Trouble in High Heels

Chapter Four

Jackson stared at the insane woman in disbelief, but he didn’t need to ask Lori to repeat herself. Her words would ring in his ears at the top of his list of unforgettable requests. He stood and shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

With perfectly manicured, unsteady hands, she poured herself a cup of coffee. She rattled the china so much he took the cup and saucer from her, for fear she would drop them. Jackson poured the coffee and nodded toward a chair. “You need to sit down,” he said. “You drank way too much last night if you think I’m going to find a husband for you.”

Lori sat down and immediately slipped off her shoes. She tucked one leg behind the other, beauty-queen style, and gingerly sipped from the coffee, wrinkling her nose. She closed her eyes for two seconds, then fixed her baby blues on him. “This is the perfect solution to my financial situation. Find a man who agrees to be my husband until I turn thirty, pay him for his services, then divorce him so I can do what I want.”

“Have you even considered that a budget could be a better solution? You need to learn how to responsibly manage your inheritance.”

Lori rolled her eyes. “You and I both know that even at the rate I spend, I would have to throw away a lot more money on a daily basis in order to go through my father’s fortune during my lifetime. My father wrote his will to control me. He always tried to control me, and a lot of the time, he succeeded.” Her eyes turned dark. “Now it’s time for me to take control. That’s why I’m getting married on my terms.” She took another sip and grimaced. “That’s where you come in.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I manage your finances, not your love life.”

She shook her head, then pressed her fingers to her temple. “This has nothing to do with my love life and everything to do with my finances.”

His stomach twisted at the determined expression on her face. She looked angry, resolved, and a little nuts. “Marriage is serious business, Lori.”

“Exactly,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Business. That’s why you’ll be the perfect matchmaker for me. You can vet prospects, arrange for background checks, and coordinate a prenuptial agreement with an attorney. Plus, you’ve got that whole emotionally detached accounting thing going for you.”

She was serious. This kooky rich girl was serious. He swallowed an oath. “You’ve got the wrong man. There’s no way I’m going to be your matchmaker. No way.”

As he bolted from the Granger mansion, Jackson felt steam rising from his head, and it wasn’t because of the August heat. It was all internal. Lori had fried his brain circuits with her idiotic proposal.

Driving to the office, he strode directly to Hollingsworth’s office and tapped on the door. His boss’s assistant looked up at Jackson and frowned as if she weren’t going to let him inside, so he went ahead and opened the door.

“ Jackson?” Mr. Hollingsworth mouthed, cradling a telephone receiver to his ear.

“Excuse me, sir-”

Hollingsworth held up a finger. “I look forward to meeting with you. Friday at 10:00 p.m. We’ll have your favorite cigars.” Hollingsworth laughed. “Sure, see you then.”

Jackson felt movement behind him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hollingsworth,” the assistant said, frowning at Jackson in disapproval. “Mr. James got past me before I had a chance to stop him.”

“That’s okay,” Hollingsworth said, studying Jackson for a few seconds. “This time,” he added. “Come on in, Jackson. You can close the door behind you. Hold my calls.”

Jackson closed the door and walked to his boss’s desk. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Hollingsworth, I’ll put my accounting background against anyone’s in the firm, but I can’t fulfill Lori Granger’s latest request,” he said with a bitter taste filling his mouth.

“Have a seat,” Hollingsworth said, motioning to the leather chair in front of his desk.

Jackson reluctantly sat. He was still stifling the urge to scream.

“Did she ask you to commit a crime?”

Jackson blinked and shook his head. “No, no,” he said.

Hollingsworth stood and walked to the side of his desk. He lifted the lid of his humidor. “You see what’s in this humidor?”

Jackson looked inside. “It’s empty.”

“Right. I hate cigars. They’re nasty, and the odor clings to everything. But Friday this humidor will be filled with the finest Jamaicans money can buy, because a client with a multimillion-dollar account will be walking through that door. He’ll light a cigar, and so will I-even though I hate them. Dealing with top clients means you’re willing to work with their eccentricities. If these people weren’t rich, they’d be called freaking weirdos instead of eccentrics. Now, I’m not going to ask what Lori Granger wants you to do. I’m just going to tell you that this is part of playing with a big fish.” He leaned forward and clapped Jackson on the shoulder. “We believe you can handle this account.” With a smile reminiscent of Jack Nicholson’s I-couldn’t-care-less grin, he waved the hand toward the door. “Now have a nice day.”

Nodding, Jackson rose and strode from the office to his vehicle. He got inside and felt himself boil with frustration. At least he understood the rules. He could expect zero backup from the partners, and he was expected to fulfill Lori Granger’s most insane wish as if he had a magic wand. Hey, he’d dodged a roaring, snorting bull, mad with the urge to kill, before. He should be able to manage a female mad with the urge to marry.

Swearing under his breath, he started the vehicle and shifted it into gear. Who was he kidding? This job was going to be a bitch if ever there was one.

Needing silence and sense, he drove to his house and walked inside. His black Lab, Sadie, greeted him by rising and walking toward him. “How ya doing, girl?” he asked, petting her silky coat. He really hadn’t had room in his life for a pet, but when he’d found Sadie abandoned and emaciated from lack of food, he hadn’t been able to leave her. After they’d come to an agreement on her chewing habits, she’d become an easygoing buddy for him.

Hanging his suit coat on the back of a chair, Jackson lifted his phone and checked his voice mail. One message from his mother, another from his brother, another from a tenant. The tenant needed a faucet. No problem. Jackson could take care of that tonight. His mother and brother needed money, he suspected. Whenever both of them called, they didn’t come out and ask for money, but they needed it. Since his father came and went as he pleased, Jackson sent money to fill in the gaps, with the understanding that his mother use it strictly for herself or his teenage brother, Adam.

Grabbing a beer from the refrigerator, he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled off his tie. He sat down in a wooden kitchen chair, put his feet on the chair across from him, and looked out the window. The view wasn’t anything to scream about, just a couple of trees and brown grass singed from the unrelenting hot sun, along with the back of a neighbor’s house. It soothed him because it was normal. He could use a lot of normal after the last few days.

He took another long drink from the can and let the silence and sanity seep inside him. He took a deep breath and felt his muscles loosen. Grabbing a notepad, he began to scribble notes, questions. Within twenty minutes, he formulated a plan for how to help Lori Jean Granger find a suitable husband, all the while trying to drown out the sound of the theme song from Mission: Impossible in his mind.

The following morning, Lori made sure she was ready early for Jackson, since he’d called her assistant and told her to expect him at 10:00 a.m. sharp. She was still stinging from the fact that he’d caught her in such an embarrassing position the morning before. She had no doubt that Jackson was mentally tough and she would have to stay on her toes at all times to keep up with him. He’d already let her know he was no pushover.

Grimacing at the prospect of meeting with him again, she checked her watch: 9:55 a.m. The doorbell rang. What an anal man, she thought, at the same time conceding that most good accountants probably were detail-oriented. It was a necessary trait for the job. She wrinkled her nose. The fact didn’t make working with him any easier.

She opened the door and caught a look of surprise on his face. “What?” she asked, immediately feeling defensive. “You expected me to have another hangover? I’m not a drunk.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t say you were a drunk. I was surprised Mabel didn’t answer the door,” he said and entered the foyer.

“Oh.” She felt as if someone had pricked her balloon. She met his level gaze and felt unsettled. “I’m assuming you’ve decided to work with me on my husband hunt.”

He cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes in irritation. “Against my better judgment.” He jerked his head impatiently. “If you’re dead set on it, let’s get on with it.”

“I’m definitely dead set,” she said, sensing his supreme disapproval of her and trying not to feel on edge because of it. Walking with him toward the study, she told herself she didn’t care what Jackson thought of her as long as he helped her accomplish her goal.

He held the door open for her, then waited for her to sit before he took his seat across from her. Pulling out a pad of paper and a pen, he sighed and scratched his head. “I have some questions I need you to answer. Do you have an age preference for your husband?”

She blinked. “I hadn’t really thought about it. If he were going to be a real husband, I don’t think I would want to marry someone too old. Older than me, though.” She shrugged. “But since I’m only going to be married to him for a few years, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Unless he dies,” Jackson muttered.

“Which would make me a very young widow-” Lori broke off. “I wonder what the requirements are if I’m widowed. If I married someone really old, maybe-”

Jackson groaned. “If you married someone really old, you’d have to contend with his heirs.”

Lori made a face. “Oh, well, scratch that idea.”

“Age preference,” Jackson repeated.

“Twenty-eight to forty,” she said.

He scratched her answer on his pad of paper. “What about education?”

“What about it?”

“Do you care if this guy has a college degree or not?”

Lori sighed. The truth was that she didn’t want to overthink this. She just wanted to do it so she could get it over with and have it interrupt her life as little as possible. “I suppose so.”

Jackson nodded and made another note on his paper. “Do you have a preference about his physical appearance? Height, weight, body type, hair color, that kind of thing.”

Lori gnawed her lip. “I’m not sure you’re getting this. I don’t really want to have to be married. I don’t want to spend much time with this man. Any time,” she added. “I want this to be a strictly business arrangement.”

“And you don’t care what the press will say about it?” Jackson asked, his gaze level.

Lori opened her mouth to answer no.

“You don’t care what your friends will say behind your back. You don’t care what kind of impact this may have on a future real marriage.”

Lori felt her stomach twist. “I may not want to get married.”

“What if you do? What if you have children?”

She bit her lip hard. He didn’t know what he was talking about. He obviously didn’t know that she probably couldn’t ever have children because of the terrible horseback riding accident. “I don’t think I’m cut out for motherhood,” she managed in an airy voice, ignoring the stabbing sensation inside her.

He gave her a long, considering glance, as if he were weighing his opinion of her. His gaze swept to the pad of paper, and Lori experienced that old, familiar feeling of not measuring up.

She felt naked and vulnerable, but not for long. Self-righteous anger burned to the surface. She clenched her fingers into a fist to keep from throwing something at him.

“No children,” he said. “Does that mean no sex?”

The question took her off guard. The whole discussion unnerved her, but Jackson ’s tone was deep and rich, edged with a tinge of huskiness that teased something inside her. She met his dark gaze and felt an odd tugging sensation in her belly. She wondered what kind of lover he would be. Passionate, she decided. Whether a little rough or a little tender, he would be passionate when he made love to a woman. She wondered how he chose his lovers.

Lori caught herself. What was she thinking?

He was so anal he probably had some sort of numerical rating system and checklist.

“I already told you this is supposed to be a business arrangement,” she said.

“So is it okay if this guy gets taken care of on an extracurricular basis, or does the poor sap have to sign a chastity agreement?” He paused. “For that matter, what about you?”

“No, he doesn’t have to sign a chastity agreement,” she said, feeling more huffy by the moment. “He just needs to be discreet.”

“Discreet as in down the street, out of town, or out of the country?”

Lori frowned. “I’m sure we can work out the details later.”

Jackson shook his head. “You can get in a lot of trouble not taking care of details.”

“Spoken just like an accountant,” she muttered under her breath.

“I heard you,” he said. “Just remember, you asked an accountant to find your husband for you.”

Lori bit her tongue to keep from sticking it out at him. “Okay. Discreet means in a different city and not in view of the press.”

“For you, too.”

She looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean, me, too?”

“You’ll be discreet, too, by going to a different city when you have your affairs.”

Lori wrinkled her nose. “You make it sound slimy.”

He lifted an eyebrow but said nothing. Aloud, anyway. His expression said he thought the whole thing was slimy. Lori couldn’t stand his censure another moment. “I’m not slimy.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You might as well have.” She pointed at his face. “Your eyebrow said it.”

His lips twitched in amusement. “I didn’t know eyebrows could talk.”

“Well, yours can,” she said, her hands on her hips.

“I don’t think you’re slimy. I think you’re desperate. Desperate people do stupid things.”

Her anger kicked up another notch. “I’m not stupid, either.”

“I didn’t say-”

“Close enough,” she said, cutting him off. “You know, you don’t understand because you’re a guy and you don’t know what it’s like to be female when your father was a wonderful man but he was also sexist, chauvinistic, and controlling.” She sighed. “This is my way of taking control of my life.”

He shrugged. “As long as you’re sure living on a budget wouldn’t be easier than getting a husband.”

“I have people counting on me. You obviously don’t understand. You must be free as a bird with no responsibilities, don’t have to answer to anyone…”

She blinked, and he was looming over her. Her heart slammed in her chest at the dark expression on his face.

“You make a lot of assumptions about me,” he said in a quiet, too-controlled voice.

She refused to be intimidated. Even if her legs felt a little shaky. “You haven’t presented yourself as particularly compassionate.”

He was silent for a long moment. Lori felt some kind of weird energy zinging between them. If the humidity and outdoor temperature hadn’t been ninety percent and ninety degrees, then she would have thought it was static electricity.

“It’s not my job to be compassionate. It’s my job to help you learn to live within your means.”

“Tilly was nicer than you are.”

“No,” Jackson said, shaking his head. “Mr. Till was a pushover.”

“And you’re not,” she said. “Darn shame.”

“You need-”

“Don’t you dare say I need a firm hand,” she interjected.

“You need someone who will tell you the truth. I think you know that I’ll do that. That’s the reason you want me in charge of your harebrained scheme to get a husband. Because you know I’ll tell you the truth.”

Lori tried not to squirm, but his words felt razor sharp. Even though Jackson lacked charm, she did feel she could trust him.

“Stop making assumptions,” he said.

“Okay,” she said, still feeling dissatisfied. “As long as you stop making assumptions about me. Yes, I’ve been overprotected. Yes, I’ve lived a privileged life. But I’m not selfish. I’m not stupid. And another thing,” she added. “People sometimes make assumptions based on lack of information. If you want to change my impression of you, give me different information.”

“Deal,” he said and glanced down at his pad of paper. “I have one other question regarding your prospective husband. What did you have in mind for his annual salary?”

Lori resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose. Despite the fact that she’d decided this was a business arrangement, the idea of paying a man to be her husband was one more thing that made the whole plan feel icky. “I haven’t thought of a figure. Have you?”

He lifted his eyebrows and shook his head. “I think it’s going to have to be seven figures.”

Stunned and a little insulted, Lori gaped at him. “I can’t believe it’s going to be that much of a horrible job.” She lifted her shoulders. “What is this guy going to have to do? Pretend to like me, marry me, then go away with a settlement.”

“You’re a beautiful, generous woman, but this kind of thing would drive a lot of men crazy. Think about it. No sex and putting your future on hold for years.”

“I didn’t say no sex,” she insisted.

“Just no sex with you or with anyone in the same town as you. Most heterosexual men can’t handle that kind of you-can-look-but-you-can’t-touch policy for a night, let alone years.”

Something about the way he said sex got under her skin.

“You’re just not going to be great wife material.”