Prospective clients assumed her breasts were silicone and her naturally high cheekbones a result of implants. Liposuction must account for her trim tummy and slim thighs. Ashley merely smiled and never mentioned Mother Nature’s gifts. Instead, she encouraged the women-and a growing number of men-to use the doctors’ services.
She was good-invaluable really-a natural-born salesperson who could persuade anyone to go under the knife without them realizing they’d been conned. After years of automatically turning on the charm in her quest for a beauty title, this was a no-brainer. Within a year her salary quadrupled based upon the number of patients who mentioned her when they signed up for cosmetic “enhancements.”
Kah-ching!
Ashley knew what she wanted-a husband with a successful cosmetic surgery practice. Then she could give up the parading around and convincing ugly women that surgery could improve them. She didn’t want to pitch plastic surgery all her life. She wanted her own home; she’d been on the road since childhood. She planned to take courses in interior design and decorate her own home herself. Eventually she might open a design studio, but she wasn’t sure she wanted the headaches owning a business might bring.
Ryan Fordham had appeared at the cosmetic group-an answer to her prayers. She’d been contemplating starting an affair with an older member of the group who had a wife who could haunt a house and charge by the room. But Ryan had immediately changed her mind. He could have had his pick of beautiful women, but he was genuinely interested in her.
They’d gone for coffee-to discuss a “spokesperson’s role” in promoting a cosmetic surgeon’s practice. After their short conversation, for reasons Ashley could never explain, she was totally in love with Ryan Fordham. She’d never been in love before, but now she knew how her mother had felt when she’d met Ashley’s father. Ashley thanked her lucky stars that Ryan was a doctor, not an electrician. If he had been, Ashley still would have loved him just the way Ashley’s mother had loved her father. Even after her father left them, her mother never looked at another man.
She’d known when Ryan first gazed at her that he was interested. Men were so transparent. They tried to hide what they were thinking, but she could always detect their lust. It was a skill her mother had taught her before she was eight. Judges, even those evaluating little girls, had that telltale glaze in their eyes. You smiled, batted your lashes, twitched your fanny and played them to your advantage.
The more time she spent with Ryan, the more she loved him. He was driven to be successful, which was second only to his valiant attempts to make her happy. She’d assured him she was happy; he was the man of her dreams. Still, Ashley wanted more-for him and for herself.
If he had any drawbacks, Ryan was weak with his ex-wife. Ashley understood. It was guilt-plain and simple. The woman had sacrificed to put him through medical school. Whitney had played the martyr to the hilt, exiting the marriage, asking for nothing except a beat-up SUV and a dog. Ashley had to be careful not to appear conniving while handling this for Ryan.
“I do have a bit of a problem,” she confessed to Preston. Even though he wanted her just like countless other men had over the years, she needed Preston as a friend. The problem with being so beautiful was that other women were jealous. Preston was her only friend and sleeping with him would ruin their relationship. More important, she would never cheat on Ryan. Still, she realized she could use sex to manipulate Preston.
“Enough for today,” she told him. “Let’s hit the juice bar.”
Dr. Jox had a pricey juice bar that served fresh squeezed juices and made healthy smoothies. Ashley ordered pomegranate juice because its antioxidant properties would keep her skin flawless, while Preston asked for a wheatgrass smoothie. She signed the tab for both drinks and they went outside to one of the small tables under the canopy of a towering ficus tree.
“What’s the problem, Ashley?”
She told him part of the story and kept the emphasis on the ex-wife who was so jealous that she was refusing to sign papers she’d already signed once. She laid it on thick about never having had a home and always being on the road. Just when she’d found her dream home, the conniving ex was determined to ruin everything.
“There might be a way,” Preston said when she’d finished with tears studding her long eyelashes. “What does the ex value the most?”
Ashley hadn’t a clue. Whitney was an attractive blonde with innocent green eyes, but she was nowhere near Ashley’s league. They’d never met, but Ashley had seen photographs of Whitney in an album she’d found in the trash.
Then it hit her. The mutt. Ryan’s ex had demanded the dog. “She’s crazy about her Golden retriever.”
“That’s the key,” Preston assured her with a confident smile. “Use the dog as leverage.”
CHAPTER FIVE
ADAM SAT ACROSS THE DESK from Jerold “Jerry” Tobin, his uncle’s attorney and executor of Calvin Hunter’s estate. The portly, balding lawyer leaned back in his swivel chair, steepled his fingers across his chest and shook his head.
“I’m afraid Calvin’s left us with a mess. Probate could take a year at least-maybe longer.”
How convenient. Tobin would rack up a huge bill. Judging by the pictures lining the wall, the lawyer spent countless hours on the golf course. What better way to pay for expensive greens fees than a complicated probate?
“There may not be a lot left for you to inherit,” the lawyer told him. “It’s hard to tell at this point just what Calvin had and what he owes. I’ve brought in a forensic accountant to go over your uncle’s files.”
“Is there any problem with me staying in the house?”
“No. We’re paying the woman in the caretaker’s cottage to look after the place and take care of the dog. I forget her name-”
“Whitney Marshall.” Adam wasn’t about to forget her name-or the way she’d felt beneath him last night when he’d mistaken her for a burglar. Honest to God. What had he been thinking? He’d pawed her like some horny teenager in the back of a car.
This morning, when her ex-husband had been shaking her, Whitney had seemed vulnerable-nothing like the spitfire who’d kicked and bitten him. What kind of a prick got rough like that? It was none of his business, he reminded himself. But his mind kept drifting to her all morning.
“I could terminate the woman-”
“No. Don’t do that.” He didn’t want to add to Whitney’s problems. It appeared that she had enough to deal with right now. Besides, he owed her big-time for the way he’d behaved last night. “I’ll just be there until I can find a place of my own.”
“All right. We’ll leave the arrangement as is.”
“Did my uncle have any business partners?” Adam asked. He didn’t add that one of them might have wanted Calvin Hunter dead.
“No. Not that I knew about.” The lawyer studied him a moment, a calculating gleam in his eyes. “I don’t suppose there’s any reason why you can’t see your uncle’s file. You’re going to inherit all his assets and liabilities.”
“Liabilities?”
“I just warned you about Calvin’s finances,” the attorney reminded him. “Since your uncle held several properties in joint tenancy with you-”
“Wait a minute. What are you talking about? I don’t own anything with my uncle.”
Tobin leaned back in his chair and stared wordlessly at him for a moment. “Didn’t your father or uncle tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“When you were a minor, your uncle signed over half the house in Torrey Pines as well as two buildings in San Diego to you. They’re held in rather complicated corporations. Your father came to this office when I prepared the documents and signed them for you since you were underage.”