A Millionaire at Midnight (Bachelor Auction) Page 3

  Boundaries. She probably wouldn’t know the definition of the word, but he did. And he firmly believed in erecting fences. Particularly when the person on the other side of the gate was a mouthy, slightly scary blonde.

  “Excuse me. I think congratulations are in order,” a welcome voice interrupted. Relieved more than his manhood cared to acknowledge, he met the curious gaze of his PR guru, Kim Matlock, whom he’d brought with him to the gala.

  The two of them had been close since they were teens. Since the day his grandfather revealed Alex had a half-sister out there, and at sixteen, he’d jumped on a plane by himself, flown to Chicago, and located Kim. Only a year younger than he was, Kim could’ve been his Irish twin…if not for the fact she had a different mother. And their skin color.

  Yet, from the moment he’d stared down into her defiant, fifteen-year-old face, Alex had claimed her as family, even though his father had threatened to disown him for the show of allegiance to a daughter he’d refused to admit existed. Now, fourteen years later, she helped Alex continue to strengthen and grow the family company. Even Malcolm Bishop couldn’t complain about the excellent job Kim did. She’d been key in shaping Bishop Enterprises into a well-recognized and respected name. Something their father had tarnished when he’d manned the helm.

  “Kim, I’d like you to meet Morgan Lett. Ms. Lett”—he swept an arm toward his sister—“this is Kim Matlock, Vice President of Public Relations with my company.”

  “Very nice to meet you, Ms. Matlock. A vice president? I love a woman in power.” Morgan extended her hand toward Kim in greeting, which his sister accepted. Morgan then returned her attention to Alex, a speculative gleam lighting her eyes. “Your company? Hmm. I would love to see your portfolio,” she purred.

  Christ. Kim coughed into her fist, but it didn’t hide the wide smile curving her lips. He glared at her before shifting his narrowed gaze to the other woman, who peered up at him with an exaggerated innocence.

  Morgan shrugged. “For investment purposes, of course,” she added. “Anyhoo, I was about to pull my ruler out of my purse and rap Xander’s knuckles for leaving such a gorgeous date alone while he hawked his wares in the bachelor auction, but…” She cocked her head to the side. “You’re obviously related.”

  Shock reverberated through Alex, temporarily dislodging his annoyance over the ridiculous nickname. No one—and he meant no one—had guessed or assumed the truth of his and Kim’s relationship. And if they had, they’d never voiced or discussed it so…bluntly. Being siblings wasn’t something they publicized, but they didn’t deny it, either. Much to their father’s displeasure.

  Kim glanced at him, then returned her gaze to Morgan. “True. He’s my brother.”

  Morgan nodded. “It’s the eyes. Since you’re giving me more Gabrielle Union than Gabrielle Reece, I’m guessing he’s a brother from a different mother”— The fuck?—“but your eyes? A dead giveaway. Although yours are a warm, velvet grey. Just beautiful. And his are hard, cold. Ice. Like his judgy heart.”

  Kim blinked. Stared. Blinked again. Then a crack of laughter burst from his traitorous sister’s mouth, so loud several heads turned in their direction. Kim continued cackling like a demented hen; thank God, she’d found a man who’d married her because that laugh scraped a person’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

  And Morgan smiled at him like an angel. An evil angel with a foot mark branded on her ass from being booted from heaven.

  “I take it you two know each other,” Kim finally rasped, swiping a finger under her gleaming eyes.

  “Actually, we just met,” Alexander ground out. “A pleasure I could have gone without.”

  “Aw, go on, you sweet talker, you.” Morgan patted the lapel of his tuxedo jacket. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s someone I need to speak with. Bye, Al.” Winking at Kim, she strolled away, the thick crowd quickly swallowing her up.

  Thank Christ.

  “It’s Alexander, damn it,” he snapped to…no one. Shit, now the woman had him talking to himself.

  “Oh my God,” Kim wheezed, still chuckling. “What did you do to offend her? Women usually find your broody aloofness irresistible. Epic fail with her, though. ‘Like his judgy heart.’” She erupted into another round of cackling. “Priceless.”

  Alex snorted. Aside from his ex-wife, who’d apparently found him very resistible, it was true: he didn’t have an issue with women. As long as he let them know up front what he was willing to offer—sex—then there were no misunderstandings or confusion. No emotional meltdowns or angry scenes. For the few who’d agreed to his terms all the while believing they could change him, or control him with flexible bodies or positions worthy of a porn star, he’d quickly disabused them of that idea. Tears, pleas, and eventually the shouting—none of that moved him. Not when he understood and accepted his main attraction wasn’t his face, body, or in-depth knowledge of how to make a woman scream and shake in orgasm. In his experience, most women got off on his last name as much as they did on his dick.

  Truth be told—and this confession would have his Man Card snatched in utter disgust and horror—he would rather be holed up in his den with his battered print copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and a couple of cold beers, his self-imposed limit, than out convincing a woman to spend the night with him. Granted, he enjoyed sex…it was the aftermath that proved a pain in the ass. Books didn’t complain. Books didn’t lie. Books didn’t disappoint.

  Or call you a cold-hearted rat bastard while stomping away, throwing shit, and causing a messy, emotional scene.

  Cupping his elbow, Kim turned him toward the rear of the ballroom…the same direction Morgan had disappeared. “So, I’m guessing she isn’t a possible candidate for Engagement-gate.”

  And just like that, his mood dropped from irritated to for fuck’s sake. How ’bout that? For fifteen whole minutes, he’d managed to forget about the deadline that loomed in his future like an execution date. In exactly seven weeks and two days, he would have to present his fiancée to Malcolm Bishop, or his father would turn over official reins of the company to another successor.

  It didn’t matter that Alex had dragged Bishop Enterprises back from the brink of financial disaster. Or that a man with almost as many marriages as Elizabeth Taylor under his belt should find it hypocritical to force his son to enter into a union Malcolm himself hated—or loved too much, depending on the point of view.

  But neither notion had occurred to his father. Or if they had, he chose to ignore them. The bottom line was, come midnight on New Year’s Day, Alex would be engaged— or lose the controlling rights to his family’s business. The only loophole he’d found out of this whole ridiculousness was that his father had neglected to place a stipulation on how long Alex had to remain engaged. But that oversight still didn’t prevent him from having to go through with the farce.

  He’d been aware of the ultimatum for six months now. And he’d spent the last four and a half arguing with his father, hoping he could change the man’s mind. A wasted effort, and now he stared down the barrel, frantically searching for a woman who would agree to a whirlwind fake engagement. Not as easy as it sounded.

  Another reason he’d agreed to take part in the bachelor auction—possibly meeting the woman who would fulfill the requirements of his future fake wife.

  Instead, he’d been won by Morgan Lett. Epic fail, indeed.

  “Hell no,” he growled, answering Kim’s question. “I need a woman who has a filter between her brain and mouth, wouldn’t demand I turn over half my damn assets, and preferably is not certifiable.”

  “I like her,” Kim said, grinning. “But okay, you two obviously didn’t hit it off. So the search continues.” She paused, tilted her head back, and studied him for several moments. “I know you argued against being in the auction, but you did great. It was a good look for Bishop Enterprises’ CEO to give his time and money to this event.”

  “Acting CEO,” Alex corrected on reflex. Hell, he’d said it
so many times, it was an automatic response. And damn if it didn’t stick in his craw every time he had to utter it.

  “Whatever.” Kim disregarded his words with a flick of her hand. “I don’t care what a piece of paper says: anyone who deals with Bishop Enterprises knows who hangs, bleeds, and dies over and over for this company.”

  Her fierce show of unwavering loyalty never failed to surprise and humble him. “I think you might be just a little bit biased.”

  “No,” she scoffed. Then, “Maybe… Okay, yes, but no less true,” she grumbled. “Anyway, now comes the hard part of the evening…smile, damn it. What good is participating in this charity event and showing that Bishop Enterprises cares about the community if the head of said enterprises looks like he’d rather be out having his balls waxed rather than attending? Second,” she continued, hooking her arm through his and guiding him forward. “Edward Patterson is here. We want to make sure we get several pictures of you two together, appearing cordial and—I know this is going to be a stretch for you—unintimidating. Lier Industries is an institution in Boston, and one way to pave a smooth transition of his company to ours in the public’s eyes is if this buy-out appears amicable on both sides.”

  Alex specialized in the purchase and restructuring of failing companies to transform them into productive profitable businesses. He’d done the same with Bishop Enterprises four years earlier. When his father had assumed the reins from Alex’s grandfather, the corporation had been a titan in the financial industry. But several years under Malcolm Bishop’s control, and the company started to go under. Horribly. At twenty-six years old, Alex had stepped in and labored tirelessly to drag his grandfather’s business back from the brink of disaster.

  But one of the costs of his success was people resented him for playing savior or executioner…his father among them. There had always existed a sort of…rivalry between Alex and his father. From the moment his grandfather had started to groom Alex to one day run the family company, Malcolm had seen his son as competition—for control, power…his father’s attention. And Alex stepping in and saving Bishop Enterprises had only solidified that grudge. While Malcolm had insisted the board of directors wanted a stable, family-friendly image for the business, Alex couldn’t help but suspect his father had been behind the engagement stipulation.

  “Where is Patterson?” Alex asked, directing his focus away from his strained relationship with his father and back to the present situation—business. “We can do it now,” he said.

  “Last time I saw him, he was over by the fountain. He should still be near there. Don’t forget. Sm—”

  “Smile,” he finished. “Yes, I got it. Here.” He forced his lips to curve.

  Kim cringed. “Okay, ix-nay on the smiling. That just looks…” She shivered. “Wrong.”

  He snickered and, within moments, he spotted Edward Patterson, the CEO of the failing Lier Industries, the financial investments company that, come Monday morning, Bishop Enterprises would own. Alex, Patterson, and Lier’s board had been in negotiations for a buy-out for the last six months, and the final contract had just been signed the previous evening. The deal had been relatively amicable, but after helming the Boston-based company for decades, Patterson stepping down and selling couldn’t be easy. Even if the only other choice had been bankruptcy and hundreds of employees losing their jobs.

  As they closed in on the tall, slim, grey-haired older gentleman, Alex couldn’t help but notice the circle of people that surrounded him.

  Then one of the flock nabbed his attention. A slender woman in a black dress. A long, smooth expanse of skin from neck to the bottom of her spine. And a bright head of hair. Even without catching a glimpse of her face, he recognized her.

  Morgan Lett.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he snapped.

  As if she’d heard him, Morgan turned her head and, from several feet away, zeroed in on him. For a brief moment, anger and what he would’ve called sadness if it’d been someone else, flashed across her features. But in the next instant, that now-familiar, taunting smile spread slowly across her mouth, the sex-and-sin lips curling up at the corners.

  “Oh look,” Kim murmured. “Your bachelorette must know Patterson. Small world, huh?”

  “You’re taking entirely too much pleasure out of this,” he growled under his breath as they approached the group.

  “You bet I am. I haven’t had this much fun since…” She scrunched her nose. “Damn, I can’t remember the last time. That’s sad as hell,” she grumbled seconds before her expression cleared, and she greeted Edward Patterson. “Hello, Mr. Patterson. It’s so good to see you again.”

  The older man smiled, extending a hand toward her and then Alex. “Mrs. Matlock. Alex. I didn’t know you two were attending the auction.”

  “When we received the invitation, we couldn’t turn it down. And when the committee asked if Alex would participate, well, we couldn’t turn that down, either,” she explained smoothly.

  Edward chuckled, arching a grey eyebrow at Alex. “I can’t deny it. I was stunned to discover you were Bachelor Nine. Even more stunned when I realized Morgan had won the bid on you.” He shook his head, smiling warmly down at the blonde. “Talk about a coincidence.”

  “How so?” Alex asked, a heavy sense of foreboding dropping in his chest like a boulder. He never ignored his intuition; it’d saved him from making deals that would’ve been disastrous. And right now, the power of it warned him something truly fucked up was headed his way.

  Edward wrapped an arm around Morgan’s shoulders. “Well, Morgan is my executive assistant. But now that your company is taking over Lier Industries, she’s your executive assistant. At least until you hire your own personnel, but a word of advice? I would keep Morgan if I were you. The company only survived as long as it did because she knows where all the bodies are buried.” Edward chuckled at his own joke. “I assumed the first time you two met would be on Monday, not tonight, winning you in the auction.”

  His executive assistant. Won him in the auction.

  Shock slowed his usually sharp brain as he sluggishly connected the dots. And a quick glance at Morgan’s wide eyes and parted lips revealed the same surprise vibrating inside him like a tuning fork.

  His executive assistant. Won him in the auction.

  The foreboding expanded and expanded, clanging in his head like a screaming loud warning.

  Morgan Lett was his new executive assistant. As of Monday, she worked for Alex.

  Every. Day.

  It was official.

  God hated him.

  Chapter Three

  Morgan’s Monday morning had started only an hour ago at 7 a.m., and already she was prepared to call it quits. Usually, she enjoyed her job as executive assistant to the CEO. When she’d graduated from Boston University with a Bachelor’s degree in Business Administration and a Master’s in Project Management, she hadn’t pictured working as a secretary. But hey, when a girl’s stepfather’s will mandated she get one job and keep that one job for a year, or else the building Phoenix House operated out of—the building he’d owned that now belonged to Cynthia—would be sold and the organization forced to find other accommodations…beggars couldn’t be choosers. At first, she’d bristled at her stepfather’s blackmail. He might have considered her efforts to further her education and her commitment to volunteer work with Phoenix House busy work or hobbies, but Morgan hadn’t. But, as it turned out, working for Edward Patterson, a friend of her biological father’s, had been a pleasure.

  But, as of seventy-two hours ago, she no longer worked for Edward.

  No, she was now employed by Satan. Correction. Jack Frost. The Abominable Snowman.

  Frosty’s meanie half brother.

  And unless she was willing to cause Phoenix House’s eviction, she couldn’t quit.

  Oh-freaking-joy.

  She tightened her grip around her coffee mug and forced herself to focus on the man standing at her desk. Randall Moore, one of L
ier Industries’ VPs, was the third person who just happened to be “over this way” and had decided to drop by and catch a glimpse of or hope to chat with their new CEO. She could’ve told them they were wasting their time. While Edward had maintained an open-door policy, Alexander Bishop didn’t strike her as being quite so…amicable. An image of his stern, unsmiling face wavered and snapped in her head. The slash of dark eyebrows over heavily fringed, storm-grey eyes. The patrician nose and stark cheekbones, and that carnal mouth that would have a starring role in a woman’s dreams—not hers, of course. Those pretty lips were the only soft thing about him. Even his dark hair seemed afraid to have a strand out of place.

  “…So, I knew it was a long shot, that he probably wouldn’t be in the office yet, but I figured what the hell. I might as well try. At the very least, I get to visit with the prettiest woman in the company. I’d say that isn’t a bad trade-off. So have you met the new boss yet? What do you…”

  Good God, what was he jabbering about? Morgan tightened her grip around her coffee mug. How hadn’t he blacked out from lack of air when he never paused to breathe? Randall Moore was the best at two things: brownnosing and hitting on her. Which made the VP wonderful at marketing and annoying as hell at the other. But as irritating as she found his passes, his wife would probably find them even more so.

  “…I hadn’t heard anything about plans to replace the employees. Especially you. Has he seen you yet? I bet he would keep you around just so he could look at you all day…”

  Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

  Randall halted mid-prattle and blinked, resembling a spooked owl.

  “I-I’m sorry?” he stuttered.

  Oops. Had she said that out loud? Damn.

  “I said, would you like a cup?” She held up her mug, painting a bright smile on her face. “Of coffee?”

  “Oh.” He blinked again, then grinned. “Oh sure. I appreciate that. I’m sure it’ll be even more delicious since it’s prepared by your hands…”

  “Excuse me,” a new, dark rumble of a voice interrupted Randall’s ode to her coffee-making skills. She didn’t need to look behind her to identify the speaker. The shiver that tangoed down her back, culminating in a tangle of heat and electricity at the base of her spine, clued her in on who’d joined them.