Читать книгу The Marriage Campaign - Michele Dunaway - Страница 11

“Lisa?”

She swallowed once and plastered on her most professional and courteous smile. “Hello, Mark.”

Those brown bedroom eyes widened at the fact it was her, and Lisa forced herself to act aloof, unaffected. She already knew what he saw: a woman in a demure cocktail dress designed to downplay any sexiness, and sensible designer heels that added only an inch to her height. A thin wire headset with an earpiece wove its way through her blond updo, and she’d lowered the mouthpiece toward her collarbone.

She held her own, refusing to deviate from her mission. “You’re here as a stand-in for your father, I believe?”

“Yes,” he replied, his intense gaze roving over her as if imprinting this moment onto his memory. Despite her resolve, she flushed slightly as he finished his appraisal. He frowned suddenly. “I saw you at the funeral this morning, didn’t I?”

She took a breath and admitted, “Yes. My aunt’s cousin.”

“Marvin Albertson,” Mark said, his tone holding a slight edge of something indecipherable.

“Yes.”

His voice dropped. “Well, imagine that. Fate is certainly interesting, isn’t she?”

“Very,” Lisa said, quite aware that the well-dressed women surrounding him wore intrigued expressions as they listened to the odd conversation.

As if she’d tell them the whole story. That Mark Smith, ultimate playboy, made out with her in a hallway during his sister’s wedding reception but then dumped her for someone else. Mark always did run through women like water and he’d proven that Lisa was no exception.

She blinked. She was older and wiser. She met hundreds of people a week and kept copious notes written on the backs of business cards and Rolodex files. Being in town only a week, she hadn’t yet looked up Joann’s parents, Mary Beth and Bud. Lisa curbed her sigh. Even though she’d given Andrea loose rein, Lisa was ultimately responsible for tonight’s dinner. She hadn’t double-checked the guest list, a mistake for which she didn’t have time to berate herself. Not when she had an evening to salvage.

“Mark, while it’s good to see you again, would you mind if we spoke in private for a minute? I’m Herbert Usher’s campaign fund-raiser and I need your help.”

His shoulders lifted in a slight shrug, indicating he’d understood that her crisp, professional tone meant she didn’t want to reminisce. His navy-blue suit moved effortlessly, indicative of its custom tailoring. This man did not buy off the rack.

“I don’t see why not,” Mark agreed. He gestured a manicured hand toward the exit door. “Lead the way. Excuse me,” he said to the ladies.

“Thank you,” Lisa said, ignoring the women’s collective exhales of disappointed curiosity. A prickle, however, ran up her spine as she led him out the ballroom doors. She could feel his gaze glued to her backside. “We have a small office set up in here.”

She began to open the door that led to a smaller meeting room, but his powerful arm extended past hers and pushed the door inward. His proximity provided a whiff of subtle cologne. He smelled divine—whatever designer brand he wore had blended with the smell of his skin to create a musky, sensual scent all his own.

Whoa. She could not allow herself to be affected. The man was a first-class jerk.

“Thank you,” she said politely, stepping past him with an outward composure she’d long mastered and at this moment certainly needed to hide her inner shaking. Mark Smith oozed pheromones or something, for he’d caused her body to react, which hadn’t happened since…well, since that night at Joann’s wedding. Her only solace was that no one had seen the kiss, and she’d never told a soul of her humiliating moment.

Lisa wasn’t one of those people who liked to air her stupidity and failures like dirty laundry.

She maintained her poise, making certain he didn’t notice anything out of whack as the door closed behind them. “I appreciate your coming with me.”

“You’re welcome,” Mark said. His eyes narrowed. “No hug for a long-lost friend?”

“I’d rather we keep this professional,” Lisa said. She made sure the headset was muted so she wasn’t broadcasting the conversation to Andrea or Bradley.

“Have it your way,” Mark said, his momentary cheeky grin fading. “What was it you wished to discuss?”

Although his tone never changed, his voice was low and naturally husky, and she concentrated on the challenging task ahead. “Let me be direct. Your father planned to start what we call ‘Pass the Hat,’ which is the donation part of the evening. It’s fun and expected, but the first check has to come from someone enthusiastic about the campaign.”

“That person was to be my father.”

She nodded, optimistic he understood. “Exactly. Herb can’t stand up at the podium and solicit. While he can make phone calls and ask a person directly, to make a blanket request for money during a fund-raising dinner is still considered extremely tacky and in poor taste.”

His brows knit closer together as he contemplated this. “My father didn’t tell me anything about starting a hat pass when we talked.”

Something about his cautious tone put her on the immediate defensive. He could not back out!

“He also didn’t tell Herb he wasn’t coming,” Lisa inserted smoothly. “Anyway, we were depending on him for tonight’s campaign jolt.”

He took a deep breath, his broad chest expanding and contracting. “My father must have forgotten. You knew he had a heart attack, didn’t you?”

“Joann mentioned it,” Lisa said, “but she also said he was recovering well.”

“He’s fine, except that he’s pretty much retired and on doctor’s orders not to do anything too strenuous as he builds up his strength. Anyway, my mother came down with a cold, and he’s home all worried about her.”

“Is she okay?”

“It’s just a spring virus. But Dad canceled everything. I attended the funeral in his place. Even my standing in for him here was just decided this morning.”

Poor Bud. Lisa had always loved Joann’s parents. But this conversation wasn’t getting her anywhere and she checked her mounting frustration. If Mark wasn’t going to help, she had a problem to solve and no more seconds to waste with a man who’d already destroyed her illusions once. “I do understand. I’m sure I can find someone else if you’re uncomfortable stepping into his shoes.”

“I’m never uncomfortable in my father’s shoes.”

His sharp and direct retort surprised her, and Lisa’s eyes widened. She’d barely processed his reaction before the door opened and Andrea entered the meeting room. She smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have your name tag ready, Mr. Smith,” Andrea said, handing him the computer-generated “Hello, my name is” sticker. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to tell me.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Andrea said.

He gave Andrea a cheeky smile, one that Lisa knew worked wonders on women. It had once worked on her. And his grin had the desired effect on Andrea, for she shot Lisa a wistful look as she exited. Lisa kept her lips in a straight line.

“How much was my father going to give?” Mark asked suddenly, his deep voice penetrating her jumbled thoughts. “If he was going to pass the hat, I’m sure you know the exact amount and even had a nice little speech all scripted for him. Now, if you will explain this process to me, I’m sure we can come to some solution that is agreeable to both of us.”

“That would be preferred,” Lisa admitted as she regained her footing. She never lost her balance in the political arena. There was no reason disequilibrium should be happening now, especially with this man.

He smiled at her, but only in a patronizing way designed to establish that the situation was totally under his firm control. “Of course a solution would be preferred,” Mark said. “I’m first and foremost a businessman. I can handle a curve. You’ve certainly given me those before.”

She had? What was he talking about? She didn’t have time for this nonsense or digs into her character that she didn’t understand. “Your father was going to donate two thousand dollars, the maximum donation he could make.”

TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS? Mark froze. The amount of money didn’t shock or faze him; his father was extremely generous, and Herb had been a college fraternity brother. Everyone knew how deep those bonds could run. And two thousand dollars was chump change for the wealthy Smith family.

Lisa took a step back. “If that’s too much…” she was saying, her concentration fully on the check that was getting away and the problem she had to solve. He found her actions and conundrum slightly irritating.

Eight years had changed her, and at this moment Mark wasn’t sure he liked this older and wiser version standing before him. Lisa used to be the one who’d give her shirt right off her back to help her friends. She was the kind who’d take in every stray animal she ran across.

She’d been the one he’d wanted until, instead of meeting him, she’d disappeared into the night without a goodbye. Heck, kissing her in the hallway had made him feel like a superhero. Her disappearance had been a slap in the face.

As for this Lisa…The hardened political dynamo standing in front of him was concerned only about her event and his check. He glanced at her hand—surely she should be married by now.

But no, her ring finger was bare.

“Mark, are you okay? As I indicated earlier, I can find someone else if two thousand is too much money.”

“The money’s fine,” he said crisply, poise regained. His gaze roved over her. She was still beautiful. He’d been attracted to her ever since their first meeting years ago, when she’d first become Joann’s roommate their freshman year.

And Mark was a firm believer in taking the opportunities that fate granted. He’d seen Lisa twice now in one day. She’d run out on him long ago, but she couldn’t run this time. She needed something from him, and he wanted an explanation.

He peered closer, studying the way her blue eyes flickered and the dimple to the left of her mouth twitched. She probably wasn’t even aware of that unconscious movement. So she wasn’t as composed as she thought, which was good.

He shifted his weight and narrowed his gaze at her. “You know, Lisa, I would have thought you’d be married.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Divorced?”

“No.” Her voice was frostier now, like the chilly air to which they’d both been exposed this morning. Her posture tensed as she struggled to be polite instead of defensive. Right now she probably wanted to tell him to go to hell, but that two-thousand-dollar check was too important. He felt like Rhett Butler having the upper hand with Scarlett O’Hara.

Lisa Meyer, the woman who was going to change the world one politician at a time, would play by his rules tonight. “I’ll help you, but under one condition,” he said.

“What?” she eyed him suspiciously.

Mark reached out and grabbed her left hand. Her skin was smooth in his grasp, and her blue eyes widened and her mouth dropped open into a little O shape that he decided he liked. She had kissable lips. But then, she always had. Her mouth had been the first thing he’d noticed about her, back when they’d both been eighteen. And that kiss that night…

“We definitely have to catch up,” Mark said, shoving his libido aside as he began his offensive. “My parents will want to hear everything about you, especially since Herb is an old friend. And Joann won’t believe that we ran into each other like this.”

“That’s all?” Lisa stared.

“Well, no,” Mark began, his tone foreshadowing the condition he was about to insist on.

“Lisa.” A harsh male voice cut sharply through the conversation like a butcher knife. “What exactly are you doing?”

The moment the older man stepped fully into the hotel meeting room, Mark observed an immediate reaction in Lisa. She jerked her hand from his as the man closed the door behind him and stared through wire-rim glasses down his pointed nose. He had to be in his early forties, but somehow he seemed so much older.

When he spoke again, his voice was clipped. “Lisa, job. Herb trusts you. Tonight is extremely important and—”

“I’m Mark Smith,” Mark interrupted, his eyes narrowing at the man’s public chastisement. Speaking of politically incorrect behavior, did the man not see Mark’s name tag? “I’m Larry Smith’s son. You are…?”

“Bradley Wayne. I supervise Herb’s campaign.”

“He’s the campaign manager,” Lisa corrected, her tone brutally polite. “I’m the fund-raiser. Together we’ve partnered to get Herb elected.”

Bravo, Mark thought. He’d never known Lisa to be a wimp, which is why it bugged him so much she’d just disappeared that night.

Bradley’s lips frowned displeasure. “And, partner, I need for you to pull your weight. I’d expect this type of behavior from marriage-obsessed Andrea but not from you.”

Lisa crossed her arms and ramrodded her back. “We were discussing his donation check.”

“Which is why you were holding hands.” Bradley’s reply held just a trace of sarcasm.

Mark stared, his business acumen assessing the man in a nanosecond. Given the undercurrents, there was something more here than met the eye. Had Lisa been interested in the guy once? Surely not, Mark decided.

While Bradley Wayne might be an attractive man on the surface, with his perfect hair and manicured nails, he was the type of guy dominated by only one agenda—his own. Men could spot the worst type of their gender immediately, and Mark considered himself an expert after fending off the sharks only out to purchase and subsequently gut his family’s company. Mark inserted himself back into the conversation.

“Actually, Bradley, you’re right. We were holding hands. Lisa was explaining my role in pass-the-hat and we haven’t seen each other in years. Way too long.”

“His sister is my best friend,” Lisa added quickly. She gazed at Mark. “And long enough.”

Ah, the gauntlet, Mark thought. Lisa was mad at him. But for what? He’d shown up in the ballroom to meet her and she’d been gone.

“Well, if you are such old friends, then everything is perfectly acceptable. Lisa, you know I always have your best interests at heart,” Bradley said, his voice too smooth for Mark’s liking.

“Mr. Smith, I’m sorry I arrived at any unnecessary conclusions,” Bradley continued pleasantly, coming across to Mark as one of those disinterested customer-service representatives working at a call center. “My reaction and words were unprofessional and I apologize. My only explanation is that Lisa is my protégée. I’ve been training her these past two years. Now that’s she’s branched out on her own, I want to see her succeed. Tonight is the first major event in St. Louis whose success rests solely on her shoulders, and I want to make certain nothing goes wrong.”

Bradley reached over and drew Lisa aside. “How about I take over explaining the pass-the-hat event to Mr. Smith? That way you can take care of things outside.”

“That sounds fine.” Lisa moved toward the door.

Mark frowned. No way. She was not going to walk away from him again. Not when she owed him an explanation at the very least. “Lisa, wait.”

She stopped, turned, and Mark focused his attention on Bradley. The man shifted his weight under Mark’s scrutiny. “Bradley—I hope you don’t mind if I call you that—I find myself respectfully disagreeing with this current situation. I’d like to suggest that Lisa explains what I’m to do, since this is her event. It should be her call.”

“I am the campaign manager,” Bradley offered with a patronizing smile that didn’t reach his narrowing eyes. “Herb promoted Lisa upon my advice. Lisa, Mr. and Mrs. Auble have asked to meet Herb, so be sure that happens before the end of the evening. The Aubles plan to let Herb and Bunny spend a week at their lake house.”

“I’m on it.” Lisa returned to pushing the door open.

“Then after the speech you, Mr. Smith, will…”

But Mark ignored him and followed Lisa to the door. No matter how tough Lisa wanted to make this, Mark was determined to make it tougher for her to get away. He put his hand on hers and caught her in the middle of the doorway. “I asked you to wait,” he said.

She shook her head, a blond tendril falling out of the updo and landing in front of her ear. She freed her hand and deliberately pushed the wayward lock back. “I have to go. Thanks for starting the hat.”

“We aren’t done talking,” he said. “You and I have unfinished business.”

Her eyes widened for a moment before she regained her composure. “Okay, perhaps we can talk for a few moments afterward,” Lisa conceded. “I’m seeing my parents Saturday and I won’t live it down if I don’t bring news. And Joann would kill me if we don’t talk.”

“Still not acceptable,” Mark said.

Lisa appeared startled at his firm tone, and Mark used the moment to deal with the insufferable Bradley Wayne.

“Mr. Wayne, I’m quite prepared to fulfill my father’s obligations tonight. But I have a problem. I’m dateless and I dislike dining alone at a table full of strangers. I insist that Lisa be my guest. I haven’t seen her for eight years and would like to catch up.”

Bradley wore a stunned expression, as if someone had suggested letting beggars attend a royal ball. “She has a job to do.”

“Exactly. Fund-raising,” Mark inserted. “My father and Herb pledged the fraternity together and are good friends. I’d hate to go home and tell my dad about the miserable time I had and that I just couldn’t, in good conscience, donate his two thousand and two of my own….” Mark purposely paused. “Anyway, I promise to look after Lisa and get that hat moving.”

Bradley’s upper lip curled and Mark faced Lisa. Her jaw had dropped slightly, and she quickly closed her mouth. He’d dumbfounded her. He could almost hear Joann laughing, filling the hole inside of him that she’d left when she’d moved to Springfield. Phone calls and occasional visits didn’t cut it after you’d grown up sharing confidences since the womb. He turned to Lisa. “Ready? You can tell me about my important duties over our rubber chicken entrée.”

Still shocked by the turn of events, Lisa said, “Huh? I sampled the food earlier. It’s actually pretty good.”

“Perfect.” With that, Mark Smith and his Rhett Butler smile swept Lisa out of the room.