Chapter 4

It was almost the weekend, and his first official date with Janna was tomorrow. Brice still wasn't sure she wouldn't bolt, so he was attempting to come up with a special plan, one that wouldn't make it easy for her to escape. He sat in his study, his legs propped up on his large mahogany desk, his arms crossed and his eyes staring through the bookshelves across from him as his mind worked.

They'd take one of his cars, but no driver. He didn't want to be ostentatious as Brice already knew his wealth made Janna nervous. That meant he had to find places that had valet parking. This was a problem in the small town where the Central Willamette University campus was situated. He couldn't remember a single restaurant in town that offered valet service. With a big sigh, he leaned his head back in his leather chair.

Maybe he was coming at this from the wrong perspective. His interpretation of "date" was too traditional, too predictable. It wasn't going to impress her, to show up in a limo with a driver and take her to the most expensive restaurant in town. That was exactly what she expected a millionaire playboy to do. He had to zig when her mind zagged. Brice decided to figure out what the opposite of all the expected luxury date components was, and then do that.

A typical dinner date took place at night. Fine, so he'd plan a daytime date. He'd usually have Chase, his driver, drive them around town in the black stretch. So, no driver, and no limo. Brice grinned. That was no hardship. He had a garage full of cars that he barely ever drove anymore. It would still be a luxury car, but not the conventional limousine.

The most expensive restaurant in town would be indoors, in the claustrophobic interior of Apriles, full of delicate white iron and glass tables, heavy coral drapes, chairs with thick gold cushions, and packed with the well-to-doers who were forced to almost literally rub elbows in the restaurant's crowded confines.

So their date would be outdoors, and the opposite of claustrophobic. The image of a certain spot of land within the soon to be Masterson Memorial Parkland locked into his mind, and he smiled, because it was perfect for his purposes. They'd go for a hike to his hideaway, and there they would enjoy a picnic, which Brice supposed was close to the opposite of the rich French cuisine at Apriles. The only thing that could go wrong was the weather.

It was the middle of March, and the rains weren't as heavy or frequent as they'd been the past few months. Brice pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the upcoming weather forecast. No rain, it seemed, although the sun might not make an appearance from behind the clouds. Still, a country drive wouldn't be amiss, accompanied by an easy hike and romantic picnic. And maybe, just maybe, if he could keep her off her guard long enough, their day date would stretch into the night. And into the next morning, if his wish came true.

A thread of unease broke his concentration. Brice wasn't used to wanting more than one night from the women he dated. Granted, none of them had hit him like Janna had, a bold of lightning from the heavens that had burned away all other thoughts but ones of her. He'd warmed his bed with waitresses, socialites, and girls more impressed by his bank balance than his charm, but always with the clear proviso that it was a one-night-only deal. Then Janna had knocked him off his feet at the holiday party, and he hadn't yet recovered. Worse, he didn't want to.

Forcing his mind back to the issue at hand, Brice considered which car to take. Again, he had to be unpredictable. The Lamborghini, the Ferrari, the Porsche, all screamed "rich guy," which Janna would probably read as "overcompensating." He needed something exotic but not flamboyant. Something that he would enjoy driving around the country curves with his girl by his side. The Aston Martin DB5, of course. He'd do James Bond's vehicle of choice proud, and Janna was definitely pretty enough to be a Bond girl. She would put Pussy Galore to shame, he thought with a wicked grin.

His strategy of attack decided, he called his assistant Tony to put together a picnic lunch and then told him he'd be sending him a list of songs for a playlist that he should upload for tomorrow's cruise. He quickly typed up a list of songs, none of the conventional ones, of course, and sent it off to Tony's email.

Everything settled, Brice closed his laptop and leaned back again, trying to relax but unable to restrain the nervous energy that buzzed through him. He couldn't remember ever being this anxious about a date. Although he'd been with plenty of women, they generally came to him. He didn't even have to crook his finger and women were throwing themselves at him.

Not that a willing woman had ever been a problem with Brice. He'd given his heart to a woman who had been all too willing at first. He closed his eyes, remembering his life five years ago and the hurt he'd experienced. Hurt he thought he'd never get over, hurt he'd give anything not to experience again. All at the hands of a sadistic little gold digger named Evetta. Even thinking her name made his heart stop beating for a moment.

Evetta had been the perfect woman for him, or so he'd thought. Sophisticated, worldly, and exceedingly beautiful, she was a rich man's dream and Brice's own personal nightmare. They'd met at one of his father's charity functions. She'd been introduced by a colleague of his father, and before the hour was out, she was going down on him in the Gents. After swallowing his load, she'd tidied up her makeup and returned to discussing foreign politics with the Mayor of Portland. When she kissed both cheeks of the mayor's wife in the European fashion, he remembered where those lips had been and had gotten hard again.

After dating for only a month, they'd gotten engaged. Although his parents cautioned him not to move too fast, they seemed to approve of Evetta. And what wasn't there to approve of? She gave every appearance of the perfect rich man's wife. She looked good, dressed well, was intelligent, well-spoken, and a miracle in the sack. But appearances could be deceiving.

After sliding the six-karat diamond engagement ring on her slender finger and moving her into his seven bedroom condo in the Pearl District of Portland, things began to change. She became manipulative, isolating him from his friends and family, learning how to play on his emotions like pushing a button. She'd use her words, her looks, false tears and blatant lies to keep him trapped in her whirlwind of drama. Before long he was so caught up in her game that he'd do anything to keep her happy, to keep her moods from flying off the deep end.

Once she'd known he was hooked, she'd tightened the screws. Evetta would flirt with other guys in front of him, and she started getting phone calls late at night that she would leave the room to answer. When he asked her who was calling, she turned things around so that he felt guilty for invading her privacy.

She started going out and leaving him at home, then wouldn't tell him where she'd been when she got back, usually tipsy and smelling like smoke and another man's cologne. Brice confronted her, but Evetta turned the screws ever tighter, running to his own mother to complain of his possessive and overbearing nature. Then he'd caught her performing fellatio on an investment banker he knew through one of his charities in his own bed. Evetta had laughed as he'd thrown her out, swearing that things weren't over, that he could never get rid of her.

And she'd been right, initially. A month after they'd broken up, a month full of parties where he'd drank too much and too often woke up next to a random cocktail waitress or club rat, he'd received a message from Evetta. She was pregnant, and the child was his. She demanded that he see her and make things right.

Brice was shocked, disbelieving. He was also strangely elated. He remembered their time together in the beginning, how hot they'd burned, and how well-suited she was to his lifestyle. Maybe they could work out their issues, and perhaps a child would settle her. Brice met her at Huber's, an old restaurant downtown that offered authentic Spanish coffee with impeccable service, and she'd shown him a sonogram. Although he didn't know what all the dark shapes meant, apparently his child was somewhere in there, and a warm glow had spread over his body.

Evetta moved back into their condo, and Brice began designing the nursery. He wasn't a fool, and somewhere in the back of his mind alarm bells were ringing, but the chance of having Evetta back, the old Evetta, was worth the risk. He'd spoiled her rotten, buying her a new car, a little cottage on the San Juan Islands for family vacations, endless amounts of jewelry. Brice wanted her to know she was treasured and she loved the attention, but he could still see something restless in her eyes. As the days passed, she started pacing the floors like an animal in a cage, especially after Brice asked to come with to her pre-natal appointments. She wouldn't tell him when they were, and they had quarreled, Evetta calling him cruel and controlling. Not long after he'd returned home from a press function, he found all of her things gone.

It was devastating, to lose her again, and even worse to lose the child inside her, the one he'd already affectionately thought of as Junior. When she finally answered his calls, she told him that she couldn't live with him. He was too abusive. She still expected him to support his child, however.

He agreed unequivocally, but couldn't understand why she wouldn't come back. He was ashamed to admit it now, but he had begged her to come home. As the months passed, he kept her bank account full, but she wouldn't let him near her, wouldn't even tell him where she was staying. When her due date crept closer, and he still hadn't received word from her, he broke down and hired a private detective.

The P.I. tracked her to a high-rise apartment in Seattle. The pictures he provided were no less shocking than that very first blow job. There was Evetta, slender as the day he'd met her, pressed into the arms of the shady investment banker he'd seen fucking her mouth in his bed. There was no baby; there never had been. She'd been playing him again. When he finally got her on the phone to confront her, she'd laughed at him for being a fool.

"Sure I took your money, and you were only too willing to give it to me to preserve your little fantasy. You're never going to find the woman you want. She doesn't exist. No one is going to impress your uptight mommy and daddy, and still be the little slut you want in your bedroom. Men and their misguided love of the Virgin and the Whore dichotomy. Well, I don't play by men's rules. Good luck finding your imaginary woman."

Brice said nothing, blindsided by her attack. He was the one who was wronged, and here she was, turning the tables on him again. Before he could remember to hang up, her voice had reached out and punched him right in the balls. "And Brice, honey, if I ever need a couple hundred thousand again, I'll make sure to look you up."

He'd held the phone to his head for minutes after she disconnected the call, his arms starting to ache before he remembered to lower it.

The memory of that inability to move prompted him to act now. He retrieved his phone from the desk and dialed Janna's number. They'd discussed getting together tomorrow, but they hadn't set a particular time. Brice hoped that she would agree to meet him early, so he could spend the whole day getting to know her. The phone rang, and he held his breath in anticipation.

"Hello?" Her voice was a breathy near-whisper.

"Janna? It's Brice. I was calling to confirm our engagement tomorrow."

"Engagement?" The tone was teasing, but Brice thought he heard a note of fear in her voice.

"Our date tomorrow. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind meeting early."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I was hoping I could pick you up around ten."

"Isn't that a bit late for dinner?"

He couldn't tell if she was teasing him or not. "Ten a.m. And I thought you had to be smart to get a Ph.D." If she were teasing, he would tease back.

"That's what they tell me, but you'd be surprised," she replied with a laugh. "And why should I let you drag me out at ten a.m. on a Saturday morning?"

"I thought we could enjoy the day together. Maybe do some hiking?" He held his breath as doubt assailed him. What if she wasn't the outdoorsy type? All of his careful planning and he could be blowing it right now.

"Are you just trying to get me alone in the woods and at your mercy?" Now she had to be teasing.

He laughed at her throaty tone. "You can't blame a guy for trying."

"A hike sounds nice. I'll be ready at 10."

"Good," he said and thought it came out almost like a purr. "I'll see you tomorrow."