RUTHLESS GAME

Chapter 7: Meeting the Groom

Ruby

I experienced at least two panic attacks before I pulled up to the impressive property beyond the open wrought-iron gates. A Georgian style house with an immaculately groomed front yard was visible. My car crawled up the circular driveway. I nearly drove into the patch of neatly trimmed shrubs in the center because I was busy gazing at the beautiful house.

"This guy really is loaded," I muttered. Of course he was. He was willing to pay a huge chunk of change for the restaurant. My restaurant that my father had run into the ground. Anger pushed aside my third impending panic attack.

I was furious with myself for not paying attention. It wasn't like I didn't know how irresponsible my father was. I just never thought he'd let things get so bad. Coming to a stop, I slid out of my car and had to grimace at how out of place my piece of junk looked on the property. There was another vehicle parked nearby that looked like it could buy mine ten times over.

"Oh, my God, what am I doing?" My anxiety might kill me before I even met my potential groom.

Groom.

The word echoed mockingly in my mind. I let out a long groan at the thought of getting married to a stranger. The panic attack I'd been trying to keep at bay hit me full force.

"I can't do this. I am not doing this. It's stupid," I hissed and dove back into my car. Hands on the steering wheel, I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror and let out a breath. Should I really walk away from the one chance I had to save the one thing that kept my mother alive in my eyes?

Mom had worked hard and fought tooth and nail to build that restaurant from nothing. She left the place to me when she died, but it was entrusted to my father until I was old enough. If I'd foreseen Dad destroying the business, I would have demanded he signed the place over fully to me the day I turned eighteen.

Letting go of my mother's legacy without a fight would haunt me for the rest of my life. So, I took a steadying breath and got back out of the car. I slammed the door and marched up the stone walkway to the front door before I lost her nerve again.

I pressed the doorbell and pulled nervously at my knee-length cocktail dress. The black dress was one of the few decent formal wears that I owned because my life had never been eventful enough to have dinner with a wealthy potential husband.

Just before the door swung open, I thought, if I ended up liking the man, I might as well go through with the marriage. A fairytale kind of love wasn't in my future, anyway. Those didn't exist. Plus, I didn't even date. I never made the time for it.

I smiled at the uniformed housekeeper, who opened the door. When I didn't get a smile back, mine faded, and I gulped. The unfriendly reception mounted my anxiety.

"I'm here to see Stephen Thorne."

"Of course, follow me," the severe-looking woman ordered.

Heart in my mouth, I stepped inside on wooden legs. As I advanced, following the housekeeper, my legs wobbled even more. My eyes flitted around my surroundings, taking everything in.

My case of nerves escalated when I didn't see anyone else in the huge house on the way to a spacious dining room. Glancing around, I frowned, realizing that all I'd seen since I arrived was white. Who decorated their house in all white? I felt like I'd stepped into one of those all-white padded cells for psychiatric patients.

What if this Thorne character was a nut job? Only a nut job would accept another nut job's (my father's) ludicrous offer of an arranged marriage.

"Yup, Stephen Thorne has to be insane," I muttered under my breath. What if I just walked into my own kidnapping or something? Who knew what these rich folks were into? As always, my imagination took off toward the worst possible scenario. Perhaps I should have suggested Stephen and I meet at a public place.

"Isn't there anyone else here?" I asked the housekeeper.

"Mr. Thorne will be right down."

"O—okay." What I really wanted to ask was if there was anyone present but myself, the housekeeper, and Mr. Thorne―anyone who would come to my aid if I screamed bloody murder. But I didn't say another word, and the housekeeper disappeared.

The wait for the mysterious potential groom wasn't long. The sound of footsteps had me jumping from the chair I was perched on. I spun around to face him so fast, I wobbled on my heels and almost gave myself a severe case of whiplash. The instant I set eyes on Stephen Thorne, my jaw slackened. I hadn't expected this person at all.

"Hi, you must be Miss Stone. I'm terribly sorry for keeping you waiting," the man said smoothly. His smile was wide, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. "I'm Stephen Thorne."

Lifting my jaw from the floor, I placed my hand in his extended one. I'd pictured Stephen Thorne as an overweight, balding, middle-aged man, scheming to get his hands on a young bride because he couldn't get one the normal way.

The man standing in front of me was gorgeous and young. He was a blonde, green-eyed Adonis with a brilliant smile. He was like a clean-cut, classically handsome Hollywood star. Yet, I didn't feel my heart fluttering the way it had when I'd first laid eyes on a certain raven-haired, slick-mouthed stranger, with hypnotizing blue eyes. Whom I spent an entire night having mind-blowing s*x with.

I mentally kicked myself to get my wayward thoughts back in the present moment. How could I be thinking about a man I'd never see again at a time like this? "I—I'm Ruby," I stuttered. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Thorne."

"Stephen, please." He dropped my hand and gave me a once over. "You're even more beautiful than I pictured."

"I am?" Mentally kicking myself again, I quickly said, "I mean, thank you." I supposed I did look decent…dare I say beautiful, thanks to Kenzie. She was a miracle worker. My wild curls had been tamed and I had on enough makeup to make a pageant queen jealous.

I'd been plucked, primped, and polished more than I'd ever been in my life. Despite the uncomfortable amount of "war paint" on my face, I felt good. Confidence was supposed to accompany my sleek, sophisticated look, but I was significantly lacking in that department.

Giving Stephen a timid smile, I allowed him to lead me to the already set dining table. "I hope you don't mind that I requested you meet me at home. I just thought our conversation needed ultimate privacy."

Yes, a discussion of marriage needed utmost privacy. Seeing that Stephen wasn't a creepy old man―he actually seemed decent― I smiled. "I don't mind."

Not anymore anyway, after seeing that maybe Stephen Thorne wasn't a psychopath. However, the night was young.