The Gold Digger Gambit: A Honeytrap Inc. Romance Read online

  The Gold Digger Gambit

  Tabitha A Lane

  The Gold Digger Gambit

  Copyright © 2018 by Tabitha A Lane

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Editor: Cindy Davis

  Cover Design: http://rbadesigns.com/

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Author’s Note

  My Other Books

  Chapter One

  Kristie

  I know what they’re thinking.

  By now, the family will be gathering. They’ll be throwing back wine like water, arguing so vehemently the air over Casa Nostra will be turning blue. Let them. Montgomery and I are at the house in the Hamptons, and we’ve left strict instructions that we are not to be disturbed by anyone for the next two weeks.

  Because a girl deserves a honeymoon.

  No matter what age her new husband.

  An open bottle of Veuve Cliquot nestles in melting ice in the silver crested bucket on the table. I pour another glass. Tilt the shallow champagne saucer to the moon, and silently toast myself before taking a sip.

  A light breeze lifts the hem of my negligee, and the filmy curtains behind me on the balcony billow and swell from the open door.

  It’s time.

  I drain my glass and walk inside to where my new husband awaits.

  Chapter Two

  Marco

  The client is frantic. Charles Patten can’t sit still. He paces back and forth in the conference room, and when he speaks, a tiny bead of spittle gathers in the corners of his mouth, as though he’s a rabid hound masquerading as a fifty-something businessman. He’s brought pictures, but not his lawyer. Because, mad as he is, he’s still sane enough to know there’s no way what he’s suggesting is legal.

  “She’s twenty-five.” His eyes are bloodshot. There hasn’t been much sleep since he received his father’s letter. “Twenty-fucking-five. Less than half my age, for fuck’s sake. She came in as my father’s nurse, and three weeks later, she’s married him.” He struggles to breathe normally. Twitches fluttering fingers over the front of his Ralph Lauren suit. Purses his lips. “I apologize, Marco. There’s no excuse for bad language, but I find myself sorely tested today.”

  “I understand.” Better than he can ever guess. Because I’ve been where he is right now. “Do we know if the marriage has been consummated?”

  His mouth curls as though his stomach contents have soured. “They’ve had their wedding night. I don’t know what went on in that bedroom, but my father is a virile man. If anyone is capable—he is.”

  “Take a seat, Mr. Patten.” I’m solicitous. Caring. I want him to sit not because of any concern for his welfare, but rather because having to watch his constant pacing is making me antsy; his panic and distress are destroying my mood. “Tell me what you feel Honeytrap Inc. can do for you in this situation.”

  I have to get him to say the words. This has to be his idea. All of our client meetings are recorded as a matter of course, so no client can come back and say we were working on our own, without their knowledge.

  He sits and brushes imaginary lint from his suit pants. Crosses his leg, revealing a flash of sock suspenders. I didn’t know they still made those. God knows where he buys them. Fixes me with a stare worthy of a hungry Doberman. “I want you to show my father that his new wife has only married him for his money. He’s eighty-four and in poor health. She has to be removed from his life as soon as possible. That’s the only solution.”

  “Your father may not care if his wife is unfaithful.” He’d have to be crazy not to realize that a twenty-five-year-old has physical needs that an eighty-four-year-old can’t possibly fill, no matter how virile he is. “It’s normal in these situations that there’s a little...” How to put this without Charles’ anger flaring up again? “Leeway.”

  Charles shakes his head. “Not with my father.” For the first time, he smiles. “There’s a code of conduct all Pattens must adhere to; everyone has to toe the line.” He pulls a letter from the pocket of his suit. I’ve already seen it. There’s a copy in Honeytrap Inc’s file. What the hell, if he wants to read it again, let him. “Dear Charles, Felicity, and Amber. You will be surprised to hear that I have married again. I know you will find it difficult to believe, but Kristie and I are in love. I don’t have many years left, and I’ve decided to spend them with someone who truly cares for me. We’ll be back from honeymoon in two weeks, at which stage I’ll throw a family dinner so you can all celebrate with us. So you can meet her properly. Of course, she will never take the place of your dear mother, but she is my new partner in life, and I trust you will treat her with the respect that position deserves.”

  He folded the letter, and put it back in his pocket, tense movements jerky with reined emotion.

  “He thinks she loves him. Once he realizes she’s nothing but a gold digger, he’ll divorce her, and she’ll walk away with nothing.” He rubs his palms together as if washing his hands of her.

  “She won’t walk away with nothing. Under law, she’ll receive—”

  He gives me no chance to finish. “There was a prenup. My father’s lawyer, Peter Fitzgerald, wouldn’t discuss the marriage with me, but I at least got that out of him. The bulk of his fortune is protected if they divorce. And if we can prove infidelity, she will get nothing.” He starts pacing again. “I don’t begrudge the girl something for having to sleep with my father—every whore gets paid. But no cheap harlot is worth half of my father’s two billion dollar fortune. No matter how good the fuck.”

  Once Patten has been shown the door, I take the file in to our CEO, Brian Martin, for a post-client brie
fing. “Charles Patten wants definitive proof of his new stepmother’s willingness to cheat.” I sit and shove the file across the desk to him. “He thinks that will be enough to get his father to divorce her.”

  Brian ignores the file and fixes me with a stare. “I’m curious as to why he chose Honeytrap Inc. There are plenty of New York agencies he could use—why venture to Seattle?”

  It’s a question I put to Patten Jr. when he asked to speak to me personally when making the appointment. “He said I had been recommended. As someone who would get the job done.”

  “Recommended.” Brian frowns. He doesn’t like that. We’re supposed to be discreet. “Okay, well, it’s more than likely she married him for the money, but that doesn’t mean she’s a cheater. She started off as his carer; she doesn’t fit the regular profile. Our job isn’t to destroy marriages.”

  I’ve earned a reputation, I know that. The last three cases I’ve run have involved young women taking advantage of old, rich, men. Brian’s concerned that I might be tempted to cross the line, but the truth is, I haven’t needed to. A little bit of seduction, and all three crossed to the shady side in a heartbeat.

  “If you were recommended, he probably knows your family history. He knows painting his new stepmother as a gold digger is likely to be a trigger for you.” Brian leans back in his chair. Raises an eyebrow. “Although with that age difference...”

  “He’s probably right.” I can’t see any reason, apart from money that a young woman would chain herself to a man old enough to be her grandfather.

  “This could be an attempt to manipulate you to become personally invested in the outcome of the case. I trust he was made well aware our operatives don’t sleep with clients?”

  “Yes, he knows. Didn’t stop him sidling up to me on the way to the elevator and offering me a bonus if I screwed her and provided proof. The guy’s clever, he didn’t say it while we were in the room—he knew our conversation was being recorded.”

  “But you told him...”

  “Yes. Of course I told him.” I’m kinda offended he even asks. I’ve never slept with a target I’m honeytrapping, no matter how desperate I am to see them exposed for what they really are. I like to think I wouldn’t. “I explained our regular procedure. That I’d seduce her into meeting me at a hotel for sex, and catch her entering the room on camera. I made it clear there’d be no actual sex taking place. He wasn’t happy, but he accepted it.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “He’s arranged everything. There’s a trusted team of employees at his father’s house, Casa Nostra. The chauffeur hasn’t been well, so Charles has bought him a two-week cruise to get him out of the way, and I’ve been brought in as his replacement.”

  “They’ll suspect you.”

  “He says not. The driver has been a loyal employee for twenty years, and Charles described him as ‘almost a member of the family.’ But the timing is suspicious. The old guy and his new wife would be stupid not to suspect I’ve been brought in as a plant.”

  “So this will be a longer assignment than usual. You’ll need to gain their trust. Ingratiate yourself into the household.” Brian rests his elbows on the table. Steeples his fingers. “Does that cause you a problem?”

  “No. I’m fine with it.” I have no sympathy. No empathy for Kristie Patten. There’s a shitstorm brewing, and she deserves every single thing she gets. Like Charles, I know damn well there’s no way a woman agrees to move from the position of companion to her aging ward to wife because she loves him, especially when she’s known him less than a month. She’s driven by one urge only, the urge to be wealthy. I couldn’t save my grandfather from pissing away his fortune on a gold digger, but this assignment gives me the opportunity to save someone’s family, even if it’s not my own. And I’m fucking taking it.

  Chapter Three

  Kristie

  My husband drools in his sleep.

  I wake him, then lay out his clothes for the day: gray pants, white shirt—as always—and a cashmere cardigan in a shade of washed-out blue that matches his eyes. It’s summer, but Montgomery is chilled even on the hottest of days.

  “You’ve forgotten a tie.”

  I smile. “I think you’re allowed go without one on your honeymoon.”

  He considers for a few moments, ruminating on breaking protocol by appearing anything other than perfectly dressed.

  “There’s only us.”

  “And Isabel.”

  “And the housekeeper,” I agree. “But I’m sure she’ll understand.”

  “No tie it is then.” He throws back the bedspread and sits up.

  “I’ll see you downstairs?”

  “Yes.” He casts an eye over what I’m wearing. Shorts and a T-shirt. “Will you swim after breakfast?”

  “Maybe. I thought I’d read for a while first.”

  He hasn’t heard from the family since the letter was delivered, which is surprising. I’d half expected to be met by a delegation when we arrived at the house three days ago, but so far, the silence is deafening. Montgomery’s staff includes Stephen, his full-time security guard who had been put on alert to keep his family at bay, but so far there haven’t been any visitors to repel.

  Today might be different though. I imagine right at this moment they’re rallying. Getting a posse together.

  “You’re worried.”

  “I’m just thinking about your children.”

  Montgomery swings his legs out of bed and plants his feet firmly on the floor. “It’s my life. I don’t have much left, and I don’t intend to lose one day of my allotted time.” His mouth is stretched tight; there are signs of strain around his eyes. He pulls in a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “I want to be happy. And happiness doesn’t just fall into your lap, you have to want it—chase it—catch it. Don’t worry about my children, Kristie, I’ll protect you.”

  Just as I’ll protect him.

  I pick up my paperback, and head for the door. “I’ll see you down there.”

  The house is quiet. I head straight for the front door. Breakfast will be set up on the terrace, but I need to check in with the office, and don’t wish to be overheard.

  Dad picks up after the first ring.

  “Everything okay?” There’s a hint of tension in his voice. To say he’s not exactly happy with my new status would be putting it mildly, but he’s sucking it up.

  “Yeah, good. I’m just reporting in. Any news on the background checks?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  I grit my teeth. When will he take me seriously? Accept that I’m more than capable of running an operation without being patronized?

  As usual, I swallow my feelings and play nice. “I’d like to see all of it, Dad. Could you forward it to me? I’ll talk to you later.” I head around the side of the house, taking the herringbone brick path made narrower by the blowsy growth of hydrangeas in every shade of blue from sky to indigo.

  I’m carrying the latest Jack Reacher. He and I are nothing alike—he’s a six-foot-five ex-army tough guy, and I’m a five-foot-three gold digger. Or at least that’s what everyone is supposed to think. But Reacher and I have one thing in common, we’re both protective. Over the month that I’ve been working for Montgomery I’ve gotten to know him well. He’s a total gentleman—a man without a cruel bone in his body. I know it seems strange to consider someone almost sixty years older than I am as a friend, but that is how I think of him.

  He’s open and honest about his situation. It’s obvious he deeply misses Mrs. Patten—the first Mrs. Patten, Sarah—who passed away less than a year ago. She was in her late seventies and her death was unexpected; she was in perfect health until she died in her sleep.

  Isabel, the housekeeper and cook, who has come from Casa Nostra to prepare meals during our honeymoon, spots me as I round the corner and walk onto the terrace facing the ocean.

  She’s set the table with a selection of pastries and fresh fruit. Orange juice for me, pr
une juice for Montgomery. She’s carrying a silver coffeepot. “Shall I pour, Mrs. Patten?”

  “Isabel, you can’t possibly call me Mrs. Patten. Keep with Kristie, please.” Saying the same thing I’ve said every morning, I smile my most winning smile.

  “Kristie.” She forces a smile. “Coffee?”

  “Thank you.” We were becoming friends before she found out Montgomery and I were to be wed. Now, just like everyone else, she must think I’m after his money. The subsequent chill in her makes our living environment more tense, but there’s nothing to be done. I knew the risks going into this arrangement. I knew the conclusions people would draw—hell, I’d even be guilty of thinking the same thing myself.

  I can’t jeopardize Montgomery’s safety by telling the truth, much as I might wish to.

  “Montgomery will be down in a moment.”

  She places the coffeepot on the table. Nods. And then I’m alone. With only the sand, the surf, and the sunshine for company.

  I’ve finished my croissant and am peeling a peach by the time Montgomery joins me. He’s not wearing a tie, and he looks good. Happy. I pour him coffee and pass him the basket of pastries. After a few minutes, there’s a clearing of a throat from the doorway.

  “Stephen,” Montgomery says.

  The burly bodyguard advances but doesn’t sit. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir.” He glances at me. “Mrs. Patten.”

  “Kristie.” Would it kill Stephen to act as though he actually liked me? By the twist of his lips, I’m guessing it might.

  Stephen nods. “Yes, Ma’am. Kristie,” said with reluctance. “I just came to let you know that the new driver is here. Robert’s replacement.”

  “When we’ve finished breakfast, send him into the living room,” Montgomery says.

  “Yes, sir.”

  There are no plans to leave the house for the next couple of weeks, but Montgomery needs to have a driver constantly at his beck and call should we decide to take a trip into town. I can drive, of course, but Montgomery wouldn’t think of allowing me to drive the Rolls.

  “The moment we’re home we’ll shop for a new car for you.” Montgomery peels his morning banana.