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The Husband Sweepstake
Leigh Michaels
High-flying career woman Erika Forrester has just inherited the position of CEO of a million dollar company. Erika's fought hard to get where she is and is used to living her life independently–but for the first time ever Erika needs help: she needs a husband fast!The winning candidate is gorgeous Amos Abernathy. Erika's hoping the terms of the deal will secure her the best husband Manhattan has to offer…and Amos is determined Erika will get a lot more than she paid for!



Leigh Michaels has written over 70 books for Harlequin Romance® and her books are loved by women the world over.
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Leigh loves to hear from readers. You may contact her at: P.O. Box 935, Ottumwa, Iowa 52501, U.S.A. or visit her Web site: leigh@leighmichaels.com
Leigh Michaels has always been a writer, composing dreadful poetry when she was just four years old and dictating it to her long-suffering older sister. She started writing romance in her teens and burned six full manuscripts before submitting her work to a publisher. Now, with more than 75 novels to her credit, she also teaches romance writing seminars at universities, writers’ conferences and on the Internet.

Books by Leigh Michaels
HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®
3783—PART-TIME FIANCÉ
3800—THE TAKEOVER BID

The Husband Sweepstake
Leigh Michaels


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u968f6ba9-6ec6-53c6-b23a-f5af96addf7c)
CHAPTER TWO (#udf77ee25-a10d-508e-81be-781067e93714)
CHAPTER THREE (#u500a6e1c-37a9-5c1e-8471-e5cb28f8e348)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE
THE trip had been more fast-paced than usual. Erika had crammed at least three weeks’ worth of work into a mere ten days, and even a good night’s sleep in her own bed hadn’t been enough for her to fully recuperate from exhaustion and jet lag. It was barely ten in the morning—at least that was what the tiny gold watch on her wrist said, though her body clock wasn’t anywhere near so certain of the hour. Nevertheless, she was patting back a yawn as the elevator reached the lobby.
That will never do, she thought. With her schedule already crammed with meetings and her in-basket no doubt overflowing, she didn’t have time to be tired. Not today.
She felt as if she’d been gone for a month. Winter had abruptly let go its hold on New York City while she’d been gone. The last traces of dirty snow had melted away, and though it had been almost dusk, she thought she’d glimpsed the first hints of green in Central Park on her way home from the airport yesterday. Even the building’s lobby looked a little different than when she’d left. This morning sunshine poured in through the beveled glass around the main doors, sprinkling jewel-colored patches across the freshly cleaned carpet.
But some things never changed, Erika thought fondly as she walked across the lobby to the small office tucked into a corner next to the elevators.
Inside, with his back to the door as he leaned over a table studying a clipboard full of papers, was—in Erika’s view—probably the single best thing about living in this newly renovated apartment complex. According to the nameplate on the door, Stephen was the manager of the complex, in charge of rentals, deposits, repairs and tenant complaints. But in fact the job he’d carved out for himself in the eight months since the complex opened was more like that of the concierge of a first-class hotel. Need tickets to the symphony? Talk to Stephen—he had contacts everywhere. Need the dog walked? Talk to Stephen—he knew someone who’d be great at the job. Need someone to let the delivery people in with the new couch? Talk to Stephen; he’d not only sign the paperwork but make sure they moved all the furniture to just the right angle…
Yes, definitely the best thing about living here, Erika told herself. “Stephen, darling—”
The man at the table stood up straighter and started to turn to face her.
The instant he moved, Erika knew that she’d made a big mistake. Where Stephen was jittery in his movements, this man was slow and smooth, like a panther on the prowl. He was a little taller than Stephen, too—an inch or two, perhaps—and his hair was just a shade darker.
She should have recognized the difference the moment she walked in—though, she reminded herself, there was no reason to scourge herself for making a simple mistake. She was used to finding Stephen in this office, and she wasn’t used to seeing him from behind. So it was no wonder she hadn’t immediately identified this man as a stranger.
He’d turned all the way around now, and she got her first good look at his face. Now she could see that he wasn’t at all like Stephen, really—not only was his hair darker, almost black in fact, but it was thicker, curlier, and more unruly than Stephen’s. His eyes weren’t brown like Stephen’s but as rich a blue as Long Island Sound on a hot summer’s day, and they looked just as deep and inviting. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but there was something about him which invited a second look. His face was full of healthy color, but he didn’t have the deep sun-bronzed shade that Stephen somehow managed to sport even in the depths of winter.
And though he was wearing the same type of dark suit and ascot tie that Stephen favored, it didn’t fit him the same way. The formal garb didn’t look out of place on him, and yet it seemed somehow uncomfortable, as if he wasn’t used to dressing up.
“I’m not Stephen,” he said.
As if she wouldn’t be able to figure that out on her own. Erika felt like rolling her eyes.
He added, not quite under his breath, “…darling.”
Erika opened her mouth to blister him for impudence, and then decided that it would be more effective in the long run just to ignore him. “I can see that,” she said sweetly. “So where’s Stephen?”
“I can page him if you like, Ms. Forrester.”
She didn’t ask how he knew her name. She didn’t need to.
He went on easily, “I believe he’s helping Mr. Richards locate his missing snake up on the third floor.”
Erika shivered. “Then I certainly don’t want to disturb him.”
His eyes gleamed with laughter. Erika was sure of it, even though the expression was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. She was intrigued despite herself. “And who are you?” she asked.
“I’m Stephen’s new assistant.”
“I gathered that from the uniform.” She waved a finger in the direction of his ascot. “He could certainly use a helper. Or perhaps I should say that the residents could use two Stephens.”
He looked down at the dark suit as if not quite believing what he was wearing. “He does seem to keep himself busy.”
“And your name?” He didn’t answer immediately, so Erika prodded, “In case Stephen’s not here, it would be handy to know who I’m talking to.”
“If it’s not Stephen,” he pointed out gently, “it’ll be me. But you can call me Amos—” He bit off the sentence, leaving the name hanging.
Erika was absolutely certain the word he’d swallowed hadn’t been a last name at all. He’d actually almost had the cheek to say she could call him Amos darling. But at least he’d maintained enough sense to zip the lip before he’d finished, while she could still pretend not to have heard. It was much less embarrassing for both of them that way.
“I’ll tell him you stopped by. I’m sure he’ll be heartbroken to have missed you,” Amos said, and started to turn back to the clipboard he’d been looking at when she came in.
Just who does this guy think he is? she thought. “Well, let me fill you in on the routine around here. It’s cleaning day, so—”
“Are you referring to the housecleaning service or the dry cleaners?” he interrupted politely. “I’ve already been instructed that since it’s Tuesday, your housekeeping team will be arriving before long. And Stephen has made a note to arrange an extra laundry pickup today as well, since you just got home from your trip. So he already has all the usual things covered.”
Erika eyed him for a long moment. The urge to squash him was rapidly becoming unbearable. She would have to either put him in his place, or walk out—and soon. “You know,” she mused, “if you want to be successful around here, it might pay to take a few lessons from Stephen on customer service.”
His eyebrows lifted. “But, Ms. Forrester, I was simply trying not to waste your time. Why should you have to repeat instructions that Stephen has already taken care of?” He looked innocent, and he sounded solicitous.
Erika didn’t believe an iota of it.
“I presumed you would rather have Stephen look after your needs, since he’s already accustomed to your routine. But if there is anything you’d prefer me to do for you,” he went on gently, “you need only ask.”
She hitched her black leather tote bag higher onto her shoulder. “I’ll do my best to think of something,” she murmured. “Because I’d hate for you to feel at loose ends around here while Stephen’s doing all the work.”
The brisk walk from her apartment complex to Ladylove’s building in Midtown Manhattan refreshed Erika, and by the time she arrived at her office, she’d almost forgotten about Amos darling. He was hardly worth thinking about, anyway, she told herself. With that kind of attitude, he wouldn’t last long around an upscale apartment complex, no matter how pleasant he was to look at.
The tapestry-lined elevator whooshed Erika to the top floor. In her corner office, her personal assistant was just setting a steaming cappuccino beside the pile of already-opened mail on the blotter.
Erika checked on the threshold. “How do you do it, Kelly? Always have a fresh cup waiting for me when I come in?”
The little redhead grinned, her gamin face alight with mischief. “The company spy network, of course. Didn’t you realize how efficient it is?” She took Erika’s trench coat and hung it in the small closet. “You have an appointment with your personal fitter this morning, by the way. She’s bringing over some dresses so you can choose one to wear to the banquet Saturday night.”
“See if you can catch her before she leaves the store. I need a white silk blouse, too, because I spilled a glass of red wine on mine when I was in Rome.” Erika frowned. “Wait a minute. What banquet? There’s nothing like that on my calendar.”
“Not officially, but then you’ve been out of the office for more than a week. The invitation came while you were gone. However, since last Friday’s Sentinel announced that you’ll be attending, I thought it best to be prepared—so I sent a check for two tickets, and I called the fitter about a dress.”
“Sometimes,” Erika muttered, “I’d like to do the opposite, just to spite the tabloids.”
Kelly shook her head. “Issuing a challenge like that would only make them more interested. Then they’d run stories about you every day instead of only two or three times a week. Besides, the banquet is for a good cause.”
“They’re all good causes, Kelly.” Erika sat down behind the graceful Georgian table which she used as a desk. “Has the Sentinel announced yet where I’m going on my summer vacation? I can’t make up my mind, but I’m sure they’ve already figured out what I’ll decide.” She sipped the cappuccino and flipped through the mail.
Kelly clicked her tongue. “It’s a wee bit early in the day to be sounding cynical, now.”
“And it’s a wee bit too far from Dublin for you to be using a brogue.”
“Not if it makes you laugh. One plain white silk blouse, coming up. And Erika—I know how you feel about the Sentinel, but you should read today’s edition anyway.”
Kelly pulled the office door closed behind her, and Erika sank back in her chair and reached for the neatly folded newspaper at the bottom of the stack of mail. At least she could find out what the good cause was that she would be supporting by going to a banquet on Saturday…. No, Kelly had said that story had run last week. In any case, the redhead’s voice had sounded almost too casual—as if she was issuing some kind of a warning. So what horrible thing had New York City’s most-highly-circulated gossip sheet said about her this time?
Or had they just gotten hold of a photo that was more terrible than usual? Erika had thought, herself, that the one which had first appeared a couple of weeks ago—the one which seemed to have become the editor’s favorite—would be impossible to top. She’d been chewing a bite of arugula when the paparazzi’s flash went off in her face, and she thought the result had made her look like a serial murderer with a toothache.
But for a change her own face didn’t jump out at her as she scanned the pages. She frowned and started over from the beginning.
She found the story, finally, on page six. It was no wonder she hadn’t seen it before, because this time it wasn’t about her—not directly, at least. The story was an engagement announcement and the photograph which accompanied it was of a dimpled, childlike woman and a man Erika barely recognized. And the editors had waited till the very last paragraph to point out that the prospective groom had been engaged before—to Erika.
She sipped her cappuccino and read the story again, slowly and thoughtfully.
Denby Miles’s previous engagement was to Erika Forrester, who was then the trademark face (and is now also the CEO) of Ladylove Cosmetics. The match was broken off shortly after Erika’s father, Stanford Forrester III, completed the purchase of Mr. Miles’s portfolio of perfume formulae to add to Ladylove’s armory. There was and continues to be some speculation about the timing of the breakup.
“What she did to him stank worse than Denby’s perfumes,” one society matron—who wished to remain anonymous—told the Sentinel. “Leading him on just to get those chemical formulas, and then dropping him flat. I’m just glad the poor boy is finally over his broken heart.”
Erika folded the paper and flung it as hard as she could. It slammed against the office door and flopped onto the carpet.
The door opened a crack, and Kelly peeked warily through the opening. “Does that mean I shouldn’t clip this one for your scrapbook?”
Erika said grimly, “Remind me to send the Sentinel’s editors a gift next Christmas. A new sledgehammer—because at this rate they’ll have worn out the one they’re using now.”
“Yeah, I thought that line about Denby’s perfumes stinking was a little low,” Kelly agreed. She picked up the paper and smoothed the ruffled pages. “There are a couple of his scents which really aren’t bad at all.”
Erika tried to bite back a grin. “Well, no wonder their source wanted to remain nameless, saying things like that. It was probably Denby’s mother. Honestly, Kelly, what did I ever do to annoy the tabloids so much?”
“You seriously don’t know?” Kelly perched on the arm of a chair. “Think about it, Erika. A supposedly brainless blond makeup model takes over her father’s business and—instead of falling flat on her gorgeous face—makes more of a success of it than he ever did. That’s what you did to annoy them. You didn’t stay in the slot they’d picked for you.”
“Well, wouldn’t you think they’d give it up by now? It’s two years since I broke that engagement, and since my father died.”
“And every time a new Ladylove ad comes out, your picture reminds them of how wrong they were. Enjoy it, Erika. It’s a measurement of your success.”
“Sort of like being named the Chamber of Commerce’s Man of the Year? I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Erika picked up her pen. “By the way, Kelly, about that banquet Saturday night—have either you or the Sentinel decided who I’m going with?”
“They haven’t said.” Kelly maintained a deadpan expression. “And I thought it should be your choice.”
“That’s reassuring. Which good cause am I supporting?”
“Adult literacy, I believe.”
“Literacy? I wish I understood how my eating rubbery chicken and listening to a speaker drone on all evening is supposed to help the cause of reading. Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just stay home and take a book to bed instead?”
By the time Erika paid off her cab in front of the apartment complex, Stephen was on the sidewalk to greet her. “Just the person I wanted to see,” she said, handing him the blue-and-silver dress bag she was carrying.
“Welcome home, Ms. Forrester,” he said as he ushered her into the lobby. “I was sorry to miss you when you arrived last night. There’s fresh espresso in my office, if you’d like a cup.”
“You’re a love, Stephen.” She sank into the guest’s chair in his office—an extra-comfortable wing-back covered in a heathery tweed—and put her feet up on the small matching footstool, watching as he hung her dress bag next to an identical one on a hat stand beside the door. “This is wonderful. What happened to your assistant? Did you send him home for the night, or has he already quit?”
“Why would he quit?” Stephen looked puzzled.
Erika shrugged. “It seemed to me this morning that he was already a bit tired of the residents’ oddities, so I’d be amazed if he stuck with it for long.”
Stephen’s gaze shifted a bit. “Oh, I think Amos will be around for a while,” he said vaguely. “He just has a little different philosophy of the job than I do, that’s all.”
Understatement of the year, Erika thought.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Forrester?”
“I need advice,” Erika said crisply. “Break out your little black address book and tell me which of your friends would like to go to a banquet with me on Saturday. Hear an inspiring speaker—”
Stephen shook his head. “I’m running out of friends who will fall for that one.”
“There are benefits,” Erika began.
From behind her, a pleasant voice asked, “A woman like you needs an escort service?”
Erika almost dropped the cup Stephen had just handed her. She twisted around to see Amos, who was lounging against the door with his arms folded across his chest.
Stephen sighed. “Amos, you can’t just talk to the residents like—”
“I’m off duty.” Amos strolled in and perched on the corner of the desk.
He certainly looked it, Erika thought. The dark suit and ascot were gone, replaced with faded jeans and a lightweight sweater with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. His shoulders looked even broader, and the blue of his sweater made his eyes seem brighter.
“I’ve tried to explain,” Stephen said wearily, “that on this job you’re never off duty.”
“Speak for yourself, Stephen. No wonder you’re always tired. I want to hear why Ms. Forrester needs help finding a date. To say nothing of being curious about what she means by benefits.”
It was obviously too late to pretend she’d been joking. Anyway, Erika asked herself, why should it bother her if Amos darling thought she couldn’t attract a man without help? She looked him in the eye. “I don’t know why you’ve got this chip on your shoulder, but if it’s just me you have a problem with, I promise not to bother you anymore. In fact, I’ll simply ignore you altogether. If you can convince enough of the residents to share my feelings, you’ll have a pretty easy job of it—for however long it lasts. Now if you’ll go away, Amos darling, and let me talk to Stephen in private—”
He didn’t move. “Next time you want to talk to Stephen in private, shut the door. Half the building could have heard you, so why object because I happened to walk by?”
Stephen cleared his throat. “All right, let’s get back to the point. What kind of a banquet is it and who will be there? If there are connections to be made, then maybe—”
“It’s for adult literacy. So your friend can hang out with authors and publishers and readers and agents and—”
Stephen was smiling.
“You’ve thought of someone? Stephen, you’re an angel.”
Amos slid off the desk. “Now that you have the problem solved, I’ll be—”
“It sounds right down Amos’s alley,” Stephen said.
Erika stared at him. “This is no time for a joke.”
“I was serious. Amos is writing a book. That’s why he’s here.”
Erika tipped her head to one side and inspected Amos. She thought she saw irritation flicker in his eyes.
Well, that makes two of us who are annoyed at being fixed up with each other. “Why he’s here?” she repeated. “I don’t know what you mean.”
It was Amos who answered. “There are certain advantages to the position. Living quarters supplied, no commuting to work, flexible hours. As long as I take care of the residents’ needs, I can do what I like with the rest of my time. Namely, write.”
“And if you can persuade the residents not to ask you for anything, you’ll do even better. No, Stephen, I couldn’t live with myself if I dragged a genius away from the Great American Novel to attend a boring dinner.” Erika pushed herself up from the chair. “And I’m sure the genius agrees.”
“Now that would depend on the benefits you were talking about,” Amos murmured. “Exactly what do they include?”
In your dreams, Amos darling. Erika looked at the twin dress bags hanging on the hat rack. “Which one of these is mine, Stephen? I lost track when you hung them up.”
“Let me guess,” Amos said. “You brought home a white silk blouse, I presume?”
Erika was puzzled. “Yes, as a matter of fact, though that’s not all I bought. How do you know—?”
“Because Stephen insisted that since the dry cleaner’s deliveryman refused responsibility for your white silk blouse, you must have a new one immediately. So he sent me trekking all the way down to midtown to pick it up this afternoon.”
“So I have two brand-new white silk blouses? That’s hilarious.”
“Very amusing,” Amos said politely. “I suppose you’d like me to take the extra back tomorrow.”
“It would seem to be the logical move. Actually, I’d prefer it if you’d trade it for a different shade, something like teal or periwinkle…”
“How about wine-red? That would be dead easy—I could just finish the job you did on the original.”
“On second thought, just take the blouse back. Don’t bother to get another. It would be very foolish of me to assume that you know your colors, so I might end up with something in flame-orange or fluorescent green.” She picked up a bag in each hand, weighed them and hung the lighter one back on the hat stand. “It was very thoughtful of you to anticipate my needs, Stephen.” She started toward the elevator, bag in hand.
A low voice stopped her in midstride just a few paces from the office door. “You’re quite wrong, Stephen,” she heard Amos say. “That woman doesn’t need a manager looking after her. What she needs is a keeper.”
The members’ lounge at the Civic Club was never noisy or crowded, but on Wednesday as the lunch hour neared, the room was as full as Erika had ever seen it. She toyed with a glass of sherry and tried to force down the butterflies in her stomach while she waited for her guest to arrive.
You don’t have any idea what you’re doing, whispered a voice in the back of her mind.
The voice sounded a little like her father. Erika took a deep breath and another sip and tried not to listen.
You have no experience with buyouts and takeovers. You’ve been lucky so far, that’s all—and it isn’t going to last forever. Don’t push it.
She reached for a business magazine which lay on a small table beside her. She’d grab for anything which might serve to deflect that belittling voice in her head.
Kelly had been right, she thought—at least, up to a point. The Sentinel’s editors weren’t the only ones who’d been surprised when Erika had stepped into her father’s shoes at Ladylove Cosmetics after his death. In fact, Erika herself had been pretty much amazed when she’d actually stood up and said she wanted the job.
Ladylove’s board of directors had been dumbstruck, but they hadn’t had much choice in the matter. Stanford Forrester III had made sure to maintain a controlling interest in his company, and as long as Erika was voting her father’s stock, she was every bit as much in control as he had been.
Not that she was as certain of what she was doing. But then Stanford Forrester hadn’t always been able to predict the future, either. He hadn’t intended to give up control, even when he died. And if he’d had any idea how close that day was, Erika was convinced, he’d have revised his will—because the one thing Stanford Forrester would never have wanted was for Erika to run his precious company.
Don’t worry your pretty head about business, dear. Your job is to smile for the camera…
Well, she’d proved him wrong. In the eight quarters since she’d become the CEO, Ladylove had shown steady growth in market share and profits. Now that her position was solidified, Erika was ready to spread her wings. It was time for Ladylove to grow in scope as well as sales and production, and buying Felix La Croix’s business and rolling it into Ladylove’s was a natural move.
All she had to do was convince Felix La Croix, make the deal, and pull the two companies into one solid unit.
Her sherry glass was empty. She looked around. There was still no sign of Felix, and all the waiters appeared to be busy as well. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes to do some creative visualization. Picture yourself as a success and you’ll be one.
She sensed someone standing very still directly in front of her chair, and she sat up quickly, embarrassed. Would her guest think she’d been taking a nap? “Felix, I’m so glad—”
But the man standing over her with feet braced and arms folded wasn’t Felix La Croix. It was Denby Miles, her exfiancé.
She’d run into him from time to time, of course, in the two years since their engagement had been broken off. Manhattan society wasn’t large enough to avoid someone absolutely, even if one wanted to—and she’d never gone out of her way in order to stay out of his path. But on the rare occasions when they’d come face-to-face, they’d been coolly polite, exchanging greetings and then quickly moving on. He had never sought her out before, as he so obviously had this time. And she’d never had the opportunity, or felt the need, to look him over closely—not since that day two years ago when she’d taken off his ring and handed it back to him.
He was wider now, but not solider. He looked as if he’d put on weight, but not muscle. A smile might have masked the added fullness in his face, Erika thought, but he wasn’t smiling.
“Denby,” she said. “What a nice surprise to see you here at lunchtime.”
His eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said. If a simple greeting offends you, I—”
“It’s what you’re implying that offends me—that the worker bee should be in the lab from nine-to-five, no excuses, no breaks. Well, things have changed a bit now.”
“Yes, I saw the announcement that you’re marrying your boss’s daughter,” Erika said calmly. “Congratulations are in order, I believe.”
“Of course you saw the announcement. You just had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?”
“Ruin? I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Why do you have to push yourself into everything? You couldn’t even stay out of my engagement announcement!”
Erika’s jaw dropped. “You actually think I wanted to be part of that story?”
“Jeanette’s heartbroken. This is the most important thing in her life, and you had to trample all over it.”
Erika stood up. “Well, she’d better get over it. I’m a part of your past, Denby. No matter how much we’d all like to, we can’t just wipe that out. Of course, if your engagement is as important to you as it is to her, then she doesn’t have a thing to worry about where I’m concerned.”
“You just have to have all the attention, don’t you? Being the face in the ads wasn’t enough, you had to be the CEO, too. Then—”
“Look, Denby, it was not my idea to have the Sentinel dish it all out again for the enjoyment of the masses. If you’ll excuse me—” She tried to slip past him, but he was blocking the way.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” he conceded.
“Well, that’s big of you.”
“Maybe you don’t want it brought up again, especially right now—when you’re doing it again.”
“Doing what? What are you talking about?”
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I always believed it was your father’s idea for you to lead me on. To draw me in with promises until he got what he wanted. But now I wonder who was really behind that scheme. Maybe it was your plan after all.”
His voice was growing louder, unnaturally so in the quiet lounge, and people were starting to stare.
Denby didn’t pause. “And because it worked so well with me, you’re trying it again. Maybe I should warn Felix La Croix what he’s getting into. Make sure he understands that you’re only making up to him in order to get his business.”
“I am not making up to—”
“That’s who you’re meeting today, isn’t it? Maybe I’ll just stick around and be sure he knows the truth.”
“Denby, this is utterly ridiculous!”
“Or maybe I’ll just tell the Sentinel,” he mused. “Yes, that’s the ticket. It will have the same effect, and I understand they pay pretty well for tips.”
From the corner of her eye, Erika caught a swift movement, almost a blur. It was too fast to be any of the club’s members, she thought. They were never in a hurry, not here.
Realization dawned, and she ducked—but it was too late. The photo flash popped directly in her eyes, almost blinding her for an instant.
The photographer held his camera above his head, shaking it in triumph as if it were a trophy. Then he dodged past a determined-looking waiter, out the archway from the lounge into the club lobby, and through the front door to the street.
Denby blinked and said stupidly, “What was that?”
“The Sentinel,” Erika said grimly. “I’d suggest, if you want to claim a tipster’s fee, that you’d better hurry—before the paparazzi beats you to it.”
She turned away, and the waiter who had tried to stop the photographer stepped into her path. “Ms. Forrester, Mr. La Croix asked me to give you this.” He held out a folded sheet of paper that she recognized as club stationery.
For a moment, she’d forgotten all about Felix La Croix and the reason for her lunch date, but the solidity of the heavy sheet of parchment in her hand brought it all back.
The note was brief and to the point. “I’m sure you understand why I didn’t wish to be part of the show. I’ll be in touch when I’ve had a chance to think things through.” It was signed with his initials.
Felix La Croix had been there, witnessed Denby’s little act and opted to walk out. She couldn’t exactly blame him for fading away rather than letting himself be drawn into the scene. At least he’d left a note.
“Will you be coming into the dining room now, Ms. Forrester?” the waiter asked.
Her stomach turned at the very idea of food. “No—thank you, Harry.” She retrieved her portfolio from her chair and her trench coat from the cloakroom, stuffing Felix’s note into her pocket. There was plenty to be done back at the office…
Except that right now she didn’t feel like facing Kelly and fending off questions about how the negotiations had gone and why she was back so early.
She’d go home and lie down, she decided. It was only a few blocks to the apartment complex, and Stephen was guaranteed to have something on hand to settle an unhappy stomach.
But Stephen wasn’t in the office; Amos was. A sandwich lay on the desk blotter, and beside it was a yellow legal tablet filled with scrawled and scratched-out sentences.
Erika checked on the threshold. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She started to back out.
He stood up. “Come in. What can I do for you?”
Her head was still spinning; that must be why she had the sense that he actually sounded friendly. “What hit you? You sound positively civil. Oh, I know. You’ve decided you wouldn’t mind going to that banquet after all—rubbing elbows with publishers and famous authors.”
“I told you, it depends on the benefits. You look as if you just lost your last friend.”
Erika sighed. “Do you have something for heartburn?”
He waved a hand toward the sandwich. “Italian sausage, onion and Swiss cheese. If that doesn’t do it, nothing will.”
“I meant something to treat it, not cause it.” She swayed a little.
Amos seized her arm and guided her toward the wing-backed chair.
“I’m fine, really,” Erika protested. “I just lost my balance, that’s all. I’m not going to faint.”
“In any case, sitting down won’t hurt you a bit. What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing much,” she said lightly. “A ghost from the past, paparazzi popping out from the potted plants at what’s supposed to be the most private club in the city, and a business deal gone sour.”
“Well, I’m glad it wasn’t anything important.” He pushed aside the sandwich.
She pointed to the tablet. “Is that your book?”
He frowned at the scratched-out sentences. “A small piece of it.”
“How’s it going?”
“Slowly. Too many interruptions.”
“I could have told you that. This may look like an easy job, but it’s not.”
“Only because Stephen has spoiled all of you.”
“And especially me,” Erika said steadily. “You might as well say it as think it. Though I don’t see why you said I needed a keeper.”
“What you need is a combination ladies’ maid, secretary and bodyguard. It would fall more along the lines of a wife, actually.”
“A wife?”
“Yes, I think that covers it.” He sounded quite pleased with himself.
“And that’s your definition of a wife? My goodness, you have a twisted view of the world…Though come to think of it…”
Something was nagging at her. Ladies’ maid, secretary and bodyguard…
She had the secretary, and she was perfectly capable of picking up her own clothes. But the bodyguard…
“You know, I think you’ve hit on something,” she said. “Not a wife, of course—that would really give the tabloids something to talk about. But a husband…now that’s another thing entirely. Amos—darling—what do you think?”

CHAPTER TWO
AMOS could think of only one reason why she could possibly want to know what he thought of her harebrained scheme. The explanation was ridiculous, it was insane, it was nigh impossible. But it was the only one he could come up with which even began to cover all the facts.
He stared across the desk at Erika, still trying to convince himself that she hadn’t really said what he thought he’d heard. She was perfectly calm, her violet eyes wide and showing the same sort of mild interest as if she’d just asked his opinion of the latest hit movie.
She didn’t look like an alien. But this madcap idea of hers belonged to an entirely different planet than the one he lived on.
A husband…that’s another thing entirely…
She’d actually asked for his opinion, he reminded himself. “Amos—darling—what do you think?” she had said. So he had not only the right but the obligation to answer.
Of course, if he told her what he thought, she’d probably try to have him arrested for using indecent language in the presence of a lady. And she’d be right—at least about the indecent language. As for the part about the lady, that was open to debate.
“What kind of a lady…” He stopped to clear his throat and started over. His voice felt rough. “A lady doesn’t propose marriage to a perfect stranger.”
Her lovely face went blank for an instant, and then as understanding dawned, her eyes brimmed with horror. “You thought I was suggesting I wanted to marry you?”
Now his head was really spinning. Amos—darling… But if that wasn’t what she’d meant, where had he gone wrong? “It sure sounded that way to me.”
“Then you’re hearing-impaired as well as arrogant. All I said was—”
“All right, all right. I get it.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “And boy, is that a relief.” You bet it is.
“How could I be proposing to you? I don’t even know your last name.”
Amos didn’t enlighten her. It wasn’t like she was asking for a formal introduction, anyway. “So whom are you planning to marry? Take it from the top and tell me what all this is about. Unless, of course, you’re really just talking to yourself and so I’m not supposed to ask.”
He thought for a moment that she wasn’t going to answer. Then she raised the pointed little chin which was such a distinctive part of every Ladylove ad and said, “It’s a business matter.”
Either he was getting used to her, Amos thought, or he was growing numb, because he wasn’t even vaguely surprised.
She shrugged out of her trench coat, settled back in the chair and took a deep breath.
Amos had been noting the cut of her suit jacket, but he couldn’t help being distracted by what the deep breath did to her figure. The Ladylove ads always focused on her face, and the other day when she’d come through the lobby she’d been wearing a coat, ready to go out for the day. So he’d never had an opportunity to pay much attention to the rest of her. But in fact, the shape of her body was very nearly as perfect as the planes of her face. Too bad the quality of her insides didn’t match…
“There’s this firm I’m trying to buy, you see,” she began. “Up until a couple of years ago, Ladylove was totally focused on cosmetics, things like lipstick and eye shadow and foundation and mascara. Then we expanded into perfumes—”
“Courtesy of Denby Miles’s formulas,” Amos mused.
“I see you read the tabloids.” Her voice was chilly.
“Only while I’m standing in line at the market to buy cat food for Mrs. Haines’s Persian on the fourth floor. It was a very slow line this morning.”
“Be glad she didn’t send you fishing so Fluffy’s lunch would really be fresh.”
“I’ll keep that in mind next time she needs to lay in a supply of kibble.”
She crossed her legs.
Nice, long slim legs, Amos noted, with shapely knees that barely peeked out under the hem of a blue wool suit. She must have noticed him looking, because she cleared her throat firmly. She did not, however, make a coy show of pulling her skirt down. Amos liked that.
He sat up a little straighter. “You were talking about the tabloids.”
“Only because I can’t avoid the subject. I’m sure I don’t have to explain that the Denby Miles episode didn’t happen quite the way the Sentinel would like to believe it did.”
I’d give a pretty penny to hear what really did happen.
“At any rate, now Ladylove is ready to expand further, and there’s a firm which would be a perfect match.” She looked at him warily for a long moment, and then seemed to make up her mind to trust him. “I want to pick up Kate La Croix’s line of hair care products.”
Amos frowned. “I thought Kate La Croix died.”
“She did—about six months ago. That’s why her husband wants to sell the business.”
“And since you want to buy, it’s a great deal all the way around.”
“Exactly. We can combine two fairly small firms and create a major player.”
“Makes sense. I just don’t see where the part about the husband comes in. Unless…Oh, now I get it. It’s just dawned on you that if you married him instead, you could get the company cheaper.”
From her always-placid photographs in the Ladylove ads, Amos thought, one would never suspect that Erika Forrester possessed a temper. Only now did he realize how misleading that impression was. She didn’t blow up; he’d give her that. But her gaze was so cold that he found himself feeling a little frosty around the edges.
“That,” she said, “is exactly what the kind of idiot who gets his news from the tabloids would think.”
“Well, excuse me for being an idiot,” Amos said coolly, “but I still don’t quite see the problem.”
She had the grace to color. “Sorry. I didn’t intend that personally. I meant you’re not the only one who’ll jump to that conclusion.”
The phone rang on the desk.
Erika looked at it and then at him. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”
“No, I’m going to let voice-mail take it.” Amos sliced his sandwich into chunks. “The quicker the tenants learn to share and take turns, the easier it’ll be on all of us.” The phone rang four times and stopped, and he held out a piece of the sandwich to her.
Erika took it almost absently and nibbled at a corner.
“You were talking about what the tabloids will say,” he prompted. “Because of the Denby Miles thing, of course.”
“Yes. Half the world thinks I only dated him for those formulas, and that I dropped him the instant my father got his hands on them. Now they’re going to think I’m doing the same with Felix La Croix.”
“Ignore them. They’re tabloids. What difference does it make what they think?”
“It doesn’t matter to me—other than being generally annoying. But it matters a great deal to Felix.” She pulled a folded paper out of her coat pocket and held it out.
Amos took it reluctantly. The words had obviously been written in haste; the penmanship was uneven, and the signature was nothing more than scrawled initials.
I’m sure you understand why I didn’t wish to be part of the show. I’ll be in touch when I’ve had a chance to think things through.
He lifted an eyebrow at her.
She said, sounding reluctant, “That’s from Felix. Denby made quite a scene at the Civic Club today.”
“And Felix saw it and ducked for cover?”
She nodded. “I can’t blame him, exactly. The tabloids haven’t heard about the negotiations yet—but they will, and probably soon. There will be a feeding frenzy, and poor Felix will be caught in the middle of speculation about why he’s seeing me and what the terms of the sale will be and how long it will take after the agreement’s made before I dump him. For a man who’s still grieving his wife—”
“That would be a little hard to take,” Amos said thoughtfully. “But maybe it’ll be an incentive for him to make a quick sale.”
“More likely he’ll refuse to talk at all, especially if he thinks I’m manipulating the publicity to get him to agree to a fast deal. Which I’m not. But if I was married…settled…obviously not interested in him personally…”
“And you think getting married in order to deflect the tabloids doesn’t count as manipulating the publicity? Never mind. If Felix’s sensitive feelings are a problem, why not just look for another shampoo company?”
“There isn’t another one. Do you think I haven’t looked? Most of them are divisions of huge companies, but we couldn’t swallow a giant like that even if it was for sale. And Kate’s product meshes well with Ladylove’s—she insisted on entirely organic ingredients instead of chemical substitutes. Do you know how many shampoos are really just laundry detergent with a nicer smell?”
“Hadn’t given it a lot of thought,” Amos said. “But it sounds to me like Felix needs you more than you need him. Since it was his wife’s company, it must be losing value with every day that goes by. Sit back and wait, and he’ll come around.”
She shook her head. “No. In fact, sales have gone up since Kate’s death—it’s actually become sort of a cult thing to use Kate La Croix shampoo. Felix only wants to sell because it’s too painful for him to face the reminders every day. I’ve assured him that we’ll keep Kate’s name and the brand label. It’s a perfect match—if the tabloids will just leave the personal stuff out of it. Which of course they won’t, because they’ve created this image of me.”
“So you’re thinking of changing the image. Okay,” he conceded. “I see where you’re coming from. I still think it’s a really loopy idea, but let that go for a minute. Who on earth are you thinking about marrying? If you can’t even get a date for a Saturday night banquet—”
Her eyes flared. “I have no shortage of dates.”
“Then why were you asking Stephen to find you an escort? If you have so many guys standing in line, why not choose one of them rather than add another to the list?”
“Because if I’m seen twice with any one man, the whole gossip mill goes into overdrive.”
“And the man in question screams and runs?”
“Or starts bragging that he owns me.”
“Well, either variety doesn’t offer much promise in the husband sweepstakes,” Amos pointed out. He handed her another section of his sandwich.
“What I really need is someone like…” She looked thoughtful, and then said with a note of triumph, “Someone like Stephen.”
Amos bit his lip hard, but it didn’t help much. “Ms. Forrester, I hate to be the one to break the news to you, but Stephen is…Well, let’s just say he’s not interested in women except as friends.”
She fixed him with a glare. “You think I didn’t know that? What difference does it make, anyway? I’m talking about a legal convenience here, not a—” She broke off.
He couldn’t help himself. “Stud service?”
“If that was all I wanted,” she said bitterly, “I could take my choice.”
He didn’t doubt it—and he didn’t wonder at her tone, because the reason for her disillusionment was obvious. With her face, her figure and her fame, there must be men aplenty who would happily oblige her in bed—and then brag in the locker room that they’d been with Erika Forrester. She was a trophy. A conquest to boast about.
Hey, he told himself, don’t waste your sympathy. She’s the one who’s asking for the attention by putting herself in the magazine ads month after month.
“Well, what you want may not be the most important consideration here,” he said. “It’s the public’s perception that counts. So if you want to make everyone believe it’s a real marriage, then Stephen’s the worst possible choice you could make. Nobody would believe that he’s changed, so you might as well not waste your time.”
“Someone like Stephen, then.” She sounded stubborn. “Someone who’s gentle, who’s helpful—”
“Someone who owes you,” Amos put in.
She looked genuinely puzzled. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you can’t take a chance on him ruining everything by talking. So unless you can think of someone who’d do it for love—”
She turned a shade paler. “I don’t believe in love.”
“Well, at least you’ve got that much sense. I’d hate to think you’d believe it if someone was to conveniently stroll up right now and announce that he was head over heels about you.”
“I’d have to be a fool to bite on that one. I’d much rather have a clear-cut business arrangement.”
“Then we’re back to finding someone who owes you.”
She was silent.
“Since you’re not rattling off names, that must mean there’s nobody already in that category,” Amos guessed. “All right, then you’ll have to buy him.”
“Do you have to be crude?”
“That’s not crude, honey, that’s just straightforward. You said you wanted it clear-cut. But if you’d rather, we’ll call it finding the proper incentives. The bottom line is, what’s in it for the guy?”
“There would be benefits,” she said stiffly.
“Name two.” In the silence that followed, Amos finished the last bite of his sandwich. He picked up a stray crumb, tossed the wrapper in the wastebasket and said, “That’s what I thought. You can’t.”
“Of course I can’t be specific,” she said stubbornly. “It would depend on the man. Not everyone will be intrigued by the same sort of—”
“Bribe.”
“Benefit. Anyway, it’s not like I’m talking about forever here. This is a short-term bargain. Once the buyout is over, that’s it. A couple of months, maybe.”
“What happens the next time you want to acquire a company?”
“Look, I don’t want to own the world. If I can get this deal through, I’ll be satisfied.”
“That’s what you think now.”
“All right,” she admitted. “Maybe I will want to buy something else someday. But the circumstances will be different—the seller might even enjoy the gossip. In any case, I’ll deal with that later.”
“Well, I suppose you could write the marriage contract with a renewal clause,” Amos mused. “Sort of like the way that Hollywood options an actor for the sequel when they make the first movie. Which makes a twisted kind of sense, considering this is about as big a special-effects production as we’re likely to see around here this year.”
“You really think this is ridiculous.”
“Since you’re asking…Yes.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Amos darling.” She stood up. “You’ve been so helpful in clarifying my thinking. I’ll be sure to let you know what I decide.”
“Please do,” he said cordially. The phone rang again, and he put a hand on it. “Because I can’t wait to hear what happens next.”
He was without a doubt right, Erika concluded, when she’d had a chance to think about it. She’d been shaken up by Denby’s attack and by Felix’s reaction, and she’d gone overboard. It was a loopy idea, and not worth further consideration.
Of course, she had no intention of admitting to Amos darling that his opinion had influenced her decision. And there hadn’t been any opportunity, anyway. In the couple of days since their discussion, she’d seen him only a few times. Even then, she’d spotted him only from a distance, or he’d been tied up with other tenants, or Stephen had been present.
She would just forget the whole thing. She’d continue to ignore the tabloids, Felix La Croix would think it over and get in touch as he’d promised, and they’d make a deal. End of problem.
What she couldn’t quite understand was why, since she’d given it up as a loopy idea, she found herself assessing every man who crossed her path, looking at his potential as a husband.
The ad executive who was already working on next spring’s campaign was too slick, too flirtatious, too familiar. Ladylove’s marketing manager was too serious, too reverential, too much in awe of the boss. The lawyer who was drawing up a tentative contract to offer Felix La Croix was too brash, too arrogant, too presumptuous.
But when on Friday at lunchtime she found herself actually taking stock of the delivery boy who’d brought her Chinese takeout—too young, too sincere, too ingenuous— Erika put her face down in her hands and told herself to stop being ridiculous.
Kelly put her head in from the office next door. “Are you all right?”
“No.” Erika caught herself. “Yes, I’m fine. Have some Chinese. I’m not hungry anymore.”
Kelly pulled up a chair and reached for a set of chop-sticks. “You need to eat. You have a photo shoot next week for the fall ads, and you can’t look like a skeleton.”
“I can’t? I thought the ad people preferred me that way.”
“No, you can’t,” Kelly said firmly, “because makeup for dead people doesn’t form enough of the market share to keep the company afloat.”
Erika wasn’t listening. She looked at the draft of the purchase contract she’d been reading when her lunch arrived. “Has Felix La Croix called yet?”
“Not since you asked ten minutes ago.”
“He said he’d think it over and get in touch. I’ve got a meeting with the attorneys in an hour, and I don’t have any idea whether we’re going to have a deal or not.”
Kelly shrugged. “Maybe he’s still thinking it over. Or maybe he’s hoping if he holds out, you’ll sweeten the offer. Maybe you should invite him to take you to the banquet tomorrow…Or have you already decided who to take?”
Erika wanted to groan. “No, and I doubt Felix would be interested. It’s only been six months since Kate died.”
“Which means it’s past time for him to come out of his shell—at least far enough to be sociable. You’d be asking him to take you to dinner, Erika, not meet you at the altar. Right?”
Erika wanted to bang her head on the desk. Not you, too, Kelly.
“Anyway, if you’re so sure he’ll say no, then it’s a perfect opportunity to call him. You can get a feel for where he’s standing without actually asking whether he’s made a decision on selling the business. And that way you won’t be stuck with him for a whole evening, either.”
“Maybe I’ll just take you instead,” Erika threatened. “Why should going to an event like this have to look like a date, anyway?”
“Sorry, but I’m already committed. I volunteered to work at one of the publisher’s booths—it’s a great way to meet people.” She reached for the telephone.
Startled, Erika saw that though it hadn’t rung, a light was blinking. Line three—her private line. The number she’d given Felix La Croix. Her heartbeat speeded up.
“Ms. Forrester’s office,” Kelly said. “No, Mr. La Croix, this is her personal assistant. I’ll put you straight through.” She pushed the hold button and handed the phone to Erika. “Want me to go away?”
Erika shook her head and cleared her throat. “Hello, Felix. I’m sorry we couldn’t manage lunch the other day. Perhaps sometime this week?”
He didn’t bother to answer. “I was just chased down by a reporter from the Sentinel.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Not surprised, but definitely sorry.
“She seemed to think that you and I have some sort of understanding.”
Erika allowed a smile to creep into her voice. “I was hoping to hear that myself. About the sale, I mean.”
“That’s not the sort of understanding she meant. She hinted that the Sentinel is ready to run a story that we’re planning a wedding.”
That’s even worse than I expected. “So if they do, they’ll embarrass themselves,” she said. “It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve been wrong, and it won’t be the last.”
Felix’s voice was firm. “I will not stand for speculation in the public press about my personal life, or gossip that reflects badly on my wife. I’m calling to tell you that I’m starting negotiations with one of your competitors.”
Erika’s throat tightened till she could hardly breathe. “Felix, you told me you didn’t want to sell Kate’s company to one of the giants. That was why you were willing to talk to me in the first place.”
“Well, conditions change, don’t they? I don’t see that I have much choice. Unless you can do something to stop this gossip, I will put an end to it by selling the business—to anyone besides you.”
Erika swallowed hard. “Give me a few days, Felix. Let me see what I can do.”
He didn’t answer for a while, and when he did there was a grudging note in his voice. “It’s almost the weekend,” he said. “All right. I’ll hold off till Monday.” The telephone banged in her ear.
Big of him to give me a whole weekend. Erika sat frozen.
“That didn’t seem to go at all well,” Kelly mused.
Erika put the phone down and pushed her chair back. “I think I’ll go home early, Kelly.”
“What about your appointment with the attorneys?”
“Tell them what happened, and cancel the meeting.”
She was almost at the door when Kelly said plaintively, “If you want me to explain it, then don’t you think you’d better tell me what happened?”
Maybe it was time to just let it go, Erika thought. The few days that Felix had agreed to wait wouldn’t make much difference. Perhaps it would be best for her to accept that the deal was not going to go through and turn her attention to something else.
You should have known you couldn’t make it work, her father’s voice taunted in the back of her mind.
Erika smothered the voice of doubt. She was right about Kate La Croix’s products, and she knew it. This was the perfect combination—for Felix La Croix as well as for Ladylove. Why he couldn’t see that was beyond her, but obviously he couldn’t—so if the deal was to be saved, it would be up to her.
Unless you can do something to stop this gossip…
Well, there was something she could do, Erika told herself. She could undercut the Sentinel by making her own announcement first. If she announced her engagement before the Sentinel could run its story about her and Felix…
The plan was simple enough in principle. It was the details which weren’t so easily settled. What was it Amos had said? “Who on earth are you thinking about marrying? If you can’t even get a date for a Saturday night banquet—”
There were plenty of possibilities, she told herself. Not the delivery boy from the Chinese restaurant, of course. But the ad manager…the marketing director…the lawyer…
Her brain seemed to grind to a halt. The truth was, she couldn’t even imagine herself telling any of them about this scheme, much less asking for their cooperation.
She did have to give Amos darling some credit, she admitted. Even though he’d thought the idea was insane, he’d at least listened to her. He’d been helpful at sorting out her thinking once, and maybe he could do that again.
With hope once more rising in her heart, she headed for home.
Amos was in the office when she came in. He was holding the phone between his shoulder and his ear, but he was obviously on hold, because he was sorting notes and reminders on the ever-present clipboard.
“I need to talk to you,” Erika announced.
“Take a number. You’re about twenty-fifth on the list at the moment.”
“I’ll wait.” She took off her coat, and was startled when Stephen stepped up to take it from her. “I didn’t realize you were here, Stephen.”
“I just came in,” Stephen said. “But before I get started on the list, I’ll be happy to take care of your needs, Ms. Forrester.”
Erika regarded him thoughtfully. “No, that’s all right. Amos has been teaching me to share and take turns, so I’ll wait for him to be free.”
“Not you, too,” Amos muttered.
“What’s the matter?” Erika settled into the wing chair. “Is the job more demanding than you expected it to be? You know, I’ve been thinking that you looked a little more frazzled every time I’ve seen you lately.”
Amos shot her a look that should have made her skin sizzle. “You sound pleased with yourself. You know, I wouldn’t put it past you to be getting all the women in the complex to call me every twenty minutes.”
“Why would I do that?” Erika asked reasonably. “It just puts me further down your list. Have you had a lunch break yet?”
“Why?” Amos sounded suspicious.
“Because I’ll buy. I owe you from the other day when you shared your lunch and I forgot to even say thanks.”
“And also because that way you can jump to the head of the line.”
“Guilty,” she admitted.
“I’ll take over,” Stephen said, and reached for the telephone. “Go.”
Amos stood up, looking reluctant.
Erika reached for her coat. “How’s the book going?”
“You really know how to hurt a guy, don’t you?”
“He says,” Stephen put in helpfully, “that at this rate he’ll finish in about forty-five years.”
“Well, at least that way you don’t have to deal with the fear of rejection,” Erika mused. “Where would you like to go for lunch?”
Amos guided her out onto the street. “No place where anyone knows you, that’s sure. Which leaves the open-air hot dog stands and the bars.”
“I’ll take a hot dog stand. So it’s the women who are calling for help? I can’t say I’m surprised. What have you been doing for them?”
He sighed. “Shifting furniture. Plugging a new computer together. Getting boxes down off high shelves.”
“That’s a good one,” Erika said. “It shows off your muscles. I did warn you, if you remember, that the residents would keep you busy.”
“Once the news wears off, it’ll settle down.”
She thought he sounded more hopeful than convinced.
The nearest hot dog stand was across the street from a tiny park. Erika put mustard on her sandwich and led the way to a bench in the sun. The wooden slats felt warm even through her trench coat.
“So what did you want to talk to me about?” Amos asked.
“You remember that plan we were talking about the other day? I’ve decided to go through with it.”
He looked wary. “Why are you telling me?”
“Good manners. You said you wanted to know what I decided. Also…” She let the silence drag out. “Also because I think you’re the perfect candidate.”
Amos went so still that for a moment she thought she was sitting next to a statue. “Oh, no. You’re not dragging me into this stunt.”
“I have no intention of dragging you. You said yourself that it’s a matter of proper incentives. Or, to make it perfectly clear-cut, bribes. So let’s talk about it, Amos darling. What will it take to buy you?”
He didn’t answer.
“Forty-five years to write a book,” Erika mused. “I think maybe there’s a way to cut that down. If, of course, you’re interested in talking about it.”

CHAPTER THREE
AMOS said, “I can’t believe I’m listening to this.”
Erika thought he sounded as if he was talking to himself. Or, rather, as if he were lecturing himself. “Why shouldn’t you listen?” she challenged. “Because you’re afraid if you hear me out you’ll be tempted?”
He raised both eyebrows at her. “Wishful thinking, sweetheart.”
Erika took a deep breath and regrouped. “Amos, you seem to be a sensible, pragmatic kind of guy. So—”
“Oh, that’s great. You know me so well after—What’s it been now? Four days and three conversations?”
“You remember exactly?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” His voice was heavy with irony. “Of course, with such extensive experience to draw on, you’re the expert on what kind of pigeonhole I fit into.”
“Don’t try to make this about me, Amos. It’s not like I don’t have reason to think that you keep your own self-interests right at the top of the list. That’s why you took this job in the first place, isn’t it? It’s not exactly your style to be at people’s beck and call.”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me what my style is, oh great psychologist.”
“Being independent,” she said. “Being your own boss. But you thought this would be a pushover of a job, didn’t you?”
He winced.
“I don’t mean that in a bad sense,” Erika said hastily. “It must have looked very practical at the time. You thought you’d have a nice place to live right in the middle of the action, enough cash to pay the expenses and a lot of free time to do what you wanted.”
He sighed. “You got that much right.”
“Of course, it didn’t turn out that way. If you had more experience with the kind of people who live in upscale Manhattan apartment complexes, you’d have known that.”
His gaze flickered, and suddenly he was looking beyond her, into the park.
Oops. Major mistake. “Sorry,” she said. “ That sounded really snobbish, didn’t it? But I was just stating a fact, really.”
“You do have a way of stating facts so they sting like darts, you know.”
“Hey, as long as we’re talking about throwing darts, you’re the one who said I need a keeper. But that’s all beside the point. Taking the job was a pragmatic and sensible decision to make at the time, even if it hasn’t worked out very well. So now that you know the truth about the job, what’s so terrible about looking around for a better deal?”
“What you’re offering is not a better deal.”
“How do you know? We haven’t even talked about it.” She took a bite of her hot dog. Don’t be in any hurry, she told herself. Dangle the idea in front of him and give him a chance to wonder what he might be missing if he walks away.
He looked at her again. “You’ve got a point,” he said finally. “I may as well listen.”
She’d never had any particular desire to go sports fishing, but now she knew how it felt—she’d managed to set the hook, but landing this shark was still going to be a challenge. She took another bite to give herself a moment to think.
“So what are you offering?” Amos asked.
He’s impatient. That’s good. “Freedom,” she said. “The kind you were looking for when you took this job. A roof over your head, food on the table and no more tenants calling you to move computers or stack boxes. All of which comes down to lots of time to write. Interested?”
“And of course a few teeny-weeny little strings attached.”
Erika shrugged. “There will be a certain public presence required. But it’s not like you have to dangle from my sleeve all day.”
He didn’t comment. “So what happened to change your mind?”
She told him about Felix’s phone call, and he was silent and thoughtful for a long time.
Finally he mused, “He must be an awfully sensitive kind of guy not to thrust out his chest and brag about his name being linked with yours.”
“There’s Kate—”
“I know, he’s a grieving widower and all. Still, to get so bent out of shape about a little gossip that he’ll turn down a good offer for a business…You’re sure he’s not just trying to raise the price you’ll pay?”
“He was pretty clear. End the gossip about him by Monday, or he’ll be selling to the competition.”
“And you don’t want to see that happen.”
“Of course I don’t. Kate’s products are the best—I use the stuff myself. If those formulas get into the hands of one of the giants, there will be no point in us even trying to develop a competitive line.”
“Maybe this is just his way of getting out of one deal because he has a better one on the horizon,” Amos speculated.
“And he wants me to look like the guilty party, so he doesn’t appear to be going back on his word?”
“Something like that. They might be offering him more money than you did.”
Erika shook her head. “I don’t think so. The giants don’t need Kate’s formulas. I expect at least one of the companies would pick them up if they were handy and cheap, but they’re not going to pay an enormous price to secure a niche in the market. Besides, Felix wants to sell to me, because he knows I’ll keep Kate’s name and her label, and the giants won’t. I just have to make it possible for him to do it.”
“By stopping the gossip.”
She nodded. “Will you help me, Amos?”
His eyes narrowed. “I wondered how long it would take you to get around to actually asking. Until now you’ve been making it sound as if you were doing me the favor of the century and asking practically nothing in return.”
“Well, I am doing you a big favor,” Erika pointed out. “And I’m doing myself one, too, of course. That’s the beauty of it—there’s no downside, because neither one of us is giving up anything.” She darted a sideways look at him. “Unless you consider quitting your job to be a sacrifice, of course.”
“So what—exactly—are you proposing?”
She leaned forward and tossed her hot dog wrapper in a nearby trash container. “A short-term marriage of convenience.”
“Exactly how short-term?”
“By the time all the paperwork is done and we get through the necessary government approvals, probably two to three months. Luckily there’s enough competition in the field that we won’t have to go through a full-scale antitrust investigation, but—”
“And then?”
“Then we get a quiet annulment, and it’s all done with.”
“You make it sound very simple.”
“That’s because it is simple. Think about it, Amos. Two or three months of writing all day, every day…How much of your book could you finish in that time?”
“Depends. How many public functions do you anticipate?”
Erika shrugged. “I don’t know. Once a week, maybe. All we need to do is be seen together now and then. If there isn’t some sort of special event going on, we can go out for lunch. I’m not talking about any huge commitment of time, that’s sure. It’s not like we’ll be living in each other’s pockets.”
“Speaking of living arrangements—”
“That’s right, you’ll lose your apartment when you resign.”
“Yes. And then there’s the fact that it would look a little odd if you were living on the penthouse floor and I was in the basement.”
Erika was startled. “The basement? The staff apartments are in the basement?”
“In the employment contract it’s technically referred to as the lower level, but—”
“No wonder you’re getting no work done. No daylight, no sunshine, no fresh air…My apartment has three bedrooms, and one of them is already set up as a den. Feel free to rearrange the furniture however you like. There’s also a screened-in porch and a balcony with a view of Central Park.”
“Heaven on earth,” Amos murmured.
She decided not to think too hard about the sarcasm obvious in his tone. “Pretty close, actually. I like it much better than the last place I lived. But you’ve already been in a lot of the apartments, so you know what they’re like.”
“Much nicer than the staff’s quarters.”
“I’ll bet. I’m sure we can work out the day-to-day details. I have a business to run, so I’m hardly home anyway.”
“And that’s the whole deal?”
“Well—mostly. Of course there would have to be an agreement that you will never, ever talk to the press about me.”
“And vice versa,” he said idly.
“Don’t worry about that. I never willingly discuss anything with the Sentinel, even the weather.” She hesitated. “I mean it, Amos—not ever. So…Well, I’d be willing to give you some sort of a stipend…”
“As a reminder not to chatter? That sounds like blackmail on the installment plan.”

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