Читать книгу The Husband Sweepstake - Leigh Michaels - Страница 8

THE trip had been more fast-paced than usual. Erika had crammed at least three weeks’ worth of work into a mere ten days, and even a good night’s sleep in her own bed hadn’t been enough for her to fully recuperate from exhaustion and jet lag. It was barely ten in the morning—at least that was what the tiny gold watch on her wrist said, though her body clock wasn’t anywhere near so certain of the hour. Nevertheless, she was patting back a yawn as the elevator reached the lobby.

That will never do, she thought. With her schedule already crammed with meetings and her in-basket no doubt overflowing, she didn’t have time to be tired. Not today.

She felt as if she’d been gone for a month. Winter had abruptly let go its hold on New York City while she’d been gone. The last traces of dirty snow had melted away, and though it had been almost dusk, she thought she’d glimpsed the first hints of green in Central Park on her way home from the airport yesterday. Even the building’s lobby looked a little different than when she’d left. This morning sunshine poured in through the beveled glass around the main doors, sprinkling jewel-colored patches across the freshly cleaned carpet.

But some things never changed, Erika thought fondly as she walked across the lobby to the small office tucked into a corner next to the elevators.

Inside, with his back to the door as he leaned over a table studying a clipboard full of papers, was—in Erika’s view—probably the single best thing about living in this newly renovated apartment complex. According to the nameplate on the door, Stephen was the manager of the complex, in charge of rentals, deposits, repairs and tenant complaints. But in fact the job he’d carved out for himself in the eight months since the complex opened was more like that of the concierge of a first-class hotel. Need tickets to the symphony? Talk to Stephen—he had contacts everywhere. Need the dog walked? Talk to Stephen—he knew someone who’d be great at the job. Need someone to let the delivery people in with the new couch? Talk to Stephen; he’d not only sign the paperwork but make sure they moved all the furniture to just the right angle…

Yes, definitely the best thing about living here, Erika told herself. “Stephen, darling—”

The man at the table stood up straighter and started to turn to face her.

The instant he moved, Erika knew that she’d made a big mistake. Where Stephen was jittery in his movements, this man was slow and smooth, like a panther on the prowl. He was a little taller than Stephen, too—an inch or two, perhaps—and his hair was just a shade darker.

She should have recognized the difference the moment she walked in—though, she reminded herself, there was no reason to scourge herself for making a simple mistake. She was used to finding Stephen in this office, and she wasn’t used to seeing him from behind. So it was no wonder she hadn’t immediately identified this man as a stranger.

He’d turned all the way around now, and she got her first good look at his face. Now she could see that he wasn’t at all like Stephen, really—not only was his hair darker, almost black in fact, but it was thicker, curlier, and more unruly than Stephen’s. His eyes weren’t brown like Stephen’s but as rich a blue as Long Island Sound on a hot summer’s day, and they looked just as deep and inviting. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but there was something about him which invited a second look. His face was full of healthy color, but he didn’t have the deep sun-bronzed shade that Stephen somehow managed to sport even in the depths of winter.

And though he was wearing the same type of dark suit and ascot tie that Stephen favored, it didn’t fit him the same way. The formal garb didn’t look out of place on him, and yet it seemed somehow uncomfortable, as if he wasn’t used to dressing up.

“I’m not Stephen,” he said.

As if she wouldn’t be able to figure that out on her own. Erika felt like rolling her eyes.

He added, not quite under his breath, “…darling.”

Erika opened her mouth to blister him for impudence, and then decided that it would be more effective in the long run just to ignore him. “I can see that,” she said sweetly. “So where’s Stephen?”

“I can page him if you like, Ms. Forrester.”

She didn’t ask how he knew her name. She didn’t need to.

He went on easily, “I believe he’s helping Mr. Richards locate his missing snake up on the third floor.”

Erika shivered. “Then I certainly don’t want to disturb him.”

His eyes gleamed with laughter. Erika was sure of it, even though the expression was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. She was intrigued despite herself. “And who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Stephen’s new assistant.”

“I gathered that from the uniform.” She waved a finger in the direction of his ascot. “He could certainly use a helper. Or perhaps I should say that the residents could use two Stephens.”

He looked down at the dark suit as if not quite believing what he was wearing. “He does seem to keep himself busy.”

“And your name?” He didn’t answer immediately, so Erika prodded, “In case Stephen’s not here, it would be handy to know who I’m talking to.”

“If it’s not Stephen,” he pointed out gently, “it’ll be me. But you can call me Amos—” He bit off the sentence, leaving the name hanging.

Erika was absolutely certain the word he’d swallowed hadn’t been a last name at all. He’d actually almost had the cheek to say she could call him Amos darling. But at least he’d maintained enough sense to zip the lip before he’d finished, while she could still pretend not to have heard. It was much less embarrassing for both of them that way.

“I’ll tell him you stopped by. I’m sure he’ll be heartbroken to have missed you,” Amos said, and started to turn back to the clipboard he’d been looking at when she came in.

Just who does this guy think he is? she thought. “Well, let me fill you in on the routine around here. It’s cleaning day, so—”

“Are you referring to the housecleaning service or the dry cleaners?” he interrupted politely. “I’ve already been instructed that since it’s Tuesday, your housekeeping team will be arriving before long. And Stephen has made a note to arrange an extra laundry pickup today as well, since you just got home from your trip. So he already has all the usual things covered.”

Erika eyed him for a long moment. The urge to squash him was rapidly becoming unbearable. She would have to either put him in his place, or walk out—and soon. “You know,” she mused, “if you want to be successful around here, it might pay to take a few lessons from Stephen on customer service.”

His eyebrows lifted. “But, Ms. Forrester, I was simply trying not to waste your time. Why should you have to repeat instructions that Stephen has already taken care of?” He looked innocent, and he sounded solicitous.

Erika didn’t believe an iota of it.

“I presumed you would rather have Stephen look after your needs, since he’s already accustomed to your routine. But if there is anything you’d prefer me to do for you,” he went on gently, “you need only ask.”

She hitched her black leather tote bag higher onto her shoulder. “I’ll do my best to think of something,” she murmured. “Because I’d hate for you to feel at loose ends around here while Stephen’s doing all the work.”

The brisk walk from her apartment complex to Ladylove’s building in Midtown Manhattan refreshed Erika, and by the time she arrived at her office, she’d almost forgotten about Amos darling. He was hardly worth thinking about, anyway, she told herself. With that kind of attitude, he wouldn’t last long around an upscale apartment complex, no matter how pleasant he was to look at.

The tapestry-lined elevator whooshed Erika to the top floor. In her corner office, her personal assistant was just setting a steaming cappuccino beside the pile of already-opened mail on the blotter.

Erika checked on the threshold. “How do you do it, Kelly? Always have a fresh cup waiting for me when I come in?”

The little redhead grinned, her gamin face alight with mischief. “The company spy network, of course. Didn’t you realize how efficient it is?” She took Erika’s trench coat and hung it in the small closet. “You have an appointment with your personal fitter this morning, by the way. She’s bringing over some dresses so you can choose one to wear to the banquet Saturday night.”

“See if you can catch her before she leaves the store. I need a white silk blouse, too, because I spilled a glass of red wine on mine when I was in Rome.” Erika frowned. “Wait a minute. What banquet? There’s nothing like that on my calendar.”

“Not officially, but then you’ve been out of the office for more than a week. The invitation came while you were gone. However, since last Friday’s Sentinel announced that you’ll be attending, I thought it best to be prepared—so I sent a check for two tickets, and I called the fitter about a dress.”

“Sometimes,” Erika muttered, “I’d like to do the opposite, just to spite the tabloids.”

Kelly shook her head. “Issuing a challenge like that would only make them more interested. Then they’d run stories about you every day instead of only two or three times a week. Besides, the banquet is for a good cause.”

“They’re all good causes, Kelly.” Erika sat down behind the graceful Georgian table which she used as a desk. “Has the Sentinel announced yet where I’m going on my summer vacation? I can’t make up my mind, but I’m sure they’ve already figured out what I’ll decide.” She sipped the cappuccino and flipped through the mail.

Kelly clicked her tongue. “It’s a wee bit early in the day to be sounding cynical, now.”

“And it’s a wee bit too far from Dublin for you to be using a brogue.”

“Not if it makes you laugh. One plain white silk blouse, coming up. And Erika—I know how you feel about the Sentinel, but you should read today’s edition anyway.”

Kelly pulled the office door closed behind her, and Erika sank back in her chair and reached for the neatly folded newspaper at the bottom of the stack of mail. At least she could find out what the good cause was that she would be supporting by going to a banquet on Saturday…. No, Kelly had said that story had run last week. In any case, the redhead’s voice had sounded almost too casual—as if she was issuing some kind of a warning. So what horrible thing had New York City’s most-highly-circulated gossip sheet said about her this time?

Or had they just gotten hold of a photo that was more terrible than usual? Erika had thought, herself, that the one which had first appeared a couple of weeks ago—the one which seemed to have become the editor’s favorite—would be impossible to top. She’d been chewing a bite of arugula when the paparazzi’s flash went off in her face, and she thought the result had made her look like a serial murderer with a toothache.

But for a change her own face didn’t jump out at her as she scanned the pages. She frowned and started over from the beginning.

She found the story, finally, on page six. It was no wonder she hadn’t seen it before, because this time it wasn’t about her—not directly, at least. The story was an engagement announcement and the photograph which accompanied it was of a dimpled, childlike woman and a man Erika barely recognized. And the editors had waited till the very last paragraph to point out that the prospective groom had been engaged before—to Erika.

She sipped her cappuccino and read the story again, slowly and thoughtfully.

Denby Miles’s previous engagement was to Erika Forrester, who was then the trademark face (and is now also the CEO) of Ladylove Cosmetics. The match was broken off shortly after Erika’s father, Stanford Forrester III, completed the purchase of Mr. Miles’s portfolio of perfume formulae to add to Ladylove’s armory. There was and continues to be some speculation about the timing of the breakup.

“What she did to him stank worse than Denby’s perfumes,” one society matron—who wished to remain anonymous—told the Sentinel. “Leading him on just to get those chemical formulas, and then dropping him flat. I’m just glad the poor boy is finally over his broken heart.”

Erika folded the paper and flung it as hard as she could. It slammed against the office door and flopped onto the carpet.

The door opened a crack, and Kelly peeked warily through the opening. “Does that mean I shouldn’t clip this one for your scrapbook?”

Erika said grimly, “Remind me to send the Sentinel’s editors a gift next Christmas. A new sledgehammer—because at this rate they’ll have worn out the one they’re using now.”

“Yeah, I thought that line about Denby’s perfumes stinking was a little low,” Kelly agreed. She picked up the paper and smoothed the ruffled pages. “There are a couple of his scents which really aren’t bad at all.”

Erika tried to bite back a grin. “Well, no wonder their source wanted to remain nameless, saying things like that. It was probably Denby’s mother. Honestly, Kelly, what did I ever do to annoy the tabloids so much?”

“You seriously don’t know?” Kelly perched on the arm of a chair. “Think about it, Erika. A supposedly brainless blond makeup model takes over her father’s business and—instead of falling flat on her gorgeous face—makes more of a success of it than he ever did. That’s what you did to annoy them. You didn’t stay in the slot they’d picked for you.”

“Well, wouldn’t you think they’d give it up by now? It’s two years since I broke that engagement, and since my father died.”

“And every time a new Ladylove ad comes out, your picture reminds them of how wrong they were. Enjoy it, Erika. It’s a measurement of your success.”

“Sort of like being named the Chamber of Commerce’s Man of the Year? I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Erika picked up her pen. “By the way, Kelly, about that banquet Saturday night—have either you or the Sentinel decided who I’m going with?”

“They haven’t said.” Kelly maintained a deadpan expression. “And I thought it should be your choice.”

“That’s reassuring. Which good cause am I supporting?”

“Adult literacy, I believe.”

“Literacy? I wish I understood how my eating rubbery chicken and listening to a speaker drone on all evening is supposed to help the cause of reading. Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just stay home and take a book to bed instead?”

By the time Erika paid off her cab in front of the apartment complex, Stephen was on the sidewalk to greet her. “Just the person I wanted to see,” she said, handing him the blue-and-silver dress bag she was carrying.

“Welcome home, Ms. Forrester,” he said as he ushered her into the lobby. “I was sorry to miss you when you arrived last night. There’s fresh espresso in my office, if you’d like a cup.”

“You’re a love, Stephen.” She sank into the guest’s chair in his office—an extra-comfortable wing-back covered in a heathery tweed—and put her feet up on the small matching footstool, watching as he hung her dress bag next to an identical one on a hat stand beside the door. “This is wonderful. What happened to your assistant? Did you send him home for the night, or has he already quit?”

“Why would he quit?” Stephen looked puzzled.

Erika shrugged. “It seemed to me this morning that he was already a bit tired of the residents’ oddities, so I’d be amazed if he stuck with it for long.”

Stephen’s gaze shifted a bit. “Oh, I think Amos will be around for a while,” he said vaguely. “He just has a little different philosophy of the job than I do, that’s all.”

Understatement of the year, Erika thought.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Forrester?”

“I need advice,” Erika said crisply. “Break out your little black address book and tell me which of your friends would like to go to a banquet with me on Saturday. Hear an inspiring speaker—”

Stephen shook his head. “I’m running out of friends who will fall for that one.”

“There are benefits,” Erika began.

From behind her, a pleasant voice asked, “A woman like you needs an escort service?”

Erika almost dropped the cup Stephen had just handed her. She twisted around to see Amos, who was lounging against the door with his arms folded across his chest.

Stephen sighed. “Amos, you can’t just talk to the residents like—”

“I’m off duty.” Amos strolled in and perched on the corner of the desk.

He certainly looked it, Erika thought. The dark suit and ascot were gone, replaced with faded jeans and a lightweight sweater with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. His shoulders looked even broader, and the blue of his sweater made his eyes seem brighter.

“I’ve tried to explain,” Stephen said wearily, “that on this job you’re never off duty.”

“Speak for yourself, Stephen. No wonder you’re always tired. I want to hear why Ms. Forrester needs help finding a date. To say nothing of being curious about what she means by benefits.”

It was obviously too late to pretend she’d been joking. Anyway, Erika asked herself, why should it bother her if Amos darling thought she couldn’t attract a man without help? She looked him in the eye. “I don’t know why you’ve got this chip on your shoulder, but if it’s just me you have a problem with, I promise not to bother you anymore. In fact, I’ll simply ignore you altogether. If you can convince enough of the residents to share my feelings, you’ll have a pretty easy job of it—for however long it lasts. Now if you’ll go away, Amos darling, and let me talk to Stephen in private—”

He didn’t move. “Next time you want to talk to Stephen in private, shut the door. Half the building could have heard you, so why object because I happened to walk by?”

Stephen cleared his throat. “All right, let’s get back to the point. What kind of a banquet is it and who will be there? If there are connections to be made, then maybe—”

“It’s for adult literacy. So your friend can hang out with authors and publishers and readers and agents and—”

Stephen was smiling.

“You’ve thought of someone? Stephen, you’re an angel.”

Amos slid off the desk. “Now that you have the problem solved, I’ll be—”

“It sounds right down Amos’s alley,” Stephen said.

Erika stared at him. “This is no time for a joke.”

“I was serious. Amos is writing a book. That’s why he’s here.”

Erika tipped her head to one side and inspected Amos. She thought she saw irritation flicker in his eyes.

Well, that makes two of us who are annoyed at being fixed up with each other. “Why he’s here?” she repeated. “I don’t know what you mean.”

It was Amos who answered. “There are certain advantages to the position. Living quarters supplied, no commuting to work, flexible hours. As long as I take care of the residents’ needs, I can do what I like with the rest of my time. Namely, write.”

“And if you can persuade the residents not to ask you for anything, you’ll do even better. No, Stephen, I couldn’t live with myself if I dragged a genius away from the Great American Novel to attend a boring dinner.” Erika pushed herself up from the chair. “And I’m sure the genius agrees.”

“Now that would depend on the benefits you were talking about,” Amos murmured. “Exactly what do they include?”

In your dreams, Amos darling. Erika looked at the twin dress bags hanging on the hat rack. “Which one of these is mine, Stephen? I lost track when you hung them up.”

“Let me guess,” Amos said. “You brought home a white silk blouse, I presume?”

Erika was puzzled. “Yes, as a matter of fact, though that’s not all I bought. How do you know—?”

“Because Stephen insisted that since the dry cleaner’s deliveryman refused responsibility for your white silk blouse, you must have a new one immediately. So he sent me trekking all the way down to midtown to pick it up this afternoon.”

“So I have two brand-new white silk blouses? That’s hilarious.”

“Very amusing,” Amos said politely. “I suppose you’d like me to take the extra back tomorrow.”

“It would seem to be the logical move. Actually, I’d prefer it if you’d trade it for a different shade, something like teal or periwinkle…”

“How about wine-red? That would be dead easy—I could just finish the job you did on the original.”

“On second thought, just take the blouse back. Don’t bother to get another. It would be very foolish of me to assume that you know your colors, so I might end up with something in flame-orange or fluorescent green.” She picked up a bag in each hand, weighed them and hung the lighter one back on the hat stand. “It was very thoughtful of you to anticipate my needs, Stephen.” She started toward the elevator, bag in hand.

A low voice stopped her in midstride just a few paces from the office door. “You’re quite wrong, Stephen,” she heard Amos say. “That woman doesn’t need a manager looking after her. What she needs is a keeper.”

The members’ lounge at the Civic Club was never noisy or crowded, but on Wednesday as the lunch hour neared, the room was as full as Erika had ever seen it. She toyed with a glass of sherry and tried to force down the butterflies in her stomach while she waited for her guest to arrive.

You don’t have any idea what you’re doing, whispered a voice in the back of her mind.

The voice sounded a little like her father. Erika took a deep breath and another sip and tried not to listen.

You have no experience with buyouts and takeovers. You’ve been lucky so far, that’s all—and it isn’t going to last forever. Don’t push it.

She reached for a business magazine which lay on a small table beside her. She’d grab for anything which might serve to deflect that belittling voice in her head.

Kelly had been right, she thought—at least, up to a point. The Sentinel’s editors weren’t the only ones who’d been surprised when Erika had stepped into her father’s shoes at Ladylove Cosmetics after his death. In fact, Erika herself had been pretty much amazed when she’d actually stood up and said she wanted the job.

Ladylove’s board of directors had been dumbstruck, but they hadn’t had much choice in the matter. Stanford Forrester III had made sure to maintain a controlling interest in his company, and as long as Erika was voting her father’s stock, she was every bit as much in control as he had been.

Not that she was as certain of what she was doing. But then Stanford Forrester hadn’t always been able to predict the future, either. He hadn’t intended to give up control, even when he died. And if he’d had any idea how close that day was, Erika was convinced, he’d have revised his will—because the one thing Stanford Forrester would never have wanted was for Erika to run his precious company.

Don’t worry your pretty head about business, dear. Your job is to smile for the camera…

Well, she’d proved him wrong. In the eight quarters since she’d become the CEO, Ladylove had shown steady growth in market share and profits. Now that her position was solidified, Erika was ready to spread her wings. It was time for Ladylove to grow in scope as well as sales and production, and buying Felix La Croix’s business and rolling it into Ladylove’s was a natural move.

All she had to do was convince Felix La Croix, make the deal, and pull the two companies into one solid unit.

Her sherry glass was empty. She looked around. There was still no sign of Felix, and all the waiters appeared to be busy as well. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes to do some creative visualization. Picture yourself as a success and you’ll be one.

She sensed someone standing very still directly in front of her chair, and she sat up quickly, embarrassed. Would her guest think she’d been taking a nap? “Felix, I’m so glad—”

But the man standing over her with feet braced and arms folded wasn’t Felix La Croix. It was Denby Miles, her exfiancé.

She’d run into him from time to time, of course, in the two years since their engagement had been broken off. Manhattan society wasn’t large enough to avoid someone absolutely, even if one wanted to—and she’d never gone out of her way in order to stay out of his path. But on the rare occasions when they’d come face-to-face, they’d been coolly polite, exchanging greetings and then quickly moving on. He had never sought her out before, as he so obviously had this time. And she’d never had the opportunity, or felt the need, to look him over closely—not since that day two years ago when she’d taken off his ring and handed it back to him.

He was wider now, but not solider. He looked as if he’d put on weight, but not muscle. A smile might have masked the added fullness in his face, Erika thought, but he wasn’t smiling.

“Denby,” she said. “What a nice surprise to see you here at lunchtime.”

His eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said. If a simple greeting offends you, I—”

“It’s what you’re implying that offends me—that the worker bee should be in the lab from nine-to-five, no excuses, no breaks. Well, things have changed a bit now.”

“Yes, I saw the announcement that you’re marrying your boss’s daughter,” Erika said calmly. “Congratulations are in order, I believe.”

“Of course you saw the announcement. You just had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?”

“Ruin? I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Why do you have to push yourself into everything? You couldn’t even stay out of my engagement announcement!”

Erika’s jaw dropped. “You actually think I wanted to be part of that story?”

“Jeanette’s heartbroken. This is the most important thing in her life, and you had to trample all over it.”

Erika stood up. “Well, she’d better get over it. I’m a part of your past, Denby. No matter how much we’d all like to, we can’t just wipe that out. Of course, if your engagement is as important to you as it is to her, then she doesn’t have a thing to worry about where I’m concerned.”

“You just have to have all the attention, don’t you? Being the face in the ads wasn’t enough, you had to be the CEO, too. Then—”

“Look, Denby, it was not my idea to have the Sentinel dish it all out again for the enjoyment of the masses. If you’ll excuse me—” She tried to slip past him, but he was blocking the way.

“Maybe I’m wrong,” he conceded.

“Well, that’s big of you.”

“Maybe you don’t want it brought up again, especially right now—when you’re doing it again.”

“Doing what? What are you talking about?”

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I always believed it was your father’s idea for you to lead me on. To draw me in with promises until he got what he wanted. But now I wonder who was really behind that scheme. Maybe it was your plan after all.”

His voice was growing louder, unnaturally so in the quiet lounge, and people were starting to stare.

Denby didn’t pause. “And because it worked so well with me, you’re trying it again. Maybe I should warn Felix La Croix what he’s getting into. Make sure he understands that you’re only making up to him in order to get his business.”

“I am not making up to—”

“That’s who you’re meeting today, isn’t it? Maybe I’ll just stick around and be sure he knows the truth.”

“Denby, this is utterly ridiculous!”

“Or maybe I’ll just tell the Sentinel,” he mused. “Yes, that’s the ticket. It will have the same effect, and I understand they pay pretty well for tips.”

From the corner of her eye, Erika caught a swift movement, almost a blur. It was too fast to be any of the club’s members, she thought. They were never in a hurry, not here.

Realization dawned, and she ducked—but it was too late. The photo flash popped directly in her eyes, almost blinding her for an instant.

The photographer held his camera above his head, shaking it in triumph as if it were a trophy. Then he dodged past a determined-looking waiter, out the archway from the lounge into the club lobby, and through the front door to the street.

Denby blinked and said stupidly, “What was that?”

“The Sentinel,” Erika said grimly. “I’d suggest, if you want to claim a tipster’s fee, that you’d better hurry—before the paparazzi beats you to it.”

She turned away, and the waiter who had tried to stop the photographer stepped into her path. “Ms. Forrester, Mr. La Croix asked me to give you this.” He held out a folded sheet of paper that she recognized as club stationery.

For a moment, she’d forgotten all about Felix La Croix and the reason for her lunch date, but the solidity of the heavy sheet of parchment in her hand brought it all back.

The note was brief and to the point. “I’m sure you understand why I didn’t wish to be part of the show. I’ll be in touch when I’ve had a chance to think things through.” It was signed with his initials.

Felix La Croix had been there, witnessed Denby’s little act and opted to walk out. She couldn’t exactly blame him for fading away rather than letting himself be drawn into the scene. At least he’d left a note.

“Will you be coming into the dining room now, Ms. Forrester?” the waiter asked.

Her stomach turned at the very idea of food. “No—thank you, Harry.” She retrieved her portfolio from her chair and her trench coat from the cloakroom, stuffing Felix’s note into her pocket. There was plenty to be done back at the office…

Except that right now she didn’t feel like facing Kelly and fending off questions about how the negotiations had gone and why she was back so early.

She’d go home and lie down, she decided. It was only a few blocks to the apartment complex, and Stephen was guaranteed to have something on hand to settle an unhappy stomach.

But Stephen wasn’t in the office; Amos was. A sandwich lay on the desk blotter, and beside it was a yellow legal tablet filled with scrawled and scratched-out sentences.

Erika checked on the threshold. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She started to back out.

He stood up. “Come in. What can I do for you?”

Her head was still spinning; that must be why she had the sense that he actually sounded friendly. “What hit you? You sound positively civil. Oh, I know. You’ve decided you wouldn’t mind going to that banquet after all—rubbing elbows with publishers and famous authors.”

“I told you, it depends on the benefits. You look as if you just lost your last friend.”

Erika sighed. “Do you have something for heartburn?”

He waved a hand toward the sandwich. “Italian sausage, onion and Swiss cheese. If that doesn’t do it, nothing will.”

“I meant something to treat it, not cause it.” She swayed a little.

Amos seized her arm and guided her toward the wing-backed chair.

“I’m fine, really,” Erika protested. “I just lost my balance, that’s all. I’m not going to faint.”

“In any case, sitting down won’t hurt you a bit. What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing much,” she said lightly. “A ghost from the past, paparazzi popping out from the potted plants at what’s supposed to be the most private club in the city, and a business deal gone sour.”

“Well, I’m glad it wasn’t anything important.” He pushed aside the sandwich.

She pointed to the tablet. “Is that your book?”

He frowned at the scratched-out sentences. “A small piece of it.”

“How’s it going?”

“Slowly. Too many interruptions.”

“I could have told you that. This may look like an easy job, but it’s not.”

“Only because Stephen has spoiled all of you.”

“And especially me,” Erika said steadily. “You might as well say it as think it. Though I don’t see why you said I needed a keeper.”

“What you need is a combination ladies’ maid, secretary and bodyguard. It would fall more along the lines of a wife, actually.”

“A wife?”

“Yes, I think that covers it.” He sounded quite pleased with himself.

“And that’s your definition of a wife? My goodness, you have a twisted view of the world…Though come to think of it…”

Something was nagging at her. Ladies’ maid, secretary and bodyguard…

She had the secretary, and she was perfectly capable of picking up her own clothes. But the bodyguard…

“You know, I think you’ve hit on something,” she said. “Not a wife, of course—that would really give the tabloids something to talk about. But a husband…now that’s another thing entirely. Amos—darling—what do you think?”