Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(247)



She smelled the stench and spotted smoldering embers in the fireplace. “I want to know why you burned my clothes!”

“Don’t talk so loud. You’ll wake up Chip. And I burned your clothes because I couldn’t stand looking at them another minute. You don’t own one thing that’s not butt-ugly, Rachel Stone. Except your panties. I like them.”

He was acting as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Where was the tense, difficult man she’d grown so used to? “Gabe, what’s wrong with you? You had no right to do that.”

“As your present and future employer, I have a lot of rights.”

“Employer? The drive-in’s closed, and I’m leaving tomorrow. You’re not my employer any longer.”

She saw by his stubborn expression that he wasn’t going to make this easy on her.

“You refused to marry me,” he said, “so I don’t see any other way to go about it than to rehire you. I burned those bus tickets, by the way, along with your clothes.”

“You didn’t.” She slumped down on the couch, all the wind knocked out of her. Did he think that just because he’d finally attached himself to her son, everything was all right? “How could you do that?”

For a moment he said nothing. Then he gave her a slow, calculating smile. “I know you too well, sweetheart. You’re not going to keep those diamonds. That means it’s time to cut a deal.”

She regarded him warily.

He eyed her over the rim of his Dr Pepper, then sipped. As he lowered the can, he took his time studying her. His scrutiny made her fully conscious of the fact that she was completely naked beneath his shirt. She drew her legs closer together.

“I’m making some changes in my life,” he said.

“Oh?”

“I’m going to get licensed in North Carolina and open up a practice right here in Salvation.”

As upset as she was, she couldn’t help but feel happy for him. “I’m glad. It’s exactly what you should be doing.”


“But I’m going to need some help.”

“What kind of help?”

“Well . . . I have to hire a receptionist who can also pinch hit when I need surgical help.”

“I already have a job in Florida,” she pointed out. “And I’m not going to be your receptionist.” Why did he have to belabor this? Didn’t he understand how hard leaving him was for her?

“That’s not the job I’m offering you,” he said smugly. “Although if you’d volunteer to help out every once in a while, I’m sure I’d appreciate it. But no, what I’m thinking about for you is more in the way of a career than a job.”

“A career? Doing what?”

“Things I need done.”

“Such as?”

“Well . . .” He seemed to be thinking. “Laundry. I don’t mind cooking and washing dishes, but I don’t like laundry.”

“You want me to do your laundry?”

“Among other things.”

“Keep going.”

“Answering the phone in the evenings. When I’m not working, I don’t like to answer the phone. You’d have to do that. If it’s somebody in my family, I’ll talk. Otherwise, you take care of it.”

“Doing laundry and answering the phone. This is supposed to be my new career?”

“And balancing my checkbook. I really hate that. I just can’t get all worked up about tracking down every little penny.”

“Gabe, you’re a very wealthy man. You really need to look after your money better.”

“That’s what my brothers keep telling me, but I’m just not interested.”

“Laundry, answering the phone, and balancing your checkbook. Is that it?”

“Pretty much. Except for one other thing.”

“Which is?”

“Sex. That’s the main part of your job.”

“Sex?”

“It comes before everything else. Way before that checkbook.”

“Having sex with you?”

“Yes.”

“You want to pay me to have sex with you?”

“Plus laundry and the phone and—”

“You want to pay me! This is my new career! Being your full-time mistress and part-time housekeeper?”

“That mistress thing . . . It’d be nice. I kind of like the idea of having a mistress. But because of Chip and the fact this is a small town, we’d have to get married.” He held up his hand. “Now I know you don’t want to do that, so you wouldn’t have to look at it as a real marriage right away. Instead, it could be purely a business deal . . .” His eyes narrowed. “. . . something a bean counter like yourself should appreciate.” He straightened in the chair. “I need sex; you provide it. Strictly commerce.”

“Oh, Gabe . . .”

“Before you get too indignant, we’re talking a lot of money here.”

Even though she knew she shouldn’t, she couldn’t help but ask. “How much?”

“The day we get married, I’ll give you a cashier’s check for . . .” He stopped, scratched his head. “How much do you want?”

“A million dollars,” she snapped, angry with herself for even asking. But he was right. G. Dwayne’s diamond stash could never be hers. She finally understood that.

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