Bachelorette Blues
Robyn Amos
HOW TO BEAT THE BACHELORETTE BLUES1. Find Mr. Right• Carefully make list of qualities needed• Narrow down choices to three polished, professional men• Ignore Max Winston's charms!2. Date Mr. Right• Attend social functions• Dress properly• Avoid Max Winston's gorgeous eyes!3. Plan for a wedding• Have long engagement• Organize the perfect ceremony• Stop fantasizing about walking down the aisle with Max Winston!Hmm. Maybe Shayna Gunther should rethink her list….
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u8d817cd5-447b-5161-b448-89af353ed02f)
Excerpt (#u40c2148d-4c76-50ed-a5b6-39183cc4e969)
Dear Reader (#u38f7fba5-244a-5717-b439-95dbee9506e5)
Title Page (#u5c427fd6-0000-5731-b694-f1180a5c9c58)
Dedication (#ud53b481c-616c-50ef-9b2c-3db876986be2)
Letter from Robyn Amos (#u2dd1c2ee-e141-5f57-8582-e9167b0f3156)
Chapter One (#uda257187-a5a3-57cc-bfe9-1c2fa98d0d01)
Chapter Two (#u9dac9da2-1092-5819-b0d1-315d6e83a13c)
Chapter Three (#ue3d573f9-87ca-5f01-8823-76d852eaaf60)
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 Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Shayna gunther—mr. Efficiency herself—puts together a list of the most cligible bachelors around
1. The Computer Guy. Smart, hardworking, a successful businessman. Unfortunately, he’s already in love—with himself. Too bad he isn’t sweet and caring like, say, Max Winston. (But then, Max isn’t even on her list.…)
2. Mr. Six-Hundred-Dollar Suit. Very well dressed. Which explains why he got downright nasty when she accidentally dumped an entire strawberry cheesecake on him. Now, Max would just have laughed and helped her clean up the mess. (But maybe Shayna should try to remember that Max is absolutely not on her list.…)
3. The Nightclub Owner. Sophisticated, charming, absolutely nothing wrong with him. (Except that he’s simply not Max “Not-Even-on-the-Gosh-Darn-List” Winston…)
Dear Reader (#ulink_87c41215-1be6-519d-bb50-b93b97536b0d),
Chain letters! Don’t you just hate them? Thanks to the joys of E-mail (and most of the time it really is a joy), I seem to receive them on pretty much a daily basis. The worst thing is, I keep getting the same ones over and over. No, I take that back. The worst thing really is that none of them ever come true. I’m still making ends meet but not getting rich, and I certainly haven’t met Mr. Right Luckily for Shayna Gunther, heroine of Robyn Amos’s debut Yours Truly novel, Bachelorette Blues, her chain-letter experience has a happier outcome. She does meet her perfect match—though it takes her a little while to figure that out (Just for the record: I would have recognized him a lot sooner!)
After you finish enjoying Shayna and Max’s story, move on to the final installment of Karen Templeton’s fabulous WEDDINGS, INC. trilogy. Wedding? Impossible! turns out not to be so impossible after all, of course. Admittedly, Zoe’s a bit wary of her supposedly perfect blind date, Mike, but who wouldn’t be? (If you say you wouldn’t, you’ve never been on a blind-date disaster!) But pretty soon she’s hooked, agreeing with everyone else’s opinion of Mike—that he’s wonderful—and planning that extremely possible wedding after all
Enjoy! And remember to come back next month for two more books all about the fun of meeting—and marrying!—Mr. Right.
Yours,
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Bachelorette Blues
Robyn Amos
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to my local RWA chapter,
Washington Romance Writers. Their members have
proven that, with solidarity, endurance and support,
even the worst of luck is only temporary.
Letter from Robyn Amos (#ulink_ead8f5f5-8285-5ab3-beb7-f38e145f5ad8)
Is it luck or coincidence? You tell me. One week after I came up with the chain letter idea for Bachelorette Blues, I received a chain letter of my own in the mail. Thanks to the immediacy of E-mail, I received countless chain letters while writing this novel. Some promised true love, like the one Shayna receives from her niece; others promised good fortune or wealth. All I know is, I haven’t participated in any of them, and my luck has never been better. Of course, I’m still working on the true love and the wealth.
I’m not superstitious…much. I’m a firm believer that if you don’t finish reading the chain letter, it doesn’t count. Fortunately, I’ve never been as clumsy as Shayna, but I wouldn’t mind having her organizational skills to help me balance my full-time job, writing career, friends and family. Maybe I like the concept of Shayna being a life management consultant so much because I need one so desperately.
Besides collecting chain letters, while writing this book I went duckpin bowling for the first time, picked up a few new recipes—now I just have to learn to like cooking—and paid homage to my love of chocolate. If you like Shayna and Max’s story, or just want to send me a chain letter—I’m just kidding; no chain letters, please!—contact me at: P.O. Box 7904, Gaithersburg, MD 20898-7904.
Robyn Amos
1 (#ulink_e0ee2eaf-501d-5925-bcb0-f80bcf4eb392)
Curiosity nagged at Shayna Gunther like the box of chocolate cookies stashed in her desk drawer. She plucked the envelope out of her In bin and studied it. Rain had smeared the blue ink, blurring the return address.
With a jewel-handled letter opener, Shayna sliced through the envelope and pulled out a wrinkled, wideruled sheet of notebook paper.
Just her luck. Her nine-year-old niece, Tiffany, had sent her a chain letter. Shaking her head in amusement, Shayna read the childish scrawl.
This is not a joke or a prank. It is very serious. If you follow these instructions carefully, you will find true love. Within seventy-two hours, you must copy this letter six times and mail it to six friends who are looking for love. At midnight, on the third day, drink a glass of water and say the name of a boy or girl you like. He or she will be yours forever. If you break the chain, beware. Bad luck will be yours. Forever.
With a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, Shayna picked up the phone on her desk. She normally called her sister Nicole on Sunday afternoons, but this just couldn’t wait.
“Hi Nic, it’s Shayna.”
“Shayna? What’s wrong? Are you switching from Sundays to Wednesdays?”
“Come on, I’m not that bad.” Shayna was used to being teased about her predictability, but she didn’t let it get to her. The talent for organization was her unique gift.
“Girl, I knew you were ‘that’ bad when you started color coding your underwear with the days of the week. Yellow on Sundays, pink on Mondays…”
“Nicole, stop. I was only eight. That was just a phase.” She still wore blue on Tuesdays, but Nicole didn’t have to know that.
“Yeah, a phase. That’s why you make your living creating schedules and routines for other people to follow.”
“I make good money as a life management consultant, and you know it.”
Knowing what Shayna was like in high school, Nicole, of all people, should understand. Shayna had never had her sister’s easy popularity and self-confidence. For years, if anyone was tripping over bleachers at football games or spilling drinks at parties, her name was Shayna. Carefully planning for every possibility had helped her pull herself together.
“Anyway, I called about Tiffany,” Shayna said, pushing old memories aside.
“Uh-oh.” Nicole’s voice took on a resigned what-has-my-child-done-now? tone.
“No, no. It’s nothing bad. I just wanted to tell you about the letter I got from her today.”
“Tif sent you a letter?”
“A chain letter.”
Nicole’s hearty laugh cut through the miles that separated Delaware from Maryland. “That’s my girl. Do you want to talk to the little troublemaker?”
“Please.”
“Hi, Aunt Shay,” Tiffany said with a burst of excitement. Shayna could picture the girl’s bright smile curving her caramel-colored cheeks.
“Hi, Tif. I got your chain letter today.”
“Well.” Tiffany sighed dramatically the way only nine-year-olds could. “You’d better get started right away, Aunt Shay. Mom says you’re long overdue for a boyfriend.”
Shayna made a mental note to strangle her sister.
“That’s why I called, Tiffany. Chain letters and other superstitions don’t really work. If you want something in life, you have to get it for yourself by working hard.”
“Oh, but it does work. Last week, Ricky Jacobs invited me to a pizza party. Then I started liking Jimmy Hunter…”
As Tiffany continued, Shayna couldn’t help noticing that a fourth grader had a more interesting social life than she did.
“Anyway, Amy Morton broke the chain, and boy, did she have it rough.”
“What do you mean?” Shayna asked despite herself.
“First she got a D on her math test, then her parents stopped letting her watch ‘Melrose Place’ and then—”
“Tiffany, those were just coincidences.”
“No. Her bad luck didn’t go away until—What? Okay, Mom. Mom says it’s time for dinner. I gotta go.”
“I’ll talk to you on Sunday, Tif. We can make plans for our slumber party.”
“Aunt Shay? Please don’t break the chain. I want you to find true love, not bad luck.”
Shayna smiled. “Thanks, Tif.” She hung up the phone, shaking her head. Apparently everyone knew she needed a man. She was nearing thirty, and according to her life plan it was time. But thank goodness she knew the proper way to go about finding the right man. Not chain letters. Not crystal balls or tarot cards. Just careful planning, plain and simple.
Shayna looked at her calendar. Each important date was color coded by event. Blue for business appointments, green for social events like movies or dinner, and purple for special occasions. She reserved red for dates with that special someone.
Unfortunately her calendar hadn’t seen red ink for months. There hadn’t been room in her schedule for dating. But that was about to change.
Shayna touched the purple lettering written in the block for next Saturday. “MBO Cocktail Mixer.” The local chapter of the Minority Business Owners, a support group for the self-employed, had been her salvation for the past three years. Now that her consulting business was taking off, the organization was going to help her find the perfect man.
Through careful research, Shayna had compiled a list of the MBO’s most eligible bachelors. They were all successful enough to be her equal, intelligent enough to bring good genes to the union and handsome enough to give her goose bumps. Any of the three men would be a good catch, but Phillip Browning, Jr., the owner of SoftTech Computer Consulting, headed the list. He dressed impeccably, spoke articulately and still had all his hair.
Shayna casually tossed the chain letter into her recycling bin as she reviewed her well-laid plans for Saturday evening. Yes, Phillip Browning, Jr. had definite potential, and in just four short days, she would know if he was “the one.”
Max Winston turned onto Wisconsin Avenue and headed for the Chevy Chase Holiday Inn. His windshield wipers were keeping perfect time with the old Motown song playing on the radio. The digital clock on his dashboard read 7:45. He was fifteen minutes late. Normally he didn’t worry about things like that, but he knew Shayna would be one of the first to arrive. In the six months he’d been a member of MBO, he’d learned that he could set his watch by that woman. She was so organized, he’d bet she color coded her underwear by the days of the week. Black on Mondays, red on Tuesdays…
Uh-oh! Max stepped on the gas pedal, trying to make the yellow light up ahead. It wasn’t wise to think about Shayna Gunther’s underwear while driving.
As he sped through the intersection, he heard a wild shriek. Glancing in his rearview mirror, he saw a bag lady wrapped in a garbage bag. She was bent over, trying to hold a sheet of newspaper over her head while struggling with an umbrella the wind had turned inside out. Max grimaced. Apparently he’d sloshed her good when he’d driven through a mud puddle.
“Sorry!” he called, tooting his horn, knowing she couldn’t hear him.
Twenty minutes later, Max swirled his cocktail and scanned the lounge again. Still no sign of Shayna. She was the only reason he’d bothered showing up in the first place. Now she was nowhere to be found, and he was stuck listening to the most boring guy in the room—Phillip Browning, Jr.
What was with this guy? Didn’t he know that no one cared how many copies of some duller-than-dirt accounting program he’d sold this week? Of course he didn’t know. He was too busy impressing himself.
Max surveyed the room again, this time searching for a way to exit the conversation. Hot damn. Both his prayers were answered at once. There was Shayna. Finally.
Max blinked. That was Shayna, wasn’t it? The woman slinking into the ladies’ room with her handbag covering her face had Shayna’s smooth honey brown complexion and slim sexy figure, but she looked like a drowned rat. A beautiful rat, but drowned nonetheless.
It had been raining when he arrived, but not hard enough to soak her like that. The front of her hair was plastered to her forehead and the back had frizzed into a puffy cloud. She hobbled on one foot because she’d apparently lost the heel of her other shoe.
Max turned back to Phillip, who was so absorbed in a monologue on his new line of Microsoft knockoffs, he hadn’t even noticed that Max wasn’t paying attention.
“I hate to cut you off, Phil, but I see a friend I need to talk to.”
Phillip’s face went blank for a moment, almost as if he were startled by the sound of someone else’s voice. “Sure, Matt, we’ll continue this later. I want to tell you about my new antivirus product.…”
Max backed away as Phillip picked up the conversation with his next victim.
Shayna stared at her reflection in the ladies’ room mirror, feeling close to tears. She was a wreck. She made her living planning, preparing for the unexpected and showing others how to do the same. How could this have happened?
She leaned her forehead on the cool glass of the mirror. Her perfect evening was over before it had even gotten started. Things couldn’t possibly get any worse.
“You okay in there?”
She looked up to find Max Winston peeking around the side of the ladies’ room door.
“Oh my God.” She tried to rake her fingers through her hair, but they got stuck in the frizzy mass. “Max, this is the ladies’ room. What are you doing in here?”
He stepped through the door and leaned against it. “I was worried about you. I saw you come in, but you never came back out.”
“So you decided to join me in the ladies’ room?”
He slipped his hands into his pockets, looking quite at home. “Nobody has come in here for at least five minutes. I knew you were alone. Besides, this is just the make-up-your-face area. I still have one more door to go through before I reach the point of no return.”
Shayna turned back to the mirror. Big mistake. For a split second she’d actually forgotten what a mess she was. She looked past her freestanding hair to the man behind her. Why, when she looked the worst she’d ever looked in her life, did Max Winston have to look the best she’d ever seen him?
This man, who came to every MBO meeting in T-shirts and blue jeans, was actually wearing a jacket. Pale gray. He was still wearing jeans but they were black—somehow it made a difference—and his offwhite shirt had a banded collar. He looked great.
He always looked great. In fact, he would have been at the top of her list of potential suitors if it weren’t for his fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants, spontaneous attitude that went against every principle she’d built her life upon. And now he had a front-row seat to the most humiliating night of her life.
Shayna felt like crying.
Max crossed to the mirror and looked over her shoulder. “So what happened, Shayna?” He pointed to her ruined shoes. “This is a risky fashion statement even for you.”
He was making jokes. Twenty-eight years of perfect grooming now amounted to no more than a silly joke. She met his eyes in the mirror. “You…want to know…what happened to me?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah, I’d like to know.”
She rounded on him. “You want to know what happened to me?”
He took a step back. “I…Well…You don’t have—”
“I’ll tell you…what happened…to me.” She turned back to the mirror, staring at her miserable reflection. Her voice sounded eerily calm to her own ears. “I bought a new dress just for tonight.” She smoothed her hands over her expensive white sheath, as she turned to face him. “Do you like this dress?”
He nodded obediently.
“And my hair…” She reached up to touch the flyaway strands, barely aware that Max’s gaze was still locked on the damp silk that clung to her curves. “I spent exactly twenty-three minutes trying to get my hair to curl like Naomi Campbell’s on the cover of Vogue.
“I looked good.” She stared at him. “I really did. When I left the house, I was feeling so good, a little rain couldn’t even get me down—after all, I always carry my trusty purse-size umbrella, right?” She laughed, almost hysterically. “I didn’t even blink when ‘a little rain’ turned into a full-fledged thunderstorm the moment I got out of the car to change my flat tire.”
“Ooh, that’s rough,” Max said sympathetically.
“No. It was okay. I was cool…until I discovered that my spare was flat, too.”
She held up a hand as if taking an oath. “But, like I tell my clients, ‘You must have a backup plan—always.’ So I called AAA and my neighbor Kitty, so she could meet Mr. Tow Truck Man and tell him where to tow my car. That way, I could just hop on the bus and make it here with time to spare, right?”
“Let me guess,” Max said, shaking his head. “It didn’t work out.”
“No! For some reason, today of all days, the bus comes five minutes early. So I’m running to catch it, and the heel on one of my two-hundred-dollar Italian shoes breaks off in a crack in the pavement. And, of course, I miss the bus.”
Max winced. “Okay, I get the picture.”
“Wait. There’s more. The next bus drops me off a block away from the hotel. So I’m walking, and the wind turns my cute little purse-size umbrella into a useless piece of junk. And there I am, in the middle of a storm. I’ve got a newspaper over my head to protect this glamorous hairstyle. I’m struggling with my crappy umbrella, and some jerk comes flying down the street and splatters the back of my dress with mud. Can you believe that?”
“Uh, is that your garbage bag?” he asked, pointing toward the crumpled black plastic on the counter.
“That’s not a garbage bag. It’s my handy-dandy-fold-up rain slicker,” she said with exaggerated cheerfulness. “What’s wrong? You look sick.”
“I feel really bad—for you—because you’ve been through so much tonight.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Shayna sighed, resigned to her fate. “It’s not your fault.”
Despite her reassurance, Max looked even more distressed.
“But could you do me a favor and call me a cab? I can’t go out there.”
Max frowned. “What? Leaving so soon? Come on now. You obviously went through a lot to get here. This evening is still salvageable.”
Shayna placed a hand on her hip. “Are you kidding me? I realize that nothing in life ever fazes you, Max, but even you’ve got to see that I have a problem here. My dress is ruined, so are my shoes. And I don’t even want to talk about my hair.”
Max stepped back for a moment, studying her. “We can work with this.”
Shayna just stared at him. This was a nightmare and she was going to wake up any minute.
“Let’s start with the dress,” he said, taking off his jacket. He handed it to her. “Try this on.”
Too confused to do anything else, she put on the lightweight jacket. Of course it was too big.
Max stepped forward, rolled up the sleeves and arranged the lapels. He stepped back, surveying his work. Shayna just stood there like a dressmaker’s dummy.
“Not bad.” He nodded.
She turned to the full-length mirror on her right. She never would have believed it, but the jacket helped a lot. She made a full circle. The jacket just brushed the hem of her dress, hiding the mud on the back of her skirt. From the front, her dress, which had been shielded by her broken umbrella, was clean, and the jacket hung in gentle folds on either side.
“It’s not bad, but what about my hair? And my shoes. I can’t go out there with the heel of my shoe missing.”
He touched her cheek. “You’re on your own with the hair, babe. But I can do something about the shoes. What size?”
“What?”
“What size? There’s a department store across the street. They don’t close until nine-thirty.”
Shayna was dumbfounded. “You’re going to buy me new shoes?”
He grinned. “Sure. Why not?”
Shayna sighed. Why not? “Well, let me get you some money.”
“Forget it. What size?”
“Seven, but—”
“Be right back.” He slipped out the door as suddenly as he’d appeared.
She turned back to the mirror. At least this evening couldn’t get any weirder. Ugh. What was she going to do about this hair?
Before Max returned, Shayna managed to retouch her makeup and pull her hair into a respectable French braid with light bangs falling over her forehead. The overall effect wasn’t stunning, but it was decent.
Two women had come in to fix their lipstick, when Max strolled in like he belonged there. “Hi, ladies,” he said, casually handing Shayna a bag from the shoe store.
She had to laugh when the two women exchanged looks, then hurried out.
Shayna pulled a pair of pearl gray pumps, the exact color of Max’s jacket, from the box. “These are beautiful.” She slipped them on, feeling like Cinderella.
She turned to the mirror. Not bad. Not bad at all. Maybe this evening would turn out okay after all. She looked at her watch. Nine o’clock. There was still time to find Phillip and—
“Shayna! Watch out!”
Max grabbed her arm and pulled her forward just as a ceiling tile fell right where she’d been standing.
2 (#ulink_a656ab34-88ab-5b95-9e31-aa12056f2955)
Shayna stared into her half-empty glass of white wine, fighting down a yawn. Who would have guessed that Phillip Browning, Jr. was such an incredible bore?
Her eyes had glazed over twenty minutes ago and Phillip had yet to notice. Not once had he asked her a single question about herself or her business. Instead, he stood next to her, droning on about his mention in Ebony magazine and his software products.
She couldn’t stand another minute of this, Shayna thought, glancing around for an escape route. From his spot at the buffet table, Max caught her eye and raised his glass in a cheerful salute. Shayna raised her glass in return, feeling another guilty twinge for the way she’d shrugged him off outside the ladies’ room.
He’d looked out for her tonight, pulling her out of the way before a rain-soaked ceiling tile would have fallen on her. She owed him for that…and more.
Max might not be her ideal dating material, but they definitely had the beginnings of a good friendship. She was just about to go over and tell him so, when Ruth Warner, MBO’s president, appeared at the podium for some closing announcements.
“I hope you have enjoyed tonight’s mixer. Let’s give Lynette Franklin and Ronald Johnson a big round of applause for making tonight a success.”
Everyone looked to the back of the room where Lynette and Ronald unclasped hands to wave and smile in response to the applause. The couple had become engaged six months after their first meeting. Lynette was the inspiration for Shayna’s eligible bachelors list. If Lynette could find Mr. Right among MBO’s membership, why couldn’t she?
Shayna glanced sideways at Phillip. He was definitely out of the running. How could she get involved with a man who couldn’t stop talking long enough to notice her? Thankfully, there were still two more names on her list. Candidate number two, Frederick Montgomery, wasn’t present that night, but the successful accountant was very active in the organization. Shayna was certain she’d run into him at the next event, which Ruth had just begun to announce.
“I hope to see you all on Monday night for our annual fund-raiser bake sale. Last year we raised over two thousand dollars. Let’s work toward breaking that record this year.”
Phillip leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I contributed significantly to last year’s profit with my grandmother’s award-winning peach cobbler. Ruth asked me to make it again this year,” he said proudly.
Shayna smiled politely, darting looks between her watch and the podium. Bring it home, Ruth. I can’t take much more of this.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening, ladies and gentlemen, and I hope to see you all Monday night.”
The minute Ruth stepped back from the microphone, Phillip started droning again. Shayna bit her lip, feeling trapped.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready to leave?”
She faced Max, showing her relief in her eyes. “As a matter of fact, I am.” Turning back to Phillip, she said, “I’m leaving now, but it was…nice talking to you.”
“Sure, sure, Shaunice. If you ever need any business software let me know. I’ll give you a discount.” He winked.
Shayna put her hand on her hip, staring after his retreating form. “Shaunice?”
Max took her elbow and began guiding her toward the door. “Don’t take it personally. He thinks my name is Matt.”
She stopped when they reached the hotel lobby. “Thanks for rescuing me, yet again. I guess I’ll see you Monday night?”
“How do you plan to get home?”
“I can take a cab.”
“Nonsense. I’ll give you a ride. You live in Rockville, right? That’s on my way.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
As they walked down to the parking garage, Shayna couldn’t help admiring Max’s profile. She couldn’t deny that he was a handsome man. His skin was the color of chestnuts and he had sexy chocolate brown eyes shaped like almonds. It really was too bad he wasn’t her type, because he was beginning to look better than the topping of an ice cream sundae.
But they couldn’t possibly have anything in common. The man made a living playing video games, for goodness’ sake. She needed someone who could share her appreciation for time and order. Max never showed up for a meeting on time—once he was a day late for a Saturday brunch meeting she’d hosted. She’d bet he didn’t even own a calendar. The two of them were such opposites, they’d probably drive each other crazy.
But he was sweet…She had to blink away the image of Max sitting on top of a mound of vanilla ice cream, wearing nothing but hot fudge. She had a weakness for sweets, which is why she only indulged on rare occasion. If she wasn’t careful, she’d develop a weakness for Max, and she couldn’t indulge in him at all.
He stopped in front of a dark green Pathfinder and her eyes widened. No, it couldn’t be. She looked down at the license plate. “This is your car.” She turned to him, and when she saw the guilt etched on his forehead, she knew for sure.
He held up his hands as if to ward her off. “Look, I’m sorry, Shayna. I was trying to make a yellow light. I couldn’t help—”
“It was you! I can’t believe you were the jerk who splattered my dress with mud. No wonder you’ve been so eager to help me out tonight.”
“Now, Shayna, I had no idea that was you until I saw your rain slicker in the bathroom. I came looking for you because I was concerned.” He unlocked the passenger door and held it open for her.
Shayna stood outside debating whether or not to get into the truck with him. The night had been such a disaster. It annoyed her that he had a part in it—even if by accident. She’d actually been reconsidering his dating potential. Clearly the chaos of the evening was getting to her.
In the morning she’d wake up in her normal orderly world and everything would make sense again.
Shaking her head, Shayna climbed into the truck. The sooner she got home and got into bed, the sooner this nightmare would be over.
Max took the long route home, hoping to coax Shayna out of her funk before he had to drop her off. He’d been making progress until she saw his Pathfinder. When he offered her a ride, it had never occurred to him that she might recognize his truck. He’d only been thinking of the wistful look he’d caught her sending him from across the room.
When he’d approached her, her honey-colored eyes had gone soft and fluttery. He’d waited six months for Shayna to look at him like that. Now that she had, he wasn’t going to blow it over his poor driving manners.
“Are you still awake over there?” he asked. She’d leaned her head against the headrest and her eyes were closed. “I need directions through your complex.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
She’d given that same response to all his attempts at conversation. He was fighting a losing battle, but he wasn’t about to give up. He had about a minute and a half to turn the evening around. By the time he drove up to her town house, he had an idea.
“I’ll walk you to your door,” he said, starting to turn off the ignition.
She held up her hand. “That isn’t necessary. Here.” She handed him three crisp twenty-dollar bills.
“What’s this?”
“The money I owe you for the shoes.”
He tried to hand it back. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, I need to ask you for a favor.”
“Take the money.”
The look in her eyes said she meant business, so he tucked the bills into his shirt pocket.
“Now what can I do for you?” she asked, folding her hands in her lap.
The old Shayna was back—all about schedules and routines. The vulnerable young woman he’d met tonight was well hidden behind a professional veneer.
“Ruth Warner twisted my arm about this bake sale thing, and I ended up promising to bring a chocolate mousse cake.”
She raised her brows. “I’m impressed. That’s a challenging recipe.”
“I know.”
“Don’t feel bad. Ruth can be persuasive.”
“Well, there’s only one problem—I can’t cook worth a damn.”
“Why didn’t you tell her that?”
“I told her I might be able to manage a few of those slice-and-bake chocolate-chip cookies, but in two minutes she had me convinced I was underestimating my abilities. A few choice words about public service and a mention in the Gazette, and I went from frozen cookie dough to homemade chocolate mousse cake.”
Shayna sighed, nodding in sympathy. “I understand. So you want help breaking the news to Ruth, is that it?”
“Actually, I was hoping you’d save my…uh, britches and help me figure out how to cook a cake.”
Shayna winced. “You don’t ‘cook’ a cake. You bake it. That’s why it’s called a bake sale.”
“So will you take pity on me?”
She looked up reluctantly, and Max was afraid she would turn him down. “I realize this is short notice. You probably have to bake something yourself.”
“Actually, I made my strawberry shortcake yesterday.” She gave him a long look, before a small smile bloomed on her lips. “I suppose I can help you out.”
“Great.” They made arrangements for Shayna to come over the next afternoon, and Max wrote the directions to his house on the back of the bake sale flyer. “I appreciate you helping me out like this.”
Her lips curved sweetly. “You were a good friend to me tonight. Helping you with this cake is the least I can do.” Her sweet smile turned wicked as she reached for the door handle. “Even if tonight’s disaster was partially your fault.”
Max turned to look at her, worried she was still upset. She looked over her shoulder, and he saw her eyes dancing with humor.
“Night, Max.”
“Night, Shayna.” As he watched her walk to her door, Max smiled, satisfied that the evening was ending on a positive note.
Just as Shayna’s foot hit her front step, she went down.
Max was out of the truck and halfway up the walk before she got to her feet. “Shayna! Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes,” she said, clutching one of her new shoes to her chest. She brushed away his helpful hands. “I’m fine, really. Thank you.” She waved him off as she scrambled on one foot to the door.
After dropping her keys a few times, she finally managed to hobble into the house. Just before the door closed behind her, he heard her swear.
“Damn! That’s the second pair of shoes I’ve ruined tonight.”
Chuckling, Max walked back to his truck. He never would have guessed Shayna was such a klutz.
The earsplitting shrill of her telephone jolted Shayna into consciousness. She reached across her clock radio for the phone, but her fingers only grazed the receiver as she struggled to make sense of the numbers on the digital display—1:38. In the afternoon! She nearly fell out of bed.
As she pulled herself into an upright position, the phone continued to shriek. She grabbed the receiver. “Hello!”
“Shayna? It’s Max. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, of course.” Never mind that the day was half over and she hadn’t gone to aerobics, started her laundry or reviewed the week’s client files.
“Good. Then we’re still on for this afternoon?”
This afternoon? The cake! “Yes, yes definitely.”
“Didn’t we say one o’clock?”
Her clock now read forty minutes past the hour. “Really? I thought we said two o’clock.” Her pride wouldn’t allow her to admit that, for the first time in ten years, she’d missed an appointment.
“Oh, okay. I should have known. You know how I am about these things. So I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”
“I was just on my way out the door.”
“Good. See you soon.”
Twenty minutes! Shayna stared at her closet in panic. Since she hadn’t done her laundry that morning, most of her jeans and casual clothes were still in the hamper. She studied the array of skirts and suits. It was either a suit or…
Her eyes strayed to the workout clothes she’d laid out for the aerobics class she’d missed. She didn’t have time to be fashion conscious, and if she showed up in a dress, Max might think she was trying to impress him.
Running for the shower, Shayna washed and dressed in record time. She pulled her hair into a ponytail as she raced down the stairs. After grabbing a dessert cookbook from the pantry, she lifted her keys from the hook.
Shayna smiled down at her watch—1:59. Not bad. She’d be a little late, but Max only lived a few minutes away. Once outside, she scanned the lot for her white Toyota.
That was strange. She usually parked it…
Shayna slammed her palm into her forehead. Her car was still at the service station.
Max looked up from the video game he was working on to check the time. Two-thirty. His brows rose. He’d expected to hear her car pull up right on the dot. But then again, Shayna hadn’t been her usual self lately.
Then he heard tires screeching in front of the house. He walked over to the window in time to see a very rumpled Shayna stumble out of a Toyota Camry. By the time he’d climbed the basement stairs and pulled open the front door, she was raising her hand to knock.
She hurried inside then spun on her heel to face him. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I forgot my car was at the service station, and my neighbor Kitty had to—”
He held up his hand to stop her. “It’s okay. By my standards, this is right…on time.” He couldn’t keep his eyes from straying to her hair. Looking away, he tried to repress the grin he felt coming to his lips, but it was already too late.
Following his gaze, Shayna reached up to pat her head. Her ponytail slumped to one side like a fallen tree, and spiky strands were sprouting out all around it. “Oh my goodness. Where’s your bathroom?”
He pointed to the top of the stairs, chuckling as she took them two at a time.
As he waited for her to return, Max realized this was yet another side of Shayna he hadn’t seen before. Rumpled and mussed, dressed in a faded red sweatshirt, stretch pants and running shoes, she looked comfortable and…cute.
Max grinned. Like she’d just rolled out of bed.
Maybe he’d misjudged Shayna and her rigidity. Sure she was always talking about organization at the meetings, but maybe she was more relaxed in her personal life. Perhaps they had more in common than he’d thought.
She came downstairs, looking more like the Shayna he was used to. She’d straightened her ponytail and secured it with one of those bunchies, crunchies or whatever women wore in their hair these days.
He smiled at her. “You didn’t have to fix it on my account.”
She gave him a sheepish grin that made him want to hug her. “You seem to be catching all my bad hair days.”
He reached out to tug on her ponytail. “You always look great to me.” As he pulled his hand back, his fingers grazed her neck, and her eyes widened before she dropped her gaze to the floor.
So she felt it, too. Good, Max thought. Now all he had to do was get her to admit it.
Shayna stepped away, nodding as she glanced around. “You have a nice house.” Her tone sounded almost surprised.
“Thanks,” he said, feeling an uneasy twinge as he realized she probably was.
He knew she didn’t have much regard for the fact that he made a living playing video games. She’d probably expected to find him living in a cluttered little shack with plastic furniture and cardboard shelves. He made a good living, and he couldn’t resist showing off a little. “Let me show you around.”
“Sure,” she said, following him upstairs.
By the time they’d made it down to Max’s office in the basement, Shayna had given him tips on folding towels, eliminating dust bunnies, and how he could save himself fifteen extra minutes in the morning by switching his socks from the top to the bottom drawer.
“So this is it.” Shayna turned around, taking in his office. “This is a nice setup.”
Max waited, knowing what was about to follow.
“But you know…”
He grinned. He’d recently learned that all of Shayna’s helpful hints began that way.
“If you move your desk over to the window, you could take advantage of the natural sunlight in the morning.”
Okay, so she wasn’t as laid-back as he’d hoped, and they were as’ opposite as night and day. That’s what Max liked about her.
He knew exactly where she was coming from. He used to be a slave to deadlines and schedules, and he saw so much of his old self in Shayna. Part of him had to admire her devotion to a life-style he hadn’t been able to maintain. Another part of him wondered if she would burn herself out the way he had. He knew just what kind of discipline it took to keep up such a rigid pace. He also knew that it eventually took its toll.
Max liked having the freedom to dive off in a new direction the minute an idea surfaced. He’d given up trying to conquer the waves. Now he was content to go with the flow, letting life carry him where it pleased. Would Shayna learn to do the same, or would the currents eventually pull her under?
“Explain to me again how a grown man makes a living playing video games.” Shayna was examining the shelves that contained his extensive collection of games and entertainment systems.
“Have you ever played a video game?”
Shayna shrugged. “I played a couple games with my niece at Christmas, but I never really got the hang of it.”
“Well, it can be addicting. People—not just kids—are willing to pay a lot of money to someone who can get them through the rough spots. I produce a newsletter that provides hot tips for the latest games, and I have a small staff that mans a video game hotline.”
Shayna studied the fifty-inch television in the middle of his office. “Where do you get these tips from?”
He grinned. “From playing the games.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand. Isn’t that what everybody does? How do you discover these tips no one else can?”
He grinned mischievously. “It’s what I do.”
She shot him an exasperated look.
“Actually, I have an advantage. I used to design video game programs myself. I know what to look for.”
“You used to design video games? You actually wrote the programs?”
He nodded, preparing for her next logical question.
“Then why—”
“Why did I give up designing games to play with them?”
“Yes. Obviously your business is doing well, but programming video games could make you a millionaire. Why would you trade that in?”
“Because of the typical politics that come with big business. To make a long story short, it wasn’t fun anymore. The challenge was gone. I enjoy solving the puzzle, finding the quirks and traps in someone else’s games. I still knock off a game of my own every now and then, but I’m a free agent, my own boss.”
Her brow was furrowed, as if she were still working it out in her head.
“It’s just like you and life management consulting. You took something you had a natural talent for, something you enjoy, and you turned it into a business. It’s the same thing. I wanted to be in control, make my own schedule. And most of all, play video games all day.”
She raised her eyes and he saw a respect that he’d never seen in those honey-gold depths before. “I do understand. It takes a lot of courage to give up security and take this kind of chance.”
He felt a blush creep up his jaw at her unexpected understanding. “Aw, shucks, ma’am.” The room became silent. “Why don’t we get started with that cake?”
“Right.” Shayna sprang into action, heading for the stairs. “Let’s see what you have.”
In the kitchen, Shayna pulled open the refrigerator, then turned to smirk at him over her shoulder. “This is the typical bachelor’s setup. Baking soda, a jar of mustard and beer?”
He shrugged. That’s exactly the reaction he’d been going for when he’d emptied the refrigerator last night. He figured she’d judge his culinary skills from the ingredients in his kitchen, and he wasn’t going to take any chances on her guessing the truth.
Something told him that Shayna wouldn’t be so sympathetic to his situation if she realized he came from a long line of gourmet chefs.
3 (#ulink_892fab75-5a58-5d24-8ffd-1b7a4c784b5a)
Shayna closed Max’s refrigerator, shaking her head. This was going to be more of a challenge than she’d realized.
“Okay, Max, we’ll have to go to the store. You don’t even have the basics. Let me see your recipe so we can figure out exactly what we need.”
His brows rose innocently. “Recipe?”
“Yes. Don’t you have a…You don’t, do you?”
He showed her his straight white teeth, as if flashing that sexy smile would make up for everything. “Well, no.”
She grinned. Somehow she just couldn’t argue with that smile. “Lucky for you, I grabbed one of my cookbooks on the way out. It’s in the car.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “You think of everything. I appreciate you helping me out like this.”
“No problem.” She thought of everything? Yeah, right. She used to think of everything, but today was a different story. She wasn’t even sure if the cookbook she’d brought had a chocolate mousse cake recipe. There hadn’t been time to check. “Let me go get it. I’ll be right back.”
“Wait. I’ll grab my keys and we can leave for the store.”
She looked at him in surprise. “But we haven’t made a list yet.”
Max shrugged. “Why make a list when we already have the cookbook?”
“You want to lug a cookbook around the grocery store with us?”
“We can manage.”
Shayna shook her head in confusion. “Max, it only takes five minutes to write out a list.”
“It only takes five minutes to drive to the grocery store.” He winked at her, leading her into the hallway. “See, I just showed you how to save yourself five extra minutes.”
Shayna rolled her eyes, realizing that she’d been beaten at her own game. They retrieved the cookbook from her car, then got into Max’s Pathfinder.
While she flipped through the cookbook, Max turned on the radio. She was just about to ask him whether he preferred Ultimate Chocolate Mousse Cake or the Chocolate Mocha Mousse Cake, when the chorus to an old Smokey Robinson song came up.
Max sang loud, off-key and with feeling.
Shayna stared at him. He gave her a sympathetic look, but continued to sing with all his heart. When the chorus came up again, he tapped her knee, inviting her to join in. She looked at him in horror.
Max winked, singing even louder.
He hit the high note flat, but it didn’t matter. Steering, with one arm, through the light Sunday traffic, he leaned back, fully enjoying the music.
At the end of the song, he turned down the radio and sighed. “Damn, I wish I could sing.”
A giggle slipped past Shayna’s lips. “You’re not the only one.” They looked at each other and set off in a fit of laughter.
He began to sing along with the next song, and Shayna had to smile. Despite a strong baritone voice, Max couldn’t hit a note with a sledgehammer. But he didn’t let that stop him…and that was actually pretty endearing.
Most men she knew would never allow her to see them at such a disadvantage, and they certainly wouldn’t be able to laugh at themselves about it. They always had to maintain a veneer of control—the way she did.
The unwanted picture of Phillip Browning, Jr. singing James Brown’s “I Feel Good” popped into Shayna’s mind, and she almost laughed out loud. Only, in this rendition, he would probably change the word feel to look, then take credit for writing an original song.
“We’re here.” Max shifted the truck into park, and as they walked toward the grocery store, he gestured at the slip of paper in her hand. “What’s that?”
She felt her cheeks heat. “It’s a list. I made it in the car.”
He chuckled.
“It won’t be as effective because I don’t know how the aisles are laid out in this store. You can save more time if you make your list according to the aisles.”
Still chuckling at her words, Max picked out a shopping cart. Shayna couldn’t help feeling as though he were laughing at her.
She followed him through the automatic doors. “I know you don’t have much reverence for schedules, but they can really make a difference in your life.”
Pushing the cart toward the first aisle, Max smiled at her politely. “I believe you. What’s the first item on the list?”
“You know…” Shayna said, frowning thoughtfully. “You should let me work up a plan for you. Something simple. Consider it a professional courtesy.”
“Uh, Shayna—”
Determined to make him take her seriously, she pressed on. “Really, Max, just think—”
His gaze was fixed beyond her. “Shayna, watch out!”
She turned in time to see a shopping cart careening toward her. Inside was a toddler clapping his hands and shouting, “Whee!” An older boy chased after him.
Trapped between a centerpiece display of eggplant and the orange stand, Shayna had only one choice. She pressed herself against the rows of oranges until she was practically sitting on them. The boys whooshed by.
Her relief was short-lived.
One.
By one.
Oranges.
Began dropping.
To the floor.
Shayna spread her arms, trying to block the falling fruit, but her weight only added to their momentum. Oranges shot out in every direction, rolling down the aisle and under displays.
“Max! Help me!”
Max, who had been standing off to the side, openmouthed, wheeled the empty shopping cart over to her. “Okay, now slowly step away,” he instructed.
She gently eased sideways and the oranges that had been stacked at her back fell into the cart. “What a mess.”
Oranges were everywhere. A young woman in a long skirt was hopscotching over the rolling fruit with a carton of milk and a bag of bagels tucked under her arms. At the end of the aisle, the older of the two boys from the shopping cart derby was trying to juggle oranges, while the toddler clapped with glee.
Max darted around the aisle, gathering oranges while Shayna tried restacking the ones that had fallen into the cart. After she’d stacked three oranges, the pile rolled back off. No matter how she tried, the fruit wouldn’t stay put.
“What’s going on here?” a stock boy asked Shayna just as Max returned with his arms full of oranges.
The mother of the two grocery circus performers showed up to pull her boys away, leaving Shayna and Max to take the blame.
Shayna tried to stack another orange on the stand. “There was a little accident” The orange rolled off onto the stock boy’s foot…followed by three more.
“Aw, man.” The teenager reached down to pick up the oranges. “When I applied for this job, they promised me stuff like this only happened on television.”
“I’m so sorry.” Shayna filled her arms with fruit, trying to help the boy refill the display. He turned suddenly and she spilled her armload all over him.
The boy cursed under his breath, shooing her away. “I’ll take care of it. Just go.”
Shayna and Max hastily rounded the corner into the next aisle. Feeling her cheeks sting, she motioned to the oranges—at least two dozen—that still layered the bottom of their cart.
Max waved her off, obviously struggling to keep a straight face. “Leave ‘em. You can never have too much vitamin C.”
“Okay, we’ve gotten the eggs, butter and cream. All we need now is chocolate.” Max steered Shayna toward the candy aisle. She’d refused to handle the eggs because she swore, with her luck, she’d break them all.
“Good.” Shayna moaned, eyeing the oranges in their cart, now stored safely in plastic bags. “Then we can leave before I strike again.”
Max shook his head warily. She did seem to be having a rough time of it lately. He’d thought what happened at the mixer last night was a once-in-alifetime catastrophe, but since then he’d come to the conclusion that Shayna was just straight-up clumsy.
Until recently she’d always been cool and collected, and it warmed him to see this side of her. He found her clumsiness endearing. But the old Shayna was still alive and well. In between dodging shopping carts and skating on spilled detergent, she’d managed to talk him into buying a pocket planner and changing his brand of toothpaste.
Max picked up the large bittersweet chocolate bar the recipe called for. When he returned to the cart, he found Shayna studying a row of chocolate almond candy bars with open lust.
“Shayna?”
“Hmm?” She faced him with a dreamy, glassyeyed look.
“If you want a candy bar, just get one.”
She bit her lip in obvious distress. “No. I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Chocolate is my biggest weakness. I only let myself indulge on special occasions.”
Max walked over, picked a candy bar and held it out to her. “Life is too short to be so hard on yourself. If you want something, you have to take it.” He waved the candy bar. “Take it.”
She turned away. “No. No. No. I try to maintain a well-balanced diet. It would show a terrible lack of discipline for me to give in.”
“Shayna, you have a gorgeous figure. One little candy bar isn’t going to—”
She turned back, clearly embarrassed. “No, that’s not it. I want it too much, and that’s why I need to restrain myself. I control the chocolate.…The chocolate doesn’t control me.”
After a final longing look at the candy bar, she turned and began pushing their cart up the aisle.
“I’ll have to remember that,” Max said, following behind her.
After filling the cart with all the necessary ingredients, they headed for the checkout line.
“This way,” Max said, steering her to the left.
“But, Max, that’s the longest line. This one over here is shorter.”
He shook his head. “Maybe, but the quality of service isn’t the same. Trust me, this lane will be worth the wait.”
Shayna eyed the line, making no effort to hide her frustration. “How could any lane be worth a wait this long?”
Max realized the lane was at least twice as long as the others, and Shayna seemed baffled by the fact that no one else seemed to mind. Couples chattered softly among themselves, while others flipped through magazines from the display racks.
As they neared the front, Shayna released another incredulous sigh. She jabbed her elbow into his side. “Max, this woman is the worst,” she said, referring to the checkout clerk, a heavyset woman with a short salt-and-pepper Afro. “She’s doing more socializing than grocery packing.”
He just grinned blithely. “Nah, May Belle’s the best. She’s the main reason I shop here.”
When they reached the head of the line, Shayna looked ready to jump out of her skin. She hastily unloaded their cart, clearly anxious for their shopping excursion to end.
“Well, hi, sugar. How are you doing this afternoon?” May Belle greeted Max with more warmth than some of his relatives at family reunions.
“I’m just fine, May Belle. How are you feeling?”
“Well, now, you know it’s been a trial.” May Belle started with her aching corns and worked her way up to the chronic pain in her back.
“Hang in there, May Belle.”
“Oh, Lord, I do try, but you know how they like to work a poor woman to death up in this place.” The sparkle in her eyes said she wouldn’t have it any other way. “Enough about me. Let’s see what you got here.”
Then May Belle’s eyes fell on Shayna. “My goodness, boy, why didn’t you tell me you finally found yourself a girlfriend? And she’s beautiful, too. Don’t you two make a handsome couple.”
“This is Shayna Gunther, May Belle, and we’re just friends. Right now.”
Shayna opened and closed her mouth, the color in her cheeks deepening. Max winked at Shayna, enjoying her flustered reaction.
“Nonsense.” May Belle leaned toward Shayna. “Honey, let me tell you something. This boy is the best catch around. And they come from all over to pass through my lane, so May Belle knows. You married?”
“No, ma’am,” Shayna squeaked.
“Then, sweetheart, look no farther. Look at him. As handsome as the day is long, sweeter than Mama’s homemade pudding, and he can coo—”
“May Belle, please. You’re embarrassing me.” Max was actually enjoying the attention, but May Belle was about to blow his cover.
“And modest, too. Don’t worry, sugar. I’ve said my piece.” She winked at Shayna, returning her attention to the groceries. “My, my, my, you got a lot of oranges.”
“No, no, Shayna. That’s not how you fold the egg mixture. That’s more of a chopping motion.” Max rushed to her side to take over.
She let him take the bowl from her. “I know, but the spatula hits right where I burned myself, and that makes it difficult to…”
“It’s okay, I understand. Why don’t you grate the…Actually, why don’t you sit over there and have a break?”
Shayna slunk over to a chair. “I’m not usually like this, Max. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I came over here to help you, and I’m just making a mess of everything.”
Max looked over his shoulder at her as he gently folded the eggs into the chocolate like an old pro. “You’re doing fine. We all have days like this.”
She watched his effortless motions. “You sure seem to be catching on quick.”
“You’re a good teacher.”
She scoffed. “Yeah, right. So far I’ve taught you how to burn yourself preheating an oven, ruin batter by dropping hundreds of microscopic eggshells into it, and now you’re afraid to let me grate the chocolate because you’re thinking I’ll scrape off what’s left of my fingernails.”
Shayna watched glumly as Max carried out the remaining steps of the recipe. Once again he was gliding through life as smooth as silk while she bumped over polyester naps. How could this be?
He could stroll through the store without being distracted by bags of chocolate-chip cookies or almond candy bars. She had to keep both eyes on a list or she’d be overwhelmed by temptation.
How nice it must be to buy things just because you want them. To leave at a moment’s notice and arrive without warning. Max, for all his casual disorder and spontaneous chaos, seemed so…free.
Shayna experienced a fleeting moment of envy.
No, she scolded herself. These last few days had proven that when she left one thread unbound, the entire fabric of her life began to unravel.
She sat in Max’s kitchen a frazzled wreck because she’d allowed herself to get off schedule—damn that alarm clock. Veering off her routine left her flustered and disoriented. That must explain her clumsiness. High school all over again.
This is what it was like to be out of control—like a derailed train, plowing into oblivion.
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