The Millionaire Meets His Match

“Not good enough,” Deb said, laughing. “Although Ronnie was a happy man. Come on, spill.”

Trish sighed. It’s true that if it weren’t for Deb, she might never have been hired by Duke Development International in the first place. When Deb left her administrative job at DDI to stay home with the baby, she’d recommended Trish to Marjorie Wallace, the HR manager, who’d immediately hired Trish for the special assignment department. Trish never would’ve been able to infiltrate the company so quickly if not for Deb. So, yes, she owed her friend the truth-if only she could figure out exactly what the truth was.

“You could’ve warned me how dangerous this job could be to my health,” she groused, getting up to pour herself another half glass of the delicious crisp, dry wine. As she pushed the cork back into the bottle and returned it to the refrigerator shelf, she noticed the label. Duke Cellars. Oh, great. She couldn’t escape the man for one minute.

Deb gave her a quizzical look. “What do you mean, dangerous?”

Trish waved a hand to negate her words. “It’s nothing.”

Deb persisted. “Hey, if there’s a problem, you don’t have to handle it alone. You could-”

“It’s just-” Trish exhaled heavily. “It’s hard to breathe when he’s standing by my desk.”

Her friend’s smile was smug. “He really is cute, isn’t he?”

“Cute?” Trish repeated, stunned by the word. When had Deb become such a master of understatement? Cute was for puppy dogs and two-year-olds. Devastating would more accurately describe Adam Duke.

“But as I recall,” Deb continued, “I did warn you. You just weren’t ready to listen. You were on a mission, remember?”

Trish sipped her wine. “I still am.”

“You still intend to go through with it?”

“I have to.”

Deb shrugged, put the now-empty baby bottle on the side table, then lifted the baby to her shoulder. After a few pats, Gavin let out a healthy burp and they both laughed.

“What a good boy,” Deb whispered, bouncing the baby lightly in her arms.

Trish couldn’t prevent the pang of envy that tripped up her heart as she watched. Deb and she had been best friends since fourth grade when Deb’s parents moved their family to Dunsmuir Bay. Two years ago, Trish had been maid of honor when Deb married her high school sweetheart, Ronnie, in a beautiful ceremony on the cliff overlooking the bay. Then little Gavin was born three months ago and Deb quit her job to stay home.

Trish smiled wistfully. She didn’t really envy her friend’s happiness, but sometimes she wished things had turned out differently in her own life. If Grandma were still alive, if Anna’s Attic and the Victorian Village were still standing, her life might’ve taken another road, might’ve turned out more like Deb’s. She might have a husband or even a baby of her own by now.

Resolve trickled through her as she reminded herself that whatever else he appeared to be, Adam Duke was the reason her world had fallen to pieces. And Trish wasn’t the only one who’d been affected. There were others depending on her to keep her word to bring Adam down. If she ever wanted to face her old friends and neighbors again, she needed to be strong and follow through on her plan.

Maybe someday, when Adam Duke and his machinations had been dealt with and were a thing of the past, she might think about settling down. But not yet. Not until she could look herself in the mirror and feel some amount of pride at having fulfilled the promise she’d made to Grandma Anna on her deathbed.

Content that little Gavin was settled and happy in his infant seat, Deb sat back down. “I know this plan of yours is something you’ve thought about for a long time, but if you’ve had a change of heart, it’s okay. You’re free to change your mind anytime you want.”

“I won’t change my mind,” Trish said.

“There’s no shame in it,” Deb insisted. “You’ve got an accounting degree and an MBA. You could get a job anywhere.”

“I know, and I will,” she said, gazing at her friend with renewed resolve. “But first things first. My personal feelings about Adam Duke don’t matter. He deserves to be taken down and I won’t give up until I’ve done just that.”

Trish spent most of Saturday morning running errands. She stopped at the dry cleaners, the grocery store, the bank and finally the library where she returned two books, then strolled over to browse the new arrivals shelf.

“My goodness, is that you, Trish?”

She turned, then smiled and gave the chic, older woman a hug. “Mrs. Collins, how are you?”

“I’m as well as can be expected for an old gal.” Selma Collins was a neighbor from Victorian Village. She’d owned the stylish clothing shop that had provided Trish with dresses for all the significant events of her life, from her first communion to her senior prom.

Today Mrs. Collins wore one of her vintage Chanel suits. It was almost as old as she was, but it was elegant and timeless, just as she was. Her subtle scent of Chanel No. 5 filled Trish’s sense memory and, just for a moment, transported her back to a happier time.

“Oh, Mrs. Collins,” Trish said with a grin, “you look as fresh and young as the day I met you.”

The woman slapped Trish’s arm. “My dear, you were a toddler when I first met you, so stop pulling this old gal’s leg.”

They both chuckled, then Trish wasn’t sure what to say. Most of the neighbors knew her plan to infiltrate Duke Development and they’d applauded her for taking action. But if she came up with nothing, she didn’t know how she would face them. And that outcome was looking more and more inevitable with every day she spent with Adam Duke.

“You probably heard that Claude and Madeleine had to declare bankruptcy,” Mrs. Collins whispered.

The news hit Trish like a physical blow to the chest. Claude and Madeleine Maubert had operated the Village Patisserie for over twenty years. Their chocolate croissants were the stuff of dreams. Trish had loved hearing Mrs. Maubert’s stories of her life in Paris before she met her husband and they ventured “across the pond,” as she always said. “Oh, no. Are they going to be all right?”

Mrs. Collins shook her head. “They went through most of their savings trying to set up another patisserie like the one they’d had at the Village, but they just couldn’t make it work. I don’t think their hearts were in it.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“Oh, dear girl, you’re doing everything you can.” Mrs. Collins squeezed her arm. “We have such great hopes for you.”

Trish smiled thinly but said nothing. She wished now that she hadn’t raised the expectations of her neighbors by telling them of her plan to find some dirt on Adam Duke. Even if she did discover something they could use against their nemesis, it wouldn’t bring back their shops or their homes.

But eight months ago, after Grandma Anna died, Trish had been so angry and hurt that she’d stormed into City Hall and demanded to know why the city hadn’t approved the historical designation for Victorian Village. They’d told her that renters couldn’t apply for the designation; it had to come from the owners.

She remembered the overwhelming desire to throw something at the clerk. It shouldn’t have mattered who applied for the designation. It was an objective fact that the block-long building was a town landmark, well over one hundred years old and lovingly preserved in the classic Queen Anne Victorian style. How dare the city allow it to be bulldozed into oblivion and replaced by a concrete slab?

After receiving no satisfaction at City Hall, she’d marched into the large Duke Development construction trailer that was camped on the site of her razed home and made silly threats. The head guy, a wormy little man who made her skin crawl, had warned her to get out or he would call security, so she left of her own accord, but not before foolishly ranting her intention to “take down Duke Development” if it was the last thing she did.

Now, she could only laugh ruefully at the memory but back then, she’d been carrying around a grudge that weighed her down like a stone. Soon after the embarrassing scene at the Duke construction trailer, Trish had attended a barbecue with her old neighbors. She’d shared her plan with them, boldly promising that she would find something-anything-that could be used to hurt the Dukes in some way. It had been rash of her, but her friends had hailed her as their heroine and bolstered her confidence, so she knew she had to give it her best shot.

And so she had. But so far, she’d found nothing remotely damaging to the corporation or to Adam Duke himself. On the contrary, the man appeared to be a saint.