Читать книгу Her So-Called Fiancé - Abby Gaines - Страница 10

THE BEAUTY QUEEN’S instruction manual was conspicuously silent on the protocol for telling a man who hates you that he’s now your fiancé.

Which meant Sabrina had to figure out her own way to tell Jake, and to enlist his support. Soon. The trust planned to announce her appointment tomorrow, and although she’d emphasized to the directors that her engagement wasn’t yet public, was in fact totally secret, one of them was bound to let slip what was apparently her highest qualification for the job.

As soon as she left Richard’s penthouse, she called Jake’s campaign office from the sanctuary of her lime-green VW Beetle. A staff member told her Jake had a couple of media interviews this afternoon, after which he would go directly to the senior art exhibition at Wellesley High, a private school in Buckhead.

The staffer gave her Jake’s cell-phone number, but his phone was switched off. Sabrina left a couple of urgent but non-specific messages. Though she kept her phone close as she ran errands around town, he didn’t call back. You’d think he’d return calls from the woman who held his political future in her hands…The thought of wielding so much power cheered Sabrina as she walked into Happy Hands for her five-o’clock manicure appointment.

“You poor sweetie.” Tina, the manicurist, hugged Sabrina. “Vile reporters, saying those things about you.”

“I’m over it,” Sabrina told her as she settled into the chair and immersed her hands in a steaming bowl of scented water. “I’m moving on.”

“Good girl.” Tina chatted for a minute about the evening dresses worn at the Miss U.S.A. Pageant, then patted Sabrina’s hands dry with a soft towel. She pumped some moisturizer into her palms, and began massaging it into Sabrina’s skin. “What color today? Scarlet Woman?”

Sabrina flinched. “Make it Lilac Surprise.”

Surprise was perhaps an understatement for how Jake would feel about her announcement. But he couldn’t get too mad, not when their engagement would help him.

She just needed to tell him about it before anyone else did. He’d invited her to attend the high school exhibition, and that was what she would do.

Sabrina tipped her head back, closed her eyes and tried to plan what she would say.

Despite Tina’s relaxing ministrations, the forty-five minutes Sabrina spent at Happy Hands weren’t as productive as she’d have liked. Her mind persisted in playing out scenarios that left her…nervous.

She could see herself telling Jake about the engagement, burying the E word discreetly within the wonderful news that she was willing to support him for governor. Unfortunately, she couldn’t envisage Jake’s gratitude. It seemed more probable that his laser mind would zoom in on the fiancé thing and…mostly, the scenarios ended with him strangling her and burying her in a shallow grave. Yikes.

THE WELLESLEY HIGH art exhibition and auction was an annual event that attracted a strong turnout from the Buckhead locals, many of whose children were current or former students at the school. Several professional artists, some of them quite well-known, had donated works that hung alongside the teenagers’. The school probably hoped to raise tens of thousands of dollars from tonight’s soiree.

Sabrina still hadn’t heard from Jake as she wandered through the growing crowd. The official opening was at seven-thirty. It was seven now, and there was no sign of the guest of honor.

Maybe he was picking up his date. Sabrina almost dropped her smoked-salmon canapé. Did Jake have a girlfriend? She popped the canapé into her mouth, where it promptly turned to cardboard. A girlfriend would complicate matters, to put it mildly.

Tyler would have told her if Jake was seeing someone, he always did. As if he worried she might be hurt at the unexpected sight of Jake with another woman.

Sabrina tugged at her dress to make sure it hadn’t ridden up on her hips. She’d dressed for tonight with expert attention to her appearance—the one thing she was invariably good at. Her knee-length white silk shift dress, its high collar threaded with gold and silver, was very classy. Lots of gravitas.

Perfect for the spokesperson of a charitable trust. Or for a governor’s fiancée.

She abandoned her mineral water and accepted a glass of chardonnay from one of the school’s senior students acting as servers.

Several people greeted her, mostly friends of her father’s. Her dad should be here, too. He’d gone straight to his office when he flew in from Dallas this morning, which meant so far, she’d been spared a rehashing of the chunky-thighs fiasco.

Sabrina made the requisite small talk, but with more difficulty than usual. With every passing minute her sense of urgency grew.

She sipped her wine, but the excellent vintage, which she knew should taste peachy with a hint of oak, might as well have been antifreeze. She paid scant attention to the artworks people pointed out to her. The exhibition was titled Climb; students had been asked to create paintings or sculptures on the theme of upward movement. Maybe it was a good omen, she thought in an attempt to be positive, of the direction her career and Jake’s were about to go.

She was talking to Duncan Frith, the school principal, when she saw Jake shouldering his way through the throng. At first glance he looked ultracivilized—not to mention gorgeous—in his dark custom-made suit and white shirt. Every woman in the place followed him with her eyes. As he neared her, Sabrina realized his expression was thunderous, his mouth set in a grim line that promised zero tolerance for accidental announcements of impending nuptials.

He knows.

His eyes found her, and she had the sense of being lined up in a rifle’s sights. Even as her brain reminded her she needed to speak to him, the instincts honed by a lifetime of pampering told her to run. She would grow up and take responsibility next week.

She’d barely managed to maneuver around Duncan’s considerable girth, when her elbow was clamped in a viselike grip and Jake muttered, “Oh no you don’t.”

“Jake!” She pinned a bright, sociable smile to her lips, while her eyes clung to her destination, the red fire-exit sign gleaming at the back of the room. No longer an option, she conceded reluctantly.

“Jake, glad you could make it.” Duncan Frith shook Jake’s free hand then consulted his watch. “We have ten minutes until the official speeches—let me get you a drink.”

“I need a word with Sabrina first.” Jake tugged her arm.

She could almost smell the damp earth of the shallow grave. She would be insane to go anywhere with him. “Duncan was just telling me how about the senior history curriculum, and it reminded me of your encyclopedic knowledge of Georgia state history.” Under the circumstances, a touch of flattery could do no harm.

“Geography,” Duncan corrected her tolerantly. “We were talking about geography.”

Jake growled. “Excuse us, Duncan.”

Without waiting for a reply, he dragged Sabrina toward the far end of the room, where a cordon marked the end of the exhibition.

She glanced over her shoulder, but didn’t see any gorgeous, sophisticated woman in their wake. “Did you bring a date?” she asked.

He paused in his Neanderthal dragging. “Why do you ask?”

“Neither did I. Rather a coincidence,” she chirped, “that you and I should be single at the same time. Usually one of us is dating and the other…” She trailed off. Not only was she babbling, a habit Jake despised, but she was also revealing that she paid attention to his love life.

He unclipped the cordon, pushed her through and clipped the velvet rope behind them again. As barriers went, it did little to separate them from the masses…So why did Sabrina feel as if Jake had her alone on a precipice?

“Why did a Richard Ainsley call my campaign office and ask Susan when I plan to announce my support for his school for injured kids?” he demanded. “I assume that’s the school you work for.”

Sabrina’s mind raced. “Er…was that all Richard said?”

“What else might he have said?” Jake asked silkily.

She took a slug of wine. “Did he mention my, uh, relationship with you?”

“Relationship?” Jake frowned. “No.” Then, just as Sabrina relaxed, he snapped, “Unless you mean our engagement!”

Sabrina took a step backward. “I can explain.”

“Tell it to my campaign manager,” he said grimly. “I’ve spent the past half hour convincing an ecstatic Susan there’s no engagement. I think she finally accepted it, but your explanation as to how the confusion arose would help.”

Hmm, some backpedaling required with Susan Warrington tomorrow, Sabrina feared. “Susan will be pleased to hear,” she said, “that I’m willing to support you publicly in the race for governor.”

He stilled. “Is this in exchange for me supporting your school?” His hand went to his back pocket, as if he might write a check this instant.

“That…and more.” She finished the glass of wine. “You have to be my fiancé. Not my real fiancé,” she hastened to add. “And not forever. Just until I’m settled in my new job.”

Something dawned in his eyes, and it wasn’t gratitude. “The new job you got all by yourself, the one that proves you’re finally grown-up and independent?”

She swallowed, and wished someone would hurry up and invent the self-replenishing wineglass. “There’s been a glitch. A temporary one. My recent media exposure damaged my credibility as a spokesperson for the trust.”

He snorted. “The Miss U.S.A. garbage?”

“The trust—the directors—said I lack gravitas.”

“Well, you do.”

“Thank you so much,” she hissed, seeing a chance to reclaim the moral high ground. For good measure, she let her lower lip quiver, a tactic she’d been known to employ in her younger days, but one she wouldn’t have resorted to now in anything but the direst emergency.

The quivering bypassed Jake. “Sabrina, you’ve never been serious in your life.” He paused. “Except when you were learning to walk again. You were damn serious about that.”

“That’s how I feel about this job,” she said urgently. “It’s that important. All I need to convince these people I’m more than a pretty face is you as my fiancé—”

“Let’s get this straight,” he interrupted. “You actually told this Richard Ainsley we’re engaged? It’s not some wrong conclusion he jumped to?”

This was it. She closed her eyes, and jumped. “Yes.”

She peeked through her lashes as he flung a wild glance around the room. When he turned back, his eyebrows were a dark, angry slash. “But it’s a lie. A crazy lie.”

“I only told Richard. And the other members of the Trust’s board. I said it’s a secret, but obviously—”

“You lied.”

Did he have to keep stating the obvious? Several people were looking at them. Sabrina leaned into Jake, trying to signal the need for discretion.

“Think about it, Jake, this could be good for both of us. Getting engaged is far better than my endorsement of your campaign. You said yourself I’m more popular than ever thanks to my legs.”

“You would marry me to get this job,” he said, dazed.

“Technically, no. But it will appear that we’re getting married.”

He clutched his head. “You’re sabotaging my campaign.”

“I’m saving your campaign. In the past few weeks, the newspapers have speculated that you’re having an affair with a married woman, that you’re dating a coed, that you’re secretly engaged to the daughter of a former Indian prime minister.”

“None of that’s true,” he snapped.

“Now people will know for sure.”

There was a charged silence while he absorbed her logic.

“All you have to do is say yes to my proposal.” Bad choice of words; Sabrina winced. “Proposition,” she amended.

He rubbed his temples. “This is the kind of idea only you could come up with. Breaking up with you was like breaking out of Fairyland.”

Her eyes smarted, but she said airily, “And I’ll bet you miss the magic.”

He held her gaze, staring her down for several long seconds. Long enough for Sabrina to regroup. She grabbed his arm, determined to make her point before he stormed out and denounced her to Richard Ainsley. “I’m sure you have interns hitting on you all the time—” she swallowed her pride “—just like I used to.”

He scowled as he looked down at her hand on his arm. “I hit on you.” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe he’d been so lacking in discrimination. “What’s it to you if I encounter the occasional pushy intern?”

She stored away his admission that he’d pursued her, and the precious shred of dignity it afforded. “An engagement will protect you from the single women who could wreck your campaign by misreading something you say or do.”

“And all I have to do is change my education policy for the sake of your job,” he said calmly. He’d never sounded more dangerous.

Sabrina lifted her empty wineglass to her lips, a fragile barrier. “It’s not a change,” she said. “It’s a detail. You put special-needs education on the agenda, I’ll do the rest.”

“You’re overlooking one small fact,” he said. “Namely, you’re the last woman on earth I would marry.”

Ouch! Sabrina pressed a hand to her chest, stared at him. Desperation demanded she get over the insult. “Jake, your campaign is all about educational opportunities for everyone. You’re deeply committed to young people and their learning, I saw it on your Web site.”

“You visited my Web site?” Beneath his anger she discerned satisfaction that the last woman on earth that he would marry was interested enough to check him out online.

“By accident,” she said. “I was running a Google search for jerks.”

Before he could stop himself, Jake barked a laugh. Naturally, Sabrina pounced on the brief cessation of hostilities. “Supporting my school isn’t a big stretch, Jake.” She turned cajoling, the way she used to when they were dating. Using that voice, she’d talked him into drinking the vile blue cocktail she favored at the time. And skinny-dipping in the pool at the governor’s mansion.

Silly things. Games. Nothing like this.

“You’re insane,” he said.

Or was he? Because much as he tried to fight it, she was starting to make sense. It was difficult to campaign as a bachelor—there was always the risk that a kiss on the cheek, an inadvertent touch, would be taken the wrong way. Susan often said her job would be easier if he had a girlfriend.

“Why does it have to be an engagement?” he asked. “Why can’t we tell people we’re dating?”

Her eyes widened, brightened. But when she spoke she was calm, pragmatic. Qualities Jake admired. Qualities about as far from Sabrina’s nature as Mars was from Venus.

“We’ve been there, done that, five years ago,” she said. “To be taken seriously, we need a commitment this time around. Anyway, I’ve already said we’re engaged.”

He tried to corral more arguments, but they eluded him.

“I’ll let you think about it.” She turned her back on him to study one of the paintings on the wall just beyond the cordon.

The square canvas was painted almost entirely black, with a thin gold line down the middle. Jake read the caption over her shoulder: Inside The Elevator During a Power Cut.

Sabrina started to giggle; there was an edge of hysteria to it.

“This picture sums up how I feel,” Jake said grimly.

“In the dark?” Her voice wobbled.

“Trapped.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “This isn’t funny, Sabrina.” Because no matter that she was letting him think about it, he didn’t have a choice. She’d told people they were engaged, there was no way such juicy news wouldn’t spread, even if she rescinded it. The press would be onto it; Jake would have to publicly contradict a woman often described as “Georgia’s darling.” More damage to his reputation, his campaign.

She must have read his thoughts. “It’s really not that complicated. We’ll say we’re engaged, my appointment will be confirmed, then I’ll endorse your campaign and attend a few events with you. As many as you want. Jake, this is exactly what you wanted, only…different.”

Sabrina, the ultimate optimist—it must have taken a lunatic sense of optimism to persevere the way she had after the accident.

“This is the only way you’ll get my support,” she said.

The only way he could win.

“If you win the primary,” she continued, “I’ll stick with the engagement until the election in November.”

Hell, it was bad enough pretending to be her fiancé for the six weeks until the primary. November was seven months away. “Why should I trust you, when you’ve never stuck with anything else?”

“Because this time,” she said, “I’m claiming dumping rights.”

“You’re claiming what?”

She flashed a smile at the wait-kid who offered a tray of cheese puffs over the cordon and waved him away.

“One of us has to dump the other,” she told Jake. “As soon we’re through the election, I’ll dump you.”

He wished he’d accepted that drink the principal had offered. “Why wouldn’t we announce we separated by mutual agreement?”

“Everyone knows that’s a line put out to save face, and that someone did the dumping.”

“Why should it be you?”

“It’s my turn,” she said reasonably.

“Fine,” he said. “You get to dump me.” The trapped-in-the-elevator painting loomed in his peripheral vision. “Just so long as you do get around to it. I don’t care if you could make me president of the United States, I am not going to marry you. Got it?”

“Loud and clear.” She tossed her blond hair, but somehow it didn’t muss. “And don’t you get any ideas about groping me when we have to kiss in public.”

Kiss in public? His lips tightened. “There isn’t a chance in hell that I’ll grope you.”

“Really? Because you used to have trouble keeping your hands to yourself.”

She was right, dammit. Back then, she could shred his self-control with just a wiggle of her hips.

“Trust me, it won’t be a problem.” He meant it…and yet he couldn’t help looking at Sabrina’s mouth, thinking about those public kisses they’d be expected to share. Her lips were a perfect pink bow, temptingly plump at the bottom. What the hell was he thinking, buying into her scheme?

Jake looked at her with such loathing, Sabrina flinched. She was used to getting her way through coaxing and flirting. Here, she was an amateur trying to play hardball with a professional. She needed to stop antagonizing him, or he would never agree, she would lose her job and she’d be back at square one.

“Sabrina, Baby.” Her father’s hearty voice, booming the childhood nickname, reached her before he did, giving her a chance to compose a relaxed smile. Jonah Merritt removed the cordon so he could pull her into a bear hug, squashing her against the plaid sports jacket that for him counted as casual clothing. “Sweetheart, I figured out how we’re going to sue those guys.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the art critic from the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, whose ultrahighbrow reputation meant he refused to take an interest in a beauty queen. “They don’t get to say your thighs are chunky without paying you a lot of money.”

“Dad, stop,” she said, alarmed. Who would believe her father was one of Atlanta’s top lawyers, when he sounded like an ambulance chaser? “I don’t want to sue them.”

“It’s libel, and we can prove it.”

She folded her arms and glared at him, relieved to have an excuse to ignore Jake’s glower. “Will proving it involve close-up shots of my thighs, measurement of my body-fat content and expert testimony?” She might not have attended law school, but she knew how lawsuits worked.

Her father must have picked up on the warning in her tone, because he said with uncharacteristic vagueness, “Well, uh, that sort of technical evidence is generally welcome in cases of this nature.”

“Dad, my legs are not technical evidence. I’m not suing anyone, I just want to get on with my life.”

Unaware he was first on the list of people who would soon have to butt out of her affairs, her father beamed. “That’s very generous of you, sweetheart.”

Jake made a gagging sound.

“Jake, good to see you.” Jonah clapped him on the shoulder. Sabrina’s father thought Jake was the best thing since the First Amendment. The two men shook hands, both strong, tough and self-controlled. For both, reputation meant everything. It occurred to Sabrina belatedly that her father would be horrified at her faking an engagement. Jake was right, this was a bad idea. She could tell the trust they were dating, as he’d suggested, and that in her excitement she’d jumped the gun on the engagement…

“Glad you’re running for governor,” Jonah said. “That takes guts in your situation. You’ve got my vote.”

“Pleased to hear it.” Jake’s voice was strained. “There’s something else I’d like from you, Jonah.”

“I told Susan I’d be happy to donate. My checkbook’s at home, but I can—”

“No.” Jake spoke sharply. Then he smiled. A tighter effort than his vote-winning smile, one that didn’t engage his eyes. “I want to ask for Sabrina’s hand in marriage.”