Romancing the Tycoon

Chapter Two

Regina Winterborne was many things. Spoiled, admittedly. Impetuous, definitely. But dumb she was not. She had no intention of marrying some stubborn, macho cowboy. No matter what her daddy promised her.

Living a whole hour outside of Chicago was bad enough. It made hair salon appointments as well as spa sessions immensely annoying. Every time she wanted the least little thing she had to drive all the way into the city. She hated driving into the city. She hated living in the country more.

But she’d tried taking her own apartment in town. The penthouse she’d selected had been opulent without doubt. Her staff of three—cook, maid and personal assistant—had been top notch. The only drawback had been the money. There was never enough of it.

Her father had insisted that if she were going to live away from home she would learn to do so on a budget. So he’d set her up on a monthly allowance. Well, she huffed as she remembered the ridiculously paltry amount, how was she supposed to conduct herself properly under such conditions? Why, there’d scarcely been anything left to pay the hired help each month. So, she’d had to move back home and play the dutiful daughter whenever her father was around.

She folded her arms over her chest and glared out the floor-to-ceiling window of his study. Anything to keep from having to look him directly in the eye. He read her too easily. She wasn’t about to let him see what she really thought just now.

“Regina, don’t turn your back on me,” he ordered in that booming voice that made the board of directors at Winterborne Industries sit up and take notice.

She simply rolled her eyes. “I’m not turning my back on you, Daddy. I’m merely enjoying the fabulous view.” And it was fabulous, if one was into miles of sickeningly lovely landscape and nothing else.

He moved up beside her, obviously content with her lie. “This is for your own good, my dear. I only want the best for you.”

Yeah, right. He wanted to seal this history-making deal and get her out of his hair at the same time. “I’m sure you do.” She wasn’t entirely successful at keeping a hint of sarcasm out of her tone.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said more quietly.

That couldn’t possibly be true, she mused, or he’d be ranting rather than gentling his usually boisterous voice. Because right now the only thing she was thinking was how much she wished someone would rescue her from this prison.

Someone like Kevin. Her heart skipped a beat. But Kevin was long gone. He’d quickly grown weary of her father’s interference in their relationship…just like all the others.

“You’re thinking,” her father went on, “that I just want you married off so someone else will have to attend to your needs.”

Give the man a cigar. She gritted her teeth, holding back those very words.

“But that’s not true at all,” he urged. “You’re my only daughter—my only child. I want the very best for you.” He sighed mightily. “I worry that you’ll fall victim to the charms of some no-account like that Kevin Martin. He’s worthless.”

Regina didn’t have to look to know that her father’s face had turned beet-red, she could hear his temper rising in his voice. He hated Kevin. Had hated all her boyfriends from the time she was fourteen and had developed breasts as well as a mind of her own.

Well, that was just too bad. He was not going to pick her husband. She would not be forced into an arranged marriage.

“If your mother were here, she’d tell you the same thing,” her father said more calmly. “Men like Martin are leeches—self-serving and uncaring about anyone but themselves. He isn’t nearly good enough for you. I hope you see that.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she lied again, just to get him off the subject. “I know that Kevin is scum. You don’t have to worry. He broke up with me anyhow.”

That much was the truth. Kevin had tired of the run-ins with her father and had opted to run out on her. She stiffened her spine against the unfairness of it all. And now her father wanted her to marry some cowboy just because he had the largest oil business in Texas. No way.

“You’re twenty-four, Regina. It’s time you settled down and took on the responsibilities of being a Winterborne. You will inherit everything I have worked my entire life to build and that my forefathers worked to build before me. If you’re not ready for that challenge, you might lose everything.”

Now that grabbed her attention. She looked at her father for the first time since the conversation began. “What do you mean I might lose everything?”

He shook his head sadly from side to side. “I had no choice but to make a codicil to my will. Unless I am fully convinced that you are prepared to take over the company and run it properly, the board of directors will run things as per my final instructions and you will receive a monthly allowance until such time that they deem you fit to take charge of the company.”

Horror burgeoned like a scream in her throat. “But…but,” she croaked, “how will I live?” Begging on a street corner flashed vividly through her mind. Dear God, he couldn’t be serious. His idea of an allowance was laughable at best. And those crusty old codgers on the board hated her!

“It doesn’t have to come to that,” he said pointedly. “All you have to do is trust me and you’ll have everything.”

The horror drained away leaving an almost blinding clarity. “In other words, if I marry this Texan I get everything…if I don’t I get a measly allowance.”

Indignation washed across her father’s pale, pudgy face. “Your allowance has never been measly!” The red started to rise up his neck once more. Oops! She’d hit a nerve with that one. “You have always, always gotten anything you asked for. I have never permitted you to want for anything.” Something in his expression changed and a new kind of fear crept up her spine. “Perhaps,” he suggested furiously, “that is part of the problem.”

“Daddy,” she wailed, suddenly sure of what he intended next, “you can’t seriously want me to marry a man I’ve never even met!” Even she wasn’t that impetuous.

Her father lifted one shaggy eyebrow in that condescending manner he’d always used with her when he actually wanted to turn her over his knee and spank her. But he never had, not once. “That’s precisely why we’re spending the weekend at his ranch. We’re going to get to know him and that is the end of the subject. If you wish to stay on my good side, you will do as I request.”

Do it or lose it, that was the bottom line. She could stay single and play all she wanted if she were willing to give up the fortune that, as the only Winterborne heir, she was fully entitled to. Or she could buckle under and marry some stranger who would probably boss her around just like her father did.

Wow, what a choice.

“I want you packed and ready to go in one hour,” he ordered. “I absolutely will not tolerate any grief either, young lady. You will behave yourself this weekend or you will be sorry. Is that clear?”

She stared directly into her father’s worried eyes. He loved her. She knew he did. In his mind he was only trying to save her from herself. She didn’t doubt for a moment his heart was in the right place, but that didn’t make her like it. Then there was the money to consider.

What good would her freedom be if she were perpetually broke?

“Yes, Daddy,” she said in the most obedient tone she could muster. “I’ll go pack.”

The telephone rang and her father hurried over to his desk to answer it. Regina peered out the window once more and tried to picture the bleakness of Texas. She despised long stretches of nothing. She was scared to death of horses. And she absolutely hated macho, arrogant men. How on earth was she supposed to survive on that stupid ranch even for a weekend?

The image of her birthright, billions of dollars, circling the proverbial drain and disappearing flashed in her mind’s eye. Okay, maybe she could survive it for just a little while.

“I’ll be right there,” she heard her father say, his tone urgent. She frowned. Where could he be going when they had to leave in just one hour? Before she could ask that very question, he skirted his desk and rushed over to her.

“The employees at one of the facilities have walked out, shutting down the whole operation. I’ve got to get over there and see if I can get this worked out. We can’t afford any bad publicity of any sort right now.”

In other words, her father didn’t want the cowboy to find out since it might give him pause.

“Of course,” she said, suddenly elated. This meant they didn’t have to go to Texas, which bought her a little more time to figure a way out of this. “I’m sure Mr. Calhoun will understand our postponing.” She resisted the urge to do a little end-zone victory dance. Hot dog! She was free for the weekend. Fireworks and all-night parties.

“Oh, no,” her father said, positively mortified at the very idea. “His private plane is already on its way to pick us up. You go on ahead of me. I’ll join the two of you as soon as I have this little misunderstanding worked out.” He gave her a pointed look. “Just don’t mention anything about it, all right, dear?”

Her hopes fizzled like a dud firecracker. “Fine,” she muttered. What else could she do? Her whole future depended on her cooperation. The way she saw it, the only choice she had was to try and figure out a way to send this cowboy running in another direction. If he chose not to marry her, then it certainly wouldn’t be her fault.

She smiled. Oh yeah, that could work. And her father wouldn’t be the wiser.

“OH, MY GOD,” Amy murmured as she stopped midway down the mile-long drive and admired the house that loomed before her. The Winterborne mansion was huge. Not just huge, she amended, palatial. That was it, she decided. It looked like an enormous castle with acres of magnificent gardens flanking it. The only thing missing was the moat.

Amy eased off the brake and rolled the rest of the way up the drive, past the elaborate fountain, choosing to park near the side of the grand house rather than up front. As she emerged from her car she noted that somehow her dilapidated old compact just wouldn’t look right at the bottom of those luxurious steps.

Suddenly conscious of her attire, she smoothed a hand over her travel-wrinkled slacks. She straightened her sleeveless sweater and squared her shoulders. She was a courier for the Colby Agency. She might not live in a mansion or drive a Rolls, but this was important business.

Amy marched up the steps and straight to the massive double doors. She pressed the doorbell and waited for a butler to answer. Surely in a house like this, the residents didn’t bother answering the door themselves.

The door suddenly swung inward and a young woman, maybe about Amy’s age, stared out at her, annoyance written all over her face. “Just a minute,” she barked into the cordless phone she clutched in her right hand. “What do you want?” she demanded of Amy.

Taken aback but determined to maintain her professionalism, she dredged up a smile. “Good afternoon, I’m Amy Wells from the Colby Agency. I believe Mr. Winterborne is expecting me.”

The woman looked her up and down disapprovingly. To Amy’s credit, she didn’t squirm. “He’s not here. He had to leave. I’ll tell him you came by.”

Wait a minute. That wasn’t going to work. Victoria had said that Mr. Winterborne needed this report right away. “Wait!” Amy cried before the door could slam in her face.

“What?” the woman snapped, obviously in a hurry to get back to whoever was on the other end of the telephone line.

Amy positioned herself in the doorway to prevent its closing. “I have to give this report to Mr. Winterborne. It’s very important.”

“Fine,” the woman relented. “Come in and you can call him at the plant.”

Amy stepped into the marble-floored entry hall and was awestruck all over again by the grandness of the home. The outside was beautiful but the inside was breathtaking.

The woman moved a few feet away to resume her call. “I can’t believe you’re even calling me like this,” she hissed.

Amy tried to focus on the details of the amazing entry hall rather than on the hushed words, but the intensity of the phone conversation prodded her natural curiosity.

“No,” the woman said sharply. “You walked out on me, Kevin. Left me here to deal with my father.”

Now Amy got the picture. The girl was apparently Mr. Winterborne’s daughter and the caller, or “cal-lee” as the case might be, was obviously her boyfriend…or ex-boyfriend.

“Vegas? What the hell are you doing in—?”

Silence echoed for about five seconds.

“How much?” This time her fury had dissolved into something like awe. The same kind of awe Amy had felt at seeing this place. “You won that much?”

Okay, Amy reasoned. Her boyfriend was in Vegas and had just won a lot of money and was calling to…make up? Amy grinned. She definitely had this investigating thing down to a science. She just had to find a way to get Victoria’s attention. Simply asking for the position wouldn’t be good enough. Amy wanted to bowl her employer over with some sort of amazing feat. That way she would just have to say yes! No wouldn’t even be a possibility.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” the woman said wistfully.

Amy’s heart went out to her. Was this guy trying to win her back? Did he deserve a second chance? Her gut instinct was that anytime a person had a chance at true love, he or she had better take it. It sure didn’t come along often.

“Okay,” the woman said breathlessly. “I’m going to the airport right now. I’ll be on the next flight out there.” She giggled. “Yes. I love you, too.”

Amy had been right all the way around. The thought pleased her immensely.

The woman jumped when her gaze collided with Amy’s once more. “Oh. I’d forgotten all about you.”

Amy kept her smile in place in spite of the indifference radiating from the other woman. “I just need to deliver this report to your father.”

The woman, who Amy had decided was Miss Winterborne, nodded. “He’s at the Caldwell facility.” She started for the door. “I’ll give you directions or the number. Whichever you want, but I’m in a hurry here.”

Amy followed, the white envelope clasped in her hand. Victoria’s instructions had been for her to deliver it personally to Mr. Winterborne. Driving to another destination wouldn’t be a problem as long as she accomplished her mission. “Directions will be fine.”

Miss Winterborne opened the door, but then quickly closed it. She turned back to Amy, her eyes round with something like horror. “They’re here,” she said on a breath that rushed out of her lungs as if she’d seen a ghost.

Who was here?

Whoever it was, it was none of Amy’s concern. She had a job to do. Failure wasn’t an option if she wanted to keep Victoria Colby-Camp impressed. “You were going to give me directions to—”

“Ah…stay right here.” Miss Winterborne rushed to the other end of the long hall and grabbed something. As she hurried back to the door Amy recognized the object as a designer suitcase, the kind that looked like a huge old-fashioned purse and had probably cost more than Amy’s monthly salary. “I’ll be right back,” the woman assured Amy before slipping out the door.

What was going on here? Amy suddenly remembered the telephone conversation and how Miss Winterborne had promised to get the next flight…

Surely she wasn’t leaving Amy here to fend for herself. She glanced around the enormous hall. The house seemed empty. How would she find out where Mr. Winterborne was if the daughter disappeared on her?

She couldn’t.

And that was unacceptable.

Amy jerked open the front door and strode out onto the landing that topped the dozen half-moon steps which descended to the U-shaped drive.

A long black limousine sat at the bottom of the steps. A driver placed the bag Miss Winterborne had exited the house with into the trunk and closed the lid. He smiled at Amy and quickly hurried around to the driver’s door.

Where was Regina Winterborne?

Amy looked left then right but saw no sign of her. Her gaze went straight to the tinted windows then. She must already be inside the car. Annoyed, Amy charged down the steps intent on demanding to know where Mr. Winterborne was.

“Good afternoon, Miss Winterborne,” a male voice said bringing her up short two steps shy of the car. “I’m Mr. Beckman.”

Amy whipped around expecting to see the woman right behind her somehow, instead the only thing she found was a tall, well-dressed gentleman smiling down at her.

“Where’s—”

Before Amy could complete her question, the man gestured to the car’s passenger-side door. “The plane is waiting. Mr. Winterborne already informed us that he would arrive later in the weekend.”

The plane? What plane?

Amy shook her head, confusion bearing down on her now. Where was the woman? Regina Winterborne? Amy had to deliver this report. “I’m supposed—”

“We’re behind schedule as it is,” the man said, his tone direct. He moved past her and opened the door. “We don’t want to keep Mr. Calhoun waiting.”

Mr. Calhoun? Who…?

The image of the man astride the horse immediately flashed in her brain. The guy in the report. She looked down at the white envelope. Mr. Winterborne’s report.

“The flight will take about three hours but the bar is fully stocked and you can watch a movie if you’d like.” He grasped her arm firmly and urged her toward the open door. “We have several to choose from.”

Wait a minute! Realization belatedly sank through the fog of confusion. He’d called her Miss Winterborne.

“But I’m not—”

Mr. Beckman smiled patiently. “I’m sure you will be by the time this weekend has concluded. Mr. Calhoun is quite the charmer.”

With that said, he promptly hoisted her into the car and closed the door. Before she could even blink he slid into the seat next to the driver and ordered, “Let’s go.”

Just when Amy would have roared her indignation something caught her eye…or, actually, the lack of something. Her car was gone. She whipped around in the seat as the limo circled the fountain and headed down the long drive. It was gone all right. She’d left the keys in the ignition since she’d only expected to deliver the report at the door, not go inside. Who would have expected it to be stolen here of all places?

And then she knew.

The woman—Miss Winterborne—had stolen it. To go to the airport to catch a flight to Vegas where she would rendezvous with her boyfriend.

Shaking her head, Amy turned around and moved to the edge of her seat. “Look,” she said to the two men in the front seat, “there’s been a big mistake.”

The one named Beckman glanced over his shoulder at her. “Everything will be fine, Miss Winterborne,” he said again in that patient, practiced tone. “Just relax and this will go a lot more smoothly.”

What would go a lot more smoothly? Anger jolted Amy. Dammit, why wouldn’t the man listen to her? “I’m trying to tell you that I’m not—”

Before she could finish her statement the privacy window powered up between the passenger compartment and the front seat, leaving her talking to herself.

Fury exploding in her like an erupting volcano, she pounded on the tinted glass that separated her from the only other two people in the vehicle. “You’ve got the wrong girl,” she shouted for the good it would do with the privacy glass up, making the passenger compartment not only invisible to them but also soundproof. She tried the door handle but it was locked. Not that it would have done her any good anyway. People might jump out of moving cars all the time in the movies but she certainly had no desire to.

Okay. She eased back in the seat and took a breath. He’d said the plane was waiting which meant they were headed to an airport. Once there they would have to let her out of the car to board the plane. She would explain then that she wasn’t who they thought she was.

She fumed at the idea that the real Miss Winterborne had stolen her car. Fear momentarily paralyzed Amy. What if Miss Winterborne was in some sort of trouble and had left Amy to take the heat for her?

Beckman could be some kind of loan shark or…her eyes widened in fear when she considered the numerous other possibilities.

Then she remembered that he’d mentioned Mr. Calhoun. Amy relaxed marginally. Mr. Calhoun was waiting, so they were obviously headed to meet him. Amy’s eyes widened once more. Calhoun lived in Texas.

She snatched up the envelope and pulled out the report on the man. She’d skimmed it while she fueled up and hadn’t noticed anything negative. Maybe she’d better read it more carefully. Men who were on the up and up surely didn’t send the hired help to collect a woman against her will. Had Regina Winterborne wanted to take this trip she wouldn’t have run off after her ex in Vegas. Amy steamed when she thought about how Beckman had all but shoved her into the car and then locked her inside.

No wonder the real Miss Winterborne had run away.

Amy’s eyes rounded again. What if her father and this Mr. Calhoun had made some sort of deal that Miss Winterborne was trying to escape?

What if she knew something terrible about the man and feared for her safety?

Amy’s gaze landed on the report once more. If John Robert Calhoun, IV, had anything to hide, she was certain the Colby Agency would have found it. All Amy needed to do was scour these pages and then maybe—just maybe—she could save Miss Winterborne from whatever fate lay in store for her in Texas. Surely Miss Winterborne’s father wouldn’t send her to a man who was anything less than honorable.