As a result, they were forcing him to behave like a boy scout in public. He wasn’t allowed to argue, wasn’t even allowed to scowl. Soon they’d have him kissing babies and helping little old ladies across the street.

“Why don’t you marry her?” he asked Ryan.

“Because I’m not the one with the image problem,” Ryan countered. “Besides, I’m not the CEO, and I’m not the public face of Garrison Hotels. Profits were up fifteen percent for the quarter.”

Alex glanced at his watch. “That could’ve been anything.” He wasn’t ready to accept that the kinder, gentler Alex was responsible for such an enormous turnaround.

“So what are the details?” asked Ryan.

Alex looked up. “Huh?”

“What’s left to sort out with Katie.”

“Nothing. It’s not Katie. It’s Emma now. And she’s still making up her mind.” Alex couldn’t believe he’d proposed to two different women in the space of forty-eight hours.

Ryan cocked his head. “I thought you proposed to the pretty one.”

“The pretty one said no. So I proposed to Emma instead. She doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

“I guess not,” Ryan scoffed.

Alex’s spine stiffened. Sure, Emma wasn’t a knockout like Katie, but there was no need to get insulting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she’s tough and scary.”

Alex stood up. “Wimp.”

Emma wasn’t tough and scary. She was frustrated and panicking. Which worked in his favor, actually.

Ryan stood with him. “One sister or the other. You make this work or bail on the project.”

Bail on the project? Alex didn’t think so. McKinley had prime beachfront property on Kayven Island. Prime beachfront property whose value was about to go through the roof when the cruise ship facility was finally announced.

He might have to sweeten the deal or find another vulnerability to exploit. But he wasn’t walking away from this one.

“What are we going to do?” Katie’s face was pale as she leaned across the table at the Chateau Moulin restaurant off the lobby of the McKinley Inn Fifth Avenue. The flickering hurricane lamp emphasized her worry, reflecting in a window that was blackened by the park beyond.

“I don’t know,” Emma answered honestly with a shake of her head. “I’ll have to call the bank in the morning.”

“And tell them what?” Katie’s voice rose to high C, matching the note of a grand piano tinkling in the corner.

“We’ll restructure the mortgages, maybe use the Martha’s Vineyard property as extra collateral.”

“You know that won’t work.”

Emma didn’t answer, because Katie was right. Equity in the Martha’s Vineyards property wouldn’t make a dent in the amount their father owed.

Things had been tough for McKinley the past few years. Bookings were down, costs up. Their father was always reluctant to let staff go. And they were locked into major renovations on three ski resort properties, while snow conditions had remained poor two winters in a row.

They were over a barrel, and Alex Garrison knew it. The man might be amoral, but he wasn’t stupid.

“I’m going to have to marry him,” said Katie, raising her palms in a gesture of defeat.

“And what about David?”

“I’ll explain it to him somehow.”

Emma took a drink from her martini glass, mimicking her sister’s voice. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. But I’m going to have to marry another man for his money.”

“I won’t say it like that.”

“There’s no way to say it and make it sound good.”

“Well, are you going to marry him?”

Emma didn’t answer as the waitress set salads in front of them.

“At least I don’t have a boyfriend,” she hissed, after the waitress left.

Katie straightened, looking tragically hopeful. “Is that a yes?”

“No, it’s not a yes.” Then Emma paused, desperately trying to gather her thoughts. “We can’t…” She clenched her jaw. “It’s not right…It galls me to even think about giving in to that man.”

“At least we’d keep half the company.”

Fair point. Emma took another sip of her drink. If Alex got the bank to call in the loan instead, they’d be lucky to keep one hotel.

If only they had more time. If only they knew someone who could underwrite them quickly and extensively. If only their father’s heart hadn’t given out.

The three of them were a team. They’d weathered storms before, and she was sure they could have found a way out of this maze.

“Emma?” Katie prompted.

Emma picked up her fork and stabbed into the shrimp salad. “We’ll need to talk to Legal.”

Katie’s blue eyes dimmed in the lamplight. “To declare bankruptcy.”

Emma drew a bracing breath. No. They weren’t declaring bankruptcy. Not when they had a slightly more palatable choice.

They were going to throw their lot in with Alex Garrison. If they didn’t, they’d be out on the street, and he’d be undermining their father’s life’s work by this time tomorrow.

At least with Alex there was a chance. If they had a few good years, maybe they could buy him out.

And it wasn’t like Emma had a boyfriend waiting anywhere in the wings. Nor was she likely to have one in the foreseeable future. Plain-looking, plainspoken hotel executives who traveled half the year weren’t exactly hot prospects on dating dot com.

Truth was, a marriage on paper wouldn’t be that big of an inconvenience for her. A justice of the peace, a couple of publicity snapshots, and they’d barely have to see each other again.

She looked Katie straight in the eyes, not giving herself time to rethink the decision. “We have to talk to Legal so we can make sure Alex can’t do something crazy with our inns.”

Katie’s eyes went wide. “You’re going to do it?”

Emma dropped her fork and drained her glass. “I’m going to do it.”

Two

Mrs. Nash had been calling Alex Alex his entire life. But since he’d moved out of his penthouse and back into the family’s Long Island mansion six months ago-another of Ryan’s brilliant plans to improve his image-she’d taken to calling him Mr. Garrison. Every time she did it, Alex glanced around for his father.

The old man might have been dead for three years, but he still had the power to make Alex jump. It was bad enough that Alex had taken over his father’s study, he didn’t need to take on his name as well.

“Call me Alex,” he grumbled, glancing up from the financial section.

Mrs. Nash squared her shoulders in the doorway. “Mr. Garrison.” Her faint British accent grew more pronounced when she was annoyed. “A Ms. McKinley has arrived to see you.”

Alex flipped his newspaper down at the fold, his senses coming on alert. “Which one?”

Mrs. Nash’s formidable brow went up. “Ms. Emma McKinley, sir.”

“Okay, now you’re just trying annoy me.”

“Sir?” There was an undeniable twinkle behind her blue-gray eyes.

“It’s Alex. Alex. You changed my diapers and smacked my butt.”

She sniffed. “And I dare say, it didn’t help much, did it now?”

Alex set the newspaper on his spotless, mahogany desktop and stood from the tufted leather wing chair. “Can we at least dispense with the sir?”

“Yes, Mr. Garrison.”

He drew closer to her as he headed for the door. “You’re fired.”

Her expression remained impassive. “I think not.”

“Because you know where the bodies are buried?”

“Because you’ve never memorized the combination to the wine cellar.”

He paused. “Excellent point.”

“Very good then…sir.”

“Insubordinate,” he muttered as he passed her.

“Will Ms. McKinley be staying to lunch?”

Good question. Was Emma going to say yes and make both their lives easier? Or was she going to stay up there on her high horse and cause him no end of trouble? Alex gave it a fifty-fifty chance.

He drew a bracing breath. “I have no idea.”

Mrs. Nash nodded and carried on into the study, where she’d straighten the newspaper and erase any lingering trace of his presence. It was eerie, living in a house that forgot about you every time you left the room. Sometimes he’d leave subtle traces, a book out of place on a bookshelf, a sculpture slightly to the left on the mantel. But he hadn’t tripped her up yet.

He headed down the hallway under the watchful eyes of his ancestors. The portraits were newly dusted and plum-line straight. His father was last, looking dour and judgmental, probably wishing he could grill Alex on the bottom line. Alex imagined that’s what his father hated most about being dead-standing by silently while Alex ran amok with the family business.

He rounded the corner to see his latest business problem standing in the sky-lit rotunda foyer, clutching a patterned handbag against an ivory, tailored coatdress. Her shoulder-length, chestnut hair was tucked behind her ears and pulled sleek by a pair of sunglasses perched atop her head. Her lashes were dark against coffee-toned eyes, her lips were shaded a lustrous pink, and diamond studs twinkled against her earlobes. She was immaculately made-up and clearly nervous.

That could be a good sign, or it could be a bad sign.

“Emma.” Alex held out his hand, deciding to pretend they hadn’t parted on sarcastic terms.

“Alex,” she nodded with a brief, brusque shake.

“Would you care to come in?” he asked, gesturing toward the hallway.

She peered suspiciously down the wide corridor.

“To my study,” he elaborated. “We might be more comfortable there.”

After a second’s hesitation, Emma nodded. “All right. Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” He waited until she was beside him, then fell into step.

“How was traffic?” he asked, instantly regretting the impulse to make small talk. He wasn’t nervous. He was cool as a cucumber when it came to business deals. And this one was no different than any other.

If she said no, she said no. He’d either change her mind or come up with plan B. Ryan was making way too much of this wedding thing, anyway. Alex’s future didn’t depend on Ms. McKinley’s whims.

His study was back to being immaculate, as he knew it would be. The newspaper had been folded and placed in the front center of the desk. Alex knew he should sit behind it, putting himself in a position of power. But instead he touched one of the wing chairs clustered around the stone fireplace, gesturing for Emma to sit down.

She nodded her thanks, sinking into the chair and crossing one shapely leg over the other. She smoothed her ivory skirt and tucked the frivolous handbag in beside her.

Then she folded both her hands over her slender knees and looked up.

He quickly cleared his head of the picture her legs made and sat down across from her.

“Traffic was fine,” she said.

He nodded, telling himself to get straight down to business. “And you’ve made up your mind?”

She drew back ever so slightly. Then she nodded. “Yes. I have.”

He cocked his head. “And?”

She twisted a sapphire-and-emerald band around her right ring finger. “I’ll marry you.”

She sounded like she was agreeing to the gallows.

Well, it wasn’t going to be any picnic for him either. He was about to saddle himself with a reluctant wife, curtailing his social life, curtailing his sex life and, given her current expression and body language, conjugal relations weren’t going to be any part of this union.

Which meant he was celibate. For the duration. Wasn’t that just wonderful.

“Thank you,” he forced out.

She gave a sharp nod and made to rise.

“Wait.”

She arched a brow.

“You don’t think we have more to discuss?”

“What’s to discuss?” she asked. But she did sit back in the chair and recross her legs.

“For starters, who do you absolutely have to tell?”

“That I’m marrying you?”

He shook his head. “That it’s a fake.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. That part. My business partners know.”

“My sister knows.”

“Anyone else?”

“My lawyer.” It was her turn to sit forward. “You can expect a call from him on the prenup.”

Alex coughed out a laugh. “You want a prenup?”

“Of course.”

“You check my net worth in Forbes last year?” A prenup protected him a whole lot more than it protected her.

The expression in her brown eyes was more than a little judgmental. “Of course not. I couldn’t care less about your net worth.”

He found that somewhat hard to believe. But, whatever. The important thing was to get this farce moving along. “First thing we have to do is get engaged.”

“I thought we just did that.”

He opened his mouth, but she kept talking.

“You said ‘marry me or I’ll bankrupt you.’ And I decided to take the lesser of two evils.” Her pretty lips pursed. “And, you know, I really don’t think it gets any more romantic than that.”