She had several photos of men in tuxedos with the ties undone, the shirts unbuttoned. He put on a tuxedo, but when he unbuttoned the shirt in front of the mirror he looked too much like he was auditioning for Chippendales travel crew, so he buttoned himself back up and went traditional. After all, what woman could resist a man in a tuxedo with chilled champagne and her favorite foods and music? One who was dead set on a quick divorce, he reckoned grimly.
When he got the text from Rafael that they were on their way, he grimaced. He’d been waiting. Brandon Cates was not a man who waited. He had answered some emails and gone over his schedule for the coming days, checked the headlines and made his displeasure known about the delay on his personal jet, which now would not arrive before midday tomorrow. There had been a mechanical anomaly when the pilot did his inspection and a minor repair had to be done. That left him with either the delay or a commercial flight, the latter of which was intolerable. So he would wait, seemingly, both for his plane and his woman. It was humbling.
Brandon was surprised to get a text message from Marj to apologize for running late. She didn’t make any excuses, only said that she’d be later than planned and she was sorry. He respected that, the fact that she didn’t fall into the trap of whining about crowds or traffic or how it couldn’t possibly be her own fault she was late. She just owned it. He liked that—liked it and several other things about her. Things it was best not to dwell on when he had an inheritance to secure. She was already a loose cannon, an accomplice who was the lynchpin of his entire strategy but whose cooperation was by no means guaranteed. Heaping messy complications of attraction and affection atop an already wobbly tower was unwise.
She burst through the door to the suite. He was beginning to see that Marj didn’t merely enter a room, not ever. She exploded into it, talking a mile a minute about the absurdities that she’d witnessed, making acerbic remarks about the people she’d had to deal with.
“There was a woman in front of me at the department store who was wearing fur. Real fur from a dead mammal. In Las Vegas where it is freaking two hundred and fifty degrees out. Like she had to advertise the fact she was so rich that she’s above petty considerations like climate or animal cruelty,” Marj groaned.
Rafael trailed after her with a few carrier bags, fewer than Brandon had expected, frankly. He had told her the night before that she needed a wardrobe. Four bags was not a wardrobe. This suggested a recalcitrance about using his money, about considering it their money. He took it as a warning sign, filed it away but didn’t mention it.
“Did you have any luck?”
“Yes. How about your meeting? You’re all dressed up. I hope you didn’t wait around for me before you left. I don’t want to make you late,” she said solicitously.
“That’s good of you but my date is here now so I’m finished waiting,” he said warmly, trying out a little smolder on her.
Not taking the bait, Marj actually looked back over her shoulder as if she expected to find some supermodel lounging in the doorway Rafael had just vacated—some hot date who had arrived in the past four seconds.
“You mean me?” she asked dubiously.
“Who else would I mean?” he dialed his smolder up a notch since this one was deliberately being difficult.
“I didn’t realize we had plans. I mean, I knew we were going to discuss our options regarding separation, but I expected a more informal, room service kind of situation here. I bought a plain outfit, not a ball gown,” she said, obviously trying to make light of it but seeming discomfited instead.
Brandon knew it was up to him to put her at ease. He rose from his chair, which he realized belatedly he should have done as soon as she entered the room—he’d been to good schools for goodness sake, and he had been taught manners there. He strode smoothly to her side and took her hand and kissed it.
“I’d be honored if you’d have dinner with me, Marjorie. I think you look amazing just the way you are, but if you want to get ready somehow, I’ll wait. You’re worth waiting for,” he said, congratulating himself on that line.
She actually flushed slightly, as if the hand kiss plus the flattery had registered with her. He wanted to whoop with triumph—she wasn’t totally oblivious to him. She was just a challenge.
“In fact, I had something brought around in case you felt like dressing for dinner,” he hinted, “there’s a package waiting for you in the dressing room.”
She looked at him a little suspiciously, and he watched her walk into the bedroom and through to the massive closet and dressing area where he had placed a long white box on the tufted chaise.