And what about you, Darcy? What are you feeling?

She hadn’t expected that question to come up, not where Trey was concerned. This was a business proposition, pure and simple, and feelings shouldn’t have come into it at all. But now that the line had been crossed between business and emotion…she had to admit she wasn’t quite sure what she was feeling. She was irritated at him for taking advantage of the situation, that was for sure. Intrigued by what on earth his reasons could be. Fascinated at what he might be plotting. Annoyed at…

Time was what she needed, to sort everything out in her head and decide what to do. Time to think about the situation, and about what she wanted, and about Trey.

Especially about Trey, a little voice whispered in the back of her mind.

Darcy did her best to ignore it.

From city girl—to corporate wife!

Working side by side, nine to five—and beyond….

No matter how hard these couples try to keep their relationships strictly professional, romance is definitely on the agenda!

But will a date in the office diary lead to an appointment at the altar?

Contracted: Corporate Wife by Jessica Hart, Harlequin Romance #3861

Leigh Michaels wrote her first book when she was fourteen and thought she knew everything. Now she’s a good bit older, and wise enough to realize that she’ll never know everything. She has written more than 75 romance novels, teaches writing in person and online, and enjoys long walks, miniatures and watching wild deer and turkey from her living room.

Leigh loves to hear from readers. You may contact her at: P.O. Box 935, Ottumwa, Iowa 52501, U.S.A. or visit her Web site: leigh@leighmichaels.com

Books by Leigh Michaels

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3815—THE HUSBAND SWEEPSTAKE

3836—ASSIGNMENT: TWINS

The Corporate Marriage Campaign
Leigh Michaels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

THE sound of a key clicking in the lock roused Darcy just enough to make her moan and turn over, but not enough to make her aware of where she was—which was why, when Dave came through the front door a few seconds later, she was sprawled on the carpet next to the couch she’d just fallen from.

Dave stopped dead, his briefcase still swinging. “What are you doing down here?”

Darcy rubbed her neck. “Sleeping, apparently.”

“Was it too stuffy for you upstairs last night? Maybe we need to put an air conditioner in.”

“As far as I know, it’s fine. I haven’t been up there.”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “Are you nursing a hangover?”

“No, David—not unless they’ve started putting something alcoholic into tea bags.” Darcy pushed herself up into a sitting position against the front of Mrs. Cusack’s desk. It was plenty solid enough to lean against; there was no chance that the massive desk would slide out from behind her. “I finished up a dozen job applications—they’re right there, all ready to mail—and the last thing I remember, I sat down for a minute on the couch to admire the stack. I must have been more tired than I thought.”

“How late were you up?”

Darcy shrugged. “I remember noticing 3:00 a.m., but I was still making copies then so it must have been a lot later when I actually crashed.” She gave an enormous yawn and grumbled, “This isn’t fair, you know. If I’m going to wake up with the same symptoms as a hangover, I should at least have the fun of a party to remember. I’m going to bed.”

“Uh, Darcy…”

“I don’t like the sound of that, Dave.”

“Mrs. Cusack called me at home this morning. She isn’t going to be coming in today, so I wondered if you could fill in.”

“Again? I suppose her sinuses are still acting up.”

“I told her it would be all right, because you’d be here. Sorry.”

“Does it appear to you that ever since I came back to town, your secretary has gotten into the habit of calling in sick a couple of times a week? That’s not a complaint, by the way, just a comment.”

“She thinks you’re taking advantage of me, living rent free in the penthouse.”

The penthouse. It was Darcy herself who had named it that, back when Dave had bought the little cottage to house his fledgling law practice and moved into the half-finished attic in order to ease the strain on his finances. She hadn’t expected then that she’d ever be living there herself, even temporarily.

“Well, it’s not exactly the Ritz—but whatever Mrs. Cusack thinks, I appreciate having the accommodations.” Darcy shook her head, trying to clear it. “And I’m happy to lend a hand. I’ll pull myself together here in a minute, but some coffee would sure help.”

“I’ll start a pot.”

“Well, go easy on it. The battery acid you call coffee—”

“It’s guaranteed to wake you up.”

“David, your coffee would wake up a corpse. Do I have time for a shower? Not that you want me greeting clients without one, after I worked most of the night.”

Dave checked his wristwatch. “I’m not expecting anybody for an hour or so. If you like, I’ll make sure the hot water runs out before then so you won’t be walking through the waiting room wearing a towel.”

“That’s such a comfort. So generous of you to help me out.” Darcy pushed herself up from the floor and headed across the minuscule hallway to the cottage’s single bathroom. “Though the way I feel at the moment, a cold shower might be a better idea.”

She stayed under the spray as long as she dared, then wrapped her hair in a towel and slid reluctantly back into her sweats. Where was her brain, anyway, that she hadn’t run upstairs for some fresh clothes before she stripped off?

It was going to be another long day, she reflected. But with her applications finished, she really had nothing else to do but mail them and start assembling the next list of potential jobs. Staying busy with Dave’s clients and paperwork was better than having too much time to think about her own situation, anyway.

And it felt good to be able to help Dave out a bit in return for all he was doing for her right now. The penthouse might not quite match up to its grandiose name, but it was a place to sleep and store her stuff till she got herself established again. And since he’d refused to even consider charging her rent, the least she could do was pitch in around the office. Once this was over—as soon as she had a job again, and her own place, and a bank account—she’d do something really nice for Dave…

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she had walked halfway through the waiting room toward the stairs before she realized that a man and a woman were standing in the center of the room, looking around as if they felt lost.

Had she been in the shower that long? Surely not, because Dave hadn’t been kidding about the hot water supply. So either his clients had arrived far earlier than their appointment, or this was an unexpected addition to his day. Did he even realize they were here? If they’d just walked in, and he hadn’t heard the door…

“Hi,” she said. “Can I help you?”

The man turned to face her. His raised eyebrows said that he doubted very much that she could be of any assistance at all. No surprise there, Darcy thought. In her baggy, mismatched sweats, stained with india ink and acrylic paint, with her hair piled in a makeshift turban, she no doubt looked more like the cleaning lady than the confidential secretary she was supposed to be today.

Especially in comparison to his own elegant good looks. He was made for a courtroom, she thought—tall, broad-shouldered, dark haired, with a profile that looked as if it had been chiseled by a Renaissance master and a pinstriped suit that could have been fitted by the same loving touch. He was looking down his classic nose at her, obviously waiting for her to justify her existence.

Well, it was all right with Darcy if Mr. Elegance found her unappealing. She’d had her fill of guys who were gorgeous and knew how to use their looks to advantage. Packaging wasn’t everything.

“You’ve taken us a bit off guard this morning, I’m afraid,” she said. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“I phoned right before we came over,” he said curtly.

The voice matched the rest of him, Darcy thought—deep and rich but with a hard edge.

That’s great, she thought. He must have talked to Dave while she was in the shower, and now Darcy looked like either a liar or an idiot. Where do we go from here?

She let her gaze drift from the man to his companion, and blinked in surprise. Who went out in public these days wearing a black picture hat with a heavy veil? Grieving widows? Movie stars? Someone who had no idea what a cliché she was wearing?

Even more surprising, Darcy thought, was why hadn’t she noticed that attention-grabbing hat before now. Surely it should have jumped out at her the instant she laid eyes on the couple. Not that Mr. Elegance wasn’t worth looking at all by himself—but it almost seemed as if he’d been trying to get in the way, as if he’d been deliberately trying to block her view of his feminine companion.

Dave called from the kitchen, “I’ve got it, Darcy. Just as soon as I get the coffee poured I’ll be in. Show them into my office, will you?”

Darcy took a step back and with a purposely theatrical gesture invited the couple toward the back of the house, where Dave had converted one of the cottage’s original bedrooms into his office.

If he’d been expecting clients, it wasn’t obvious—at least, the clutter looked just the same to Darcy as it had yesterday. Dave had dropped his briefcase into one of the two chairs supposedly reserved for clients, just as he usually did. Darcy fished it out and set it atop a pile of law books on the credenza, and then tried to clear off enough space on the desk so he could set down a tray.

Just yesterday, she remembered, she’d told Dave that he should rearrange the front room—currently the law library—enough to put in a desk. That would create a public office, an attractive and restful place to meet with his clients away from the disorder of his working desk. He’d told her that the clients he was most interested in didn’t mind untidiness, and Darcy hadn’t argued the point because on second thought she’d realized it would only give him another flat surface to fill with clutter.

Dave came in carrying not a tray but three foam cups, full to the brim with steaming and very black coffee. That was Dave, she thought—straightforward and without an ounce of pretension.

She wondered what Mr. Elegance thought of the service, and shot a look at him from the corner of her eye. “David, perhaps your guests would like cream and sugar?” she suggested gently.

“Trey doesn’t use it,” Dave said. “But I don’t know…” His gaze rested on the woman in the hat. He looked worried.

“Cream, please,” she said softly. “I don’t think I can drink it so hot.”

“Would you get the cream, Darcy?” Dave asked. “But first let me introduce you. This is Trey—”

“Smith,” Mr. Elegance said.

Darcy was still watching Dave, feeling bemused by the concern in his face as he looked at the mysterious lady under the picture hat, and she saw his eyes widen ever so slightly. Someone who didn’t know him well might not even have realized he was startled, but Darcy wasn’t fooled. Dave’s client was lying, and Dave knew it.

Of course, who wouldn’t be suspicious? Smith… Honestly, couldn’t the man come up with a better alias than that?

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Smith,” Darcy said dryly. “We get so many of those among our clientele, I hope you won’t mind if I have trouble keeping you straight from all the others. And Mrs. Smith, I presume?”

“Come on, Trey,” Dave said. “This is my sister Darcy. She’s helping out on short notice today because my secretary’s sick.”

Mr. Elegance—or Smith—looked Darcy over from head to toe.

She’d never felt more like a dust mop in her life. Which was a ridiculous reaction, she told herself. Just because he was beautifully attired in a hand-tailored suit didn’t give him any right to judge her costume. “Actually,” she confided, “I dress this way because it makes the criminal element among our clients feel right at home. I was going to wear my Property Of Cook County Jail jumpsuit today, but I’m afraid it’s in the laundry. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get the cream.”

The cream was at the back of the refrigerator, still in the big plastic supermarket jug, and of course, she couldn’t find anything to serve it in. If Dave had ever owned a cream and sugar set, she couldn’t remember seeing it, and the only alternative was yet another of the ubiquitous foam cups. And of course she couldn’t find a tray. So she put the cream jug and the sugar canister on a pizza pan, along with a couple of spoons and the last of a package of paper napkins she found crumpled in the back of a drawer.

She was just starting through the cottage toward the office when Dave called, “Darcy! Bring some ice, too!”

Ice? What next? With any luck, Darcy decided, she might manage to get upstairs to dress sometime before noon.

At least there was an ice bucket—which she supposed said something about Dave’s priorities, or perhaps those of his clients. She tipped out the receipts which had collected in the bucket onto the kitchen counter, rinsed it out and froze her fingers dipping cubes from the ice maker.

“Isn’t it a little early for cocktails?” she asked as she backed into the office.

Then she saw why Dave had wanted ice, and she almost dropped the pizza pan.

The mysterious woman in the picture hat was mysterious no longer. At least, she wasn’t hiding her identity anymore, though Darcy would bet there was quite a story behind the blackened eye, the bruised jaw, and the angry-looking cut on her upper lip. No wonder the woman had said she couldn’t drink her coffee hot.

Darcy set the pizza pan atop Dave’s desk, pushed the cream and sugar off the dish towel she’d used to cover up the discolored surface of the pan, dumped the ice into the towel, and held it out to the blonde. “Car accident?” she said. “Or—something else?”

“Something else,” the blonde said. “Thanks.” She cradled the towel against her cheek.

Mr. Elegance held out a hand. “I’m Trey Kent,” he said gruffly. “This is my sister Caroline. Dave assures me you’re able to keep a secret—and now you know why I was concerned about that.”

“Yes,” Darcy said. “If I can help in any way—”

“That’s what we’re here to discuss with Dave,” Trey said.

Dismissed. Darcy felt like saluting.

They were still behind closed doors when she came back downstairs a few minutes later, dressed in heather tweed slacks and a short-sleeved sweater. She was leaning over Mrs. Cusack’s desk, reviewing the day’s calendar, when she heard the doorknob of Dave’s office give its characteristic groan, and she pushed the calendar aside and hurried toward the kitchen to make another pot of coffee.

Not, she told herself, to avoid coming face to face with Mr. Elegance again. She couldn’t possibly care less what he thought about her.

The telltale loose board in the hallway creaked, and a moment later Trey Kent was standing in the kitchen doorway, the sopping-wet towel in his hand. He was holding it gingerly, as if afraid it would drip on his perfectly creased trousers. “I think we’re finished with this, Ms. Malone.”

Darcy took the towel, wrung it out, and hung it over the faucet. “I hope it helped.”

“You were very kind.”

She waited for him to go back to Dave’s office, but instead he leaned against the front of the cabinets and folded his arms across his chest. “My sister’s wedding is scheduled for the middle of December.”

And why are you telling me about it? “Really? Now that just goes to show why Dave’s the lawyer and I’m the part-time secretary, because I’d have guessed she was here for a restraining order, not a prenuptial contract. Unless of course it wasn’t the fiancé who did this to her.”

“It was. And she won’t be marrying him.”

“Well, that’s good news. Most battered women are so off balance about the whole thing that they blame themselves for getting beaten—and they don’t even consider filing charges.”

“Can you blame them? Taking the whole thing to court is complicated, inconvenient, unpleasant and time-consuming.”

Darcy looked at him thoughtfully. “Don’t forget embarrassing,” she said coolly. “Especially for the family.”

“Not to mention risky for the victim who stands up against an abuser.”

“So is that why she’s talking to Dave instead of the district attorney—because you’d rather handle it all quietly?”

“Not quite. We have an appointment with the district attorney later this morning, but I brought Caroline to see Dave first so he could tell her why it’s absolutely necessary she not back down and let Corbin go free to do it again to someone else. But I’m sure you don’t need the legal process explained to you.”

Darcy bit her lip. “Oh. I thought—”

“It was quite clear what you thought, Ms. Malone. In the meantime, however, this whole thing has left us with a problem.”

“Us?” Darcy asked. “I assume you’re speaking generically, because I don’t feel that this is exactly a personal difficulty for me.”

“A problem for Caroline and for me. And for the Kentwells chain.”

Darcy snapped her fingers. “Of course. Kentwells—the department store group. No wonder your name sounded familiar. Trey Kent…let me think. You’re not actually named Trey, are you? You’re Something, Something Kent the Third—that’s where they got the Trey.”

“It’s better than being called Junior as my father sometimes was.”

“No contest there. So what is your name, really?”

“Andrew Patrick Kent.” He added, sounding reluctant, “The Third.”

“All those nice first names and you don’t use a single one of them. Such a shame.”

“Has your brother ever told you you’re impertinent?”

“Frequently. But since I’m not officially working for him, he can’t fire me, you see.”

“He said you’re not working at all right now.”

“On the contrary.” Darcy reached for a mug. “I’m working very hard to get a full-time job. In fact, one of the applications in the stack on the desk, waiting for the mailman to pick it up, is addressed to the head of marketing at the Kentwells stores. I put my best samples in it. Of course, I put my best samples in all the packages I send out.”

“Marketing,” he said thoughtfully. “Dave said you’re trained as a graphic artist.”

“You know, it sounds to me as if Dave was doing more talking about me than about his client. That’s not like Dave.”

His gaze flickered. “I asked him about you.”

“Really? I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me why you wanted to know?”

“I might be able to pull some strings for you.”

“Why would you want to?” Darcy asked bluntly. “Why would it even occur to you? The impression I made this morning can’t have been anything to make you want to help me out. Or do you mean Dave asked you to give me a hand?”

He didn’t answer. “You have a certain potential.”

“Oh, I get it. You’ll find me a job with your competitors so I can create chaos for them. Or are you just interested in getting me out of here so I can’t gossip about Caroline’s problems? Of course it’s a little late to prevent me from talking about what happened this morning, if I wanted to. Not that I would, because I can keep a secret.”

“Dave assures me you’re the soul of discretion.” His voice was dry.

“But you don’t believe him, so you want to cut a private deal to keep me from blowing my mouth off.”

He didn’t answer. “I’d like to tell you about my problem, Ms. Malone. Or may I call you Darcy?”

“I guess I can’t stop you from calling me whatever you want. But before you tell me all the gory details about Caroline, you should know I don’t counsel battered women or the guys who beat them up.”

“I have no intention of telling you the details, gory or otherwise, about Caroline.”

“Then what on earth can I do for you, Trey?”

He seemed to flinch at the name. Darcy had expected he would, and that was exactly why she’d used it.

“I started to tell you earlier,” he pointed out. “If I might finish my explanation?”

Darcy handed him a mug of coffee. “Sure. I’ve got nothing to do but listen.”

“When Caroline first set her wedding date, the stores’ advertising department decided to take advantage of the fact. What they came up with is a sort of hybrid of royal wedding and advertising blitz.”

“Interesting combination.”

“They’ve planned a three-month-long program of print and media ads showing the bride and groom choosing everything for their wedding and their new home.”

“From an engagement ring to a lawnmower,” Darcy murmured.

“I don’t think they thought of the lawnmower.”

“Then your advertising department is obviously in need of some fresh blood.”

He winced.

“Sorry,” Darcy murmured. “I guess that’s probably not a good image right now, considering Caroline’s bruises and that scab on her lip.”

“At any rate, the ad space and time have already been scheduled, the merchandise which will be featured has all been selected, and the photographers are booked to take the pictures. In fact, they started two days ago.”

“I begin to see the dimensions of the problem,” Darcy murmured. “You’ve got all the pieces of a campaign and now the stars have winked out on you.”

“That’s about the size of it.”

Darcy sipped her coffee. “I don’t suppose you could be lucky enough that the fight between Caroline and her fiancé was over another man? Then you could just blot out the current guy from the photos and substitute the head of the new one.”

“No,” he said. “We’ll have to start over.”

“Of course you’ll have Caroline’s split lip to contend with—though I suppose you could photograph her only in profile, until she heals…”

“Are you always this irreverent?”

“Generally, yes,” Darcy admitted. “Though perhaps I should point out that it isn’t my intention to be disrespectful to Caroline and the trouble she’s having.” Only to you. Why are you telling me all this, anyway—Mr. Smith who wanted so badly to be anonymous?

“Dave suggested we use someone else.”

“You know,” Darcy murmured, “I’m always amazed when it’s the expensive attorney who comes up with the obvious answer and thinks it’s brand-new and original.”

“Yes, I’d already considered the possibility of making a switch. The question, of course, is who to use instead.”

Darcy shrugged. “Doesn’t the store have a bridal registry? You could call up the couples who are already listed and ask if they’d like some free stuff in return for using their pictures.”

“Those people are already well into the process. They’ve made most of their decisions already. The whole point of the campaign is the excitement when a bride and groom look at all the options the store makes available to them.”

“And then they’re going to choose exactly the merchandise you’ve already decided to feature? Sorry, I suppose I’m being irreverent again.”

“Plus we need to start shooting again tomorrow—we’re already well behind schedule—and that doesn’t leave time to do background checks on the people who are already listed in the bridal registry.”

“Investigate them? Whatever for?”

“Considering why I’m here this morning, I’m surprised you have to ask. We narrowly escaped putting a batterer into a prominent spot in our advertising. I’d hate to find out after the fact that we chose a bigamist or a sex offender instead.”

“You’re just about as big a cynic as Dave is. Okay, how about Dave?”

“Dave?”

“Salt of the earth. He wouldn’t exactly be royal wedding material, but the ads would have the advantage of looking like real people.”

“Real people?”

“Yes. Pardon me for saying it, but I think the average customer of your department store is likely to have a little trouble picturing herself in Caroline’s size three bikini. Your sister’s gorgeous—or she would be without the bruises. But she looks like a model. Whereas if you had a normal-size, normal-looking bride and groom—”

“Someone like Dave.”

“Sure. Why not ask him how he feels about it?”

“I did. He said he was more accustomed to dealing with mopping up the other end of a marriage.”

“How long have you known him, anyway? Surely it doesn’t surprise you that he’s a bit jaded after all the divorces he’s handled. Maybe he just needs a little encouragement to settle down. Give him a nice gift package, a little publicity for the law practice…”

“He also said he wasn’t dating anyone.”

“Now, that’s malarkey. He’s always dating someone. The current girlfriend called here last night, as a matter of fact. Which reminds me—I forgot to tell him that Ginger phoned.”

“Yes,” Trey said dryly. “I see now why you said you’re good at keeping a secret.”

Darcy made a face at him. “The point is, if he told you he wasn’t dating anyone, he was pulling your leg.”

“You didn’t let me finish. Actually, what he said was that he wasn’t dating anyone he would consider for an instant in connection with the word ‘bride.”’

Darcy blinked in surprise. “Now that makes me feel a little crazy. He harped at me all the way through college about how I should never even go out for a slice of pizza with a guy I wouldn’t consider marrying. Now he’s dating someone he himself thinks is inappropriate—”

“I thought you said you’d talked to her. She must not be so bad if you think she’s all right.”

“Well, I’ve only been back in town for a week, so I haven’t actually met her. Now I can’t wait to see what he means.”

He shifted restlessly against the cabinets. “If we could stay on topic, Darcy.”

“Oh. Sure. Well, if you can’t find a bride and groom, you could always turn the whole thing into a public service campaign to promote awareness of domestic violence.” Belatedly, Darcy remembered the picture hat, the veil, the alias. “Though I guess Caroline wouldn’t want to go quite that public, right?”

“There would also be a little matter of slander if her ex-fiancé’s name came into it.”

“Technically, slander doesn’t apply—not if you’re telling the truth. At least, I think that’s the case, but maybe you should ask Dave about slander and libel.”

“I don’t need to. After the trial is over, Caroline can be the poster child for battered women if she chooses—but in the meantime, I still have a problem.”

“Well, Dave’s very resourceful. I’m sure he’ll think of something.”

“He has thought of something. Me.”

Darcy wondered why that particular solution hadn’t occurred to her. Not because she’d assumed someone like Trey Kent was already taken, because that possibility hadn’t even crossed her mind. There was an air of independence around him which said that no woman—other than perhaps Caroline—had a say in what he did. But it was odd how she’d known that without even stopping to think about it.

“Well, it’s not exactly a unique solution,” Darcy mused, “but it works. Marry off the prince instead of the princess. After all, one royal wedding is pretty much like another. And for the good of the store, surely a little thing like getting married probably wouldn’t be any big deal to you at all. Problem solved. More coffee?”

“I have no intention of getting married.”

“Oh? What have you got against marriage?”

“Nothing in particular. I just wasn’t planning to walk down the aisle anytime soon.”

“So you’re just going to play the part? If that’s all it takes, then why not hire actors?”

“You said yourself it would be much more believable if the models were real people.”

“Well, yes, it would. But isn’t it a little shady to pretend?”

“Who does it hurt?” Trey asked coolly. “The only difference is that on the last page, the happy couple will ride off into the sunset separately instead of together.”

“You’ll keep up the fiction all the way?”

“Right up to the end of the campaign—and then cut, stop the action. It won’t matter to the customer who’s looked at the ads. She’s already had her thrills along the way.”

“I don’t know,” Darcy said doubtfully. “Customers can be funny that way.”

“Look, it’s no different than if Caroline and Corbin had made it all the way through the ad series and then he hit her the night before the wedding.”

“Except that you’re planning the exit before the engagement ever gets off the ground. Of course, if you’re going to be convincing to all your customers, you’ll have to play it very close to your chest right up till the moment when you don’t go through with the wedding. And that could be a problem.”

“Interesting that you think so. Tell me why.”

“Because if you’re acting as if you’re serious in public, the woman you choose as your supposed bride might get the idea that you really are. Serious, I mean—no matter what you tell her in private.”

Trey nodded. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. In fact, Dave pointed out that it could end up in something like a breach-of-promise case.”

“He would say that. Skittish guys all think alike.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Skittish guys? You saw the problem just as quickly as Dave or I did.”

He’d caught her on that one. Darcy shrugged. “So I guess that makes me a skittish girl.”

“And that’s why…” He raised his cup and sipped. The silence drew out.

Darcy felt her breath catch and wondered why she was feeling so anxious. All this had nothing to do with her. Or did it?

“That’s why,” Trey said very softly, “Dave suggested that my supposed bride be…you.”

CHAPTER TWO

TREY hadn’t spent a lot of time in his life contemplating proposals—how the question should be phrased, what the best occasion to ask it would be, or even who he might want to address it to. He figured there would be plenty of time to consider all that, because he was thirty-two and not in the least anxious to settle down.

But there was one thing he would never have expected—that when the day came and he actually suggested to a woman that the two of them might become engaged, she would choke on her coffee and turn purple at the very idea of becoming Mrs. Andrew Patrick Kent the Third.

Stunned and a bit dizzy, maybe—he could understand that sort of reaction. Shedding tears of joy, perhaps. Completely unable to speak and having to indicate agreement by gesturing, even.

But asphyxiating in shock?

Of course the notion of being Mrs. Kent wasn’t what was actually sending Darcy Malone into coughing spasms at the moment. It couldn’t be, because he’d made quite clear that an actual marriage wasn’t what he was offering. She was gasping for air merely because he’d suggested she be his temporary fiancée.

And that made no sense whatsoever. Considering the number of women who’d angled for the position over the years, why was this one puffing in agony over the notion that she simply pretend for a while that she wanted the title?

“Darcy,” he said. “If you could stop this for a minute and just listen…”

“If I could stop…” She clutched both hands to her chest. Her voice was a barely understandable croak. “I would. Just go away, all right?”

“Not as long as you’re threatening to strangle. Here, have a drink of water.” He held a glass to her lips and she managed to sputter a few drops. Her coughs died down to a low wheeze, and he said, “There, that’s better.”

“Maybe it is from your point of view.” She leaned weakly against the counter.

“Look, I don’t understand what’s so awful about the idea. I’m not asking you to have my baby, you know.” He set the water glass down with a bump. “Most of the women I know would be flattered.”

“Which is precisely why you’re asking me, instead of one of them. Right?”

He nodded, relieved that she understood.

“Because I’m not fool enough to take you seriously. So there you have it.”

Trey frowned. “I guess that didn’t come out quite the way I intended it to.”

“Maybe you’ll figure out what I mean in a year or two. Or maybe I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and see how that comment is really a compliment to me. But I wouldn’t count on it.”

“If you’d just listen to what I have in mind, I think you’d see it differently,” he suggested. “There would be considerable advantages for you in this plan, you know.”

“Name two.”

“You need a job.”

“I’ll get one on my own, thanks. I’m perfectly well qualified.”

Her tone was a bit truculent, just enough to make him suspicious. Trey wished he’d thought to ask Dave exactly why she was unemployed at the moment.

“I could make it easy for you,” he said. “You said you’re applying to the Kentwells chain—”

“And what do you think my working conditions would be like on any job you could give me? I’m sure my new supervisor would be simply delighted to have an employee foisted on him by the boss.”

“I’m not stupid enough to make it obvious, Darcy.”

“And exactly how are you going to keep it from being obvious? Are you planning to make the announcement about hiring me before or after my picture is splashed all over the newspapers and the airwaves, standing next to you and choosing lamps for our bedroom? Do you really think your other employees can’t connect the dots and see what’s going on?”

“All right, then—I’ll get you a job somewhere else.”

“I told you, I’ll do it myself, on my own merits. I don’t need a handout.”

“Stubborn, aren’t you? Dave said you were.” Maybe that explained why she was here and not still wherever she’d been living. San Francisco—was that what Dave had told him?

“For a guy who’s supposed to be devoted to the principles of confidentiality, Dave talks too much.”

“You’re not his client. I am.”

“So he can talk to you about me, but he can’t tell me about you? Oh, that’s charming.”

“Unless we’re engaged. Then he can say pretty much whatever he wants because we’d be—in a sense—family.”

“In a sense,” she agreed. “You’re not giving this idea up, are you?”

“I think it’s the perfect arrangement.”

“What makes it so great—if I’m allowed to ask?”

“For one thing, sudden engagements are always suspicious, but—”

Darcy’s eyes widened. They were an odd shade of brownish-green, he noticed. Trey had never seen anything quite like them.

“What?” she gasped. “You’re saying you don’t believe in love at first sight?”

He ignored the irony dripping from her voice. “But since you’re my friend’s sister and not just some stranger, we could easily have met months or even years ago. You’ve lived out of town for a while, so that explains why my other friends haven’t met you or heard about you. But since I travel a fair amount, I could have been visiting you often. They’ll believe it.”

“Not just some stranger… That sounds like a great title for a made-for-TV movie.”

She said it under her breath, but there was no missing the fact that Darcy had gone past irony all the way into sarcasm, so Trey pretended he hadn’t heard her. “People will still be startled when I announce that I’m getting married, of course—”

“I don’t doubt that a bit.”

“But not as startled as they would be if I said I was engaged to someone they’d known all along.”

She nodded. “Someone you’ve obviously not been serious about before.”

He was making progress, Trey told himself. He could almost see the dents starting to show in her armor. “Right. You’re the unknown, so they’ll reserve judgment for a while. And it’s conceivable that I could have fallen in love with you, so—”

She rubbed her temple as if it hurt. “Gee, thanks. I feel so honored.”

Trey felt like swearing. What on earth had he said that was so terrible? She was easy on the eyes, she had a graceful walk, she projected a certain confidence even in ragged sweat clothes. If he could just surgically remove that sharp tongue, she’d be next door to perfect for the role. “I was paying you a compliment.”

“Drop it, Trey. You’re only digging yourself a deeper hole, here.”

“Anyway, the fact that we’re admitting we’ve only seen each other at random intervals will even help account for why the whole thing falls apart in the end—when we break off the engagement.”

“Because when we start spending lots of time together, we’ll realize we aren’t as compatible as we thought we were.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, that’s not hard for me to picture,” she said. “You really have thought of everything.”

“It’s not like this will last forever, Darcy.”

“But it will go on for a while.” She sighed. “Just for the sake of discussion, and not because I’m agreeing to anything, how long do you expect it would take?”

Trey stopped to calculate. “Two or three weeks.”

“How did you come up with that? I thought you said it was going to be a three-month long campaign.”

“Well, yes—we’ve bought ad space that far ahead. I mean it’ll be two or—more likely—three weeks for photography and production. We’ll have to start from scratch, you see.”

“And after the shooting’s done, everything just runs on autopilot?”

He frowned. “I suppose there would be the occasional public appearance, just to keep up the fiction, until the ads finished running.”

“That’s what I thought. Somewhere around Christmastime, in other words.”

“It’s not like it would be every day. Dave said there’s no one in your life, so—”

“And since I obviously don’t have anything better to do for the next few months, I might as well do this?”

“That isn’t quite the way I’d have put it, but…”

“Pardon me while I go ask my brother to refer me to a good attorney.”

Trey wrinkled his brow. “Dave is an attorney, Darcy.”

“Yes. But after I murder him, I’m going to need someone else to defend me.”

“Dave has only your best interests at heart. You’re at loose ends right now, and a job hunt may take months, especially since you’re not working at the moment. Employers always want to know what happened to the last job.”

She sighed as if she’d found that out the hard way.

Trey pushed his advantage. “I’m willing to compensate you for the time you spend with me.”

“Oh, thanks very much for making me sound like a call girl.”

“It’s nothing of the sort! You’d have a paying job right away, even if it’s not exactly what you’ve been applying for. And within a few weeks, by the time the photography’s all finished, I’m sure I can arrange something for you that’s closer to your field.”

“Any job you could possibly arrange for me would look very fishy.”

She had a point, and Trey had to admit it. “All right, if an easy-to-get job isn’t your thing, then what sort of bargain do you have in mind? There must be something you want.”

“You mean, if I could have anything at all?”

He noted a sudden gleam in her eyes. Greed, he thought. Or avarice. Or maybe just plain ambition. “Within reason,” he said warily.

“Then I want my own firm.”

He was waiting for her to say a million dollars, and so it took a few seconds for him to register what she’d actually demanded. “I said within reason, Darcy.”

“I think I’m being perfectly reasonable. I don’t want you to set me up with a Fortune-500-sized company. I just want my own, one-person graphic-design firm.”

“And you think it wouldn’t look suspicious if I was behind that?”

“Who’s going to know you’re behind it? I’m tired of working for other people. I’m tired of producing infinite variations of dull subjects. I want to be able to choose which projects I handle, and set my own work schedule.”

“Being in business for yourself isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“It’s better than having to deal with a boss who’s been stuck with me against his will. You help me set up my office. Then after we break our engagement, the Kentwells chain hires me to create a new logo and—”

“Wait a minute here.”

“That will prove to everyone that we’re breaking up amicably, remaining friends despite the fact that the wedding didn’t work out. Then you can recommend me to the other firms you deal with, and we’ll be square.”

“That’s outrageous. In fact, it’s blackmail.”

“It’s business. Take it or leave it.”

“And if I leave it?”

Darcy shrugged. “That would be just fine with me. I’ll be no worse off than when I woke up this morning—except for the attack of acid indigestion you’ve caused me. And I’m sure you could find someone among the women of your acquaintance who would play along with the idea of being engaged and be much more enthusiastic about the role than I am.”

She had him there. They’d be too enthusiastic—that was the problem.

“One of Caroline’s friends might be willing to help you out.”

Trey couldn’t help wincing at the thought.

“And if Dave put his mind to it,” she went on thoughtfully, “he might even be able to write up a contract that’s watertight enough to keep her from suing you later on for changing your mind and dumping her. Mind you, I’m not promising anything of the sort, because then I’d be practicing law without a license, and Dave says I have to be very careful about that.”

Might. Trey didn’t feel like betting his life on Dave’s contract-writing skills. Which of course was exactly why Darcy had said it. Obviously Dave wasn’t the only member of the Malone family who specialized in twisted legal logic.

“If I agree to set you up in business,” he warned, “I’m going to expect a lot more than the occasional public appearance.”

Darcy didn’t miss a beat. “Really? What have you got in mind? You want me to have your baby after all?”

His mouth went dry at the thought. With horror, he told himself. “Heaven forbid the world should have a miniature version of you inflicted on it.”

Darcy smiled. “Now that’s really funny, because I was thinking precisely the same thing about you. Andrew Patrick Kent the Fourth—the poor child. What would you call him, anyway? Quatro?”

Trey decided to ignore her. “If I’m going to invest serious money in setting you up in business, you’d have to make yourself available whenever I needed you. And there would be no embarrassing incidents. No getting caught in a compromising position with some other guy.”

“Oh, that’s comforting. You mean I can do anything I want, as long as I don’t get caught—right?”

“Dammit, Darcy—”

“Oh, don’t worry. Remember? I’m just as skittish as you are—there’s absolutely no one in my life and no possibility that will change. So you have nothing to worry about. I’ll be too busy working on my new business to look around for men, anyway.”

He wished that felt like a benefit. In fact, the more she worked on her new business, he suspected, the more this was going to cost him. But what choice did he have? “Then we have a deal,” he said, and held out a hand.

She hesitated, and he found himself holding his breath. Then she reached out. Her palm was warm against his, her grip firm, her fingers steady.

Trey wouldn’t have been surprised to find that he was trembling himself. Which was totally ridiculous, of course. She’d agreed to the terms—hell, she’d set them herself, so she had nothing to complain about. Things were perfectly clear. It was absolutely, unquestionably a no-risk agreement.

So why did he feel like running?

Darcy had had no intention of agreeing. The proposition Trey had made was nothing short of ludicrous, but the only way to make him realize how silly he sounded had seemed to be to make her terms just as laughable as his were. So she’d fired back in similar terms, never dreaming that he might actually give in and accept them.

For a moment, when he’d offered to shake hands on the deal, she’d been tempted to back down—to withdraw the demand of a business of her own and take him up on the offer to help her find a job instead.

But all the arguments she’d given him earlier were valid ones. If he were to create a job for her, she’d go into it under a cloud. Though her skills and talents were real, a supervisor who was forced to hire her might never give her the chance to make good. If that were to happen, the working conditions could end up being every bit as bad as what she’d left behind when she came home to the penthouse.

And once Trey had found her a job, he would have fulfilled his end of the bargain, and he’d have no further obligation to help, no matter how unpleasant the situation in which she found herself. Meanwhile, she’d still have her promise to fulfill, even if it took months and months…

But what was she thinking? There was yet another option—a third choice, beyond making a deal for either a job or her own business. And the third alternative was the only sensible one. She should thank him for his offer and do her best not to laugh as she turned him down.

But she didn’t. Instead, as if she were mesmerized, Darcy found herself reaching out to him, actually agreeing to be his pretend fiancée for the next three months.

What in heaven’s name was wrong with her? She should have run, not let herself be talked into cutting a deal with Mr. Elegance. He was exactly what she didn’t need—another guy who was gorgeous and knew how to use it to his advantage…

No, she thought. This time would be different. This time, she was the one who would be doing the using.

She vaguely heard the creak of Dave’s office door opening, and only when she heard the murmur of approaching voices did she realize that she and Trey were still standing in the kitchen, hand in hand. She pulled away as quickly as she could.

But obviously Dave had already seen, for he said, “You’ve struck a deal, then? Good—I’ll get the paperwork written up.”

“Paperwork?” Darcy said. “You mean like a prenuptial agreement?”

Trey frowned at her.

“All right, a nonnuptial agreement, then,” Darcy muttered.

Dave had gone straight on. “I’ll draw up a simple contract. I’m glad we could help out, Trey.”

“What do you mean, we?” Darcy said. “Unless you’re going to be getting your picture taken, Dave, and making nice at social functions, I don’t think that your contribution is nearly as personal as—”

Caroline spoke up. “Speaking of social functions, will you be giving Darcy an engagement party, David?”

“It hadn’t crossed my mind, no.”

Darcy relaxed. At least Dave hadn’t totally lost his perspective.

Caroline frowned. “Then perhaps I’ll do it. I don’t think it matters who hosts it, really—does it, Darcy? I know showers are supposed to be given by friends, not by family members, but is there any rule about engagement parties?”

Was the woman serious? Hadn’t she gotten the message that this wasn’t real? Or was Trey planning to keep her in the dark, too?

Darcy decided to humor her for a bit and wait for Trey to speak up or Caroline to regain her senses. “Beats me. As long as we’re shopping for everything a couple needs for a wedding and a home, maybe we should start with an etiquette book so we can look up the rules.”

Caroline smiled, and then touched a careful finger to her upper lip where the skin had stretched wide and broken open once again. “Ouch, that hurt. But that’s a really good idea. Every bride should have an etiquette book on hand. I think this is going to be wonderful, Trey—Darcy has much more creative ideas than I do.”

“Yes,” Trey said, almost under his breath. “I’d already noticed how creative she is at getting what she wants.”

“I’ll start planning the party, then,” Caroline went on. “Surely by the weekend I’ll be able to appear in public, don’t you think? I’m a fast healer.”

Fast healer? Darcy wondered if that meant Caroline had experience in how long it took her to heal from facial blows, and suddenly she felt a little selfish at having thought only of the impact this agreement would have on her own life. If by playing this part for a while she could make Caroline’s life a little easier, spare her some embarrassment over her broken engagement, and help her pick up the pieces of a shattered dream so that she didn’t become involved with yet another abusive man somewhere down the line…

Now that’s a great motive, she told herself. It sounds so much nicer of me than simply blackmailing Trey Kent into setting me up in business…

Her head was obviously still spinning. How had she gotten herself so enmeshed in this? And why? That was the real puzzler. Certainly not to help Caroline, whom she didn’t even know, or Trey, whom she didn’t even like!

“This is wonderful,” Caroline bubbled. “It’s all working out better than anyone could have hoped. Just a couple of hours ago I thought I’d ruined everything, but now it’s going to be even better than I thought was possible.”

Trey was looking at his watch. “Caroline, about the district attorney—what have you decided to do?”

Caroline’s glee vanished. She took a deep breath. “I’ll talk to him. And I’ll file charges.”

“Good.” Trey squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll be right there with you all the way.”

There was a soft note in his voice that was unlike anything Darcy had heard before. She was still trying to sort out whether it was approval, support, warmth, love, or something else entirely, when he turned to her.

“Darcy, I’ll pick you up at six, and we can spend the evening going over the necessary details so you’ll be prepared for the shoot tomorrow.” Every hint of softness was gone.

“How considerate of you to ask whether that fits into my calendar,” she murmured, making no attempt to keep the sarcasm out of her tone. “And here I expected maybe you’d be dictatorial about your plans.”

“I suppose we could go in without any preparation and just let the crew think we were too busy making love to bother to talk,” Trey said.

Darcy noticed her brother biting back a grin, and glared at him. “Six will be fine.”

“I thought it would,” Trey murmured.

Irritated, Darcy struck back. “Now you must run along and get busy, darling,” she said sweetly, “because you’ll need to make all the money you possibly can, in order to provide for me.”

When Trey arrived at the cottage on the dot of six o’clock, Darcy was still struggling to make the computer print out a will she’d been working on most of the afternoon. “Have a seat while I finish,” she told him. “Dave needs this first thing in the morning.”

He sat on the corner of the desk, right next to her, rather than in the chair she indicated. “Word processing isn’t exactly your top skill?”

“If you’re trying to make the point that I’d be happier doing graphic arts instead of wills, don’t bother. We all know that already.” She pushed a key and the printer wheezed, sucked in a sheet of paper and stopped dead.

“What’s the rush with the will?” Trey said.

“Since it’s not your will, that information is confidential.” Darcy tried the print command again, but the printer refused to budge. “Okay, I get the message. Maybe it just needs to pout for a while. I want to be home early anyway because it’s been a very long day. So I’ll come back and finish this up later.” She closed the file and turned off the computer. “Let’s go.”

“Aren’t you going to change clothes?”

Darcy glanced at her slacks and sweater. “Why? Where are we going? Because if you’re planning to take me someplace swanky, I’d suggest you think again.”

“There will be some formal events along the way, you know,” Trey warned. “If you’re not comfortable with that, we’ve got a problem.”

“Oh, I can handle swank—as long as you provide the clothes. I just meant that you surely don’t want to talk about all this at one of your regular hangouts and risk being overheard by your friends.”

“Good point. Where do you suggest?”

She looked him over thoughtfully. “There’s a little bar a few blocks down. It’s noisy enough that nobody can be overheard, and dark enough not to be noticed—that is, if you lose the tie and borrow one of Dave’s windbreakers to replace the suit coat. Try the back of his office door.”

When he came back, he was shrugging himself into an oversized black jacket emblazoned in huge yellow letters with the name of the college where Dave had gotten his law degree. “This isn’t exactly what I’d call anonymous. I bet it glows in the dark.”

“It’ll fit into the crowd at Tanner’s better than that suit would.”

“You’re sure Dave won’t mind me borrowing it? Where is he, anyway?”

“I don’t know. He left an hour or so ago and said something vague about having an appointment.”

He helped her into her raincoat. Darcy checked her pockets for keys and emergency funds and locked the door of the cottage behind them.

His car was parked directly in front. It was—of course—a fire-engine-red sports car that Darcy’s gut said had cost at least twice as much as her entire college education. Men are so predictable… “Oh, boy,” she said. “How many miles does this baby get per gallon of testosterone?”

“I have no idea,” Trey said coolly. “It belongs to Caroline.”

“All right,” she admitted cheerfully. “I leaped to conclusions there and missed the pier entirely. So what do you drive—a Rolls-Royce that matches your suit?”

“Depends on the day.”

Darcy had to admit that despite herself she was impressed—certainly not by the fact that he owned multiple cars, but because he didn’t seem to want to brag about it. “How did you and Dave become friends, anyway? Somehow the two of you just don’t seem the type to be bosom buddies.”

“Because he has a motorcycle and I don’t?”

Darcy chalked that up as a fact to remember. “I’ve never heard him mention your name.”

“We met in the frat house in college. Lost track of each other after that, and we didn’t run into each other again until a college reunion a year or two ago.”

“When I’d already gone to San Francisco.”

“I guess it must have been. What were you doing out there, anyway?”

“Graphic arts,” she said crisply. “How long have you been with the stores?”

“About two years. I stayed out East after grad school and worked for a couple of different firms, but then my dad had a heart attack and had to retire, so I came home to take over.”

“How does he feel about you being in charge?”

“He died six months ago,” Trey said.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“No reason you should.”

That, Darcy thought, was not quite true, even though the name probably wouldn’t have had personal meaning for her. But six months ago she’d been living in a fog where nothing much had made an impression. Six months ago, she might not even have noticed Trey Kent if he’d crossed her path.

No, she thought. No matter what else was going on in her life, it would be impossible for any woman to ignore Mr. Elegance.

“Where are we going, again?”

Darcy had gotten so sidetracked into thinking about Trey that she had to stop to think. “Tanner’s—it’s a couple more blocks down. There’s parking out front.” Belatedly she remembered what he was driving. “Unless you’d rather leave the car with a valet at the hotel down the street.”

“No, it’ll be fine. This car has such an elaborate alarm system it’ll slap handcuffs on anybody who tries to touch it, long before the cops have a chance to show up.”

Just inside the front door of the bar, she paused to look around. “There’s a free booth—I’ll grab it, if you want to go get the drinks. Just an iced tea for me, please.”

The booth was in a corner, well away from both the door and the bar, and she had to work her way through a fair-sized crowd to get there. Halfway there, she heard someone calling her name and turned to see a friend of Dave’s leaning against the pool table.

“What brings you back to town, Darcy?” he asked. “Dave isn’t sick or something, is he?”

“He’s fine, Joe.”

“Well, I haven’t seen him around much. And last I heard you were hanging out in San Francisco with Pete Willis.”

Darcy kept her voice even, but it took an effort. “That’s old news, I’m afraid.”

“You and Pete called it quits? Well, let me buy you a beer and you can bring me up-to-date. Must be a year since I’ve seen you.”

Behind him, Trey said levelly, “She’s drinking iced tea, and she’s with me tonight.”

Joe cocked his chin forward. “I don’t see any ownership tag hanging around her neck. No ring on her finger.”

“Check again tomorrow and you might be surprised,” Trey said. He stepped between them.

“Later, Joe,” Darcy called. She took her iced tea and considered dumping it over Trey’s head. Which was surely an odd reaction, considering that she was relieved to have Joe’s interrogation short-circuited. Still, just because Joe asked questions didn’t mean she intended to answer them, and it wasn’t up to Trey to decide who she talked to. “You want to tell me what that was all about—besides disgustingly primitive primate behavior?”

“He was hassling you.”

“He was asking how I was.”

“Who’s Pete Willis?”

“Oh, is that what’s bothering you? He’s the man I worked with in San Francisco. Nobody you need to be worried about.”

“He’s not going to be coming around wanting to hire you back?”

“Not in this lifetime.” Her voice was steady. “Let’s get our business taken care of before Joe has another beer and decides to find out whether you can whip him.”

Trey seemed only mildly interested. “Who are you worried about coming out the worse for wear—him or me?”

“Neither. I don’t want Dave to have to come bail everybody out of jail, because I’ll end up doing the paperwork. Tell me about the ad campaign.”

Trey leaned back against the vinyl seat. “Since we’d already started with Caroline and Corbin, the ad department is having to revamp the entire shooting schedule.”

“Corbin. What a name.”

“It fits him. The idea is to minimize setup time for each photo by working through the store in a logical way, not necessarily in the same order the ads will appear. We’ll do the engagement ring tomorrow, of course, because that’s the first ad which will run and they need the art right away. But then we may do household linens and lawn furniture, because they’re in the same section of the store. You know how the departments are laid out in sort of a rough circle.”

“Actually,” Darcy said, “no, I don’t. I haven’t been in a Kentwells store in years.”

Trey blinked in surprise. “Oh, of course. All our stores are in Chicago, and you’ve been out west.”

She said, very slowly, “Yes.” It was true, as far as it went. And there was no point in alienating him by telling the whole truth—that she’d always preferred to do her shopping with Kentwells’s competition. You wouldn’t volunteer that information if you were interviewing for a job, she reminded herself. This isn’t much different.

“We’ll have to start early in the morning,” he warned. “There’s still a lot of prep work to be done because we’re starting from scratch with you.”

Starting from scratch… “You’d better smile when you say that, partner. I’m not exactly in the frame of mind to play Cinderella.”

Trey sighed. “I do keep putting my foot in my mouth, don’t I? I just meant that the clothes which were chosen for Caroline won’t work for you, and the hairstyle and makeup you need will be much different, too.”

A woman in a white jacket deposited a pizza on the table between them and went away without a word. Trey looked at it in puzzlement. “Did we order this?”

“Sort of. It’s my standing order—I just wave at Jessie in the kitchen whenever I come in.” She took a paper plate from the stack on the table and slid a steaming wedge onto it. “Try it, it’s the best hand-thrown pizza in town. Since you brought up Caroline, I had a question. She does understand this is all made up, right?”

“Of course.”

“Because she seems to be a bit of a dreamer. She’s not serious about the engagement party, is she?”

“Of course she is. The best way to make it convincing is for everyone around us to act as if it’s real. Caroline throwing a party, Dave giving a toast to the happy couple—it all adds a touch of reality.” He helped himself to a slice of pizza. “Now—let’s get down to business. Tell me everything I could possibly need to know about my wife-to-be.”

CHAPTER THREE

NO SOONER had his request popped out than Trey regretted it—or at least he regretted the way he had phrased it. Asking a woman to tell him all about herself—what had he been thinking?

He’d never met one yet who wouldn’t take that as a blanket invitation to share an entire evening’s worth of self-analysis. By the time Darcy finished her Freud act, he’d probably known what she’d had for breakfast on her first day of school, and all about the lasting wounds it had left on her psyche.

Why hadn’t he settled for asking simple, straightforward questions that would elicit the facts he needed without including hours worth of padding—explanations that would make it practically impossible to keep his eyes open?

“Age twenty-seven,” Darcy said crisply. “Born and raised in the west suburbs of Chicago, parents died eight years ago in a car accident. I finished my degree, worked at a PR firm downtown, then spent some time in San Francisco, and came back here. Anything else?” She tore another slice of pizza from the pie and took a big bite, obviously finished talking for the moment.

Trey was too stunned at the machine-gun approach to comment.

She obviously took his continued silence for a lack of further questions, because she swallowed and said, “If I’d realized that’s all you wanted to know, I’d have given you one of my job applications this morning and saved you the trouble of asking. Are you all right?”

“I was just thinking that if I’d asked Caroline how she felt, I’d still be sitting here listening in a couple of hours. Ask you for a rundown of your life and you’re finished in fifteen seconds.”

Darcy shrugged. “Mine hasn’t been a terribly exciting life.”

“Normally for a female that’s no bar to talking about it at length,” Trey said dryly.

“Oh, so that must be why you’re not interested in actually getting married—because women are boring and self-centered and don’t know when to shut up.”

He knew better than to think there was a safe answer to that. “I’ve known a few talkative types,” he admitted. “But the fact is I’m not established well enough to even think about marriage just now.” She’d never believe that he was telling the truth, but at least it might distract her.

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Right. A hundred-year-old department store chain isn’t stable enough to support a wife…And I trusted you to set me up in business? I knew I needed my head examined.”

“You made an agreement,” Trey pointed out.

“And I’ll hold you to your end of the bargain. In the meantime, however, I suppose there are some things we should work out before we go public with this act.”

“Like what?”

“Like when we supposedly met. How long we’ve supposedly been dating. When we’re supposedly getting married.”

“Maybe we could agree to leave the supposedly out of this and act as if it’s real.”

She shrugged. “If you like. I thought perhaps you’d feel more comfortable if I was continually reminding myself that it wasn’t real. But you’re the boss. Which reminds me—you said the photo crew had already started working with Caroline and Corbin as the models. How are you going to explain the sudden change?”

“Corbin’s been called out of town on business.”

“Really?”

“No, but I expect he’ll decide to make himself scarce until I’ve cooled off enough not to kill him.”

Darcy sat back in the booth seat and looked him over thoughtfully, her lips pursed.

“What?” Trey asked.

“I was just noticing this violent streak in you. First you threaten Joe, who might be a nuisance but is certainly nothing more. And even though Corbin sounds like the worst kind of bad guy—”

“I didn’t threaten your pal Joe. You’re the one who suggested if he had another beer he’d be threatening me. I was merely commenting that I’m perfectly able to take care of myself if he does. And where Corbin is concerned, I was talking about what he’s thinking just now—that if he lies low for a while, it’ll all blow over. Personally, I’d much rather send him to jail, and then ruin him when he finally comes out, than to actually end his miserable existence.”

“Oh, that’s comforting.”

“Good,” Trey said. “Glad we got that settled. So after your parents died, it was just you and Dave? No wonder he pulled the parent act, telling you to be careful who you dated. And that must be why he never talked about having a little sister, either. He felt responsible for you.”

Darcy smiled. “Or else he didn’t trust his frat brothers. I wouldn’t know which it was. But that’s all ancient history. When are we supposedly…”

He wagged a finger at her.

“Oh, all right. When are we getting married?”

A cold trickle edged down Trey’s spine. It made him sit up just a little straighter.

“What’s the matter?”

Trey shook his head a little and smiled. “Nothing. Just for an instant there, I had the same sensation I felt one night right before I realized I was being stalked by a mugger.”

“Thanks very much. I love being bracketed with muggers.”

“Don’t take it personally. It’s just a tingle—a sense of danger lurking. My grandmother used to say someone was walking over her grave.”

“Now there’s a cozy thought for you. What happened with the mugger?”

“Well, I didn’t marry him,” Trey said calmly.

“So we can assume it’s not quite the same feeling after all? Good. You were going to tell me when the wedding’s going to be.”

“Since I don’t plan to put the event on my calendar, I don’t see why we have to set an actual date.”

“You are a skittish one, aren’t you? Because people will ask when the wedding is, that’s why—and if you don’t have an answer, they’ll think it’s odd. And then they’ll expect to be invited—when it comes up to the time when the invitations should go out, they’ll be hurt if they don’t receive one. It won’t occur to them to think that no one else has been invited, either.”

“I hadn’t thought about it quite that way.”

“Well, of course you hadn’t. Since you’re planning to wrap up this ad campaign right at Christmas, let’s set the date for Christmas Eve.”

Trey frowned. “Wouldn’t that look suspicious? I mean, right on the holiday?”

“It’s a great excuse for keeping the whole thing small. We can say that we’re inviting just a few people and having the ceremony at a time when the few relatives I have will be home for the holidays.”

“Will they be? Your relatives, I mean—home for the holidays.”

“Probably not, but it’s still a good explanation for why we’re not sending hundreds of invitations.”

Trey shook his head. “I don’t know. Society’s apt to ask what we’re hiding—especially after the big splash all the way through the engagement.”

“After sharing all of that with the public, we’ll tell them we deserve a little privacy. Besides, the fewer invitations you actually send, the fewer people you’ll have to notify when you call it off at the last minute. Why invite the world and then have to phone them all to cancel? Why draw attention to the fact that you’re not carrying through with your plans?”

“We could just set the date for sometime next year, and not bother with invitations at all.”

“And exactly what would be the point of the ad campaign if it just trickles off with a vague promise of a wedding to be held some indefinite time in the distant future?”

Trey rubbed his jaw. “You’re saying the campaign needs a climactic moment, so to speak.”

“All ad campaigns do. At the least, you don’t want it to have an anticlimactic moment.”

“All right, you’ve convinced me. Christmas Eve it is. I suppose that does make everything easier. Holly and red velvet for the bridesmaids—”

“That would be such a cliché,” Darcy said. “Every woman in the city would see that one coming. I hope your ad department people are more creative than you are.”

“Thanks,” Trey said.

“But then they must be,” Darcy said kindly, “because they’ve kept the stores in business for a hundred years. Right? How many stores do you have?”

But she didn’t seem to be listening for an answer. She looked past him just as he opened his mouth to reply, and he watched her eyes widen. The sense of danger trickled down his spine again. It was odd that he hadn’t thought of his grandmother’s old saying in years, only to find himself contemplating it twice within a few minutes. So what was it this time?

“What’s up?” he asked. “Has your pal Joe finally consumed enough liquid courage to challenge me?”

“He’s not my pal, he’s Dave’s.”

Trey looked over his shoulder. Three paces from the table, Joe stopped almost in midstep. For a moment an internal war showed on his face, and then he turned on his heel and shuffled away.

“Very impressive,” Darcy said. “Cowing him like that without uttering a word.”

“Oh, you should see them run when I’m wearing a tie.” He kept his voice dry. “If I actually pull the knot loose to get ready for action, you can hardly get out of their way, they scamper so fast.”

She nodded. “You should have told me that making you give up your necktie was about the same as taking a cop’s gun away from him. Look, I’ve pretty much lost my appetite, and as long as we’ve got the important things settled—”

“You’d like to get back to that will you were struggling with.”

She sighed. “Something like that.”

At the door of the cottage, he held out a hand for her key, but Darcy ignored him and unlocked the door herself. “I’ll meet you at the store in the morning, then,” she said.

It was so plainly a dismissal that Trey had to smile. What did she expect, that he’d try to force his way in and stay the night just so he just could take her to work with him the next morning?

He wondered idly whether seducing her would be worth the trouble. Probably not, he decided. This woman was dangerous enough without taking her to bed and giving her all sorts of new ideas.

“I do need to come inside to get my tie and return Dave’s jacket,” he pointed out smoothly.

“Oh. Of course.” She didn’t seem eager to stand aside to allow him in, but she wasn’t in a hurry to turn the lights on, either. If she had been any other woman, he would have interpreted that as a hint, because kisses stolen in the dark seemed to be so much more romantic to the female of the species. But then Darcy didn’t fit the mold in a lot of ways.

He considered kissing her good-night just to prove he could, and concluded that she was likely to haul off and slug him. In that case, by morning he and Caroline would be a matched set, and the ad campaign would be right back in the soup. No, stealing a kiss would make no sense whatsoever.

And he should have himself committed for even thinking about doing anything more than that—though the simple truth didn’t do much to stop him from considering all the possibilities.

He quietly got his suit coat from where he’d left it in Dave’s office, draped his tie around his neck once more and paused at the door. “You’ll be all right here alone?”

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