Читать книгу One Bride Too Many: One Bride Too Many / One Groom To Go - Jennifer Drew - Страница 10

HE’D EAT SOME CAKE, kiss the bride and look for a virgin, maybe not in that order.

Cole Bailey pulled into a spot as far away from the sprawling Tudor-style building as possible. As an uninvited guest, he didn’t want to make his pickup look conspicuous by using the Detroit country club’s valet service.

This wasn’t where he wanted to be. He’d been crazy to let a coin toss decide whether he or his twin brother, Zack, would be first to buckle under to their grandfather’s unreasonable demand of marriage.

His immediate problem was to figure out a smooth way to crash the wedding reception of his mother’s friend’s niece. He drew a blank on her name, not surprising considering how mad he was at Marsh Bailey, his maternal grandfather and more recently evil nemesis.

The parking lot was crowded with enough high-ticket wheels to stock a ritzy dealership, but that was fine for him. Big receptions meant a lot of the bride’s friends would be looking for a good time. There was nothing like a wedding to make shy girls bold and nice girls naughty. Unfortunately, the last thing he wanted right now was a fling. He wasn’t here for a good time.

Darn! How could the old codger do this to the family? He and Zack had to marry nice girls and settle down, or their grandfather would sell their shares in the family business. That would leave controlling interest in Bailey Baby Products in the hands of strangers on the board of directors. It didn’t really matter to Zack and Cole, because they had great hopes for their construction firm, but their mother would be devastated. The company was her life now, and she ran it as well as her father ever had.

Only an autocrat like Marsh Bailey could believe the company would be better off with a male at the helm. He was deluding himself if he thought marriage would turn any of his three grandsons—the twins and their half brother, Nick—into management material.

Worse, how could Marsh do this to his daughter, his only child? Since their stepfather’s death two years ago, Cole’s mom lived for her job as CEO of Bailey Baby Products. To retain control of the business when her father was out of the picture, she needed votes from the stock that at least two of her sons stood to inherit. Nick was the lucky one. He was still in college, and Marsh hadn’t started pressuring him to get married yet.

Cole rubbed his chin, which was smooth for a change because he’d taken the trouble to shave after work. He shrugged his shoulders, feeling confined by the jacket of his seldom-worn charcoal gray suit. Maybe all the hard manual labor he did trying to make a go of his and Zack’s company had beefed up his shoulders. He ran his finger under the collar of his white dress shirt and loosened his conservative wine-colored tie a little.

He was twenty-eight years old and had spent his whole life trying to prove to his grandfather that he wasn’t like his father, Stan Hayward—not that Cole had ever set eyes on the guy. Marsh had made sure of that. He’d sent Stan packing, threatening him with jail if he came near his pregnant seventeen-year-old daughter again. The Bailey surname was the one listed on the birth certificates.

Cole snorted derisively, but walked toward the clubhouse. He’d lost the flip to Zack with his own coin. He had to be the first to go wife-hunting, and he couldn’t let his mother down—not that she even knew about this marital blackmail.

Marsh insisted his grandsons marry soon, and their brides had to be nice girls, his code word for virgins. Just because Grandad’s own brother had messed up his life by marrying “a henna-haired hooker,” the old man was paranoid about letting a bad girl—or in his daughter’s case, a bad boy—into the family.

Cole stopped to admire one of the finest domestic sports cars ever to roll off the line in the Motor City, but he knew he was only procrastinating. He wanted to go to this reception like he wanted a case of poison ivy. Everything about weddings soured his disposition, especially the necessity of having one himself in the not-distant-enough future.

“Hey, will you help me?” a female voice called.

He heard the distress call before he saw the damsel.

“Please! It will only take a minute.”

He hurried down the row of cars, spotting a pink dress with big puffy sleeves and enough skirt for a circus tent. Only a bridesmaid would wear a Halloween costume in June. He spotted her problem as soon as he got close enough—her taffeta tail was caught in the trunk.

“My bow is stuck,” the voice said from behind a gift-wrapped box the size of a washing machine, “and I dropped my keys under the car.”

“Let me take that.”

He put the bulky but not heavy package on the ground.

The bridesmaid made a stab at twirling and trying to retrieve her keys with the toe of one pink satin shoe, but only succeeded in kicking them farther under the blue compact.

Cole bent to look under the car and felt around until he found her keys on one of those stretchy wrist things that she obviously hadn’t bothered to use. Retrieving her keys took a few seconds longer than necessary because he found the view from that angle pretty spectacular. If the rest of the woman’s legs matched her shapely ankles, it was criminal to dress her like a wad of cotton candy. Back in the days when he’d semiwillingly wasted half his weekends every summer going to weddings, he’d developed a theory about bridesmaids—their only real function was to look really bad so the bride looked better.

“Thanks, I really appreciate…You’re one of the Bailey twins!” she said, sounding more astonished than the situation merited.

He stood, trying to get a look at her face under a hat that was more awning than headgear.

“Cole Bailey?”

“Yes,” he agreed, wondering how she knew him and coming up blank.

“We went to high school together. Remember British lit?”

“My worst subject. I shouldn’t have taken it, but I needed one more English class to graduate.”

“I remember that.”

She whipped off the hat, revealing a mass of reddish brown hair tortured into sausage curls.

He still drew a blank.

“No wonder you don’t recognize me. This hairdo Lucinda dreamed up for her bridesmaids belongs in a nursery rhyme. I’m Tess Morgan. I helped you with Shakespeare.”

“Tess Morgan? No way!” He remembered pudgy little Tess. He and Zack used to tease her just to see her blush. Her cheeks would get flaming red.

“I guess I’ve changed some.”

“I guess!”

One thing hadn’t changed. Her cheeks reddened in embarrassment at the comment he’d intended as a compliment. He remembered one of their nicknames for her—Miss Prim and Proper.

“I only tutored you because you promised never to tease me again if you passed the class.”

“Did I keep my promise?” He honestly didn’t remember.

“You graduated a year before I did, so I guess you more or less did. Anyway, would you please open the trunk? I feel like an idiot trapped by my own car.”

“Oh, sure.” He unlocked it and lifted out the wide ribbon of cloth.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

He caught himself staring and had to remind himself that this was Tess Morgan, clueless Tess. In high school she’d been so naive and wholesome, the guys had called her Soapy.

“Let me tie it for you.” He surprised himself by offering.

“Oh, would you? I don’t know why they had to be long enough to go around a hippo.”

He felt clumsy trying to make a bow out of the slippery streamers, especially since the one that had been caught in the trunk had a black smear.

“Can you do it?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

“Sure, no problem.”

He fumbled with the thing, managing to turn the grease spot so it didn’t show. No need to make her self-conscious by mentioning it. The big bow did her slender waist a grave disservice, in his opinion.

“Is Lucinda a good friend of yours?” he asked. He now knew the bride’s name, but he had serious doubts about her character. What kind of woman made a friend show up in public looking like Little Bo Peep?

“We go way back.” She didn’t elaborate. “I’ve done this bit so many times, people are starting to think I’m a professional bridesmaid.”

“Can I carry that for you?” He nodded at the gift-wrapped box. Chivalry aside, the bulky package looked as if it could be a good ticket into the reception. Who would question a guy who came in with a bridesmaid and a really big present?

“Would you mind? It’s not heavy, but it’s bulky. Lucinda is into wicker, so I got her a chair at the import store. Unfortunately they don’t deliver.”

Not so unfortunate for him. “I’d be glad to.”

He hefted the box and walked beside her toward the clubhouse. How could one person change so much and so little at the same time? She had the same tentative smile, but he didn’t remember her lips being so lush, no thanks to the metallic pink lipstick that was probably supposed to match the dress. Her eyes were bluer than he recalled, but maybe ten years ago she hadn’t looked at him so directly. She had apple cheeks, part of the reason he and Zack had enjoyed making her blush, but there was nothing plump about any part of her now, including her face. She had golden-tan skin, a cute nose and arched brows, altogether a pretty package.

“I didn’t see you at the church,” she commented.

“I’m not big on weddings. It’s a bachelor phobia.”

“Oh, you’re still single?”

“You sound surprised.”

“A little. Girls liked you a lot in high school—more than Zack even, but I shouldn’t tell you that.”

“It’s my brother you shouldn’t tell. He thought he was quite a ladies’ man back then.”

Since winning the coin toss, Zack was the happy twin, free to continue playing the field. He was also the one who could get a date with a complete stranger anytime just by saying, “How about it?”

Cole wasn’t at all eager to begin wife-hunting, but he hoped to get a date or two at this reception. Zack would have too much fun trying to give him advice on how to get a woman if he struck out.

“Is Zack married?”

“No, we’re both lonely bachelors. What about you? Are you married?”

“No—and don’t pretend you’re surprised.”

He protested weakly, but he wasn’t at all surprised. As far as he knew, she hadn’t had a boyfriend in high school and probably still put men off with her wholesomeness. It had had nothing to do with looks. She’d always been too reserved, too self-contained—maybe too shy.

“Meeting the right person isn’t easy,” he said glumly, thinking of his grandfather’s unrealistic expectations. Maybe in Marsh’s day virgins panting for husbands were plentiful, but the old man needed a wake-up call. This was the twenty-first century! It was a lot easier to find a playmate than a longtime partner.

They climbed the steps at the main entrance of the imposing pseudo-Elizabethan clubhouse, its stucco walls gleaming white and the timbers freshly stained a deep mahogany brown. He’d lucked out in connecting with Tess and her big box. Private security was hovering like dark-suited ghosts, and when he saw the gift room off the foyer, it was pretty clear why. Besides wicker, the bride was obviously into silver and other pricey stuff. He didn’t need Tess’s prompting to carry her gift in with the others and put it in a corner.

TESS WAITED while Cole discreetly made her gift disappear in the treasure trove of Lucinda’s loot. He’d been a hunk in high school—she’d sighed over his picture in the yearbook for an embarrassingly long time—but he’d matured and lost his boyish cuteness. Now he was drop-dead gorgeous. His face was sun-bronzed, and a light crease line in his forehead made his dark brows and eyes even sexier.

A few minutes ago she’d been furious with Danny-the-creep Wilson for breaking his promise to go to the wedding with her. Now she was glad he was off sailing with his boss and some clients. She was tired of men like him, male friends who cadged meals, borrowed money and called her “good buddy.” It would be a small, if short-lived, triumph to walk into the grand ballroom with Cole. He was just another pal from her past, but no one here knew that.

Why did she have so many male friends and no real boyfriend? Guys called her when they wanted to whine about work or the women who did them wrong. They never seemed to notice she was ripe and ready, not even after she slimmed down to a size eight and learned to lose at everything from tennis and video games to battles of wit.

Cole smiled broadly when he returned from disposing of her present.

“Thanks for carrying it,” she said, smiling. “From now on, I give nothing but towels.”

“Towels are nice,” he said in a tone that labeled them boring, “but I’m glad we got together. Big receptions are a drag when you don’t know anyone.”

“Except the happy couple, of course, but they only have eyes for each other.”

He offered his arm. She took it, more than a little impressed by the way his bicep strained against the sleek, dark sleeve of his suitcoat.

They walked into a ballroom that reeked of old money—a blend of greenhouse flowers, high-priced liquor and expensive perfumes.

He dropped his arm, and she felt let down. Of course, she couldn’t expect him to hang with her all evening just because they’d once taken the same class.

“Fancy affair.” He sounded vaguely disapproving.

“Yeah, I guess.”

She knew he was much more likely to feel comfortable at a society wedding than she was. His grandfather was wealthy and important, and the twins had grown up in the lap of luxury, so to speak. Not that Tess wasn’t inordinately proud of her family. Dad was a high-school coach who thought it was more important to teach values than win games, and her mom taught reading skills to kids who would otherwise wash out of the system. Her older sister, Karen, was a third-grade teacher with a peach of a husband and two adorable girls, Erika, five, and Erin, seven.

Tess was the family maverick, but thankfully she had a natural flair for business. She’d built up a successful baby store on her own and had recently moved to a high-rent location, the Rockstone Mall. So far the store was thriving, mainly because she stayed current on all the latest gadgets, gimmicks and gizmos made for little people.

“I prefer receptions at a lodge hall or in the back room of a restaurant,” Cole said, scanning the enormous room.

“Where the girls are more fun because they’re tipsy?” she teased, wondering why she felt free to say whatever came to mind with him.

He laughed. “There is that.”

It was a huge reception, but the majority of the guests were north of forty. Lucinda’s parents had lots of friends, but Tess’s weren’t among them. It was only an alphabetical accident that she and Lucinda were old friends. Since grade school, L. Montrose and T. Morgan had been paired up. They’d renewed their friendship when Lucinda’s dad had called in a favor with the mall management corporation and gotten his daughter a job doing publicity for Rockstone, where Tess had her store. For the first time in her life, Lucinda had been out of her depth, possessing little flair for promotions. No surprise, she’d come to rely on Tess for sympathy and suggestions.

Tess glanced at the sturdy little wristwatch she’d managed to slip past the bride’s last-minute inspection. She was genuinely fond of her longtime friend, but this wedding had brought out the worst in Lucinda, turning her into a control freak. A slightly plump blonde, she’d dressed the seven bridesmaids in nursery-rhyme costumes that made them look like pink pumpkins. She said it gave the wedding a quaint ambience.

Tess came to the reception with one thought—how soon could she sneak away without being missed? She was enjoying her moment in the sun with Cole, but no doubt he’d soon be snatched away by one of the many predatory, but not necessarily single, women who were looking for a way to milk a little fun out of an otherwise dull affair.

Fortunately the dinner was a buffet, and Lucinda wasn’t going to share the limelight by having her quaint maidens on display at a head table. Unfortunately there were still little rituals that demanded Tess’s presence—single girls diving for the bouquet as though they believed the prize was a wedding of their own, bachelors tussling manfully over the garter, the bride and groom smearing cake on each other’s lips so they could do the giggle-and-smooch bit. Why had she agreed to yet another stint as a bridesmaid? Tomorrow she’d take this silly dress to her sister and let Karen make kids’ costumes from the yards and yards of material in the skirt. Her nieces would love having pink taffeta Halloween costumes, if they didn’t wear them out before then playing dress up.

A waiter came toward them with a tray of champagne in glass goblets, not the plastic throwaways that smelled like nail polish.

“Drink or dance?” Cole asked, snagging one for both of them with a casual thanks.

“Hard choice.” She wondered if he actually wanted to dance with her or was only being polite.

“Both, then.” He lifted his glass and clinked it against hers. “To the happy couple.”

“To Mr. and Mrs. Menton.” She took a tiny sip, then a more substantial one. It tasted a lot better than the usual bubbly vinegar served at receptions. “You didn’t say whether you’re a friend of the bride or the groom.”

“I’m equally fond of both,” he said. “Good champagne. I usually hate it,” he said, draining the goblet determinedly.

“A friend of the couple? I’m surprised Lucinda never mentioned you.”

She finished her champagne and looked around for a place to put the glass. Cole took it and put both on a passing tray.

“I’m more a friend of what’s-his-name,” he said. “Menton.”

“Doug. His name is Doug.”

“Guess I don’t actually know him,” he admitted sheepishly.

“So Lucinda invited you?” He was up to something, and she was intrigued.

“Not exactly. My mother is a friend of her aunt.”

“Then why…”

“You’ve caught me!” He touched his finger to her lips. “I’m crashing the party. Will you keep it a secret?”

She nodded, and he took his finger away, leaving her lips with an oddly tingling sensation.

“But why?”

“Just for kicks. Want to dance?”

“Sure, why not?”

She didn’t kid herself. He hadn’t crashed the reception just to glide across the waxy hardwood floor with an old school acquaintance, but he really could dance. Responding to the firm pressure of his fingers on her satin-armored waist, she followed his lead with exhilaration.

“You’re making me look good,” she said a trifle breathlessly.

“You are good.”

He sounded surprised, but she didn’t care. Dancing with Cole was incredibly…stimulating. Her dress rustled, Cole hummed, and her ears buzzed. Could it be she was feeling tipsy on one glass of champagne?

“What do you do?” he asked, his lips so close to her forehead she could feel a warm whisper of air when he spoke.

“Do?”

He pressed the hand he was holding against his chest and twirled her around a flat-footed couple who were shuffling across the floor without much regard for the music.

“Job, career, work?”

His sarcasm got through to her.

“I have a store at Rockstone Mall.”

“Let me guess. Flower shop?”

“No.”

“Pet supplies—doggie sweaters and gourmet treats for pampered cats?”

“No, I’m into pampering babies. My store is Baby Mart.”

The song ended, and the band members stood up for their break. Did they have to take one now?

“As a matter of fact, Bailey Baby Products is my main supplier. Your company’s high chairs outsell all competitors five to one,” she said enthusiastically, groping for common ground to keep him with her a little longer.

“My grandfather’s company,” he said dryly. “Zack and I have a construction business.”

“That’s nice.”

This conversation was going nowhere, and he obviously wasn’t focused on her anymore. Well, he wasn’t her date, however pleasant it was to have a gorgeous man in tow.

“Thanks for the dance,” she said as casually as possible. “I need to speak to a friend over there.”

The friend was imaginary, but the technique was all hers. When a guy started looking through her, beyond her or over her head, she liked to be the one who walked away.

She headed toward the universal haven of unescorted women, wishing she’d had room for a hair pick in the tiny satin drawstring bag that came with the dress. Staring at herself in the mirror, she wished she could wet down the sausage curls and loosen the stiff nylon petticoat, but it would take more than that to get Cole Bailey to go home with her.

Dang, where did that thought come from? She was swearing off champagne forever!

After touching up her lipstick, she went back to the reception, killed an hour gossiping with Lucinda’s younger sister, then filled a plate at the buffet and sat at a table with the bride’s great-aunt, who was allergic to every food from grapefruit to garlic and liked to talk about it. Tess murmured sympathetically and picked at the smoked salmon, but she couldn’t help tracking Cole. It wasn’t hard. For an uninvited guest, he certainly wasn’t trying to be inconspicuous. In fact, he zeroed in on the most eye-catching women and was never without a dance partner.

Lucinda had assigned little jobs to all her attendants, and Tess had the task of organizing the bouquet toss. The clubhouse had once been a millionaire’s mansion, and the front hallway had a curving staircase wide enough for a 1930s musical comedy number. Naturally Lucinda wanted to stand above the rabble when she tossed her artfully arranged bunch of orchids.

“Use the mike,” Lucinda commanded when she swished by to give Tess her marching orders.

“Can’t I just…”

“It’s the only way everyone will hear you in this huge room.”

Lucinda’s way was always the only way. Tess had an urge to mutiny, but after the honeymoon, Lucinda would be back at the mall, her lunch buddy and walking partner. Most brides became real people again after their big day.

“I hate mikes.”

Lucinda was impervious to pouting unless she was doing it. Tess went to the head table and located the dreaded instrument, which the groom’s father was kind enough to test by blowing into it. The result was a whining whistle.

“Here you are, little lady.”

Next he’d pat her head!

“Eh, ladies…girls…women…” The mike made her too nervous to remember what was politically correct.

The band was taking their forty-third break, and conversation prevailed.

“Can I have your attention? Please!”

“Talk up a bit, little lady,” her coach prompted.

“The bride is going to toss her bouquet!”

That got them. Tess wiggled her tongue trying to get enough saliva to finish the announcement.

“Eligible women go to the grand stairway,” she directed, surprised when the groom’s dad took the microphone away from her.

“Come on, gals. Who’ll be the lucky little lady to snag the bouquet?”

Tess crept away before he thought of doing an interview on why she wanted to be the winner. In fact, she didn’t. She’d caught the bride’s bouquet at four previous weddings, mainly because she could be trusted to return it to the newlyweds. Obviously the magic didn’t work on a skeptic like her.

Judging by the stampede, Lucinda had invited an army of unwed women, although some of the throng gathering at the foot of the stairs had to be women looking for love the second or third time around.

The foyer was large with striking black-and-white checkerboard tiles on the floor. The walls were loaded with cloudy old oil paintings in heavy gold frames. Lucinda had gone to the top of the stairs so she could descend dramatically, her train hooked up to avoid a tumble. Her dress was ivory silk with an overskirt of antique Belgian lace from her grandmother’s wedding gown. Tess had never seen a bride who didn’t look beautiful, and Lucinda was no exception. It was the glow, not the trappings.

It was her job to announce, “Here she comes!” and whip the crowd into a frenzy. She intended to stand to the side and avoid the crush, but women jockeying for position outflanked her. She found herself squeezed in on all sides, threatened by a tall girl’s bony elbow to her right and a pair of spike heels backing into her. Tess’s silly bow had come untied again, but she was too squashed to reach behind and redo it.

She caught a glimpse of Lucinda nodding at her from the top of the stairs, her signal to make the big announcement.

“Here comes the bride!” she called, not that everyone couldn’t see that.

A woman with jet-black hair gave her a hard hip thrust on the left, but Tess couldn’t escape the press. They’d boxed her in on all sides.

Lucinda was descending with much-practiced stateliness. She threw from the halfway point, putting enough oomph into the toss to give the bouquet some spin.

Tess put out her hands defensively with no thought of catching it, but the flowers were coming directly at her. Hands were everywhere, reaching, grabbing and snatching. She heard an ominous rip and was nearly knocked off her spike heels as two contenders got their hands on the delicate arrangement of exotic blooms.

Neither woman would let go. They pulled until they split the prize, tearing the orchids away from the wiring. Tess heard another tearing noise and knew she was in trouble.

The crowd thinned with a mix of disappointed grumbles and good-humored laughter. Tess found herself standing alone with her skirt hanging limply on the tiles behind her. The wretched satin streamers had been torn loose, taking the back of the skirt with them. She knew the semi-transparent petticoat wasn’t enough to conceal a view of her pink bikini panties, and a couple of the groomsmen were strolling her way. She knew they’d noticed when they stopped and pretended to study one of the dark old oil paintings on the wall in front of her. Freddy, a pale blond, freckle-faced guy pretending to be an art lover, had already tried to corner her in a Sunday-school room at the church. He had breath like a sewer and at least seven arms. She’d rather get sucked into quicksand than let him get his hands on the part of her anatomy that was now hanging out of the ruined dress.

Reaching behind and grabbing a handful of satin, she tried to bunch it together enough for modesty’s sake while she edged her way out the door. This reception was over for her.

She felt the jacket descend on her shoulders before she saw her rescuer.

“Let’s go,” Cole said, putting his arm around her shoulders to hold his suitcoat in place.

“Gladly!”

“Crazy ritual. I’d rather take on a wolf pack than get in the middle of a scramble for the bride’s bouquet.”

“I wasn’t trying for it,” she said. “I was in charge of getting the women together.”

“You certainly did an admirable job,” he teased, pushing open the door with his free hand.

Spotlights lit up the front entrance, and lightposts illuminated the whole of the parking area. A few smokers lounged on the steps enjoying the wonderful June evening, and a tipsy couple were doing something that resembled dancing on the asphalt drive.

He guided her toward the car, keeping his jacket firmly in place with his arm. She was happy to see her little compact, which was as out of place between a Mercedes and a Lincoln as she was at this reception.

“I owe you,” she said. “This makes twice you’ve rescued me.”

“No thanks necessary. Do you have your car keys?”

“Yes, and I can actually reach them this time.” She dug into the little purse and extracted them, rather pleased when Cole took them and unlocked the door for her.

“About owing me,” he said as she slid out of his jacket and onto the car seat. “There is one little thing you could do for me.”

“What?” She was genuinely surprised that Cole Bailey could need anything from her. If truth be told, she was hopeful that the favor involved spending more time with him.

“You’ve always had a lot of girlfriends, if I remember right. Do you still?”

“I guess. I’ve never given it much thought.”

“Are some of them…I mean, do you still have some sweet unattached friends who’ve never been married?”

“I don’t exactly run a club for old maids.” She was liking this less and less.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound…”

“Weird?”

“My intentions are honorable.” He smiled ruefully. “I’d really like to meet some nice women.”

“Is that why you crashed the reception?”

Surely this man could get a date in a convent if he put his charm to work! She was far more puzzled than pleased by the prospect of playing matchmaker for him.

“Weddings are usually a good place to meet…people.”

“You seemed to be doing well enough.” She bit her tongue, angry at herself for letting him know she’d noticed.

He shrugged. In shirtsleeves, his shoulders were broad and muscular. Her fingers itched to touch them.

“I’d like to meet someone our age.”

“I’m a whole year younger than you are!”

“Point taken. But do you have any nice friends?”

“All my friends are nice—at least most of the time.” She was thinking of Lucinda. “But I’m not good at setting up blind dates. It’s the best way I know to lose friends.”

She suspected he was too much man for most of the single women she knew. But oddly enough he didn’t intimidate her anymore. She knew he’d never be interested in her—she was just his pal—but at least he didn’t make her stammer, stutter and shake anymore.

“How about this.” He took a coin from his pocket. “Heads, you introduce me to some of your friends. Tails, I give you a tour of the baby plant and a sneak preview of some new products that will be available soon.”

She was tempted, but didn’t entirely trust him.

“I’m not much on games of chance,” she said.

“What is your game?”

“Tennis, but I wouldn’t stand a chance against an athlete like you. I do play pool occasionally.”

She didn’t mention that she’d grown up practicing on her dad’s table in the basement, or that she played in a weekly league in the winter.

“Pool it is. Same stakes. Do you like one game, sudden death or two out of three?”

“Two out of three.” Her second game was usually better than her first. She needed warm-up time.

“I’ll follow you. Where do you want to play?”

“You forget I did the Cinderella bit—ball gown to rags. Maybe a rain check?”

Which would give her time to wiggle out of the bet, she thought, realizing how little she wanted to fix him up with someone else.

“If you’re afraid you can’t beat me…”

“No way!”

“I’ll follow you home. You can change, and we’ll go to the closest bar with a table.”

“It’s late, Cole.”

“Not even eleven.”

“I’ve had a long day.”

“No disadvantage. I was on the work site at six a.m.”

“Do you always get your own way?”

His grin was all the answer she needed.

She gave in, but darned if she’d let him win!