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  ENTICED

  Book 1 of the Fullerton Family Saga

  A novel by

  Ginger Voight

  ©2013, Ginger Voight

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  For Brandon.

  Chapter One

  My entire life changed with an e-mail. Granted my life desperately needed changing, and it really wouldn’t have taken much of a nudge to move me in another direction. What I got instead was akin to an atomic blast, and it all started when I signed into my work email one Friday morning in early March. Fate was about to offer me a complete 180-degree turn courtesy of an unsolicited message in my inbox.

  Dear Ms. Dennehy: it read. My name is Drew Fullerton, and I am a prominent businessman located in Los Angeles, California.

  I couldn’t stop my snicker if I wanted to. “Prominent businessman,” indeed. Like I had never seen the cover of Forbes magazine.

  I wanted to congratulate you on your nomination for Secondary Teacher of the year. Your work with your seventh-grade students in the advancement of green energy has been quite commendable. I truly applaud your forward-thinking and your ingenuity, as well as the passion you so clearly instill in your students.

  Why was one of the most important businessmen in the nation contacting me over a mere nomination? My brow furrowed as I wondered what the catch was.

  You probably are wondering why I have decided to contact you.

  Smart cookie. No wonder he was worth a gazillion dollars and change.

  I am scouting a private teacher for my son, Jonathan. He is nine years old, which I understand is younger than students in the grade you teach, but I assure you that he is quite advanced. Too advanced, maybe, given our current situation.

  Unfortunately my son has not reacted well following my divorce with his mother. He has managed to get expelled from nearly every private school in Los Angeles, and at least two boarding schools overseas. Placing him in a respected institution with his prior record of misbehavior has proved challenging. It is my hope that one-on-one instruction with a dedicated professional will give him the motivation he needs to remain focused and on track. I have come to realize this type of attention is critical for Jonathan, and it is the one key component missing so far in his education.

  I have combed the entire country for an instructor who could provide him this type of intensive instruction. Suffice it to say, it has been a proverbial needle in a haystack to find the ideal candidate who could fit my very specific criteria.

  This is more than just a job, Miss Dennehy. A simple teacher I could find. I want someone who could dedicate her time to my son as both an educator and a mentor. Should you engender his trust, it offers you the opportunity to foster a long, successful tenure as his permanent educator, allowing you to grow together.

  Of course, this would require immediate relocation to Southern California where we live. But we would provide more than adequate compensation, as well as personal, private living arrangements at our estate so you can have immediate and total access to Jonathan on whichever schedule works best for the both of you.

  The email went on to detail the six-figure salary I could expect, along with a very generous benefits package, should I sign a contract for exclusivity for at least one year. It was dated to begin as soon as my current school year ended, mere months away. These terms would be negotiable in the future, depending on how well I managed to detour the junior heir from his current road to ruin.

  It wasn’t a Nigerian promising me I won some international lottery I had never entered, but it was close. I was supposed to believe that one of the richest men on the planet had resorted to the public school system to educate his son? Not only that, but he was willing to approach a total stranger and offer to move her into his “estate” … permanently? Clearly this was a scam, and I, for one, didn’t buy it. I clicked out of the email without reading any more.

  I closed my laptop and drank my last little bit of tea, before padding softly into my tiny, cheerful yellow kitchen to rinse out my cup and set it in the dishwasher with the one plate, one fork and glass leftover from dinner the night before.

  Different morning, same routine.

  I was at school by seven o’clock to prepare class for the day. Normally I would organize lesson plans and fill the blackboard with instructions on what materials needed to be studied for which examination, but this particular day I knew I couldn’t corral my excitable group of teenagers if I wanted to. Spring Break was upon us. It was that necessary part of the year where we all could put a stop to the endless monotony of homework, studying and tests and just recharge the batteries for the week.

  Well, that’s what it meant for them. For me it was a matter of spending the week cleaning out my apartment or taking care of plants and pets for my colleagues, who used this precious week of freedom for family vacations. Me? I had a stack of books I wanted to tackle. That was really the only vacation that I needed. My library card was old-school, but it was my first-class ticket to anywhere in time and space.

  A short knock caught my attention and I glanced toward my classroom door, which was partially ajar. I saw her sky-high hair before I saw her face, but I would have recognized my best friend, Nancy Gilbert, anywhere. “Hey, girl. Please don’t tell me you’re going to be here all week.”

  “Can’t,” I offered with a sardonic grin. “I’m going to be at your house, watching the dogs, the cats, the gerbils and whatever plants you haven’t killed with your notorious brown thumb.”

  “You could still come with us,” she said. “Think about it. Five days in the Caribbean. The cruise may be sold out, but you could probably bunk with the kids. It’d be a slumber party all week. They’d love it.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. All four of her kids had adopted me as Aunt Rachel from the time they were born, and I lavished attention (and gifts) on them at every available opportunity. I had no one else to spoil, so they cleaned up big time whenever Aunt Rachel stopped by to visit. “Thank you but no. These hips do not belong in a bathing suit. And have you seen my legs? They glow in the dark.”

  “Which is why pasty white people go to the Caribbean,” she pointed out. “Besides. Fuller figures are in now. You’d probably know that if you, you know, ever went out on a real date.”

  I suppressed a sigh. Here we go. “Nancy.”

  She held up her hand like a white flag. “Another battle for another time. At least tell me that you’re coming to my Bon Voyage party tonight.”

  My eyebrow arched. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Nope!” she chirped happily before she twirled and headed off to her classroom down the hall. I had to chuckle to myself. My best friend was certainly irrepressible, which had drawn us together in college. Our friendship had done nothing but strengthen over time, sisters by choice if not by blood. Nancy was the one who got me the job in Grand Prairie after my life fell apart just three years before, so I really did owe her for helping me piece it all back together.

  Only now she had decided that I needed to find a man as the final stage in my healing process, and it was an ongoing battl
e between us these days. I wasn’t ready to date again, and I doubted sincerely I ever would be.

  Once bitten, twice shy, or so the old saying went. Only I had left shy in the rearview mirror years ago. In recent years I barreled headlong toward petrified.

  I was kind of like an unyielding block of fossilized wood, and about as exciting.

  I had a sneaking suspicion she was going to use her “Bon Voyage” party as one more excuse to set me up, and true to form, that was exactly what it was.

  I arrived early, to help out, and she dragged me to her bedroom to ply me with makeup and jewelry. “Black, Rachel?” she complained of my simple dress. “It’s like you’re going to a funeral.”

  “I like black,” I told her as she did her best to gussy me up for her big party, which – surprise, surprise – was full of eligible bachelors. I glared at her over the spiked punch, and she just shrugged her shoulders innocently as if it were all a happy coincidence.

  She grabbed me by the arm and dragged me from possible suitor to possible suitor, most of whom looked right through me like the invisible wallflower I had hoped to be. Nancy, however, was undaunted. “This,” she said, as we came to a brief stop in front of a tall man with sandy brown hair and a mustache, “is Phil Monroe. He’s a biology teacher at the high school.” I gave her a wicked side-eye glare at her ever-so-slight emphasis on the word, ‘biology.’

  Phil offered his hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” he drawled easily. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “I’m sure,” I murmured with a polite smile.

  Nancy looked triumphant as she made a speedy departure that was about a subtle as a wrecking ball. “If you’ll excuse me, I have more guests to greet. Don’t have too much fun without me, you two!” she winked before she danced away, leaving the both of us in an awkward silence.

  “So you teach at the high school,” I offered first.

  Phil nodded. “I’m also assistant coach with the football program,” he said with a proud grin worthy of any Texan when it came to the subject of football.

  “So you work with Greg,” I said, referring to Nancy’s husband.

  “One of the best guys on the planet,” he said and I nodded my agreement.

  “They’re the best,” I said begrudgingly as I spied Nancy out of the corner of my eye. She was keeping a close watch on our interaction, probably waiting for me to blow it – again.

  “I hear that you will be housesitting for the week,” he said as he studied me hopefully. “Maybe we could go out for a cup of coffee or something.”

  I smiled politely, but inside I was seething. Nancy was so determined to set me up that she was planning reconnaissance missions even while she was away. “I don’t really drink coffee,” I murmured easily as I stepped out of the unwanted conversation. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Monroe.” By using his last name instead of his first name, I firmly established any further intimacy was unwelcome. He looked bewildered as I set my drink on a nearby table and made a hasty departure.

  Nancy was on my heels by the time I slipped through her front door. She chased me down the sidewalk toward my car. “Rachel! What happened? What’s wrong?”

  I spun on her. “You, Nancy!” I finally yelled. “You are what’s wrong.”

  She was dumbfounded. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “I don’t need your help!” I snapped. “Not with this.”

  She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Rachel, it’s been three years.”

  My eyes hardened as I stared at her. “So what? Ten years, twenty years… no amount of time can fix what’s broken, Nancy. Time can do a lot of things, but it can’t raise the dead,” I finished flatly.

  “No, Rachel,” she agreed. “It can’t. But you can. Do you really think this is what Jason would want for you? To be alone?”

  My chin tilted. “Neither Jason or I had a say in that, did we?”

  Nancy softened. “Rachel…”

  I spun away from her before I started to cry. I hadn’t cried over Jason in a long time, and I didn’t want to start now. If I started again, I feared I might never stop. “Find someone else to housesit,” I said over my shoulder as I headed to my car. “Maybe your good friend Phil.”

  Nancy ran after me. “Rachel! Hon!” she called out, before finally offering, “I’m sorry.”

  My eyes met hers before I got into my car. “Me, too.”

  I slammed the door and gunned my engine before I sped away.

  I was still an emotional wreck by the time I got home to my empty, darkened apartment.

  I tossed my phone onto the table after silencing the ringer. Nancy was frantically trying to get ahold of me, perhaps finally realizing how far she had pushed me this time.

  You would think, after all these years, she would have known better not to bring Jason up to me, especially to manipulate me into doing something I had told her in a hundred different ways that I didn’t want to do. I silenced my phone and went into my bedroom to change.

  I got even angrier as I scrubbed the makeup off of my face. She had truly outdone herself to “fatten” the lamb for slaughter. All I was missing was a tiara and a “Miss Grand Prairie” sash.

  I took a hot shower and emerged ten minutes later in my fluffy robe. I stomped angrily toward my computer to fire off the email I had mentally crafted while I furiously rinsed away all the pretense of the evening. When I opened my email, Drew Fullerton’s proposition sat right there on top.

  Los Angeles, I thought to myself. Fourteen-hundred miles, give or take.

  Maybe I was ready for a change… a really, really big one.

  I ended up writing only one email that night, and that was to accept Drew Fullerton’s invitation to fly to L.A. for Spring Break to interview for a job I didn’t even know if I really wanted.

  Sure, it sounded too good to be true. Why would some business magnate like Fullerton want anything at all to do with a secondary schoolteacher from Texas when there had to be hundreds of acceptable teachers much, much closer to home?

  But if nothing else it was a paid vacation. It was a break I desperately needed right when I needed it, like it had landed on my lap on purpose. And maybe, just maybe, this would be the slap in the face Nancy needed to back off of trying to set me up with anyone.

  Been there. Done that. Wasn’t going back again.

  After weighing the pros and the cons, accepting Drew’s invitation was a decision that involved minimal risk, with a potential for enormous gain on all fronts.

  Though I had no reason whatsoever to trust good fortune, I decided to give Fate the benefit of the doubt.

  I could only hope the bitch wouldn’t screw me over again.

  Chapter Two

  From the time I agreed to the interview, everything started happening at a breakneck pace. It probably never occurred to him that I might refuse his offer, so no doubt these plans were all in place by the time he sent the email, all merely waiting for my confirmation to set into motion. By the time he received my response, Drew had a complete itinerary prepared before I even had a chance to pack.

  A hired car dropped me off at a private air strip that following afternoon, where a luxury charter jet was ready to transport me, and only me, apparently, to the golden coasts of California, courtesy of my prospective employer. A uniformed flight attendant tended my needs as I settled down into the plush, cream-colored seat.

  “Champagne?” she asked with a gleaming 100-watt smile.

  “No, thank you,” I declined politely. “But I’ll take a ginger ale if you have one.”

  “Of course,” she said as she disappeared behind the wood paneled partition. I glanced out onto the vast tarmac, where I watched my luggage load gently under belly of the plane. It was hard to wrap my mind around the idea that an entire staff of professionals was being paid to take care of little ol’ me. From the moment the driver arrived at my apartment that morning, I hadn’t had to lift a finger. They took care of my luggage and my ticketing. I basically
walked from my apartment to the car, and from the car onto the plane. I felt a bit like a celebrity, which made me grin in spite of myself. This was a far cry from the reading/cleaning marathon I had originally planned for my Spring Break.

  The inside of the jet was sumptuous. It had a number of swivel reclining chairs, a bench sofa against one row of windows, and a table toward the back where I could eat my meal in spacious comfort. Colorful throw pillows broke up the monotony of the neutral beige, and there were flowers scattered throughout the cabin, beautiful cream-colored roses and white Gerber daises. Available magazines included highly respected business journals that, by no surprise, featured Drew Fullerton on the cover.

  I picked up the magazine and studied this man whose image stared back at me. His hair was jet black but his eyes were ice blue, a striking contrast given the fullness of his lashes. His jaw was firm, and his fuller lips thinned into a serious line for the photograph. Though his cheekbones were elegant, seemingly etched right out of polished stone, he looked powerful and imposing, even in this two dimensional image.

  Sleep the night before had been impossible, so I ended up doing extensive research until dawn. I had always been warned to beware Greek gods bearing gifts, and this was one hell of a gift to get. There had to be a catch. Things like this just didn’t happen to people like me, women like me especially.

  I was a little concerned I might be walking blind into the lion’s den.

  Mr. Fullerton’s ruthless business nature had been well documented. He had been groomed to run Fullerton Enterprises International from the crib, and his father, Malcolm Fullerton, had had a reputation even more formidable than his son. They were known to absorb smaller companies into their conglomerate, even those businesses that were already failing. Whether they thrived or failed didn’t seem to matter. Fullerton Enterprises always managed to make enormous profit either way, even if the acquired businesses quickly shuttered.