The Billionaire's Email-Order Bride Page 3

  He offered her a leather office chair, then sat behind the desk and rested his hands on top of the shining timber.

  “So, let’s talk.”

  She smiled. “I spoke with Damon, and he’s ready to release me from my contract today. So, I could start here next week, if that works for you.”

  He nodded, his eyes gleaming. “Perfect. That will help me out a lot since I didn’t have anyone to cover the next couple of weeks otherwise. The kitchen staff have really stepped up their game, but I can’t expect them to keep managing everything without an executive chef. This is Sanbury's, after all.”

  She chuckled. “True.”

  “Are you ready for us?” he teased, winking one brown eye.

  She inhaled slowly then answered with a firm yes, her heart rate accelerating. Was she ready? She’d been working toward this for what seemed like her entire life. And now it was within reach. Her gut clenched. What about the letter from the immigration department?

  She’d resolve it. It’d be fine. Still, she should talk to Frank about it. Be honest and upfront. He’d appreciate that, she was certain of it.

  “We’re excited to see what you’ll do with the position,” he continued. He opened the top desk drawer and withdrew a sheaf of papers stapled together in one corner. He set the papers on the desk in front of him then met her gaze. “I have some paperwork here for you to complete.”

  “I’m excited as well. But there is one thing I wanted to talk to you about. It’s nothing really. I’ll take care of it, but in the spirit of openness, I just wanted to let you know about it.”

  His eyes narrowed and he leaned back in his chair. “I’m listening.”

  She opened the briefcase, still clutched to her chest, and withdrew the letter. Then, set it on the table and pushed it toward him. He took it and scanned it quickly, his face creasing with concern.

  “Basically, the USCIS wants to change my status and cancel my visa, but I’m certain it’s just a clerical error. I’m going down there after this meeting to resolve it, so I’m sure it won’t cause us any issues.” Her voice trailed away as he pushed the letter back across the desk toward her.

  “I’m afraid this changes things.” He crossed his arms over his thick chest.

  “No, no…it’s fine. Really, I’ll take care of it. You don’t have to worry about it. They’ve obviously made some kind of mistake.”

  “I think it’ll take longer than you realize to resolve, months maybe. I’ve had kitchen staff deal with this kind of thing before. It’s a long, drawn-out process, and the chance that you’ll win your case is slim. We can’t go without a head chef for another month, let alone longer.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry Eve. We’re going to have to offer the job to someone else.”

  Her throat constricted. This couldn’t be happening. “But Frank, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Maybe you will. I hope you do. And then you can come back, and we’ll talk. But I doubt this is something you’ll be able to fix in an afternoon. I’ve had enough experience with immigration issues to know that. A moment ago, you’d told me you could start here next week, but now it looks like it could be months if at all. I can’t leave the restaurant flailing for that long, Eve. You know that. We have a reputation to uphold.”

  Her head dropped into her hands and she shook it slowly. This was a nightmare. She couldn’t process what was happening. She’d been so happy a few hours earlier, and now all her dreams were being ripped out from under her. She’d have to go back to Damon, hat in hand, and ask for her job back. How could she face him and the staff now? They’d know she was on her way out the door, they’d never respect her the same way they had, but she didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t stay in the country without a job, nor could she afford New York rent prices.

  Still, he’d said she could come back when she’d resolved the visa issue, so she’d just have to move quickly. She raised her head and looked Frank in the eye.

  “Thank you, Frank. I’m going to take care of this, and I’ll be in touch.”

  She stood before he could respond, grabbed the letter from the desk and marched from the office, fighting back tears. Crying in front of Frank Hansom was something she couldn’t allow herself to do. She’d just have to hold it all together until she was at home, alone. Then she could fall apart.

  The hostess waved goodbye as she barreled through the reception area. She muttered a response then pushed through the front door and out onto the busy street. Cold air assailed her uncovered face. She tugged on her overcoat and pulled the collar up around her neck with a shiver. The sky was clouded and dark. It looked like snow. The last vestiges of a recent snow storm still lingered along the edges of the street and under the occasional tree or shrub. That was one thing she loved about New York, the snow falling on her upturned face and blanketing the usually dark and grimy landscape, turning it into a winter wonderland.

  She shoved the letter into her briefcase and pulled out her cell phone using the map application to locate the USCIS office. Then, she set her face like flint and strode off down the street. She’d worked so hard to get to this point in her career, sacrificed so much, she wasn’t about to let an issue with her visa bring it all crashing down around her. Not if there was anything she could do about it.

  John’s feet pounded the pavement. Sweat dampened his shirt, letting the chill air prick his skin through the thin fabric. His breath formed small clouds with each exhale, then trailed away behind him as he ran.

  His thoughts shifted from work to the high school reunion still looming on the horizon. Lacy had booked tickets for the event and had scheduled the private company jet to fly him to New York. Yet, he still wasn’t sure he should go. He’d have to catch up with his family after not seeing them in years, then show up to a reunion filled with people he’d been quite happy never to see again until that invitation had arrived.

  He should just stay home.

  But he didn’t want to miss the reunion for the wrong reasons. If he stayed away just because the thought of facing Shonda and Tony again was too much for him, then he’d be taking a step backward. He’d moved on. And he wanted this one final piece of closure. Which meant facing his past, not hiding from it.

  Seeing her again. Them, together. It might help open himself up to the idea of love. He hadn’t been able to commit to a woman ever since Shonda chose Tony over him. Hadn’t wanted to make himself vulnerable. Maybe this would help him do it.

  He shook his head, slowing his pace until he came to a stop beside a park bench. The park was bathed in the soft light of a new dawn, with fog curling its tendrils around trees and lamp posts and across the footpath that stretched ahead of him.

  It’d been five years. It was time to face Shonda and Tony, time to let go of what’d happened and to move on.

  He’d called the Email-Order Date service, and they’d promised to get back to him with a potential date for the event. But even as he’d read the email, he knew he wanted more. He was ready to settle down. Ready for more than a casual date with a stranger. He wanted a wife, a family. But how could he find one? And even if he managed it, how could he maintain a relationship with his busy schedule? The idea of an email-order bride kept rising to the surface of his conscious mind ever since his brother suggested it.

  He hated to admit it even to himself, but every woman he met who showed an interest in him these days seemed more taken with his checking account than they were with his personality. And besides, he still had that issue with commitment and vulnerability. He wanted to move past it, but it clung to his chest like a vice whenever he thought about opening himself up to someone.

  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the sweat making it stand on end. He knew he should get some balance in his life, not work so hard. At first, he’d been driven by a desire to succeed, to show his father he could be trusted with the family business. To prove to him that he was a man, and to himself. He so wanted his father’s approval.

  Now, he just didn’t know a
ny other way to live, and the hectic schedule he’d kept for so many years had left him with few relationships of any depth, so that if he ever took time off, he found himself alone and at a complete loss for what to do.

  Bianca Fulton, the woman from the dating agency, had mentioned in her email that they also provided an email-order bride service for those who were looking for a bigger commitment. John couldn’t help wondering how that would work, exactly. It couldn’t, surely. Not if you expected to fall in love.

  That was one thing he knew he didn’t want in his life. Love. Romantic love was the last thing on his mind. But maybe he could talk to Bianca about finding someone who shared his point of view. Someone looking for a business arrangement rather than a romance. Someone willing to marry him for companionship alone. He’d have a date for all the business functions, parties, and events he currently attended on his own, including the reunion. And he could come home to someone, instead of an empty apartment.

  He inhaled slowly, his mind ticking over all the possibilities, every issue, each question. It might just work if he could find the right woman.

  Eve tried not to panic. She pushed the feeling down, even as sweat broke out across her brow. The subway car grumbled and clacked beneath her as it rounded a curve. She stared out the window, willing her heart rate to slow.

  They hadn’t budged at the immigration office yesterday. She hadn’t managed to speak to anyone in charge, and they’d told her she had to make an appointment. When she’d showed the man at the counter the letter she’d received, he’d admonished her in a monotone, telling her the instructions on how to call and make an appointment were at the bottom of the letter and could she please step aside so he could help someone else?

  She’d almost cried right there in front of him. Before the next person could step forward, she’d asked him one final question: how long would it take to fix?

  He’d stared blankly at her. How long? Six to twelve months, although it wasn’t likely she’d be successful.

  Six to twelve months! It was all over. She’d never get the job at Sanbury’s now. Frank wouldn’t take her on with this thing hanging over her head, and he’d never agree to wait that long for her. A restaurant like that needed a chef they could create a brand around, someone they could market to the public. Not a temporary worker-bee. And it was meant to be her.

  Now that couldn’t happen. Not unless she found a way to change her immigration status, and fast. So, she’d made a decision over her breakfast of poached eggs on rye toast with blood-orange tea: she needed a job. Now she was on a train back to El Salvatore’s to beg Damon for her old position. He loved her, needed her, she knew that. It was the only thing that she clung to. And while she continued working at El Salvatore’s she’d begin working her way toward another head-chef position somewhere else in the city, finally letting go of the dream of working at Sanbury’s. At least for now.

  A copy of the New York Post sat folded on the seat beside her. She picked it up and flicked through it. It was difficult to focus on news articles with so many thoughts whirling about inside her head, but she’d found it helpful for reducing anxiety. She’d think about something else, and gradually her heart rate would slow, the knot in her gut would loosen and the panic would lift.

  As she read through the social section, scanning the photographs of smiling socialites, it started to work. Next, she flicked through the real estate section, dreaming of one day owning her own classic brownstone or spacious condo, followed by the classifieds. Her gaze landed on a wanted advertisement, the heading was in bold.

  Wanted: Brides

  Email-Order Brides wanted. Find the man of your dreams. Various states. All ages welcome. Apply for details.

  Was that really a thing? People did that still?

  She frowned, her gaze traveling over the words again, taking them in. If only she knew someone she could marry, then she’d get a green card, and her dream job, all at once.

  The train pulled to a screeching stop, and she tucked the newspaper under her arm. Hurrying to the doors, she stepped through them, then shuffled along with the crowd up the staircase to the street above.

  By the time she’d marched all the way to the restaurant and waited twenty minutes in Damon’s office, butterflies had formed their own conga-line in her stomach. She shifted in her seat as he entered.

  “Hello there, I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon. I thought you were going to start the new job today.” His voice was chipper, and she sighed softly. Everything was going to be fine. She smiled.

  “And I didn’t expect to be back here so soon either. But I guess I just can’t get enough of a good thing.”

  He chuckled and slid into a seat across from her, leaning his hands on his thighs, his eyes alert and gleaming. “So, how can I help you? Did you come back for your things?”

  She shook her head. “No, actually I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Okay. Shoot.”

  “I want my job back.”

  Damon straightened sharply. “Oh.”

  “Things didn’t exactly work out at Sanbury's the way I’d hoped they would. Something came up…I’ll tell you all about it. Just let me come back. Please.”

  She rubbed her damp palms down the length of her black pants, one leg bouncing up and down in a steady, nervous rhythm.

  Damon ran his hand over his hair, smoothing flyaway strands back into place. “I can’t give you your job back, Eve.”

  “What? Why not?” Her voice rose and panic settled over her chest.

  “Because I already gave it to Mark.” Damon’s voice was even, but he spun a pen around between his fingers.

  “Mark? The line chef?” Heat rose to her cheeks.

  “Yep.”

  “But he’s not ready—” she blurted.

  “Yes, he is. And as soon as you gave me your notice, I offered him the job. He took it, so now it’s his. I can’t give it back to you.” Damon pressed his lips into a firm line.

  She stood and paced the breadth of the tiny room. How could this be happening? “But it’s my job.”

  “Actually, it’s not. Not anymore. Sorry, I’d love to have you back, you know that. But I don’t have room. Not right now.” He shook his head.

  It was a nightmare. The whole thing was a nightmare. Her job was gone. She’d walked away from the best job she’d ever had, and she’d been sure Damon would take her back. She couldn’t stay. Her heart pounded in her chest and sweat beaded on her forehead. She had to get out of there. “Okay. Well, thanks anyway. I’ll call you sometime, we’ll catch up. Okay?”

  She fought the urge to scream and hurried from the room, her heart pounding against her ribcage. This couldn’t be happening. Now she’d have to go back to Australia a complete failure. Unemployed, deported…and she’d have to face everything she’d left behind. She wasn’t ready for that.

  The train ride home passed in a blur. She rode the elevator up to her apartment then collapsed on the sofa, tossing her briefcase and the newspaper onto the coffee table.

  “What now?” she asked herself out loud.

  She’d have to go home. Home. It didn’t feel like home anymore. New York was her home now. She loved it here. Didn’t want to leave. But what choice did she have?

  There were plenty of opportunities for chefs in Australia, but she hadn’t built her reputation there the way she had here. She’d have to start again, from scratch. Who knew how long it’d be before she’d have the opportunity to run her own kitchen now?

  And she’d left there for a reason. Several reasons, actually.

  She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand as tears filled the corners of her eyes. Then, she caught a glimpse of the newspaper, still open to the classifieds section and folded in half. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, then slipped out of her coat, her mind turning over the thought she’d had on the train.

  It was a stupid idea. She couldn’t marry someone to get a green card. Could
she?

  They’d be expecting a wife. Whoever they were. And she couldn’t be that. Couldn’t do that. When she got married, it’d be for love.

  She tugged the newspaper into her lap and studied the advertisement again, then reached for her cell phone. It didn’t hurt to call and ask some questions. She wasn’t committing to anything, she was just curious. As she dialed the number, her back straightened.

  Chapter 4

  Eve’s fingers tapped a steady rhythm against her leg. She glanced down at them, noting the neat, bare, fingernails. She should’ve gone for a manicure before she came. She hadn’t worn nail polish in years. Now that she was unemployed it was her chance to sport painted nails.

  Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment and she willed her heart rate to slow. This was crazy. What was she doing? She couldn’t really consider marrying someone just to stay in the country. Could she?

  This is a new low.

  She grimaced to herself, wiping her damp palms against her skirt. The waiting room was almost empty. Only a few of the dozen seats were filled. A large woman who looked to be in her fifties sat in one chair, staring up at a television set against the wall with the volume so low all Eve could hear was a dull murmur.

  Another chair was taken by a middle-aged woman with frizzy hair who chewed nervously on her fingernails, one at a time. Her amber eyes darted from place to place, finally landing on Eve’s face just in time to catch her staring. The woman offered a tentative smile, and Eve returned it.

  Commercial prints, artificial plants, and a coffee table strewn with magazines and pushed against one wall completed the décor. Eve had to will herself to remain in her seat. She was just going to find out more about the program. If it didn’t suit her, she would just walk away. No harm in that.