She made a face at him. “However, most of us continue to stay in touch with our families because there is a history we share with them that we share with no one else in the world. They are the witnesses to our life at all its stages. I would guess your father wants you to be part of this new and probably nerve-racking phase of his life in some way.” This was getting too serious, so Chloe shrugged. “Or maybe he just wants a really nice wedding gift.”
Trainor gave a crack of laughter. “If you’re thinking china, my father considers a US military–issued mess kit a more than adequate table setting.”
Since he had started the personal conversation, Chloe found the nerve to ask, “Why haven’t you seen your father in two years?”
His eyes went cold, and she thought she’d pushed him too far. Then he shook his head. “I don’t like the Marines, and he doesn’t like anyone but Marines.”
“But you’re his son, and you’re not exactly a miserable failure.”
Trainor picked at a fold in the sheet beside him. “I was the first male in my family in five generations not to attend a military academy. The general handed down the prized family sword to the son who will never wear a uniform. He can’t forgive me for that.”
“Seriously? You run a multinational corporation that you started with your own personal invention. How could he not be proud of you?”
“Not good enough. I’ve never risked my life for my country.”
“But your batteries are used by the military. You’ve made soldiers’ lives safer and better, both personally and professionally, by providing reliable, long-term power for their computers and cell phones and gizmos too secret for me to know about.”
“I think you should tell him that. In person.” A calculating smile that she distrusted drew up the corners of his mouth. “Come with me to his wedding.”
She shot off the chair so fast that it scooted backward on its wheels. Her first thought was how thrilling it would be to spend a day as Nathan Trainor’s date. Her second was that he was mocking her. She held a tight rein on her words and managed to come up with, “That’s not funny.”
Annoyingly unruffled, he nodded. “I agree, and because it won’t be at all amusing, I would pay you generously for your time.”
“Why do you think money will overcome my objections to everything you propose?” She was beginning to feel insulted, despite the fact that money motivated her very powerfully because of her worries about Grandmillie’s future care. He’d found her vulnerability and was exploiting it for his own ends. She didn’t like that about him.
He looked vaguely surprised. “Ben told me you agreed to come here after negotiating an increase in your pay. I assumed that would work on other matters as well.”
She bit her lip, upset that he saw her as being so crass. “I’m not as mercenary as you think.”
“Mercenary is another one of those unnecessarily judgmental words. You have a realistic idea of your own value,” he said.
“Well, when you put it that way . . .” She shot him an irritated glare.
He returned it with a cool look. “I’d prefer to pay you for your time for my own private reasons, so you don’t need to feel soiled by my offer.”
“It’s still weird. You can’t hire a temp to go as your date to your own father’s wedding.”
He raised his eyebrows at her. “I need someone to stand by my side at a social event. You have a responsibility that requires financial support. I thought it was a logical solution to both of our needs, but I’ll accept your judgment that it’s weird.”
“You will?” Chloe had expected a much longer argument.
“For now.” He pulled out several pillows from behind him. “I’m going to sleep.”
She stood transfixed by the long line of his back, by the way his muscled arm lay along the covers over his hip and thigh, by the unconscious curve of his long fingers. The intimacy of it slithered in to weaken her resolve again. She felt like she might have a won a battle, but she was in danger of losing the war.
Chloe stood at the top of the grand staircase, surveying the hall below her. So far she hadn’t ventured off the path between the elevator on the second floor of the apartment and Trainor’s bedroom. The tug of curiosity made her set her foot on the next step down as she slid her palm over the satiny surface of the gleaming wooden banister. Her heels sank into the Oriental runner pinned to the stairs by brass rods running across the back of each step.
She imagined herself in a long, full ball gown spangled with glittering crystals, her arms encased in elbow-length white gloves, as she swept down the staircase, drawing all eyes to her. About halfway down, she added a tiara to her mental image, her head held high on her swanlike neck. As she reached the bottom, she started when the sound of applause echoed through the hallway.
Looking around, she saw Ed standing in a doorway, his face creased in an appreciative smile. “That was quite an entrance,” he said, walking forward.
“How did you know I—? Never mind,” Chloe said. “Mr. Trainor is asleep.”
Ed nodded. “May I offer you an afternoon snack?”