciously, then looked at Adam. “Is that all?”

“I was just bringing them up to speed on Fantasy Mountain,” Adam said. “We’ll be out in a minute.”

“I hope so.” She grabbed napkins from another drawer and crossed to the backdoor. “It’s a beautiful day outside and I don’t want you spending it inside talking shop.”

“Yes, Mom,” all three men said in unison.

As soon as the door shut, Cameron said, “Where were we?”

“Mom’s diabolical plot to take over the world as we know it,” Brandon said, and pointed his beer bottle at Cameron. “You were saying it’s impossible, but Adam still thinks it’s a little too coincidental.”

“Maybe I’m just being paranoid,” Adam said.

“You can blame that on Brandon,” Cameron said, grinning.

“Hey,” Brandon said, straightening up. “I’m not paranoid, I’m just vigilant.”

Cameron’s smile faded as he leaned against the stove and crossed his arms. “I want to be clear. When I said it was impossible, I meant that there’s no way Mom or Marjorie could’ve convinced Cheryl to quit. But we all know how determined Mom can be, so it’s entirely possible that she had Marjorie scoping out the scene at DDI for possible replacements that might come up at any time, in any of our offices. They could’ve planted Trish in the floater pool with the intention of using her on any of us.”

“And they got lucky with Cheryl,” Adam finished.

“Exactly,” Cameron said.

“I told you Mom was recruiting her friends to help her,” Brandon reminded them. “This is sounding more and more plausible by the minute.”

“Dammit.” Adam looked at his brothers, each in turn, then said, “Somehow, some way, Mom’s behind this. And if she is, then Trish is a willing participant. Which means, my brothers, she’s fair game.”

Brandon laughed. “You’re gonna turn the tables on her.”

“That’s my plan,” Adam said. “I figure if she’s looking to seduce me, I’m going to head her off at the pass. I’ll seduce her. Then, I’ll let her know I’m in on her scheme with Mom just before I cut her loose.”

“It’s good,” Cameron said with an approving nod. “I like it.”

“It’ll work,” Brandon agreed with a look at Adam. “As long as you don’t slip up.”

Adam pierced him with a look. “Please.”

“Hey, it’s not just you on the chopping block here, bro. If Mom succeeds with you, the two of us are next. You’re fighting this battle not just for the Dukes, but for all mankind.”

“Amen,” Cameron told him.

Brandon stared out the window at their mother and her friends laughing and talking. “They’re probably toasting their victory as we speak.”

Cameron snorted. “A bit premature to be celebrating, don’t you think?”

“Trust me,” Adam said through gritted teeth. “They’re doomed for disappointment.”