CEO's Marriage Seduction / His Style of Seduction: CEO's Marriage Seduction / His Style of Seduction

He wasn’t taking on responsibility for anyone else.

Still, the thought of Eva throwing herself away on a loser like Carter Newell made him want to put a hole in the wall.

If he couldn’t have her, he damned well wasn’t going to let her waste herself on a gamesman like Newell. Even if he knew that if Eva ever found out he’d done her father’s dirty work, he could kiss goodbye to any minimally civilized relationship they continued to have.

With that thought, he grimly reached for his cell phone. He had Ron Winslow’s number programmed in.

From time to time, he’d used the private investigator to smoke out the truth about potential real estate investments.

When Ron picked up, they exchanged brief greetings.

After a moment, Griffin cut to the chase. “I’ve got a new assignment for you.”

“He’s impossible.”

“He’s your father.”

Eva sighed. She’d left her parents’ estate earlier that day, right after the conversation with her father, and retreated to her town house condo in San Francisco’s Russian Hill neighborhood.

Now she sat, curled up on her couch with her cell phone, talking to her mother, who’d called to make sure everything was okay.

“I was hoping for the best.”

“He’ll come around.”

Eva silently disagreed with her mother’s assessment. She knew just how stubborn her father could be—and during moments when she was being honest with herself, she could admit she’d inherited his stubbornness.

“The more important question,” her mother continued, “is whether you’re sure you want to marry Carter—”

“Of course!” Her reply was quick and snappy. She was still smarting from the confrontation with her father—in Griffin Slater’s presence, of all people.

“Because there’s no rush,” her mother persisted. “The test showed you have time.”

“Yes, but how much?” she replied automatically.

She’d told her mother that she’d gone in for a test to gauge the quality of her egg supply. Now she wondered from her mother’s concerned tone whether she’d appeared too preoccupied with her biological clock.

“Eva—”

“Mom.”

Her mother sighed.

“What do you think of Carter?” Eva blurted, and then could have kicked herself.

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I want to marry Carter. I do,” she said, adopting her most reassuring voice—the one she used to sooth jittery clients before a big bash.

A beep sounded on her cell phone, followed by another.

“Mom, I have another call coming in.”

She checked the screen and realized it was her friend Beth Harding. She was deep into planning with Beth for a party the Hardings would be throwing at their mansion in a couple of weeks.

“It’s Beth,” she said to her mother.

“Okay, sweetie. I’ll let you go. We’ll talk another time about picking a wedding venue so you can set a date.”

She felt her spirits lift. At least her mother was willing to go into cheerful wedding mode.

“Thanks, Mom,” she said, before switching over to the incoming call.

“Hi, Beth,” she said. “I’ve found some great Art Deco props for the party. It’s a company that supplies movie sets down in L.A.”

Beth and her husband, Oliver, would be hosting a party in a couple of weeks at their Palo Alto estate to benefit San Francisco–area children’s hospitals.

She and Beth had decided that a 1930s theme would be a nice surprise for Beth’s octogenarian grandmother, who lived in a guesthouse on Beth’s estate and who was still spry enough to hit a dance floor.

Beth laughed. “Wonderful.”

“I’ve rented some fantastic mohair club chairs, a couple of burled wood wet bars and several frosted glass lighting pieces. And I found these ideal cobalt mirrored serving trays!”

“It all sounds great, but the party isn’t the reason I was calling.”

Eva slumped. “Let me guess.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t hold out on me.”

She’d filled in Beth on the fact that she and Carter were going to pick out a ring, and that she was making one last attempt to sway her father.

She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Where do I begin? The bad or the worse?”

“Oh, come on. It wasn’t that terrible!”

Beth had an unswerving sunny outlook. “Oh, come on” happened to be one of her favorite sayings.

“It was bad,” Eva replied ominously. “Let’s see, the bad was that my father went postal. The worse was that Griffin Slater happened to be around to witness it.”

Beth sucked in a breath. “Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes.”

She filled in Beth about the details of the confrontation in her father’s study, and Beth made sympathetic noises at regular intervals.

“I hope I never see Griffin Slater again,” she declared when she finished the sorry story, though she knew it was a vain hope.

“Umm…”