A Tangled Web Page 6

  “You are good at stating the obvious,” Ian said icily, but all she did was raise an eyebrow at his tone of voice, which only irritated him more. Still, he was taking pleasure in the fact that he was obviously irritating her equally effectively. “Davis is no longer an employee of Ian Blackwell Holdings, and her actions will have consequences. As for InSyn, the new transition team will do its job well, and InSyn will thrive, as all my subsidiaries do.”

  Tess shook her head. She cared about InSyn and didn’t want to see it harmed. “InSyn has a complex personality and operating structure. If you fail to maintain it, it will fall apart and what you need from it will be useless. You need to take care of the people and let them do their thing.” This came out more harshly than she had meant it to. All she wanted was to explain what she knew about the unique company, but his arrogance was getting to her.

  The ice in Ian’s eyes only grew colder. “See? It’s a good thing that you explained this to me since this is my first day on the job. Oh wait, I built a multinational conglomerate worth a small country’s GDP over less than a decade and a half. I might actually know what I’m doing.”

  Robert’s jaw dropped at the exchange. They were at it again. Damn, he thought. I really did make the right choice. He didn’t know Tess well enough, but he had certainly never seen Ian react to anyone this way. Nor had he ever seen anyone who matched him, or dared to.

  “Now now, kids,” he said. “A honeymoon is not supposed to be this prickly.” He was, and sounded, amused.

  They both turned to him angrily.

  “Ah, see? Now you two agree on something.”

  With a double icy stare at him, they turned back to face each other again and fell silent.

  Chapter Five

  The back of the car had never been as uncomfortable for Ian as it was now. He had sat here alone countless times. He had sat here many times with business associates. And he had sat here quite a few times with some woman or other beside him, and those times there had mostly been some touching involved, naturally. But he had never sat here with his wife. Nor had he ever been so distant, in every possible way, from whoever had shared this space with him.

  He glanced at her. She was looking out the tinted window, her gaze distant, her expression blank. He wondered what was going through her mind. What kind of a woman was she to do this, he asked himself for the hundredth time since they had signed the contract. When he’d thought Robert’s choice would be what he himself had dictated, he’d known the answer to that. A woman who put her societal image first, who wanted to enjoy, if not to share, the wealth, the power, the status that came with being Ian Blackwell’s wife.

  Tess Andrews seemed to be nothing like that, and he couldn’t begin to make sense of her or of why she would be here with him now, a wedding ring that matched his on her finger. He thought about what Robert had said to her before the impromptu ceremony—it seemed to him that his friend didn’t know much about her either, and yet it was her he had chosen, and seemingly without hesitation. Ian looked forward to reading the report on her that Ira Gold had put together, which Robert had told him about but had refused to send him until after he met her. Should he? the question came to his mind. Of course, was the immediate answer. After all, she wasn’t his wife, not really, not a woman he had chosen to get to know, fall in love with, start a relationship with. She was a business partner, and he always ran a check on business partners.

  It would also go toward ensuring the success of this arrangement that had to last, he reasoned with himself. It had already gone this far, too far, and there was no going back, so it might as well be proceeded with in the best way possible. This had to be done. It had been his choice to begin with, his idea, and he would make it work.

  He cleared his throat and tried this, in the way Robert had set out in detail in the contract, one of the habits that needed to be adopted by them both to allow his plan to proceed in a believable manner.

  “Mrs. Blackwell,” he said, keeping a carefully neutral tone.

  She started and turned her head to look at him. Well, it worked, he thought. She did respond.

  “Are you okay?” he surprised himself by asking. But then it made sense for him to do so, he reasoned some more. He at least was coming back to his life. Hers had already changed completely in a matter of hours.

  She contemplated him, tilting her head just a bit, her eyes a soft dark amber in the dim light of the car. “I'm somewhat out of my depth here,” she finally admitted.

  He waited.

  “Mr. Blackwell,” she added, and the slightest furrow appeared between those pretty eyes.

  He nodded. “As promised, I will ensure that you are as comfortable as possible,” he said, making an effort to sound amiable. “Everything else will come with time.” At least he hoped so. He couldn't see this woman who worked in a basement in a plain shirt and jeans mingling with the rich and famous in an evening gown, or, worse, facing those damn gossip reporters and bloggers and their pushy questions, or the far too many cameras everywhere. Nor was he sure that she could handle the business media or stand by his side when he hosted his business associates.

  He wasn't at all sure about this.

  He sighed inwardly and focused on the more immediate reality this woman would be required to deal with. “I live in Woodside, about half an hour south of here. That’s where we’re headed.” They had landed in San Francisco International Airport and had disembarked inside his private hangar, alone again except for his trusted aircrew and the driver of the crystal black over gray Bentley Mulsanne that had come to stand beside the jet. The woman he had married just hours earlier had said nothing, had asked nothing, as they entered the car and set out to his home.

  “My household comprises two live-in staff,” he continued. “Everybody else lives in town and comes in as needed. I prefer it that way. Graham Eaton runs the house, in fact he runs my entire domestic life for me. And Lina, Lina Mills, she helps Graham, and now that you’re here, she’ll make sure you have everything you need, much like Graham does for me. They are the only two people you will regularly have around you, the others you won't know are there if you don’t want to. Graham and Lina are used to ensuring no one interferes with my routine and they will do the same for you.” He was giving her quite a bit of information, but she was clearly absorbing every word. “I don’t usually entertain in my home. I like my privacy, which is severely lacking outside it. So you will have all the time you need to get used to the house and to everyone in it. What’s wrong?” That slight furrow appeared in her brow again. That, and a bit of apprehension in her eyes, it seemed to him.

  “Nothing, I just . . . I guess I didn’t expect more people around us.”

  “You’ll get used to it, to being taken care of. Money has its perks.” He stopped. He hadn’t meant to sound cynical. Shouldn’t have. This woman obviously didn’t care about wealth or status. She was not about greed, that much he could tell, and, in fact, seemed wary of the luxury that now surrounded her.

  When he spoke again, his voice was somewhat softer. “Graham has been with me for over a decade now, almost since the beginning. And I hired Lina when I bought the house a couple of years ago.” He hesitated, then continued, giving something of himself. He was, after all, determined to give this a real chance. “I got tired of living in a condo in the city where I could too easily be found and bothered, and I happened to drive through Woodside one day, it seemed quiet, out of the way. My house is in the hills, it’s surrounded by expansive grounds and is very private. I have everything I need there, for my—our use.” He frowned. She would see for herself soon enough. She would, of course, have unlimited access to the entire house, no sense setting undue restrictions that might antagonize her.

  “The only other person you will encounter regularly is the chauffeur of this car, Jackson Green. Like the jet, the Bentley—this car—is owned by me, not by my company, and Jackson works directly for me. He lives in town with his family, but has always been unfailingly ava
ilable when I needed him. Now that you're here I would prefer that you use him, so when you need this car I'll be using a company limo or one of my other cars.”

  “I can drive.”

  “You won't have to, and I would rather you be accompanied by a professional driver. And Jackson is also a trained bodyguard.”

  She frowned. “Bodyguard.”

  He let her absorb the implications of what he’d told her. “I realize it's overwhelming,” he said quietly. “Just let them all do their jobs. They know what to do.”

  “Do they know . . . about us?” she asked in a low voice, looking out of the window again.

  “Graham knows everything, he is crucial to the success of this arrangement. And I trust him,” he added, stressing the point. For her sake. “Lina and Jackson know of the nature of this arrangement, of course, since we will not actually be living as husband and wife. But they only know what’s necessary. Graham will make sure they know more if the need arises. And they all know that you are a complete stranger to this life.” He watched her. “They are good people, Mrs. Blackwell. They’ve been with me long enough to understand why I’m doing this, and they will help you.”

  What will they think of me? Tess wondered, but said nothing. The notion of living not just with this man but with a staff, his staff, was daunting to her. She hadn't considered the possibility. She had lived by herself for so long, just her in that tiny apartment on top of Jayden and Aisha’s garage, and had always taken care of herself. Been alone. And now . . .

  Ian saw the anxiety, the struggle. Watched her win it. She was, he thought with interest, quite a fighter.

  The bustle of the city soon made way to quiet hills, and for a time they traveled on gently winding roads, with scenery that might have soothed Tess if it wasn’t for the circumstances she was in. Soon enough, too soon, the Bentley slid smoothly through heavy gates with the name Blackwell embossed on them in brass letters. They drove down a path that took them to the heart of the exclusive property, winding through woods that cast gentle shade on the car as it passed through, with the occasional meadow in between them, green ruling at times, colorful flowers dominating in places. It looks peaceful, Tess thought, wondering in the silence of the car if birds were singing outside in the lively sun, but she made no move to open the window, to let life in.

  She finally saw the house peeking among trees in the distance as they came around a hill, seeing more of it as the car rounded a lake that wound lazily on their left. When the car finally stopped in front of the house, he—her husband, she had to remind herself this was how she should think of him for this facade to work—got out of the car without waiting for Jackson to open the door for him, then walked around it to her side and held the car door open for her.

  She got out slowly and looked at the house she would be living in from now on. It wasn’t what she had expected. She had thought it would be cold, formidable, as overpowering as the man who lived there. And it was big, yes, what this man had described as his sanctuary. No doubt about that. She had seen the sprawling size of the two-story house as they drove toward it. But the stone cladding and the gable roofs spoke, most of all, of a warmth that fit this peaceful place she never would have imagined he would be living in.

  Her husband stood quietly, patiently, a distance away. Giving her time, she supposed, which she needed. When she finally turned to look at him, he gave a slight nod and guided her to the front door, which stood open. The man who waited there was in his late forties, early fifties perhaps. Burly, with a face that made her think he might have been through his share of fights in his day. But his eyes were clever, and impassive. If there was judgment there, he hid it well.

  When her husband introduced Graham, she nodded, a little overwhelmed. A lot overwhelmed, she had to admit. This brought home most acutely the need to deal with people other than the stranger she had married, which would be difficult enough. She had no idea how to begin doing this.

  It was Graham who made the first move. “Mrs. Blackwell,” he said and moved aside, welcoming her into the house.

  He watched her as she walked in and stood just inside the doorway, looking around her. Hesitant, yes, but her head was held high in determination. He hadn’t known, of course, who the woman would be that Mr. Blackwell would bring home, and all he could do was wait and see what he would think of her. Mr. Blackwell had certain standards when it came to women, and so he knew to expect nothing less. Mr. Blackwell was also quite diverse in his tastes, and so he had kept an open mind as to what he might encounter when Mr. Blackwell finally brought the woman home. And, of course, knowing all too well Mr. Blackwell’s reasons for this rather unusual arrangement, and what it required, he had expected a confident social shark to come out of the Bentley and rush into the house, clad in fashionable attire and very meticulously made up, ready to have attention bestowed on her and her opinion heeded and obeyed. He had expected . . .

  Not this. He hadn’t expected this. The woman Mr. Blackwell had married was beautiful, but not just in the usual sense of the word. She had an elegance about her, something one didn’t see much these days. And the eyes that were now taking in her surroundings and that had met his just moments before with uncertainty and, he thought, some wariness in them, were gentle and inquisitive. Nothing eager about her, nothing of what he had worried would be, the victory of catching a man like Ian Blackwell. He had thought he would feel disdain, perhaps, certainly no respect, for the woman Ian Blackwell could buy. He was surprised that he felt nothing of the sort. What he felt, most of all, when he finally met the woman, this woman, was curiosity.

  The company limo dropped Robert Ashton at his home, in the neighborhood of St. Francis Wood in San Francisco. He barely got out of the car before his son, Ben, opened the front door of the house with some difficulty and ran out to meet him. Robert swooped the five-year-old into his arms and turned to his wife, who followed the young boy, a bright smile on her face.

  “Where’s Emily?” he asked. Emily was their eight-year-old daughter. Almost nine, as she constantly reminded them, too eager to grow up.

  “Pool party at a Gina’s. We weren’t entirely sure when you’ll get back.”

  “Neither was I.” Inside the house, Robert set his son down and gave his wife a heartfelt embrace. “They are going to kill each other,” he said. “I let them go to Ian’s house by themselves and they’re going to kill each other, I tell you.”

  “That bad?” Muriel Ashton looked at her husband with concern.

  “Worse.”

  “Really? What’s she like?” Muriel asked.

  “She was made for him,” Robert answered, a wide grin on his face.

  Tess walked in, her husband a measured distance behind her. Like the exterior of the house, here too, although it was clearly the house of a man who had it all, it was, first and foremost, a home. The floor was hardwood, in light tones. The entire hallway, in fact, was in light, inviting hues. To her right, an elegant wooden staircase with finely detailed ironwork railing wound gently to the left, up to the second floor, ending in a corridor that extended to both sides. Ahead of her she could see all the way to the other side of the house, where a trio of French doors stood open, giving her an enticing view of green foliage over garden furniture beyond and letting the smell of spring in.

  Ian tried to put himself in her place, and found he wasn't entirely sure what he should do or say, which he wasn't used to. He knew what he would do if she were his real wife, if things were the way they should be, if they were each other's choice. But this was certainly far from the case. He also knew how he would act if she were the woman he had expected Robert to choose for him. For one thing, Graham would be the one conducting this tour, not him. The man who managed his household would be the one taking her through her first steps in the life she had been contracted to assume, he would be settling her in and familiarizing her with her husband’s routine, his life inside and outside his home.

  Ian wasn’t entirely sure why he felt the need t
o give her the attention he was.

  “Your room is this way.” He led the way up the stairs and left, to the closest door. “It's one of the guest suites. The master bedroom, my room, is to the right of the stairs, in a separate wing from this one.” He opened the door and walked in, the woman who was his wife following him. He took in the room and nodded, satisfied. “I had Graham and Lina prepare it as soon as Robert had informed me he had found someone to . . . fulfill the contract. It was prepared somewhat in a hurry, but I do hope it will suit your needs.”

  He turned to her. She was looking not around her but at him, and he suddenly realized the situation they were in.

  No. The situation she was in, with him here, in what was to be her bedroom.

  “I will not be coming in here again,” he said firmly, his eyes on hers. That had to be made clear for this to work. “No one will, except for Lina, and except for anyone else authorized by you to do so.” He paused, but she said nothing. “This is your home now, Mrs. Blackwell, and you will be made comfortable here and treated with due respect, as my wife,” he added with finality. And with this he left, closing the door behind him.

  Alone, Tess sat down on the edge of the bed, her heart racing. She took in a deep breath, and then another, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

  Outside, Ian stood at the closed door, trying to get a hold of himself.

  Both shared the same thought.