Lisa advanced on Joe. “I only hope you can fake it.”

“Now, wait a minute. I don’t have to fake anything. If you had any doubts about my character, you wouldn’t have begged me for this contract.”

“If I had another choice,” she corrected, “I wouldn’t have agreed to help you out. I’m taking a chance on you.”

The calculation in Joe’s smile sent shivers of warning across her skin. He stepped toward her. “But I’m taking a chance on you, as well. I have to trust you to behave as though you love me.”

“You can trust me.”

“How do I know?”

“I can fake it.”

Dear Reader,

This is one of my favorites of the books I’ve written, because it celebrates the love of a mother for her children. Every once in a while it’s nice to remember the sacrifices moms make, which we sometimes don’t even know about. The heroine in this story gives her all for her kids. Of course, her efforts lead her to the man she’ll come to love, but even moms deserve a treat!

Joe Riley needs to tread carefully with his matchmaking mom until he’s reassured of her recovery from a heart attack. Caterer Lisa Meyer agrees to pretend to be his fiancée in order to earn money for a special program for her son. Joe discovers parenting is nothing like heading up a company—it’s way more work! So it’ll stay strictly business for Joe and Lisa, unless love can find a way.

I hope you enjoy their journey through the intricacies of family relations. I’d love to hear from you. You can contact me through my Web site, www.MeganKellyBooks.com.

Sincerely,

Megan Kelly

The Fake Fiancée
Megan Kelly

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Fate led Megan Kelly to write romances—fate and her grandmother, that is. While riding a crosstown bus, teenage Megan and her grandma happened on a Harlequin Romance novel. The older woman scanned the first page to determine the book’s content and declared it to be about lions, then she gave it to Megan to pass the time on the next day’s journey home, five hours away. (The first page did mention lions, but they were statues at the gates of the hero’s family estate.) Megan became an avid reader and discovered her dream job—writing those exciting and moving stories she loved. She lives in the Midwest with her husband and two children and is well-known at her local bookstore and library.

For my critique partner, Carol Carson, who

nudged me along every inch of this book’s journey

(sometimes with a cattle prod);

For my kids, who have made their own sacrifices

by having a mom who writes;

and, as always, for my husband.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter One

He didn’t have time to look for a wife.

Joe Riley stifled his exasperation when his mother cut him off midsentence. She meant well, but her manipulation drove him nuts. He didn’t have time for this phone conversation, either. A glance at the in-box on his desk confirmed that. “Mom, I can find my own dates. Stop interfering.”

In the heavy silence that followed, the memory of his mother in CCU came into his mind, tubes and machines keeping her alive. He swallowed, pushing away the thought. Trying to be cautious regarding her health, he’d become so indulgent the situation had gotten out of hand—or, rather, out of his hands and into his mother’s.

“Ever since I had that heart attack, I’ve been—”

Joe tuned out her emotional blackmail. He didn’t need a reminder of the scare that had made him move to his parents’ town just north of Kansas City, Missouri. He did need a plan to stop his mother without upsetting her and endangering her health, and he needed it soon. Last week would have been good.

“And,” she continued, “I’m concerned you’re heading down the same path as your dad. You work even more than he did. You don’t go out and enjoy life.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.” He unlocked his jaw to speak. “I date all the time.”

“That’s what worries me. You’re always dating, never courting.”

He laughed. “Courting?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean. You need to settle down. Stop wrapping your work around you at night and get a wife to keep you warm.”

“I’m plenty warm, believe me.”

“Don’t you talk smutty to me, young man.”

Joe’s face heated. He felt like a hormonal teenager rather than the president of his own firm. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Don’t try to sidetrack me, either. I’m going to find you a good woman.”

He rolled his eyes. A good woman. Just what he didn’t want. He had to do something. Last week, she’d told his secretary she planned to meet Joe after dinner but had forgotten the name of the restaurant. After getting the information, she’d sent the daughter of a friend to meet him. Unfortunately, he’d been closing a deal, not just dining. Besides embarrassing his “date,” the incident had jeopardized an important contract. He’d done some fast talking to save the deal and the woman’s feelings.

He thought of the women he’d dated in the past few months. Due to the demands of getting Riley and Ross Electronics relocated to the Midwest, too few came to mind. Since he hadn’t felt a connection with his dates, he hadn’t seen any woman more than once. Work kept him extremely busy.

Desperate sons required desperate measures. Joe took a deep breath. “Look, I wasn’t going to say anything yet because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. But I guess you’ve left me no choice.”

“You never could keep a secret from me.”

He smiled as memories of his teenage years flashed through his mind. If she only knew. “I’m seeing someone. Regularly.”

“Oh?” Skepticism laced her tone. “Just how often is ‘regularly’ with your work schedule?”

“We’ve been dating for three months. It’s not easy to find time to get together, but she’s worth the effort. So you don’t have to call all the young maidens in the neighborhood. I’m perfectly happy.” Joe nodded, pleased with himself. That ought to do it.

“I’m not worried about you being happy, Joe. I want you to be married.”

He chuckled. “I have to choose? I couldn’t be both?”

“Are you telling me you’ve proposed?”

He groaned. The woman played hardball. “No.”

“So you’re not really serious?”

“These things take time.”

“How long?”

Joe frowned. He could sense a trap coming, but without knowing what form it would take, he couldn’t evade it. “How long for what?”

“How long do you have to date to get serious enough to propose?”

If he could just buy some time to reassure himself about her health…He wanted a wife eventually, just not on his mother’s timetable. Once the company got firmly established, he’d enter Wife-Hunt in his PDA under Things to Do. He squinted in concentration. How long had he said he’d been dating this imaginary woman? A couple of months? He was almost certain he’d said two.

“Five months,” he said. “Five months just to know, another to ask her, a couple for her to decide. I’ll let you know when it’s official.”

“What kind of woman takes a couple of months after the proposal to decide to marry you? Maybe your father and I had better meet her.”

Joe pulled the receiver from his ear and stared at it. He’d sprung from this woman’s loins? No wonder the electronics world considered him a shark. She was cunning and relentless. He couldn’t help but admire the trap she’d set.

Still, he had to get out of it. “I can’t, Mom,” he said. “Work, you know.”

“Joey,” she said in an understanding tone that raised the hairs on the back of his neck to alert status, “this is why I worry about you so. Too much work. If this girl can’t tear you away, maybe she’s not the right one. I’ll call my—”

“No,” he cut in. He didn’t want to hear which friend or distant relative she’d call. He didn’t want a surprise date at the next family dinner and especially not at his next business meeting. “It isn’t just my work, Mom. It’s hers. I’m trying to be an understanding guy, you know, respecting a woman’s career.”

“Mmm-hmm. What does she do?”

Joe glanced around his office, looking for ideas. He pushed aside some papers on his desk. What would satisfy his mother?

“Joe?”

He flipped through some file folders. One had potential. “She’s a caterer. She owns the business, so she has a lot of pressure and time constraints.”

“What’s her name?” she asked with doubt in her tone.

His mother might be convinced if he stuck with his story. He shuffled through the proposals. The hotel would handle dinner, but he’d decided to have dessert trays set up around the ballroom afterward. Pierre, Antoine, Lisa, Caesar—“Lisa. She owns—” he squinted at the paper “—Goodies to Go.” He just might accept this woman’s bid to cater his company’s year-end party out of gratitude.

“Did you say Goodies to Go?” his mother almost purred. “How extraordinary. She’s catering our exhibit next week at the Garden Society. I’ll have a chance to meet her, after all. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Wonderful. The cold steel of her trap tightened around his neck. Knowing he’d stuck his own head in didn’t help.

THE DOORBELL RANG.

In the bakery kitchen down in her basement, Lisa Meyer jerked, spurting pink icing across the countertop. Glaring at the chime box over her work space, she wiped her hands and ran upstairs.

She flung her apron on the counter as she passed through the family’s kitchen. A quick glance in the mirror had her pushing stray blond hair behind her ears.

Marzipan and icing flowers called her from the basement, taunting her with their lack of completion. She answered the door on the off chance the children might have come home a little early, hands full of leftover pizza boxes. Abby and Bobby were with her best friend, Ginger, eating pizza and playing arcade games—a treat Lisa could ill afford—and weren’t due home for half an hour. Hopefully, Bobby had behaved himself and this wasn’t them coming home early due to one of his outbursts of temper.

A man stood on her porch, the chill mid-April breeze ruffling his hair. Lisa stared at him, instinctively wary of his good looks. A salesman, no doubt, and probably a good one. Old Mrs. Winters next door would buy whatever he was selling just to gaze at his attractive features. Tanned skin, hair as dark as midnight, and deep blue eyes. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a body to lust after in a navy pinstripe suit. A light blue shirt stretched over his chest, bisected by a dark tie. If he had a voice to match her imagination, he’d be trouble.

Fortunately, Lisa could resist temptation. Whatever he offered, she had neither the money to buy it nor the time to listen to his pitch.

“Hi. I’m looking for Lisa Meyer.”

A voice like roasted marshmallows. She firmly repressed a shiver of delight. “How may I help you?”

His smile widened, carving creases in his cheeks.

She swallowed, wishing she had some extra time and a little spare money. But she had neither, not to call her own, anyway. She straightened her spine and her resolve. “I’m rather busy.”

“I don’t intend to keep you long. I’m Joe Riley of Riley and Ross Electronics.”

Her heart leaped. She’d tendered a bid for his company’s function but hadn’t expected a personal visit from the president. Thank goodness she hadn’t been too rude.

Maybe she’d misjudged him. Just because he wore charm like aftershave didn’t mean he had to be a slick conniver like her ex, Brad. Fixing a smile in place, she extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Joe’s hand encompassed hers, leaving an impression of warmth and strength. Lisa berated herself. Business, not pleasure, no matter how gorgeous the client. Besides, she’d learned from Brad that a handsome face could hide a devious heart. “Won’t you come in?”

She closed the door and gestured to the couch. “Would you care for a drink? Or would you prefer to see my kitchen?”

“A cold drink sounds great.”

“I’ll be right back.” Lisa strode from the room, planning a side trip to the bathroom to do a little primping. She needed to resecure her hair—to comply with health code restrictions, not to impress Joe Riley.

She headed for the kitchen first to get their iced tea. Footsteps on the linoleum tapped right after hers. She looked over her shoulder.

Joe smiled at her. “I thought I’d help.”

She shook her head as she retrieved glasses from the cupboard. “This isn’t the right kitchen. My business is downstairs.”

He walked over to the wall of windows and gazed out at her overgrown backyard while she got out the tea. “I didn’t come to inspect your bakery.”

“You’re welcome to. I’m in the middle of a project right now, but you’ll find my set up immaculate.”

“I’m sure it is.” He turned, and his smile deepened, making those enticing creases reappear.

“I’ll show you downstairs after we’ve talked.”

His expression smoothed out, displaying a facade she instantly mistrusted. His eyes remained serious, making him look thoughtful at best, if not downright calculating. Brad all over again, but this time she wasn’t blinded by love. This time it was only business. “Shall we sit in the living room?”

Joe took the tray with the pitcher and glasses. Lisa enjoyed the novelty of having someone carry things for her—until he came to a dead stop and she crashed into him. He made a gallant save of the glassware.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, moving in front of him. She expected to find a toy on the floor, but the path lay clear.

He gestured toward her refrigerator with the tray. “You have kids.”

Lisa glanced at the refrigerator, covered with drawings, baton and soccer reminders, and handcrafted magnets from Abby and Bobby. She didn’t understand why her having children threw him off guard. She raised her eyebrows in question.

He shrugged. “I just…Running a business from your home seems more difficult with kids underfoot.”

“I based my business at home because I have children. It’s more convenient and saves money on babysitters. We have strict rules regarding their presence in my bakery.”

“I’m sure you do.” His gaze flicked to her bare left hand.

Lisa drew herself straighter. “Children, but no husband. Not anymore.”

Joe’s tanned skin darkened. “I’m sorry.”

It hardly seemed businesslike to think of a potential client as cute, but his blush endeared him to her. Lisa led him toward the living room, feeling his gaze on her. Every nerve along her spine prickled with awareness. Settling in a chair across from his, she poured their drinks. She handed one to him and said, “I assume you’re considering Goodies to Go for your company’s party.”

Joe glanced at her, then studied his glass. “Yes, we are. I’m arranging the event myself because I want it to be special. We’ve had a profitable fiscal year so far, and we want to reward our staff.” He took a sip of tea. “A few of them uprooted their lives to follow us from California. Hopefully, the celebration will help our new employees feel more like part of the team.”

“I’ve read about the success of your company. You’ve created quite a stir in our little town.” She raised an eyebrow. “Why did you locate in Howard?”

“My partner, Dylan Ross, is from here. I grew up just east of Kansas City. We worked for the same company in California and became friends as the token Midwestern boys. Later we left and formed our company.”

He shrugged. “After my dad retired, my parents remembered Dylan’s stories of its small-town charm and moved to Howard. We could relocate the business here because the universities nearby provide an educated workforce. It’s small enough for comfort, but not too far from Kansas City to entertain.”

“You may have forgotten how precarious summer can be in Missouri, weatherwise. Have you decided on an indoor or an outdoor event?”

He took a long drink. “I’m still looking into both options, although with the humidity, we’ll probably opt for indoors. I’ll make a decision after I analyze costs.” He set his glass on a coaster on the end table. “But I’m actually here today to discuss a different matter.”

Lisa’s heartbeat quickened, and she eyed him with interest. Did he want her to cater a second party for his company? That would really help alleviate some of the debt Brad had left her. It came to over a million dollars, if she counted the double mortgage on the house, and since the bank counted it, Lisa had to, as well. She needed as much work as she could drum up.

She took a calming breath. Easy, girl. Wouldn’t want to appear too eager. “Would this be for your company?”

“Not exactly. Maybe I’d better start at the beginning.”

“Okay.” She wouldn’t get her hopes up, she told herself, but, oh, how she needed the money.

“You’re catering the Howard Garden Society’s annual show next weekend, correct?”

She nodded, thinking of her frosting flowers in the freezer. The exhibit would showcase hothouse exotics. Lisa wanted her presentations to be as impressive to the eye as they were sweet to the taste. She hoped this commission would lead to others, not only from the Garden Society, whose Rose Exhibit was scheduled for June, but also private parties from the attendees. Word-of-mouth advertising was invaluable.

“My mother is a member,” Joe said.

“So that’s how you heard of me.”

“Not exactly. I got your bid before I knew.” He grimaced. “I wish I had known you were catering their event.”

He didn’t sound happy. What was he, some kind of flower hater? “And why is that, Mr. Riley?”

His direct gaze snagged hers. “Because then I wouldn’t have told my mother you and I are practically engaged.”

Lisa blinked, then forced a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

He shook his head.

“But why would you say an idio—” She cleared her throat. “I mean—”

“No, you’re right. It was idiotic. I was desperate.”

She frowned. “How did I get involved?”

“My mother wants me to get married. She keeps surprising me with dinner partners or arranging dates, then calling at the last minute to inform me.”

A man this handsome didn’t need help getting a date unless there was something wrong with him, like a felony record he’d neglected to mention. “This may seem presumptuous of me to ask, but since you’ve involved me in your personal life, I’m going to. Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

He narrowed his eyes, obviously catching her tone. “I’m setting up a business in a new town. I suggested we relocate, moving a thriving enterprise home to take care of my aging parents. I don’t have time for a relationship.”

“Oh.” She shrugged. “Tell your mother to stop.”

Joe laughed. Lisa eyed him warily. He thought this was funny? Not that his laughter held much humor.

“You don’t know her.” He blew out a breath. “She’s fragile.”

“She doesn’t sound fragile.”

“My father and I worry about her, especially since her heart attack. The doctor confined her to bed for three weeks.” His indrawn breath shook. “She’s better now, but not one hundred percent. We have to be careful with her.”

While she admired his dedication, Lisa’s sympathy went only so far. “What does this have to do with me?”

“She’s badgering me to meet ‘a nice woman,’ and she would have arranged it herself. So I told her I was seriously involved with someone.” He gave her a smile and shrugged. “Your brochure was on my desk.”

Lisa stared at him, unimpressed with both his predicament and his charming smile. “Tell her the truth.”

“I’ve tried that. She doesn’t listen. You’re my only option.”

A cold weight settled in her stomach. He didn’t want her catering talent. He wanted to use her to ward off his mother. Anger warred with disappointment. She’d been right about him, after all. He was as selfish and devious as Brad. Lisa stood, anxious for him to leave.

“Sorry, I can’t help you.” Her tone came out flat as she realized how much she sacrificed by refusing.

He stood, as well. “You don’t understand. She’s going to search you out at the Garden Society exhibit and introduce herself to you.”

She dipped her head in acknowledgment. “I’m sure I’ll be pleased to meet her.”

Joe’s shoulders drooped. “You’re a hard woman.”

“Because I won’t lie to your mother?” She threw her hands in the air, having had her fill of deceptive men. “Did you think I’d lie to your family in return for this catering job?”

“Hear me out. I’m not hurting my mother. I—”

“Not hurting her?” She stepped closer to him, trying to keep her voice level but unsure she could contain her frustration. “Every lie hurts someone. I don’t want any part of it.”

“You’re overreacting. Let me—”

“You leave my mama alone!”

She and Joe turned as one toward the sound. Six-year-old Bobby stood quivering, his little hands balled into fists. Abby stumbled to a stop right behind him, wide-eyed. Lisa’s friend Ginger hovered inside the open front door.

“Bobby, Abby.” Lisa reached toward them. “It’s okay.”

“It isn’t either okay,” Abby said, sounding younger than eight. “He was yelling at you.”

Ginger stepped forward. “Do you want me to wait with the kids on the porch?”

Shaking her head at the offer, Lisa took her children’s hands. She needed to deal with this now, to explain about grown-up arguments. Her ex had never argued with her in front of them. He’d just packed his bags and run—with all their money and his new office trainee. She didn’t like to think what Brad had been training Lacey to do.

She shook herself back to the present moment. Had Joe shouted at her? She didn’t think so. She’d been the one near to screaming. “Mr. Riley wasn’t yelling.”

Bobby stuck out a stiff bottom lip. “You were fighting.”

“We were having a disagreement.” She shook their arms teasingly. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I sounded like the two of you.”

The children glared at Joe from under lowered brows.

“He’s a bad man,” Bobby proclaimed. He yanked his hand free from his mother’s grasp.

“Bobby!”

He ran over and kicked Joe in the shin. Joe grunted and grabbed his leg, hopping a few steps. Ginger covered her mouth, and, knowing her friend’s sense of humor, Lisa hoped Ginger wouldn’t laugh out loud at the sight Joe made. She glared at her son. “Robert Alexander! We do not kick people. You apologize to Mr. Riley right now.”

Bobby pinched his lips together and glanced at her. Abby tried to pull away, and Lisa tightened her grip. “Bobby,” she warned him.

“No!” And off he ran.

“It’s all right, really,” Joe said with an effort. “I can understand how he’d feel, witnessing our disagreement.”

Lisa glanced at Abby. Those ever-straying tendrils of fine blond hair stuck to her cheeks. Lisa softened her voice. “Go on up to your room.”

The girl stalked away, turning to glare at Joe before disappearing up the stairs.

“I’m sorry.” Lisa shook her head. “I hate to say this because I know how it sounds, but they’re usually good kids.”

Joe’s small, tight smile betrayed his doubt. “I’m sure they are. Maybe this isn’t the best time to talk. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She crossed her arms. “What happened with the children doesn’t change anything as far as we’re concerned.”

He nodded. “I understand. I presented this badly. Let me leave you my business card, and I’ll get back to you.”

She inhaled deeply. He didn’t listen too well, but she’d give him points for persistence. She took his card, careful not to touch him. “I’ll accept your card, Mr. Riley, but I’ll never accept your deal.”

Chapter Two

Lisa opened the door. Joe nodded to Ginger on his way out.

“Hoo-ee!” Ginger gawked after him. “Who was that?”

Lisa rubbed the tension from her temple. “Opportunity, unfortunately. I just lost that huge Riley and Ross job.”

“Which one is he?” Ginger’s gaze remained fixed outside.

“Riley.” Lisa watched his royal-blue convertible pull from the curb then slammed the door. “And good riddance.”

“I wouldn’t be so happy to see him walk away. Although he did have an excellent backside.”

Lisa shot her a wry look. “I’ll be sure to tell Kyle you think so.”

Ginger laughed. “Like he’d worry. The big lug knows I’m crazy for him.”

Lisa gathered up the glasses and took the tray back to the kitchen. She sighed. “There went that. What am I going to do?”

Ginger slid onto the bar stool at the kitchen counter. “Why did he come here to talk to you personally? Your bid couldn’t have been too far off.”

Lisa grimaced. “I have no idea where my bid was. He came for something else entirely.” She poured Ginger an iced tea and filled her in on the details.

Ginger stared out the window, one tangerine fingernail tapping against her glass. Lisa didn’t like the calculating look in her friend’s eyes. Although her hair fell to her shoulders in apricot waves, Ginger had a redhead’s temperament. She was bound to be plotting a nasty revenge for Joe Riley.

“I think you should do it,” Ginger said.

Lisa gaped. “What?”

“Seriously, hear me out. You get the R & R job, right?”

“Presumably, but—”

“No, just listen. You get to show off your catering skills. Lots of people find out how great you are. You’ll get loads of jobs, and you can pay off more of your debt.”

“But I’ll have to lie to his parents.”

“His relationship with them already stinks, right, if he’s doing this? You’re not changing anything. You come out ahead.”

“Ginger, he’s just like Brad. Lying to take the easy way out. Deceiving people who love him. I can’t have any part in that.”

After a moment, Ginger squeezed Lisa’s arm. “Of course you can’t. What was I thinking?” She rose. “I’d better get home.”

“Did Bobby behave?” Lisa dreaded the answer, especially after he’d just kicked Joe. Bobby’s emotions had teetered unpredictably since Brad left eighteen months earlier. Brad hadn’t said goodbye to the kids. One night, he just hadn’t come home. Only after hours of her worrying and frantic voice mails had he answered his cell phone.

“I’m not coming back,” he’d said. Then the phone went silent. He hadn’t used it since, according to the investigator she’d hired to track him down.

Another expense she couldn’t afford.

Abby had cried for days, then withdrawn, not talking about her dad again. Bobby had been sure Daddy would come home, but as time passed, his certainty turned to anger. The school psychologist, Mr. Swanson, advised Lisa to let them come to her when they were ready to talk. But “not pushing the subject” didn’t seem to be helping either child.

“He was good,” Ginger said. “No outbursts. He loved the arcade games.”

Lisa went boneless with relief, only then realizing she’d braced herself for a bad report. “Thanks for taking the kids out. I got a lot of flowers done and all my cookies baked.”

Ginger waved away her thanks with a distinct gleam in her eye. “My pleasure. It’s, you know, good practice to be around them.”

Lisa squealed and rushed to her, grabbing her arms. Her friend’s smile could have lit up Country Club Plaza for the entire Christmas season. “Are you—?”

“No, but we’re trying.” Ginger giggled. “Lordy, are we trying. If I’d known how much fun it was to conceive, we’d have started years ago.”

“It’s not like you haven’t had sex, Gin. You’ve been married for four years.”

“Yeah, but now we tangle the sheets with a purpose. Each time, after, we think, ‘Was that it? Did we just make a baby?’” She rubbed the bridge of her nose self-consciously. “Dopey, huh?”

Lisa hugged her. “No, it’s very sweet and special, like you. Good luck with this.”

“We don’t need luck,” Ginger called over her shoulder. “It’s all in the execution. And, boy, can Kyle execute.”

THE NEXT DAY, Lisa left off baking early to pick up the children from school. The oven had become temperamental, or perhaps it was Lisa’s thoughts of Joe Riley’s offer that had sidetracked her, making the cake for the petit fours cook just a tad longer than required. Two batches of cake had been ruined before she noticed the problem. The drive across town, normally about ten minutes, took longer at the end of the school day, as other parents cluttered the roadway on the same errand. She preferred to park and go in to get the kids rather than drive through the pickup lane, so she had to leave even earlier to find a spot.

She retrieved Abby in the lobby, as she was coming back from PE with her backpack all ready to go. They walked down the long hallway toward the kindergarten classes, dodging other kids. Spying Bobby’s teacher coming toward them, Lisa smiled. Miss Jensen’s mouth turned down at the corners, and Lisa’s stomach clenched. Uneasy about the answer, she asked, “What is it?”

“Fighting. He’s in the principal’s office.”

Lisa closed her eyes. “And I was having such a great day.”

“We sent home a note yesterday. I guess you didn’t get it since it didn’t come back signed today.”

Lisa’s jaw dropped. “What happened yesterday?”

“He pushed another boy, and we have a zero tolerance policy regarding any show of violence. He spent thirty minutes working in the hall. The other boy called Bobby names. I don’t know the details, as neither would tell me.” She sighed. “Today, Bobby hit the child. Arnold’s nose isn’t broken, but it bled a great deal.”

Lisa swallowed.

“Bobby appears to have gotten the worst of it,” Miss Jensen said, as though that counted in Bobby’s favor.

The principal’s secretary opened the door and gestured them in, forestalling any comment. Lisa turned to Abby. “You stay here.”

She stepped in and then froze as she saw her son. When she gestured for him to show her his face, he lowered the ice pack. “Oh, my God.” He had indeed gotten the worst of it, if that was Bobby under the swollen cheek and purple eye.

“We were about to call you,” said the principal, a smarmy-mannered chauvinist who always scraped Lisa’s nerves. “But the incident occurred right before dismissal.”

Lisa wanted to pull Bobby to her and rock him, showering him with kisses. The incident? Where was the teacher when some bully was beating her baby? She turned to Miss Jensen, forcing herself to remember how much she usually liked the young woman. “How did this happen?”

Mr. Bushfield cleared his throat. “Maybe we’d better ask young Robert that.”

Lisa locked gazes with her son. “I fully intend to talk to Bobby.”

Bobby grimaced, then winced and replaced the ice pack.

Bushfield held up his hand. “We expect our young people to own up to their mistakes. We prefer them to take responsibility for their actions.” He paused. “Of course, you must handle this however you think best.”

Lisa gritted her teeth. His implication hung in the air. She wanted the teacher’s version because she didn’t trust her own son to tell the truth. The guy was a jerk. She turned her back to him. “Miss Jensen?”

“Bobby hit Arnold.” She shook her head. “By the time I got across the room, Arnold had slammed Bobby to the floor. I didn’t see how it started.”

Lisa would have to find out what happened from Bobby, after all. She hated to give Bushfield the satisfaction. Dying to ask about punishment for this Arnold kid, Lisa said with forced politeness, “How is the other child?”

“His parents are coming from work,” Miss Jensen said, “so he’s waiting in the nurse’s office. His nose has stopped bleeding. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Taking Bobby’s hand in hers, Lisa faced the principal. “The question of ‘why’ will have to be settled later.”

“He must—” Bushfield blustered.

Lisa raised her chin and reached for dignity. “The real problem is that it happened at all. What discipline measures does the school enforce?”

The administrator gawked, clearly two beats behind and trying to catch up. “What do you mean?”

“Is he suspended? Do kindergartners serve detention?”

“We’ve found detention to be ineffective as a discipline tool for this age group. The child’s self-esteem can be severely damaged.”

Lisa exhaled slowly so he wouldn’t notice she’d been holding her breath. “I agree. I would recommend against suspension, as well. Bobby will learn more by facing Arnold and their classmates than by staying home.”

Bobby scowled then readjusted the ice pack.

Bushfield wiped his pudgy face. “This mustn’t happen again.”

“It won’t,” Lisa assured him.

He leaned forward and shook his finger in Bobby’s face, a looming figure in his dark suit. “This will be on your permanent record, young man.”

Miss Jensen uttered a soft protest. Lisa pushed Bobby behind her.

“It does little good to protect him,” Bushfield said.

“Good day.” She restrained the urge to slam his door.

“Ms. Meyer,” he called out just before she could escape. “There is an alternative program I’ve been considering for young Robert.”

Lisa stopped. If he mentioned juvenile detention, she would smack him. She swallowed a grin. Maybe the air in the school turned the Meyer family into violent reactionaries. “Bobby, wait outside with your sister.”

Bobby scooted around her into the secretary’s office.

Abby gawked at his face. “Cool.”

Lisa glared at them both before stepping back in and carefully closing the principal’s door. “What program?”

“In my opinion, Bobby is bored with school, and this is why he’s acting out.”

Lisa tried not to roll her eyes. Acting out. Sheesh. In her opinion, this Arnold kid had goaded her son, and Bobby had “acted out” with his fist. His problem stemmed from his anger at his father.

“Have you spoken with Mr. Swanson?” she asked, referring to the psychologist. She’d endured team meetings all year with Bobby’s teacher, principal, the school psychologist and the social worker, appreciating their concern for her son, even though she didn’t always agree with their assessments. Bobby met with Swanson every week, trying to talk through his feelings toward Brad and formulate ways to curb Bobby’s outbursts of temper. Anger management for a six-year-old. Lisa felt like such a failure as a mother.

Bushfield nodded. “He sees the merit in my suggestion. Unfortunately, he had another meeting after school today. We could wait until he’s available to discuss this, but I would hesitate to detain any help for Robert, given recent circumstances.”

Lisa turned to his teacher. “I thought this disagreement only happened yesterday and today. Is he fighting with other kids, too? Have you had other problems with Bobby?”

“Not fighting, no,” Miss Jensen said, “although I have noticed how withdrawn he’s become since Christmas. He doesn’t interact with the other students, usually preferring to read rather than play with them.”

“Withdrawn?” Lisa’s mouth went dry. He’d expected his dad home for Christmas, but they’d talked about it and she thought he’d accepted it. She hadn’t realized the depth of his disappointment. When had Bobby quit playing with his friends? He loved to join in any type of game. How had she not known? Of course, she only came to school on special party days. She’d thought his outbursts of anger were his only problem.

“In the program I’m suggesting,” Bushfield said, “the children meet with instructors before and after school to study art, music and a foreign language, as well as participating in some recreational activities to challenge their bodies as well as their minds. We, of course, offer breakfast and an after-school snack to keep their energy levels high.”

“Bobby doesn’t need day care, Mr. Bushfield.”

“But he needs challenge, Ms. Meyer. One of the problems with Bobby is that he’s brighter than his classmates. We can’t advance him into first grade this late in the school year.”

Lisa pushed down a surge of maternal pride. Of course, she considered Bobby brighter than average but felt gratified to hear it from educators. Why hadn’t they noticed how intelligent Bobby was before this? Shaking her head, she knew the answer. In their overgrown school district, only the special needs children got particular attention. The ordinary kids who didn’t struggle academically or misbehave were overlooked.

Before, Bobby had been evaluated as troubled. Now with the fighting, her son would be labeled a problem child. Smart, they could ignore and plan extra work for the next year maybe. Disobedience and fighting, however, had to be addressed immediately.

“With only weeks left in the school year,” she said, “I wouldn’t want you to move him. How will before-and after-school ‘challenges’ help him behave during class?”

Bushfield opened his mouth but offered no answer before closing it again.

“And,” Lisa continued, “his temper problems aside, today’s ‘incident’ sounds like a personality conflict between Bobby and this Arnold kid.”

“If my son were fighting,” Bushfield said, “I’d be concerned.”

Pompous ass. Lisa reached deep inside herself for patience. “I am concerned, Mr. Bushfield. I just don’t agree that this is the answer for Bobby.”

Bushfield leaned back in his black leather swivel chair and linked his fingers over his paunch. “We considered this program for Bobby in the fall because of his abilities, not because of his misbehavior.”

Her teeth clenched so tight her jaw ached. His misbehavior? What about that other kid, calling Bobby names and smashing his head on the floor?

“However,” the principal continued, “this opportunity cannot be offered to every child due to its cost.”

The blood drained from Lisa’s face. Because she’d had to sign up for reduced lunch prices and book-fee assistance for both children, all her financial information lurked in the kids’ files. No doubt Bushfield and every other administrator had access. It was degrading.

Now it came down to money again. Bobby hadn’t been considered last fall because she was broke? She swallowed her rage. Damn Brad.

“Unfortunately,” the principal continued, “it isn’t funded through tax revenue, and we must rely upon the parents—or parent in your case—to provide the majority of the tuition. Bringing highly talented professionals together to educate our children with the best cultural activities is expensive.” He cleared his throat. “Given that Bobby’s special needs have intensified this week, we might be able to provide a grant through the school district for the remainder of the year. Some monies have become available.”

Lisa tried to remain expressionless. Humiliated beyond measure because she couldn’t afford to give her child this special opportunity, she fought her anger—against Bushfield, against Brad, against anyone she could think of, especially herself. No way would she allow her children to suffer because she had been left with an overwhelming debt. If only that investigator could track down Brad, perhaps she could squeeze some child support from him. Unfortunately, rumor had it Brad had left the country.

She stiffened her spine and eyed Bushfield steadily. “If you have a brochure, I’ll look it over.”

She marched out with her head held high, determined to get the money somehow, even if she had to sell her soul to the devil.

Fortunately, she’d just met the devil. He was handsome and devious, and he needed a favor from her.

Chapter Three

The next day, Lisa paced the waiting area outside Joe’s office, recalling her adamant refusal to help him. Now she had to swallow her pride and ask for a favor. She could humble herself for her children. She’d had practice enough in the past eighteen months. But deceiving Joe’s parents stuck in her craw.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have much choice. She wanted to rise above the humiliation of being broke, but more importantly, she had to get Bobby into that program. Providing for her children drove her every action.

The night before, Lisa had seated herself beside Bobby as he climbed into bed. She brushed a stray lock of white-blond hair off his forehead.

“Bobby, why did you hit Arnold?”

He stared at his lightweight blanket, threading it between his fingers. His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug.

The cicadas started their nightly song outside. An early June bug thunked against the window screen, trying to reach the light. The overhead fan whirred. Her son said nothing.

She bit her bottom lip, then prodded, “Bobby? You must have had a reason.”

Still not looking at her, he mumbled, “He called me a name.”

Lisa sighed. She’d gotten that much from his teacher. “Honey, you can’t just hit people because you don’t like what they say. Miss Jensen said you shoved him yesterday, too.”

He shrugged again.

“And you kicked Mr. Riley.”

Bobby’s eyes flashed to hers. “But he was yelling at you!”

“No, honey, he wasn’t. Even if he had been, it would still be wrong to kick him.”

Bobby’s bottom lip stiffened. “I’m the man of the house now. Just like on TV.”

Lisa’s chest tightened. How could she scold him for protecting her? She kissed his forehead. “I love you. But no more hitting, no matter what the reason. Hitting doesn’t make a boy into a man.”

He didn’t respond, but Lisa knew he’d heard her.

Now she glowered at Joe’s pretty young secretary, who kept her gaze on her computer monitor. The brunette might appear to be a bubblehead, but she’d guarded Joe like a pit bull, not letting Lisa speak to him. Lisa had hoped to make this distasteful arrangement on the phone or at her house, giving her home-field advantage. But Joe’s secretary screened his calls and relayed his messages, limiting her access—no doubt on his orders. He could only fit Lisa into his schedule if she came to see him that morning. Given Bobby’s increased violent streak, the sooner she received the advance money and could enroll him, the better.

“Lisa.” Joe’s deep voice shivered through her. He leaned against the door frame of his office, hands in his pants pockets. “I must admit I’m surprised to hear from you, but I’m very pleased.”

He radiated confidence, with a touch of smug victory. In a dark charcoal three-piece suit, he looked even more handsome than she remembered. Her mouth went dry. Nerves, not attraction, she assured herself. She nodded cordially. “I’d like to discuss something with you.”

A second man emerged from Joe’s office, sans jacket or tie, with his gray shirt unbuttoned at the throat. Dark blond hair brushed his collar.

“This is my partner, Dylan Ross,” Joe said. Turning to Dylan, he added, “This is Lisa Meyer, owner of Goodies to Go. We’re about to negotiate the fine points to her providing desserts for our first fiscal year-end party in Howard.”

“Nice to meet you.” Dylan stepped forward and shook Lisa’s hand.

“Are you staying for the meeting, too?” She darted a look at Joe, relieved when he shook his head. At least he hadn’t spread the tale of their distasteful pact.

“Sorry,” Dylan said, a teasing light in his blue eyes. “Joe conveniently forgot to mention how attractive the caterer was he had to meet with. How’d you let that happen, Sue?” he asked Joe’s secretary, who watched their exchange avidly. Dylan glanced at his wristwatch. “Come to think of it, I might be able to spare a few minutes.”

“No, you really can’t.” Joe took his arm and marched him a few steps on his way.

“See you again,” Dylan called with a laugh as he continued on his own steam toward the door.

“Nice to meet you.” Lisa was still smiling when she met Joe’s narrowed gaze.

“So you’ve reconsidered?”

She glanced at his secretary, who bent over her keyboard, actively not listening. “Under certain circumstances, I might agree to your…proposition.”

Joe smiled. “I’m intrigued. Shall we step into my office?”

Said the drooling wolf to the lamb. Not fooled by his charming facade, she ignored the warmth of his hand on her elbow, as well as the tingle chasing through her blood.

Lisa couldn’t decide what to make of his enormous office. Neutral colors and light wood tones blended into blandness. Dark glass in the windows cloaked the sunlight. No plants to add life; no photographs graced his desk. Although tasteful and professional, Joe’s office presented an impersonal face to his associates. It certainly chilled her.

“Thanks for meeting with me here,” Joe said after seating her on a tan leather sofa. He settled in one of the three chairs across from her. “Would you care for a drink?”

Lisa declined with a shake of her head.

“Perhaps I could take you to lunch afterward?”

She smiled with insincere sweetness. “That won’t be possible. I had to rearrange my morning to suit yours. I have work to complete this afternoon.”

He chuckled as she evened the score.

“The flower show is in four days, you know.”

He winced. “I remember.”

Lisa almost crowed with satisfaction. She had him. He’d have to agree to give her the contract.

“You said you’d help me under certain conditions.” Joe’s manner turned less personal. “I assume you’re talking about catering our company party.”

“Yes, but that’s not the cond—”

He held up his hand. “I assure you I didn’t mean it as a bribe at the time, and I don’t think badly of you for agreeing to it now. It’s just a—” he waved his hand vaguely “—an exchange of services.”

Lisa bit her lip. For two cents, she’d walk out and leave him hanging—for two cents and about half a million dollars, which she didn’t have. Joe might need her to extricate him from this tangle of lies he’d woven, but she also needed him.

Dammit. She’d worked her rear off whittling down that debt. They’d still have to live hand-to-mouth for a while, but she had started to rebuild her life. Maybe in a year or two she could get a credit card, although it would no doubt be a prepay deal. But to have a credit rating she could be proud of. To pay off her business loans. To take her children to the pizza place herself and not cower at the cost of the arcade games. Oh, she’d do a lot for that. She’d enroll Bobby in that enrichment program, then stuff the check for the whole amount, without any grants from the school district, right up Bushfield’s nose.

She took a deep breath. “First, let me assure you I wouldn’t do this if I could come up with another solution.”

Joe’s eyebrows rose.

“I stayed up all night, worrying over this. If there was any way not to have to make this deal with you, any way at all…” She clenched her hands together.

“Is this your way of asking me for a favor?”

Lisa’s face heated. She’d insulted him. Not a promising start. Rubbing her temple, she mentally altered her phrasing. “No, it’s my way of proposing a deal. I believe in honesty, and although I might agree to your deception, it goes against my nature. I want you to understand my desper—my position.”

Joe leaned toward her. “Go on.”

“You need me to pretend to be your girlfriend, to appease your mother. I need your catering contract, but I don’t want our arrangement to upset my children. My condition is simple. They’re not to be involved. You’re not to be around them. It’s out of the question.”

He studied her in silence. After an eternity, he said, “I don’t see how I can stay away from the children since we’ll be dating.” His tone laced charm with silken warning.

“I thought I’d just meet your parents once or twice. At the Garden Society exhibit and maybe one other time in a couple of weeks to cap off the pretense.”

He shook his head. “We’ll have to be seen out together. My mother has a network of friends. She wouldn’t believe we have a serious relationship if we aren’t spotted around town. We’re supposedly on the brink of getting married.”

Lisa sighed, conceding his point. “Fine, but no meeting the kids. They’re a little confused right now, basically due to their father’s desertion. Brad, my husband, wasn’t…He didn’t…”

She jumped to her feet, unable to stay still.

“It wasn’t an amicable divorce?” Joe asked.

She snorted, then caught herself and paced away. “No, it wasn’t. It’s been a year and a half of upheaval for the kids.” She leaned back against his desk and gazed into mid-distance between them as some of those upheavals ran through her mind. The children’s tears. Her shock at sudden bankruptcy. Their nightmares. Their confusion and hurt.

“Is there any chance you and your husband might—?”

“No.” She shuddered. Not even for the children.

Joe nodded. He tapped steepled fingers against his full lower lip. Lisa ground her teeth, both irritated at him for his relaxed position while her world teetered to disaster, while also impatient with herself for noticing his seductive mouth at such a time.

“So what am I supposed to be?”

She swallowed another lump of pride and confessed, “You’re the provider of a contract that’ll bail me out of a financial bind.”

“No, I meant what will your children think I am to you?”

She stared at him. Having forced herself to admit she needed money so badly, she couldn’t switch tracks fast enough to follow his train of thought.

“Am I posing as your lover or whatever the kids would call it?” His mouth twisted. “Your boyfriend, I suppose.”

Lisa snapped her mouth closed. “No, that’s not what I’d planned, at all. I thought you could just be my client.”

Joe stood and walked toward her.

She forgot how to breathe.

“I’ll be picking you up for dates, for my parents’ sake, remember? Your children will know we’re more than business associates.”

“Not…not if I explain that I’m doing you a favor.”

His smile was less than nice. “But you’re not going to explain that to them. You’re not going to explain it to anyone. Word gets around. Kids tell kids, who tell parents, who might know me or my folks.”

“Oh.” Her pounding heart impeded her thinking. She couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t think. Maybe being around Joe wasn’t such a great idea.

“It’s our secret. You’re my girlfriend, lover, or whatever you want to call yourself.”

“Girlfriend,” she interjected, shying away from the thought of being Joe’s lover.

“Fine.” He leaned so close his cool breath brushed her lips. She inhaled his male warmth. His gaze held hers. “My parents will consider us almost engaged. We don’t tell anyone the truth.” His low voice compelled her to agree. “We pretend to be madly in love with each other. Understand?”

Compelling was one thing; intimidating was another. She simmered. Who did he think he was? She’d put up with too much garbage in the past eighteen months to be pushed around by Joe Riley.

She locked her gaze on his. “I understand perfectly. Do you understand you have to pretend to be honorable when you’re around my children?”

He straightened, blank surprise on his face.

“Can you keep your real character a secret?”

“What are you talking about?”

Lisa advanced on him. “Your tendency to lie your way out of trouble—”

Joe backed away, his hands up to ward her off.

“Your attempt to bribe me.” She stepped forward. “Your—”

He stepped back. “Now wait a minute—”

“I only hope you can fake it.”

He halted. “I don’t have to fake anything. If you had any doubts about my character, you wouldn’t have begged me for this contract.”

“If I had another choice,” she corrected, “I wouldn’t have agreed to help you out. I’m taking a chance on you.”

The calculation in Joe’s smile sent shivers of warning across her skin. He stepped toward her. “But I’m taking a chance on you, as well. I have to trust you to behave as though you love me.”

“You can trust me.”

“How do I know?”

“I can fake it.”

He smirked. “I’ve never had a wom—”

“Don’t even say it.”

“Maybe I ought to put you to the test.”

She eyed him with suspicion. “What test?”

“We’ll be performing in front of my mother, who can sniff out a fraud like a bloodhound.” He smiled. “Maybe we ought to rehearse.”

“What? Why?”

“We’re not exactly friends. My mother—everyone—will be able to tell if it’s our first kiss. We should practice, just until it feels natural.”

Lisa glared at him, disgusted with his tactics. Another manipulator, just like Brad. “I should’ve expected something like this from you.” She stalked to the door, followed by Joe’s laughter, soft, but edged with triumph. “Mail me the contract.”

“Coward,” he called across the room.

“With the advance money.” She slammed the door on his grin.

LISA TOOK HER CHECK to the principal’s office the next day as school let out, Joe’s advance having arrived by special courier. Laying down the money for Bobby’s program, without having to apply for any grants from the school district, didn’t offer her the satisfaction she had imagined.

Abby jumped into the car. Bobby had been invited to practice soccer at the house of one of his teammates. Tomorrow she’d tell him about his starting “a new adventure,” which was how she’d decided to view the program.

Lisa hated to cut into her special time alone with Abby doing a mundane chore, but she needed to stop at the grocery store on the way home. Time seemed to slip away from her these days, never leaving enough for all the things she had to do.

“Sally Turner’s having a birthday party, Mom, and she invited me! Everyone’s going. Can I go? Please.”

After an affectionate glance at Abby, Lisa checked the rearview mirror for oncoming cars then pulled into traffic. “When is it?”

“Her birthday is next week, but the party’s not till June eighth. It’s a Sunday. We have lots of time to shop.”

“What are you planning to get her?” She could stretch the budget to include a present, as long as Sally “The Girl Who Has Everything” Turner didn’t expect expensive name brands. “Why is her party so far in the future?”

“Everybody who’s invited decided to get new T-shirts with the band’s name on them. I can have one, too, can’t I? It shouldn’t cost too much.”

Lisa frowned. “What band?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you the best part!” Abby bounced on the seat in her excitement, a grin splitting her face. Lisa hadn’t seen her this happy or this animated since Brad left. Thank you, Sally.

“Sally’s parents are taking us to see Juniper Jones.”

“Wow.” Concert tickets for the Turners and a group of girls would cost a load of money. Lisa bit her lip, hoping Abby understood her own birthday celebration wouldn’t include anything nearly as expensive.

“So I can go?” Abby insisted.

“I suppose so.”

Juniper Jones was the name of an all-girl band, whose songs focused more on friendship and teen angst than drugs or sex. Abby had their two most recent CDs, and their poster decorated her wall. At least the Turners, whose lax parenting methods Lisa usually abhorred, had chosen music appropriate for eight-and nine-year-olds. She struggled over letting them take her daughter to the crowded concert. Surely they could be responsible for Abby for one evening.

“That’s really cool,” Lisa said. “I didn’t know Juniper Jones was playing in Kansas City this summer. I suppose we can find a band T-shirt somewhere.”

Maybe one of those Internet bargain sites would have a shirt available. Souvenirs at the concert were costly.

Abby hunched in her seat. “They’re not.”

Sure she’d lost track of the conversation, Lisa said, “I don’t understand.”

“We’re going to see the concert in St. Louis. We get to stay overnight at a hotel. With a pool.”

Fortunately for the other drivers on Wilson Avenue, the light ahead turned red. Lisa braked with extra care then stared at Abby. She wouldn’t even let parents she trusted take Abby across the state overnight, let alone the Turners. “And you’re just now mentioning this part.”

Abby nodded, not quite meeting her eyes.

“After you made sure I said you could go.” Lisa tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, Abby. The answer’s no.”

“Mom!”

She raised an eyebrow at her daughter, a definite warning sign should Abby care to heed it.

Abby’s chin dropped onto her chest. “That’s so unfair.”

Lisa inhaled and glanced ahead. Still red, thank heavens. She didn’t think she could negotiate traffic and this conversation without killing someone. Preferably Sally Turner’s parents. What were they thinking? She shook out fingers gone numb from her hold on the steering wheel.

The light changed, and Lisa carefully advanced.

After three blocks, Abby burst. “Why can’t I go?”

Lisa let the silence hold until she parked at the curb in front of the store. “It’s too far. You can’t stay overnight in another city at your age without me.”

“Sally’s parents will be with us. And it’ll be summer, not a school night.”

Lisa held up her hand. “Don’t start. You knew what the answer would be before you asked, which is why you wanted me to say yes before you filled in all the details. I don’t appreciate being manipulated, young lady.”

“Sorry,” Abby muttered.

Lisa blew out a deep breath.

They got out of the car, although Lisa had never felt less like seeing food in her life. Abby got quieter as the hours progressed, and by bedtime, Lisa almost wished the girl would let loose her feelings the way Bobby did. Abby’s silent melancholy tore at her heart.

AT THE CONVENTION HALL the next week, Lisa glanced around at the hothouse exhibit of roses, orchids and gardenias and felt satisfied that her sugary confections complemented the beauty of the room. Moreover, her flowers offered a delight for the tongue as well as the eye. About fifty women in sequins and chiffon led their handsomely suited men through the partitioned-off areas. Muted conversations, briefly punctuated by outbursts of greetings, blended with the classical music in the background.

Lisa darted to the main dessert table to inspect the platters again, having checked on the four satellite stations she’d set around the room. She felt the eyes of the attendees drifting over her. Eager to make a good impression in hopes of future business, she smiled at everyone and said a few words, while trying to maintain a professional, I’m-just-the-invisible-help type presence.

“I need to set out more cookies,” Ginger said as she replaced a tray of mint crème candies. “Things are going really well.” She laid out more cocktail napkins and plates then whisked her tray to the next table.

As Lisa gathered up the dirty dishes and hurried toward the convention hall’s kitchen, the hairs on her neck prickled. She was here someplace, poor Mrs. Riley, hoping to meet Joe’s “almost fiancée.” Lisa swung through the metal kitchen doors, making sure they swished closed. Shame filled her as she imagined her upcoming performance, duping that fragile old woman into believing her son’s happiness was assured. Tricking Mrs. Riley in her last days would secure Lisa a long stay in purgatory.

She dumped the dishes on the stainless steel counter and wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist. The hall’s kitchen made her salivate with envy. Cool, smooth metal expanses of countertops, an industrial-size fridge, two freezers, three ovens…

Lisa reined in her yearning. She didn’t need this much equipment, not for her simple operation. The scope of the night’s party had been huge enough. Even with Ginger’s assistance, getting everything here and setting up had depleted her enthusiasm for catering large jobs. She should have hired more servers, but she simply couldn’t afford them. Ginger had offered her help for free, but Lisa insisted on paying her.

She couldn’t bring herself to take anything more from anyone. In addition to paying back loans from half the banks in town, she had to repay Joe Riley. With her affection.

The back of her right eyeball cramped.

Deceiving Mrs. Riley into thinking she loved Joe would take an acting job worthy of an Academy Award. No wonder she felt a migraine intensifying.

Ginger backed through the large swing doors into the kitchen, her arms laden with a tray of dirty dishes. She set it on the worktable and guzzled a drink from her water bottle. “Wow, they really love your stuff. I bet you get tons of catering calls after tonight.”

“I hope so,” Lisa said. “Don’t worry, though. If I do, I’ll hire some college kids to help out.”

“It’s kind of fun. Although it is harder than trying to make a baby, which is what I have to get home to do.” She referred to her fertility cycle, a timetable for conception she and her husband called the Baby Project.

Lisa glanced at her watch. “Oh, Ginger, go on ahead. Kyle should be home from his meeting by now.”

Ginger grimaced but removed her apron. “I hate to leave you with so many dishes. I have time to set out some more petit fours.”

“Don’t be silly. You’ve been a huge help all night, and while you’re ovulating, no less.”

They laughed, and Lisa hugged her. “Now, go. Babies are way more important than those women getting more cake.”

“When you’re right, you’re right.”

“I don’t know about that, but I am the boss tonight.”

With a wave, Ginger headed out the back door.

Lisa loaded a tray with petit fours, amazed at how many she’d already served. By the look of the leftovers, the guests had bypassed most of the candies she’d slaved over, but had taken to the cookies and the petit fours, small bites of cake, which she’d iced and decorated with individual rosebuds. Decorating cookies required a lot more work, as well as the initial cutting out and baking, but maybe she ought to consider cookie bouquets for her slow periods. College parents at the Kansas City universities might go for small care packages, especially around the holidays or exam time.

“I thought I’d find you in here.”

Lisa dropped a petit four on another, smashing an iced flower. She ground her teeth then fixed a smile in place before facing Joe. Might as well start rehearsing now. She needed all the practice she could get pretending affection for someone putting her through such turmoil.

Of course he looked gorgeous, which should have helped the pretense but only made her more miserable. Why did he have to have the upper hand in everything? She felt as though she’d been working in a sweatshop all evening, while Joe looked sensational in a black suit, which made his black hair shine.

She bit back the temptation to tell him he looked handsome. Surely he heard that from women all the time, women who weren’t pretending, women whose opinions mattered. She clamped her lips together.

“Are you hiding from my mother?”

“Absolutely.”

His eyes widened, then he laughed. “For some reason, I thought you’d deny it.”

She lifted a brow at him. “Some people enjoy honesty, Mr. Riley. Keeping track of lies is too exhausting.”

His smile turned glacial. “Some people just can’t loosen up. Anal, I believe Freud called it. Or just self-righteous.”

Lisa flushed. When had she gotten to be such a sourpuss? Oh, yeah. Brad. She cleared her throat. “Sorry. I’m just nervous.”

He looked genuinely surprised. “About meeting my mom? You shouldn’t be. Mom’s a sweetie pie.”

She crossed her arms. “Then what was all that about our practicing kissing so she wouldn’t see through our act? A bloodhound, I think you called her.”

Joe grinned, showing his dimples. “I’m glad you reminded me. That’s still a great idea.”

“Forget it, buster.” Lisa fought a giggle and lost. “You’re looking for practice in all the wrong places.”

“Nerves are making you hysterical. Let’s go meet Mom and Dad and get this over with.”

Her feet stuck to the floor. “Mom and Dad?”

“Sure, didn’t I tell you? Mom’s president of the Garden Society. Next to the Rose Exhibit, this is her big event. Naturally Dad came to support her.”

“No,” she said, her voice squeezing out of her tight throat. She pressed a hand to her abdomen. “You didn’t mention it.”

“Didn’t Mom contact you about catering tonight?”

She rubbed her throbbing temple. “I dealt with the event coordinator, Lainey Perkins. I didn’t know your mom was president.”

He frowned. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

“I guess not. I just got this sick feeling in my stomach when you told me.” She tried to laugh it off. “What difference could it possibly make?”

“Atta girl.” Joe put his hand on the small of her back. He imagined her slender body perfectly curled into his. Her shiny blond hair would tickle like corn silk against his cheek. He enjoyed the warmth beneath his hand. Her derriere curved out right below. He could slide his hand down and—

And Lisa would smash an entire tray of desserts in his face. Joe smiled as he led her across the room. He enjoyed the fire of her temper, the challenge in her blue eyes. She didn’t make it easy for him to “court” her, but he relished the chase. “There they are.”

Lisa stumbled. He felt her stiffen as they neared and draped his arm across her back.

He tried to see them as Lisa would, but to Joe, they were just Mom and Dad. Joe inspected his mother’s face for too much or too little color, but she appeared hale and hearty, despite the pressures of the evening. He let out a relieved breath. His dad beamed with pride, as if Mom had not only put this shindig together single-handedly but grown all the flowers, too. Joe felt that same satisfaction.

His mother watched their approach. He raised his voice to get his father’s attention. “Mom, Dad. This is Lisa Meyer. Lisa, these are my parents, Alice and Mike Riley.”

His dad encompassed her small hand with both of his. The warm, open smile on his face said better than his words how much he enjoyed meeting her. Lisa had helped make the party a success for his wife, and she was with Joe. That made her okay with his dad.

Joe glanced at his mom. She was sizing Lisa up, he noticed with fond amusement.

“So nice to meet you.” His mom held out her hand to Lisa. “I’ve heard nothing but praise around the tables this evening, both for the taste of the desserts and for your smooth expertise in serving.”

“Thank you.” Lisa swallowed visibly. “It’s nice of you to say so. I’ve enjoyed what I’ve seen of the flower exhibit. You’ve presented the flowers in a thought-provoking manner.”

His mom’s eyes narrowed. “How do you mean?”

Joe squeezed Lisa’s waist.

She cleared her throat. “There are various ways to group a presentation. For instance, you could have put all the roses together, bunched the orchids, like that, displaying the quality of each entry against its rivals. But then you would have had a rose corner, an orchid corner, and so on, and it would have been boring, like picking out plants in a nursery.”

Joe gawked at her. Boring? What was she doing? Why didn’t she just say thanks to his mother’s compliment, tell her how in love she was with him, and skedaddle back to the kitchen?

“I’ve seen it done totally by color, too.”

He fought the urge to elbow her, fearing his mother would notice. With dread, he waited to hear what she’d say next because, as far as he could tell, his mom had grouped the flowers by color.

“That approach results in chaos, of course,” Lisa said.

He groaned. Maybe she was showing her worst side, hoping his mother would talk Joe out of seeing her, declaring Lisa unfit. Or just insane.

“Chaos?” His mother’s chill tone brought autumn to the room. He glanced at the nearby plants, watching for them to wither.

Lisa nodded. “Absolutely. Orchids and roses fighting for space, mixing their perfumes until it smelled like a funeral parlor—”

He choked, barely hearing his mother’s gasp over the piano music in the background. His dad surveyed the nearby food tables, clearly not interested in flower arrangements and oblivious to the byplay.

“And obscuring their individual perfection. But—” Lisa’s voice rose with what Joe took for enthusiasm “—you’ve utilized the color scheme, while preserving the distinctiveness of each species. Tea roses and old-fashioneds complement each other, and separating them by shade only emphasizes their individual characters.”

Joe debated kicking her ankle. Had Lisa lost her mind? It hardly mattered that his mother was warming to her continued—and continued and continued—praise. He had to get her away. He observed her pinkened cheeks and bright eyes and finally noticed what had escaped him before.

Lisa wasn’t breathing.

She’d barely taken a breath since she started. In a minute he’d have to scoop her off the floor from a light-headed faint. He no longer wanted to kick her ankle, although he might have to pound her on the back to get her to inhale. The tightness in his chest eased. She was only nervous, not trying to sabotage his plan.

“Well,” he cut in, “we all agree with you, honey.” He saw her start of surprise, and—finally, thankfully—heard her gulp in air. “When Mom does something, she does it right.”

“That’s what I was trying to say,” Lisa said.

“I think I prefer her way of saying it,” his mother said. “Much more effusive.”

They all laughed.

“That’s my girl.” He leaned in to kiss Lisa’s cheek.

She jumped back with wide eyes. His mother’s mouth pursed. Slowly her narrowed gaze moved to Joe, connecting with his and sending a message.

Joe read her doubt all too clearly.

Lisa put her hand on his chest and peeked up at him. “I’m sorry. I’m just so jittery.” She glanced at his parents, focusing on his dad. “I babble when I’m nervous, as you now know. Catering this event is so important to my business. I get dizzy thinking of the potential jobs I could book from all these people.”

“Not to mention meeting us,” his dad said. His friendliness relieved the tension among their group.

Lisa giggled. “Well, I wasn’t going to mention that, but it is pretty scary, trying to win the parents’ approval at the same time as the rest of this.” She squinted toward Joe’s mother. “No wonder I have a migraine.”

“Oh, you poor dear.” His mother tapped his dad’s arm. “Go get my purse.”

She turned back to Lisa as he left. “I have something that works wonders. I don’t usually approve of taking medications, but look who I have to put up with.”

“Humph.” Joe acted offended, but he felt relieved. They’d discovered common ground, even if it was a headache. A woman approached his mom, who stepped away to listen to the lady’s deafening praise for the event.

Lisa pivoted toward him and whispered, “I should have taken you up on your offer.”

He frowned. His offer? “You already have my company’s catering job. I’m really impressed with your work here tonight.”

“No, your other offer.” She leaned closer. “The kiss.”

He blinked, then laughed as her color heightened. “It’s not too late.” He slid his arm down to her waist again and reeled her in flush against his body.

“Joe,” Lisa hissed with a look over her shoulder at his mom. “We can’t kiss here, in front of everybody.”

“Sure we can. What would be more convincing?”

She tried to wriggle free.

“Oooh, keep it up. I like it.”

She jabbed his ribs with her fist. He laughed and let her scoot back an inch.

“I have to go,” his mother said, eyeing them. “Duty calls. It was lovely meeting you.”

“And you,” Lisa returned faintly. As soon as his mother moved out of earshot, she groaned. “That was awful.”

He looked down at her in surprise. “I thought it went pretty well.” He laughed at her expression. “After you stopped talking, anyway.”

“I think she saw us, you know, just now.”

“Yeah.” He frowned and rubbed his side. “Poking me won’t make a very good impression.”

She glared. “I meant that ‘oooh, keep it up’ nonsense.”

“Lighten up. I doubt my mother thinks I’m a virgin.”

Lisa glanced around frantically. “Would you please lower your voice? You might have told her I have kids, but she doesn’t know whether I’m—” she moved close to whisper against his ear “—sexually active.”

“Are you?” This sounded promising. And as oddly unsettling as her breath against his neck. He didn’t like to think of her having sex with her dates, but he’d like to benefit from it if she did. The curious contradiction of his feelings bewildered him.

“Joe.” She rubbed her temple. “You’re exasperating.”

“You can point out my personality flaws later. While we’re practicing that kiss.”

“I have work to do.” She turned toward a serving table.

He followed. “When you’re done, I’ll take you home.”

“I brought my own car, remember?”

“Lisa.” He stopped her retreat by clasping her arm. “You know it’s a good idea. Consider what a fiasco tonight could have been, with you jumping away from me.” Remorse flashed in her eyes. With a little persuasion, he’d taste her sweetness by midnight. He should feel guilty, but healthy male interest squashed any chance of that. “I’ll help you do dishes.”

Lisa’s mouth turned up in a reluctant smile. She glanced toward the loaded dessert table. “I accept.”

The shrill tapping of silverware on glass made them turn.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please.” A dark-haired woman in a long, glittering aqua dress smiled from behind a microphone, setting aside the fork and goblet she’d used to gain notice. A small presentation area had been set up on a wooden stage two feet above the main floor. As the chatter died down, she continued, “I think we can all agree that tonight has been a tremendous success.”

Joe and Lisa joined in the applause.

“So without further ado, let me introduce the woman responsible for our having such a wonderful year, President of the Howard Garden Society, Alice Riley.”

Joe put two fingers to his mouth and whistled. Lisa’s eyes fixed on his mother.

“Thank you,” his mom said to the crowd. “As Lainey noted, it’s been an exciting evening. We’ll present the awards in a moment, but first I want to thank the people responsible for this success tonight. I especially want to thank Lainey Perkins and her committee for putting together a gala event.”

Joe split his attention between Lisa and his mother as the committee members were named and the attendees clapped politely. Lisa had turned waxier than the gardenias.

“I’m so glad Lainey and her crew acquired the services of Goodies to Go. Lisa Meyer, the owner, outdid herself with those wonderful creations.” His mom gestured toward Lisa.

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