Читать книгу Bedroom Eyes - Sandra Chastain - Страница 8

“I NEVER THOUGHT I’d admit it, but I desperately need a man,” Anne Harris said, tugging at her short skirt as she sat down and crossed her long legs. “My mother seems to think you have some sort of catalog of available prospects.”

“Bachelor-in-a-Box doesn’t work quite that way,” Bettina explained with a smile. “The actual photograph is only a small part of my service. We have to create a romantic past and design a plan of action. Will this be a new man in your life or will he be a longtime lover?”

“I don’t want a new man or an old lover,” Anne corrected. “Been there, done that and I’m still paying for my lesson. I simply need to rent a temporary fiancé.”

“Fine,” Bettina said, matching Anne’s straight-to-the-point approach. “Our service can be a month-to-month arrangement or for as long as you like.”

Across the desk, she studied her client and thought of her free-spirited brother Mitchell, better known to the world as the photographer Dane. Strangely enough, she thought this woman was perfect for him. Unlike Mitchell, Anne Harris was the picture of competency, exuding drive, determination and dedication. She wore her dark hair pulled back in a severe twist and a kick-ass black tailored suit that screamed power. But Bettina sensed something wilder beneath the facade. Even her voice, low and throaty, seemed better suited to one of Mitch’s island beauties than a boardroom. Too bad Bachelor-in-a-Box couldn’t match its clients with real men instead of simply providing a fantasy.

Bettina hadn’t known what to expect when Faylene Harris had said her daughter Anne was coming in, but the young woman’s direct approach was no surprise. Bettina had been told that Anne was a career woman on the fast track to management. Ever since her father’s death, Anne Harris had totally committed herself to her career. She was a doer, determined to be the businessman her father hadn’t been and to honor his last request that she look after her mother. Bettina understood that. Her oldest brother, Mitchell, had been the same way. When their father died, the responsibility of supporting his two brothers and sister had fallen on his shoulders. Once she’d entered college, Mitchell-the-doer disappeared and Mitchell-the-dreamer hit the road, determined to make the world his home.

“A month ago, I wouldn’t have believed such a service existed,” Anne said with a dry laugh. “Leave it to my mother to know, though I don’t know why she would if the men aren’t real. She couldn’t have been your client.” She stopped herself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

Bettina couldn’t help but laugh. “You don’t have to apologize. I know Faylene very well. We met at the gym two years ago. After the first night I learned to look for the cluster of men to see where Faylene was working out. I’m surprised she didn’t come with you—to help you choose your fiancé.”

“Her help is what got me into trouble in the first place. She’s the one who told my boss I’m engaged. I should have corrected her the moment it happened. But I could see that he’d already fallen under her spell and I didn’t want to make her look bad. Now I have to go along with her tall tale. It’s just that…” Her control seemed to falter a bit. “I don’t like deceit. Deceit can hurt people.”

There was something about the unexpected quiet tone of Anne’s voice that made Bettina think that she knew firsthand about deceit and hurt. Bettina found herself drawn to this woman. She liked that Anne cared about her mother. She liked even more that Anne felt uncomfortable with the lie. “Would you care for a cup of tea, Anne?”

“No, thanks.” Anne took a quick look at her watch and visibly made the effort to recapture her professional demeanor. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Just Bettina. I try to live the fantasy I sell.”

“Bettina, I really need to get this done. Please show me what you have so that I can get back to my office.”

Bettina leaned back in her chair. “It doesn’t work quite that way. Your application tells me about your tastes, the kind of flowers you like, music, candy, gifts. Next we build a history for your fiancé, I provide you with a photograph and we start the fantasy courtship. Your fiancé may not be a real man but we have to make the people around you believe he is. Do you have any questions?”

“Yes. Where do you get your photographs?”

“I use models. But you don’t have to worry. Nobody will recognize your fiancé.” Bettina picked up Anne’s application. “If you’re ready, I’d like you to tell me about yourself in your own words.”

Anne sighed impatiently. “I work for Bundles of Joy, a baby products manufacturing company. The man who owns the company—the man my mother seems to have elevated to the top of her eligible bachelors list—believes that people who have children have some mysterious, inborn instinct for selling to others like themselves. I thought I’d have time to prove to him that he’s wrong. Now, one of the vice presidents is retiring and I’m in line for the job.”

“Wonderful,” Bettina said.

“It would be except my chief rival has a perfect husband and two perfect children. I don’t.”

“Do you like children?” Bettina asked curiously.

“I love children,” she said, tugging at her skirt again. Then she added in a voice so low that Bettina could barely hear, “I just don’t plan to have any. And the only husband I will ever have is the one you’re providing.”

The quick flash of angst in Anne’s eyes said more than her words. Bettina had seen that look before, in her brother’s eyes. He didn’t talk about it, but when he was in Hawaii there was an island girl he cared about. Then she died and he became a wanderer determined never to put down roots again.

Using only the name Dane, her brother photographed every rain forest, every archeological dig, and every big news event in the world. He’d built a reputation that guaranteed his choice of assignments and the income to support his vow never to stay in one place. There were no more island girls but at least one or two children with faces of despair found their way into every shoot. Except for two portraits an art gallery had sold, Mitchell filed the rest away in portfolios in a trunk in her basement.

Children and families didn’t fit into the very different lifestyles of either Mitchell or Anne. That’s when the answer came to her. She opened her desk drawer, fishing out the original file of the models she’d used to open her agency. She’d give Anne Harris the perfect fiancé. She’d give her Mitchell. And maybe, if she and Faylene put their heads together, they could figure out how to make Anne’s imaginary fiancé real.

“I think I have just the man you need. Let me tell you about Mitchell Dane.”