The Billionaire's Matchmaker(24)

On Saturday morning, she would visit her parents, endure the cool reception she’d become accustomed to since her divorce from Doug Stover, Attorney at Law, and come home appreciating the fact that she lived an hour away from them.

Carrying the garment bag that contained her glittery red gown, she checked in to her hotel. She luxuriated in a hot bath then dressed carefully. She didn’t need the money from any jewelry commission she might get while hob-knobbing, but she had a reputation to uphold. She was Marney Fields now. Successful jewelry designer. Several women would be wearing her commissioned pieces tonight. When they pointed to her, she wanted them to be proud they owned pieces designed by her.

As she stepped out of the elevator, Victor, the concierge whistled. “Ms. Fields, if I weren’t married, I drop to one knee right now and beg you to be my wife.”

She laughed. But men’s heads turned as she walked through the lobby to the portico where a limo awaited. Stupidly, Sheriff O’Neil popped into her head. And she wasn’t sure why. She didn’t want a man. Didn’t need a man.

And he obviously didn’t want her.

She tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder and smiled at the chauffer who closed the door behind her.

The limo ride took fifteen minutes. The driver handed her out, and she headed into the gallery without a backward glance. It never occurred to her to be embarrassed that she was alone. She’d made herself a success. On her own. Plus, she had the love and support of three wonderful friends in Chandler’s Cove. That was what life was really all about—connecting with people who liked you just as you were.

She snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and spent the next hour walking from display to display, examining paintings, considering sculptures, and eventually deciding to buy a bronze basket filled with shiny metallic apples for her office.

Satisfied with her purchase, she strolled through the maze of paintings, carvings, and metallic sculptures and figurines, chatting with people she knew. Some were customers. Some were women who wanted her to design pieces. Others were friends, people who had deserted her when she divorced Doug Stover, attorney at law, who —now that she was famous—had decided to forgive her for ending their marriage.

Luckily, she was gracious. She didn’t hold a grudge against them. Doug affected people oddly. He had a charisma that attracted everyone to him. He could get anyone to do just about anything he wanted. Manipulative and controlling, he’d actually thought she should stay after she’d discovered he’d been cheating. He’d dragged his feet along every step of their divorce, and ultimately she’d given him their condo for her freedom.

Her glass empty, she scoured the open first floor for a waiter. Spotting one walking away from her, she turned quickly and ran into a man. Her glass rammed into his very solid chest.

Looking up with a smile, she said, “Oh, I’m so sorry!” Then she froze. “Sheriff O’Neil?”

“Yes. If you’ll excuse me.” He turned away.

Her mouth hanging open slightly, she let her gaze follow him. Why not? The man was eye candy personified. She might have originally thought that she’d drooled over him because of his uniform, but seeing him in a tuxedo? With broad shoulders filling out his jacket and hair disheveled as if he didn’t give a damn what anybody thought of him, he was sex on a stick.

He disappeared into the thick crowd, and, shaking her head, Marney went back to her quest for more champagne.

“Wasn’t that Dell O’Neil?”

Overhearing the comment, she stopped walking. Two thirty-something women with big hair and skinny cocktail dresses stared in the direction Dell had gone.

“I wonder how his parents talked him into coming to this event?”

“I thought he’d disowned them.”

“Or they’d disowned him.”

“Or both.”

“I for one don’t care what happened. I’m just glad he’s back. Chicago society might not have missed him, but I did. He brings more sex appeal to these dull things than three or four of the other guys put together.”

The women laughed.

Marney’s face scrunched in confusion just as the crowd parted, and she spotted Dell again, standing next to an older man she recognized as renowned surgeon Dr. James O’Neil.

She remembered what the women had said about his parents talking him into coming to this event and she gasped.

Wow. Just wow.

Dell O’Neil was billionaire philanthropist James O’Neil’s son.

Dell glanced up, and their gazes connected. She smiled. A look of panic overshadowed his handsome features.

Well, well, well, the sheriff was keeping a secret from the good people of Chandler’s Cove.





Chapter Two



He approached her twenty minutes later as she studied a statue of a blue goat done by a new artist.

“Good evening, Sheriff.”

He winced. “Come on, haven’t you ever known anyone who was suffocated by their family?”

“Yeah. Me. And I ran to Chandler’s Cove too. But I didn’t have family responsibilities. No one was counting on me for contributions and glad-handing. I wasn’t rich.”

He sighed. “Neither was I when I left Chicago.”

“Which implies that you lost all your money, and now you’re rich again.” She laughed. “Tell me. How does one with family money lose it all when the rest of the family seems perfectly fine?”