Mending Images With The Billionaire (Artists & Billionaires Book 4) Page 4

  “But would the stalker be able to get past the security?”

  “They got past yours.”

  “Touché.”

  “Since we need to catch them in the act, security is deceptively lax.” Abbie smiled, and for a second, his heart stopped.

  One of the reasons he’d chosen her was because he thought he would be able to focus as he felt no attraction to her. Maybe he was as bad as all the men his cousin Felica was always going on and on about because they would follow anything in a skirt. This particular skirt was soft and flowy and fell below the knees. “Shall we plan for next week?”

  Abbie penciled it in on Wednesday on a printed calendar. “I thought it best if the electronic versions of our calendars didn’t have some events on them. When we finish, I’ll send this over to the office. The wedding is June 28? What else do you have planned?”

  Preston turned the calendar to face him. “The proposal should be this weekend. With Monday being Memorial Day, it gives us plenty of time to be seen around town.”

  Who would believe that? “Today is Friday, and you only got dumped yesterday. I’ve heard of rebounds, but three days is fast, even for a man—” She paused.

  “With my reputation?”

  Miss Intimidation looked uncomfortable. Score!

  “My reputation for changing girlfriends should help us, then. I am not known for wallowing and waiting for the next woman to come along. I’ll claim love at first sight.”

  Abbie took the calendar back and wrote “proposal” on Monday.

  “What are those three days you crossed out?” Preston pointed to the second week of June.

  “My friend Araceli is getting married in Boston, to Kyle Evans. I am going, non-negotiable.”

  “Kyle Evans’s wedding? No problem. I’ll go too. I am sure I can get an invite if I ask the right person.”

  “But I need to go as me, Abbie. We can’t risk anyone asking questions about why you are there if I am at the wedding as Abbie Hastings. I can’t go as Gale Henderson.”

  “And how will it look if my fiancée up and disappears for three days?”

  Abbie rubbed her temples. “I don’t want to miss this. Please?”

  For a second, he thought she might beg. He got up and walked to the window to distance himself. “I could plan a business meeting in Boston and take you along. Then you could do both, and you would only need to be seen with me at a few things. I could book us a suite at the Ritz.”

  “Two suites. My back story is I am a want-to-be photographer from an Indiana farm town. I go to church every Sunday, and I still have the purity ring my father gave me. She held up her right hand.”

  “Where did you get one of those?”

  Her cheeks pinked. “Like I said, my father gave it to me. It isn’t practical to wear on the job, so few people have ever seen it.”

  “Two suites.”

  “Will you be taking any security?”

  Preston shrugged. “I generally take a small detail. I’ll have to if you have been threatened.”

  “Can you make sure one of the laxer men on your team gets the assignment? Unless Simon comes, since he will know. I’ll need to sneak out of the Ritz and over to the Four Seasons, where the real me is staying. And on Thursday night I don’t think the fake me will be able to appear at all. She will have to get some bad lobster or something.”

  “So the wedding is on Friday?”

  Abbie nodded.

  “I think that could work. What about the real you’s friends?”

  “I wasn’t asked to be a bridesmaid because of my job as Mandy Crawford’s bodyguard. She is no longer going, but all her old roommates are in the bridal party. I don’t have as much involvement as the rest of them. The maid of honor and one of the bridesmaids already know I am operating as a split identity this month.”

  “Wait. I thought we weren’t telling anyone.”

  “No, you aren’t telling anyone. My father and brothers needed to know as did a couple key employees. I asked Mandy Crawford for advice on a personal shopper and stylist. And since she was asked, and declined, to be one of the bridesmaids for the wedding in Boston, you might surmise at least some of the wedding party knows my business life. None of them could be your stalker anyway. As I was saying, the maid of honor knows and can cover for me. I don’t need to be at the rehearsal.”

  Preston turned his attention back to the calendar. “I guess we fill in the rest with various dates. My mother will want to have an engagement party, and it will drive her crazy if she doesn’t have a month to plan. My advice is to stay out of her way and let it happen. She will probably try to be involved in the wedding planning, too, though most of it is prepared, since I booked the venue. You won’t mind if she changes the flowers and colors, will you? And she will want to meet your bridesmaids. Who will they be, anyway?”

  Abbie shrugged. “Since I don’t want to endanger my friends, I wasn’t planning on inviting them.”

  “But you need friends or cousins or something.”

  “Well, Candace and Zoe are pretty much up to anything, and since they already know, they can play along.”

  “That reminds me.” Preston pulled a card from his pocket. “This is Mateo’s card. He is expecting you at eight thirty tomorrow morning for dress measurements and a consult. You’ll need to find the bridesmaids dresses off the rack. That will tick off my cousin Felicia, but it can’t be helped. Are you sure I can’t tell her about you? We have rarely kept secrets from each other.”

  “No, you can’t even tell your parents. Don’t worry about the dresses. I am sure I can find something tasteful she will like.”

  “The less tasteful, the better when it comes to Felicia. She wants to be one of those women who has a dreadful collection of bridesmaid’s dresses.”

  “So, how are we going to meet?”

  “Clubbing?” That was where he’d found most of the girlfriends he hadn’t found through work.

  “I don’t drink, remember? You could literally run into me.”

  “What?”

  “Like come through a doorway or turn around too quick in the coffee shop. Or your limo could splash a puddle on me, like in the old movie with the actor my grandma liked.”

  Preston looked at his watch. “I have an idea. It’s perfect. We meet tonight.”

  six

  The basic little black dress emphasized a little too much for her taste. She hadn’t realized how short it was during her whirlwind shopping spree. Abbie pulled on the hem as she sat at the table and sipped a second glass of water. Apparently, people didn’t come to the upscale restaurant alone. At least she got Preston to drop the book-and-a-rose portion of his plan. After twenty minutes of waiting, she wished she had brought a book, if not to read to at least deflect the increasing number of pitying glances she was receiving from other patrons. The maître d’ came by and politely asked if her she had heard from the other party. Her cue to leave.

  She apologized for taking up a table, collected her clutch purse, and started to stand when a passing customer bumped into her, causing her to stumble. A waiter carrying a tray of filled drink glasses sidestepped to avoid the customer, but the tray slid out of his hands and into Abbie’s shoulder, ice and drinks pouring all over her. She fell back against the table. The maître d’ and waiter apologized and offered her a towel.

  The customer turned to face her, his face full of remorse. “I am so sorry. I believe this is my fault. I bumped into the waiter.”

  The maître d’ turned his attention to Preston. “Mr. Harmon, it is not your fault at all.”

  “But it is. I wasn’t paying attention as I was looking at my phone. Walking and texting causes accidents.”

  Abbie straightened and cleaned herself off the best she could, glad Preston had insisted on the black dress. T
he lighter color she had favored would have become translucent with this much liquid. An ice cube slid down the inside of the dress, and she shivered.

  “You must be freezing.” Preston slipped out of his suit coat and draped it around her shoulders. “Where is your dinner partner?”

  Abbie felt her cheeks burn—the only warm spot on her.

  “The lady’s partner failed to show. She’s leaving,” volunteered the maître d’.

  “So you didn’t even get to try their signature dessert? That is a shame. Allow me to take you to change, then I will bring you back.”

  Abbie shook her head and turned to the maître d’. “If you could hail a cab, please.”

  Preston stepped forward. “My driver will be here any moment. And if you are concerned about leaving with a stranger, half of the patrons can probably identify me.”

  “I recognize you, Mr. Harmon—”

  “Preston, please.”

  Another piece of ice started to melt. “Thank you for your kind offer, but I think I should just leave.”

  “How about I take you to your destination and we return and have dinner on Monday? I can’t imagine the agony of sitting here waiting for your date and watching all the incredible food pass by. Admit it. You have seen at least three things you are dying to try.”

  Abbie couldn’t help it. She smiled.

  “There. Give me a chance. A dozen witnesses are seeing us leave together, and I think a few have even taken photos. If half of Chicago knowing doesn’t ensure you get safely home, nothing will.” He gave her a half grin.

  A puddle of cola mixed with lemonade and who knew what else started to collect in her shoe. “Thank you for your offer. I accept a ride home.”

  The maître d’ turned to Preston. “Shall I make a reservation at seven on Monday?”

  “Please do.” He agreed without her approval.

  Preston placed his hand on her lower back and escorted her to the door.

  As soon as his car came into view, Abbie stopped. “I can’t sit in there! I’ll ruin the leather.”

  “No worries. My driver covered the seat, although I admit I didn’t expect you to get quite so doused.”

  Abbie sniffed. “It smells more like I am soused.”

  The driver opened the door. Preston entered first, and the driver helped her in. The seat was covered with several towels, probably Egyptian cotton, and she buried her face in one Preston handed her. When she pulled the towel away, she caught him appraising her.

  She checked to make sure the privacy window was up before speaking. “You could have given me a few more details, like warning me to wear waterproof mascara. Or a wet suit.”

  “The minute details would have spoiled your reaction. And it was priceless, even for me.” He gave her the half grin again.

  Abbie dabbed at her hair. “I will admit you did manage a memorable first meeting.”

  “I’ll bet you a new dress a photo is posted and tagged to my account at least three times before we even get to your apartment.” Preston gave her a genuine smile. The smile surprised her—not the smile itself but that she was starting to tell which ones were real and which ones weren’t.

  “Well, considering you bought this one, I don’t think it’s much of a bet.”

  “Still, I owe you a new one. This time I’ll find a dress that suits you better. A woman should be comfortable in her clothes. Even before I ruined the dress, you were not.”

  She set the towel in her lap. “How did you know?”

  “You must have tugged on your hem a hundred times this evening.”

  “You watched me?”

  “Of course. I had to have a reason to be in the restaurant and to run into you. I met a friend in the bar. We could see you quite well. He did comment on the poor stood-up woman and wondered if he should go pretend to be the missing date. I discouraged him, you’re welcome.”

  The driver pulled up to the curb, but Preston made no move to open the door or let her out.

  “Shall we do something else tonight?”

  “No, if Monday weren’t planned, this would be the point you’d ask for my number and then spend all weekend texting me to convince me I should go to dinner with you on Monday.”

  His eyes grew wide. “You didn’t agree in the restaurant, did you?”

  When the driver opened the door, Preston got out and extended his hand. “I hope the rest of your night goes well, Gale.” He squeezed her fingertips before letting go of her hand.

  Abbie was in the lobby before she realized she was still wearing his coat. She turned, but the car had driven off.

  “Something wrong, Miss Henderson?” asked the doorman.

  “He forgot his coat.”

  The doorman shook his head. “He didn’t forget it. He planned it, but don’t worry. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “How do—” She shook her head. “Never mind. Good night.” Abbie headed for the elevator.

  “I thought you would be out later.”

  The sound of his cousin’s voice startled him. Knowing she would be curled up with a book reading, he looked into the corners of the room. Preston had hoped to avoid conversations for the rest of the evening. “Felicia, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Milan for the week.”

  “I came to borrow something out of Auntie’s library.” The voice came from near the window. She held up a book, but he was too far away to see the title. “Or I came back a day early in case you needed a shoulder to cry on after Yvette. The new hashtag isn’t fair. You really should go public about the stalker. This dating and being dumped isn’t good for your reputation.”

  A book wasn’t her most original excuse for being in his parents’ mansion, but with Mum and Dad in the south of France for the month, it was probably the best she could do. Glad you found something to read. He started up the stairway leading to his rooms. It would be easier to tell Felicia nothing rather than any half-truths.

  The click of heels followed him across the marble floor. “I’d ask where your jacket is, but I can guess. I suppose you have an excuse to see her tomorrow since she obviously didn’t ask you to stay. I must say you work fast. Get dumped on Thursday and then dumping drinks on the next woman you see. I wonder how you planned that. My guess is you watched her from the bar and plotted.” She gave him a knowing smile. He would need to be careful. His cousin knew him too well. “There are two versions of video and several stills. She isn’t quite your type, but not bad for a rebound romance.”

  Preston paused before the first stair. Felicia stood only five foot five in heels, and an extra eight inches to his height would make for an awkward conversation. “It was an accident.”

  “I don’t think so.” She pulled out her phone. “I’ve seen several photos and a video. She looks outraged, and she refused you initially. But you look smug—the way you do when a negotiation es your way.”

  “Smug?”

  “Don’t worry. I doubt anyone who doesn’t know you well will see it. There’s a certain slant to your eyes.”

  “I should have never taught you poker.”

  She refused to let him turn the conversation. “I’m right. You are plotting your next move. I bet you didn’t expect her to ignore your presence. But what I want to know is if the posts are true that she never said yes to the date you tried to set up on the spot?”

  “So this is why you came to wait for me? To get the firsthand dirt?”

  Felicia turned her face into the pout she’d practiced since her third birthday when she hadn’t gotten a real yacht. “The only fun in this family is knowing the truth behind the rumors.”

  “Yes, she is pretty, and yes, the fact she didn’t jump at the chance to dine with me on Monday or to further our acquaintance on the ride to her apartment does make me curious. And you are co
rrect that the jacket gives me a reason to see her again. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if a dry cleaner delivers it in the morning. I’ve never met a woman less interested in me in my life.” The last part was definitely true.

  “Oh, the poor thing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Felicia twirled her hair and tilted her head. “She became a challenge to you. The one girl in the greater Chicago area who didn’t succumb to your charms or your pocketbook. She must have really liked whomever she was waiting for. Instead, she is going to be stuck with you.”

  Preston shook his head. “For not being there, you sure know a lot.”

  “According to one post, she sat there for nearly a half hour, growing more despondent and nervous as her dinner partner didn’t show. One woman speculated she was waiting for a blind date, a first meeting. But since she didn’t have a book or a flower, she wasn’t sure. But then again, one must have reservations at least a week or two in advance there. So she wouldn’t have needed a prop to be identified. The scum who stood her up—” Felicia spat out the last part. The last few years had soured her on dating. More often than not, her dates would let it slip that they were more intrigued by the family name than her. The fact she wasn’t born a Harmon befuddled a few who wondered if she would inherit. “She is better off without the jerk anyway, but I doubt she deserves you on the rebound, either.”

  Preston sighed. “She probably deserves better. Now, If you don’t mind, I do want to take a couple aspirin and go to bed. As you pointed out, it has been a rather difficult week.”

  “For what it’s worth, I didn’t think Yvette was right for you from the first. She couldn’t carry on a conversation on any topic outside the current fashion trends. She may have looked good on your arm, but there is more to both of our mothers than just being eye candy. Your mom leapt on the idea of web magazines when most people were saying ‘Worldwide what?’ And mine has done much in the political arena. You need someone who can do that for you.”