Chapter 1: A Mysterious and Gorgeous Woman

It was Allison that transformed the Primdale family. Had their secrets ever gotten out, some might say that she ruined their lives. Others might say she saved them. But not a single member of the family had any regrets.

When Gregory Primdale's wife left him, he took it really hard. There had been no warning signs, no fights or coldness or anything to indicate trouble in their marriage; she just one day announced that she was leaving him for another man.

Apparently the affair had been going on for almost two years behind Greg's back, until she had finally made her decision. Suddenly he found himself a thirty-seven year old divorcee raising three children by himself, and the laughingstock of all of his friends.

It was as much a blow to the family name as to his ego; the Primdales had been a highly respected, wealthy family for five generations without even the hint of a scandal to mar their reputation. Now, suddenly, rumors spread like wildfire, people gossiped behind their backs, and the incident even made the newspaper. The press loved a good scandal, and the fact that it happened to one of the wealthiest families in town made it all the more delicious.

He had at least had his way in divorce court, though that was small consolation. His ex-wife didn't even want custody of the children, which was a great relief, since he would rather die than see them in the hands of "that rotten bitch," as he had called her so often that it became a nickname for her in the Primdale household. The only matter that needed to be settled, then, was how much of the family fortune she would get. Out of spite, he hired a private investigator to dig up all the dirt he could on her, especially her marital indiscretions, and by the time he was through the whole town knew what a slut she was, and her reputation had sunk so low that even the judge was against her. She ended up with nothing; not the mansion, not the car, not even alimony payments. Out of common courtesy he let her keep her clothes, but other than that, she didn't get a dime. No, that was not entirely true; in front of half a dozen television cameras as he was walking out of the courtroom, he had a spontaneous impulse to exact one last bit of revenge on her. And so with a wide grin on his face, as he passed her he tossed a quarter in her direction. "That's for fifteen years of sex," he said. "I figure this is about the going rate for a cheap whore like you."

It wasn't like him to do things like that. He was normally sweet-natured and kind. But she had hurt him deeply, and worse, she had hurt the children. If it were just for his own sake, he could forgive her. But to tear apart the family, causing the kids unknown anguish, was something he could never forget.

He never saw her again after that, and good riddance. She had burned him, but in the end he had triumphed. The truth was that all that really mattered to him were the children, but there was nothing wrong with making sure she didn't get her hands on his nest egg. From the time she announced she was leaving to the time she disappeared for the last time was only two months, but it was two months too long.

The children took it surprisingly well. Melissa was fifteen at the time, old enough to understand the situation, and she helped to ease the burden for the other children, Geoffrey and Britney, who were thirteen and ten, respectively. She explained the situation to them in plain, almost childlike simplicity. In fact, it was due in no small part to Melissa that the others were able to cope with it at all, let alone so well. Still, he caught Britney, his "little angel" as he called her, crying several times, and tried to comfort her the best he could. But for some reason only her big sister could get her to stop crying, maybe because she could act as a surrogate mother to Britney. After that, Greg always had a special place in his heart for his oldest daughter.

Three weeks after the divorce was finalized, things had started to settle down and get back to normal again. The students at school had stopped asking the children questions, which was a relief, because he had been tempted to pull them out and send them to a private school to give them a clean start. His fellow board members at the corporation where he worked also stopped asking about the divorce; over half of them had gone through the same thing once or twice. He was able to get on with his job without distractions, though he continued to nurse a bitterness toward his ex-wife.

That was when Allison walked into his life and changed everything.

His first contact with her came in the form of a phone call. They were sitting down to eat dinner when the phone rang. He answered it, and was greeted by the voice of a young woman on the other end.

"Is this Greg Primdale?" she asked.

"Speaking."

"Mr. Primdale, my name is Allison Craven, and I have ... well, you might call it a business proposition."

"We're not interested," he said almost automatically, and turned to hang up the phone.

"Just wait a minute," she hurriedly insisted, and he returned the receiver to his ear.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I'm not a telemarketer. This is a proposition that I believe will benefit both of us. It has to do with your ex-wife."

"I will thank you to refer to her as 'that rotten bitch' when speaking to me," he scowled.

"All right, it has to do with that rotten bitch," she replied. "More importantly, getting your revenge on that rotten bitch."

Greg was intrigued, so he allowed her to continue.

"Just to put your mind at ease, it's nothing illegal," she said. "It's not even really unethical. But I'd really prefer not to go into details over the phone. I'd rather meet to discuss it with you in person. Is there a time when I can come to your house? I want to talk to you in private."

Something seemed very fishy about the whole situation, but the woman on the other end of the line sounded sincere and affable enough. Still a little wary, he said, "Why don't you drop by tomorrow at 7:30 pm?"

"Perfect," she said. "Thank you for your time. I'll be there."

The next day, she arrived just as she said she would, at 7:30 exactly. It was Jeff who answered the door. What he saw astonished him. She was a gorgeous beauty, with long brunette hair and the most beautiful bright blue eyes he had ever seen. She wore a casual blouse and skirt that emphasized her amazing figure wonderfully. But her most striking feature was her smile, the kind of smile that could melt hearts instantly. As the sun had long since set, the light from the interior of the house bathed her in illumination and caused her to almost look like she was glowing against the darkness.

He caught a whiff of her perfume, a sweet floral fragrance carried into the house on the chill evening breeze. The mansion had been built on a hillside, away from the lights and noises and smells of the city, and her perfume seemed to blend nicely with the natural odors of a mid-autumn evening. It was actually quite subtle; he thought that if this had been spring when the flowers were in bloom, he might not have even noticed it.

He stood there gaping at her, unable to pull his eyes away or even to speak. If there was ever such thing as a perfect woman, this was her, standing on his doorstep.

Despite the fact that she looked like some kind of fashion model, she drove a modest car. It was a simple gray sedan that looked almost pathetic next to his dad's Jaguar in the driveway. Of course, the Primdales also had a minivan, which helped at least to soften the contrast.

Jeff felt a little intimidated by her presence, even awed. He himself was a scraggly thirteen-year-old boy with unkempt, brown hair and a little too many freckles for his liking. He was a little on the thin side, despite having a healthy appetite and rarely getting much exercise. While he was far from ugly, standing in this woman's presence made him think of every last imperfection in his appearance.

"You must be Geoffrey," she greeted amiably. "I'm Allison Craven. I'm here to see your father."

"Hey dad!" he yelled into the background. "There's a mysterious and gorgeous woman to see you!" He didn't know why he said it like that; he was usually quiet and reserved. But there was something about this woman that made it seem like he could get away with saying things like that.

Allison laughed. "A mysterious and gorgeous woman. I like that. I can see we're going to get along fine. And I hope to change your impression of me very soon. At least the mysterious part. I'd like to remain gorgeous for as long as I can," she said with a wink.

Greg appeared and approached the door. From the look on his face, he was as taken with her beauty as his son was. He was a tall, handsome man with a quite muscular physique. For a man only a few years from forty, he looked rather young. He had straight, dark brown hair without even the tiniest trace of gray in it. Perhaps one day age would catch up to him, but for now he seemed to be still in the prime of his life.

"You're Allison Craven?" he asked, with a little more astonishment in the tone of his voice than he had hoped.

"I hope so," she replied. "I'm wearing her clothes."

Greg chuckled a little uncertainly, not entirely sure how to take this woman. "So what can I do for you, Allison? May I call you Allison?"

"Only if I can call you Greg," she grinned.

"Fair enough. So what can I do for you?"

"Is there some place where we can talk in private?" she asked.

"Certainly. Jeff, I'm taking Allison to my office. See that we're not disturbed." He turned and led her into the great hall. The house was fairly moderate for a mansion; they could afford better but they had bought it early in Greg's career when they didn't have quite so much money, and the children all loved it because it was the only home they had ever known. Besides, if it were any bigger they would need to hire a maid, a gardener, and probably a butler as well. Greg had always been frugal with his money, especially since he wanted his children to grow up as normal, healthy kids instead of the snobs and brats that too many of his coworkers had raised.

The mansion itself was a combination of classic Fifth Avenue style and modern touches to bring it into the twenty-first century. The ground floor was taken up mainly by the great hall, which opened to a large living room on the left and the kitchen and dining room on the right, with a couple of other rooms further down. A large staircase led up to the second floor, where balconies overlooked the hall below and half a dozen doors led to other rooms. He led her up the stairs to one of these doors, which opened into a large, comfortable study that he had converted into a home office for when he had to bring his work home with him. He closed the door, then sat down in his chair behind a large, oak desk, then indicated a comfortable chair in front of the desk.

Allison nodded toward a couple of couches against the wall in the corner. "If you don't mind, I'd rather be a little more informal. I'm a little nervous, and that desk reminds me of an interview. I'd rather make this a nice, friendly chat."

Greg shrugged. In truth, he preferred the more informal atmosphere as well; he had only chosen his usual seat because she had said that this was a business proposition. He got up and plopped down on one of the couches. She took the other one.

"All right," she began. "Before we get to why I'm here, you need to know a little about me. This is going to sound a little awkward, a little personal even, but please don't interrupt me until I'm finished, okay?"

Greg nodded.

"My name, as I've already mentioned, is Allison Craven. I'm twenty-three years old and an ex high school teacher. I graduated with a degree in Math Education, taught a couple of years, and am currently unemployed. Though I may not look it, I'm a bit of a computer geek and a bookworm, but my favorite hobbies are camping, cooking, and photography.

"You're obviously wondering where this is going. No doubt you're thinking I'm looking for a job and wondering why I'm coming to you instead of putting in an application at one of the schools in the area. Well, first, I'm not looking for a job, and second, there's not a school in this country that would hire me.

"I'm going to be perfectly frank, Greg. I was fired for having sex with one of my students. Needless to say the school board wasn't too happy. I still believe I did nothing wrong; the affair had no bearing on his grades and he was eighteen and therefore a consenting adult. I still could have gone to prison if it was a public school, but since it was private, all they could do was fire me. I'm not in any legal trouble. But I'm not going to be able to go back to work in a school again, ever. Especially since he had a hidden camera and put the video up on the Internet for everyone to see. There's no way I'm going to live this down.

"Now, I'm not ashamed of what I did. I could sue him to have the video taken down because it was posted without my consent, but the fact of the matter is, now that the cat is out of the bag, I don't have any problem with it being out there. Hell, I'll even give you the address to the web site if you want.

"I tell you this because I don't want to have any secrets from you. Judge me as you will. The point I'm trying to make is that my career is over. The end, adios, sayonara, goodbye. I have no prospects left. One stupid mistake, and I'm going to pay for it for the rest of my life.

"Now, I don't want you to feel sorry for me. I refuse to let this get me down. But I have to look at things realistically. I'm a damn good math teacher, but that's it. I work well with children, especially teenagers. Unfortunately, that limits my options. There's no work for someone with my skills outside of school, and of course, there's no school that will take me. I moved out here to California both because I needed to get away from the scandal back home, and because I hoped to find a more liberal attitude that might allow me to go back into teaching somewhere. But none of the schools I applied at are that liberal.

"So I have three choices. Number one. I throw out my degree and my experience, and I get some job waiting tables or bagging groceries, and I spend the rest of my life working as hard as I can just to pay the bills. Not a pleasant thought.

"Number two. My only other asset is my good looks. I put it to work for me. Maybe modeling, maybe something a little less respectable. I've ruled out Hollywood because I can't act and because the movies are filled with girls that look as good or better than me."

Greg could have argued with her; he had never seen an actress that looked as good as Allison. But she had told him to wait until she was finished, so he didn't want to interrupt.

"I could go to modeling school," she continued, "but fashion models have a short life span, and I've got a late start. By the time I finished school, I would work a couple of years and then end up right back where I started. I might make enough to pay off the loans for modeling school, but not much more than that.

"And so we come to option number three. And this is where you come in. I forget all about a career, I marry a nice millionaire, and live in luxury for the rest of my life."

"You what?" Greg asked, astonished.

"You heard me. And yes, it's exactly what it sounds like. When I said this was a proposition, I suppose it would be more appropriate to call it a proposal."

Greg stood up. This was something he had certainly not expected!

"I rushed it a little, didn't I?" she asked. "Just for the record, I'm not in love with you, and I don't expect you to be in love with me. Let's not call this anything but what it is. A marriage of convenience. Look. You've just been burned by a woman you used to love. You're a little vulnerable right now. You're not ready for a serious relationship. On the other hand, you're a man, and that means that you're interested in cars, sports, and sex. Well, I can't help you with the cars and sports part, but I'm more than happy to give you all the sex you want. I'm not even the jealous type; if you want a mistress or two, you go right ahead. And I'd be happy to sign a prenuptial agreement so that you don't think I'm trying to scam you. So that's the deal. I get to live the good life, and you get a purely physical relationship with a beautiful woman. In the mean time, you get to show off your new trophy bride, and hopefully word gets back to that rotten bitch that you're doing just as well, if not better, without her. So what do you say?"

"I ... I don't..." Greg stammered.

"Okay, look. You want to take some time to make up your mind. That's only natural; I did kind of spring this on you all of a sudden. Tell you what. You take twenty-four hours to think of all the reasons why you shouldn't do this, and I'll come back tomorrow and help you cross out everything on the list."

"Look, I don't think I can do this to my children. I mean, what would they think? Here it is only three weeks after the divorce, and I suddenly want to get married again?"

"Okay, that's item #1 on your list, and I can help you cross that one off right now. If you want, we can have a reasonable courtship. Say, six months? We can pretend we're just dating, and then announce the engagement at the end. Another three months or so after that, and we're married. No awkward questions, no scandal, and that will give the children time to get to know me. Tell you what. If at the end of the six months any of them object, we'll just call the whole thing off. We're talking no risk here."

"Well ... I don't know."

"You drive a hard bargain, Greg," she said, then grinned seductively. "I think what you need is to sample the goods." With that, she stood up in front of him and started unbuckling her blouse.

"What? Stop that!" he exclaimed.

"Why?" she asked, removing her shirt and throwing it to the ground. Greg stared for a moment at her partially revealed body, starting to grow aroused at the sight. His ex-wife hadn't looked that good in ten years. Actually, she hadn't ever looked that good!

As Allison reached behind to unhook her black bra, Greg made one last futile attempt to put an end to it. "Look, there's no need..."