Kitabı oku: «The Game Show Bride», sayfa 2
His office was just as she would have imagined it to be: large, with imposing cherry furnishings and cold leather upholstery on the high-backed chair that was his highness’s throne. There were few personal touches—no photographs of loved ones, plants, plaques or little gadgets with which one could waste time when bored or perplexed. The room revealed little of Samuel Maxwell’s personal nature, which could mean he was an intensely private man. Or perhaps it revealed that he didn’t have much personality once one got beyond his uncompromising countenance and sexy mouth.
“Nice office,” she said with a smirk, telling herself it was the latter.
He glanced around. “It serves its purpose.”
“Ah, the no-nonsense type.”
“You’ll find, Ms. Walters, that there’s not a lot of time for nonsense when you’re running a business.”
He sat on his throne and she wanted to crown him.
“You’ll find, Mr. Maxwell, that when you’re raising children, you have to make time for nonsense.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Yes, we will.” She sat on one of the chairs in front of his desk. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“I want to assure you that your employment will not be in jeopardy regardless of the outcome of the show, nor will this affect any opportunities you might have for advancement within Danbury’s.”
“Now, that’s a relief.”
“Is there a reason for your sarcasm?”
“No, sir. I’m sure any future promotions for which I apply will be given the same consideration as the last one.”
He frowned at her. “The last one?”
“I have to get back to the distribution center. We’re a little short-handed today,” she said as she got to her feet.
“They’ll survive a little longer without you.” He motioned for her to sit back down. “I just want to make sure you know that even though you’ll be in way over your head, the rest of the management team will be here to hold your hand.”
He sounded sincere, which only made his words all that more patronizing.
“So, I’ll be in way over my head, hmm?”
“A few business classes, even at the post-graduate level, don’t prepare one for running a national chain of department stores.”
“You’ve been studying my personnel file.”
“That is my prerogative as your employer. But no, I haven’t been studying it. I merely glanced at it when I added the warning about bringing your children to work.”
“So much for family-friendly workplaces,” she muttered.
“OSHA wouldn’t agree with your definition of family friendly, Ms. Walters. In fact, its inspectors were on the way to the distribution center the last time you decided to get creative with your day-care accommodations.”
The explanation of his surly behavior that day did little to alleviate her irritation. “Haven’t you ever had a bad day?”
“Our days are ultimately what we make of them—good, bad or otherwise. Organization is the key.”
She folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in the chair. “So, now I’m disorganized?”
“I’m merely pointing out that you obviously have some flaws in your system if one or two little glitches can throw your life into chaos.”
“Life, Mr. Maxwell, is not a system, and children are not a glitch.” When he opened his mouth to speak, she held up a hand to silence him and had the pleasure of watching one of his dark eyebrows rise in pique. “Nonetheless, I’ll be curious to see how you manage when you experience a few ‘glitches.”’
Oh, his day was coming, all right.
“Are you assuming that every day is a holiday when you’re in management?”
“Not at all. But all the well-thought-out systems and procedures and policies in the world won’t work on a teething toddler who won’t sleep or a seven-year-old who’s convinced there are monsters under her bed.”
“Are you trying to make me nervous?” He looked amused by the prospect.
“Of course not. I’m trying to make you aware that being a parent, single or otherwise, is full of challenges. There are no instruction books, no one-size-fits-all solutions, no management teams to consult. Half the time, you’ve got to think on your feet, even when you’d rather be soaking them in hot water because you’ve been standing on them for the past twelve hours.”
“So, being a parent is all drudgery.”
She couldn’t help but smile, thinking about the big messy kiss Chloe had given her that morning and the crayon-drawn invitation Katie had presented her for tea later that evening.
“I suppose I made it seem like that, but not at all. Parenthood has unimaginable rewards. Even on those bad days, I wouldn’t trade my kids for anything. They’re…they’re…” She groped for the right words, but none seemed adequate. So, she settled on, “They’re what make it all worthwhile.”
When he said nothing, just continued to regard her with an expression she couldn’t quite read, she stood.
“Now, I really do have to get back to work. Some of us get paid by the hour.”
Sam dismissed her with a nod, but long after Kelli Walters left his office, he sat in his chair, thinking about what she had said.
Thinking and remembering.
The old hurt bubbled to the surface, and he let it come until it spilled over him as destructive and relentless as molten lava. He knew better than most that life was not a system. It was unpredictable, messy. Well-laid plans and, with them, futures could be shattered in the time it took to say goodbye.
From his wallet he pulled out the photograph his mother had included in her last letter. She wrote to Sam at least once a month. He never wrote back, although he did call on occasion. None of this, after all, had been her fault. He stared at the photo as he had a dozen times since receiving it a week earlier. Two adorable boys dressed in their Sunday best smiled back at him. Their dark hair was neatly combed, but mischief sparkled in their blue eyes. Maxwell eyes.
They were five and three now and the delight of their doting grandparents, but Sam had never met them. They were his brother’s sons, but they should have been his—just as Donovan’s wife should have been Sam’s.
CHAPTER TWO
“WHY are we cleaning the house on a Thursday? Saturday is cleaning day,” Katie complained as she dusted the coffee table.
“I told you, Mr. Maxwell will be here in an hour, along with the television people. I’m not going to have them thinking we live like slobs.”
The meeting would include the show’s host, a slick-talking former MTV veejay named Ryan O’Riley, and the camera crew that would follow Sam. On Saturday, Kelli would meet her camera crew at Sam’s house. She could only imagine the kind of luxury the vice president of Danbury Department Stores lived in.
Kelli glanced around her apartment, trying to see it from a stranger’s point of view, trying, she admitted, to see it from her wealthy boss’s point of view. The blue sofa with contrasting pillows and the over-stuffed floral chair were too big for this miniscule living room. Of course, they’d looked charming in the cozy house she’d shared with Kyle. Kelli hadn’t been able to afford the mortgage after he’d left. In fact, as it turned out, they hadn’t been able to afford the house together. Her ex-husband had been paying the bills using credit cards. So, she’d sold the house, and a good deal of its furnishings.
But the apartment didn’t look bad. She’d always had a knack for decorating—large spaces or small. She’d hung white linen panels that she’d made herself at the double window. They helped to conceal a rather uninspired view of the fire escape. At an art fair the previous summer, she’d splurged on a pair of dreamy watercolor seascapes. On the opposite wall, she’d hung a set of white box-shaped shelves she’d found at a rummage sale. She hadn’t had to make them look distressed. They already were. Pictures of her girls, framed in simple blue or white wood, graced one shelf. Three of her favorite teacups from her collection stood on the other. The total effect was a bit French country, a bit flea market.
Her one extravagance, if it could be called that, was the red rose she placed in a small bud vase in the middle of the coffee table. At the first sign of wilting, she bought a new one from the flower shop two blocks from the apartment. She’d started buying the roses right after Kyle left. They represented hope. And they reminded Kelli to take time not just to smell a bloom’s sweet scent, but to appreciate the beauty that could be found in unexpected places—like a perfect flower in a stuffy, small apartment or the gurgling laughter of a sticky-faced toddler.
With fifteen minutes left before her company was to arrive, Kelli was coaxing Chloe to eat the remainder of her macaroni and cheese. If she got lucky, a Sesame Street video might keep Chloe occupied for most of the meeting. Katie could be counted on to entertain herself as well as see to any of her little sister’s immediate needs. It bothered Kelli sometimes that Katie had so much responsibility heaped on her small shoulders. Cleaning house and tending to a toddler shouldn’t have been regular chores for a seven-year-old. But Katie rarely whined about it. Like her mother, it appeared she had already learned the futility of complaining.
The doorbell rang just as Chloe decided to dump her plate of gooey pasta over the side of the high chair.
“All done!” she announced proudly as the food hit the floor Kelli had just scrubbed.
“Chloe Elizabeth! We don’t throw our food.”
The toddler only grinned. “No, no, no,” she said as she shook one chubby finger.
“Mom, someone’s here,” Katie called from the doorway.
Nerves fluttered in her stomach.
“It’s probably Mr. Maxwell or the people from the show. Can you let them in, please? I need to clean up in here and then I’ll be right there.”
Sam hadn’t expected a child to open the door. The young girl he’d seen that day at the warehouse stared up at him. She was a miniature version of her mother, with the same chocolate eyes, same upturned nose and same stubborn chin lifted in defiance. Yes, it was going to be a very long month.
“Hello. I’m Mr. Maxwell. I believe your mother is expecting me.”
“I know. I’m Katie. Mom said to let you in. I’m supposed to be nice to you, even though she thinks you’re a jerk.” Her eyes grew wide and he waited for her apology, but she said, “Don’t tell her I said that, okay. I’m not allowed to say jerk.”
Sam coughed. The girl was indeed her mother’s daughter.
“We’ll keep it between the two of us then.”
Katie motioned for him to come inside. The apartment was small, but tidy, and just this side of blast-furnace hot. He’d hoped, prayed actually, that the ride up in the elevator had been an aberration. But the fact became plain. The building did not have air-conditioning, and neither did this small apartment. It was mid-August, which meant it could be a good month before the weather turned cool.
Then Kelli Walters walked into the room, and he would have sworn the already ungodly temperature inside the apartment notched up another dozen degrees. Sam had been sure this bizarre and unsuitable attraction had run its course, but clearly it hadn’t.
What was it about her?
Her hair was pulled back in a simple and youthful ponytail; her skin was dewy with moisture. She wore a yellow tank top and tan cotton skirt that stopped a good three inches above her knees. There was nothing overtly sexy about the casual outfit and he supposed it made sense given the heat, but Sam wished she’d worn slacks. The woman had some nice legs—as slender as a model’s and yet as toned as an athlete’s. He tugged at his tie and unbuttoned his collar.
“You might want to slip off your jacket before you pass out,” she said wryly. “It’s a bit warm in here.”
He dragged his gaze away from her legs. “Warm? Oh, no. Hot. Extremely hot.”
Awareness seemed to hum between them for a moment before she said, “No air-conditioning, sorry.”
She pushed a stray lock of hair off her damp forehead, looking not the least bit apologetic. “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got iced tea.”
“Anything cold would be fine.”
As Sam said it, he felt a tug on his pant leg. He looked down into the messy, orange face of a grinning toddler.
“I remember you,” Sam murmured, thinking about his last run-in with the baby. He’d had to send his jacket out for spot removal. If her hands were as messy as her face, it looked like he could count on another dry-cleaning bill.
Kelli glanced down as well and then gasped. “Chloe!”
She transferred her sheepish gaze to Sam. “I’m sorry, Mr. Maxwell. I was so busy wiping up the mess she made on the floor I never got around to her hands and face. She’s become a regular Houdini lately. Even when I buckle her into the high chair, she can manage to slip out.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at the streaks around his right knee, succeeding only in making a larger smear.
Kelli had just managed to clean up the toddler when the doorbell rang again. She ushered all of her guests into the cramped living room and, after ensuring that the girls were settled in their bedroom with a video, she returned with a tray of glasses and a pitcher of iced tea.
The only available seat was on the couch next to Sam. Their knees bumped as she settled onto the half of a cushion that remained.
“Excuse me,” they both said at the same time.
Kelli crossed her legs in the hope of making herself somehow smaller, but she only succeeded in making her skirt smaller. The hem hiked up to the middle of her thighs. As she tried to discreetly tug it back down, Sam reached for his iced tea, nearly draining the glass before putting it back on the tray she’d set on the coffee table.
“Can I get you something else?”
He responded with a curiously tight, “No.”
For the next half hour, Joe Whaley, the main cameraman who would be assigned to Sam, explained what he would and would not film. After a quick tour of the apartment and a brief introduction to Kelli’s girls, he decided where remote cameras would be positioned.
He was a big burly man, with shaggy dark eyebrows and a tattoo of a dragon on one bicep. Yet, he’d gotten down on one knee to shake hands with Katie and had even managed to delight a laugh out of Chloe with his impression of Donald Duck.
After he stood, he asked his young assistant, “What do you think, Nic? How many remotes do you figure this job will take?”
“Four? No, five, Dad.”
He gave her ponytail an affectionate yank and winked at Kelli and Sam.
“She’s a chip off the old block,” he said with obvious pride.
Any concerns Kelli had about leaving her kids with Sam while under this man’s watchful eye evaporated. Joe was a father, and her gut instinct told Kelli that tattoos or not, he was a good one.
Back in the living room, Joe explained to Sam, “While at work and outside the apartment, one or two cameramen will follow you, but I’ll be your main man.”
“Looking forward to it,” Sam grumbled.
Ryan piped up then. “Sylvia asked Ms. Walters to write out a schedule of sorts for you. Of course, you don’t need to follow it to the letter. One of the points of the show is to improve on the other’s routine. That can mean using time or money better than the other person.”
“Efficiency is one of my specialties.” Sam sent Kelli a superior look that set her teeth on edge.
She enjoyed watching his smug smile falter a bit when she handed him a dozen single-spaced, typed pages of instructions, most of them having to do exclusively with her children.
“Pages one through three deal with the basics, like dinner menus, bed and bath times, what books we’ve been reading before going to bed. Sitter information. That kind of thing.”
Just for good measure she asked, “You know how to change a diaper, right?”
“I think I can figure it out.”
“I go grocery shopping on Monday evenings after class because the lines are shorter and Mr. Kennedy, he’s the butcher, gives me a good deal on the meat that’s getting near its sell-by date.”
When he raised an eyebrow, she reminded him, “My bank account is a lot more limited than yours and that’s what you’ll be living on for the next month.”
“Fine. So you shop on Mondays when the meat is cheap and near spoiling.”
Pride had her lifting her chin. “That’s right. I also try to cook for the week that night after coming home from class. You can get two meals, sometimes three, from a whole chicken if you do it right. Of course, you’re a bigger eater than any of us. There might not be much meat left for your soup.”
“It comes in a can, you know.”
“I like it homemade. Besides, this is cheaper and more nutritious. A sliced up stalk of celery, diced carrots and onion, and you’ve got a meal at half the cost. I add dried basil to the broth for extra flavor.”
“Anything else, Emeril?” he asked snidely.
“Katie’s allergic to peanuts. It’s a serious allergy, so you have to read all food packaging carefully. Sometimes different batches of the same product can be cooked in peanut oil. If you eat out, not that I expect you will be doing much of that on my budget, stress to the waitress the importance of nothing with peanuts or peanut oil coming into contact with her food.”
“What will happen if it does? Hives?”
“She could die, Mr. Maxwell,” Kelli said bluntly, and watched his expression turn sober. It was just the reaction she was hoping for. He needed to be well aware of the seriousness of this matter.
“Her throat will swell, constricting her air passage. I keep an emergency hypodermic of medicine in the apartment as well as one in my purse. You probably should carry one as well.”
He straightened in his seat. “I’d have to give her a shot?”
Kelli nodded. “And quickly. You can’t just call 911 and hope paramedics make it here in time to perform an emergency tracheotomy. I’ll show you how to give it. You can practice on an orange if you’d like.” She paused, her tone deadly serious when she asked, “Can you handle this?”
The enormity of what she was asking him to do struck Sam with the charged force of a lightning bolt. Kelli quite literally was entrusting him with her children’s lives.
Trading places had seemed relatively uncomplicated until this point, even with the two of them sleeping under one roof. Making meals, reading bedtime stories, he wasn’t looking forward to spending time with children, but one didn’t need a PhD to handle that. Deadly allergic reactions, however, were a whole other matter.
For the past six years, Sam had studiously avoided thinking about what kind of father he would make—would have made had things turned out differently. His own father had been firm and somewhat distant, paying the bills and offering his approval on rare occasions. Sam’s mother, a nanny and the teachers at his boarding school had seen to the details.
But when he stepped into Kelli Walters’s single-parent shoes, there would be no one else to whom he could relegate those details. It would all come down to him for an entire month.
“Yes or no?” she asked.
She was sitting next to him on the couch, her gaze unwavering. He didn’t realize he’d reached for her hand until he felt her fingers grip his.
“Yes.” He squeezed hers in return as he added the phrase he had not uttered to a woman in more than six years. “I promise you.”
With some regret, Kelli left her girls with the sitter Saturday morning and hustled not to be late for her hair and makeover appointment. If nothing else, she mused, she would get a much-needed haircut and highlights out of this experience. Not to mention some great clothes.
The show had tried to talk her into going to a chic salon and some of the designer shops on Chicago’s famed Michigan Avenue. But Kelli had held firm in her conviction that as the acting vice president of Danbury’s Department Stores, she would use the people, the products and the clothing available there.
It was her first decision as acting vice president and CEO, and she believed it set the tone for her brief tenure. She wanted to ensure that consumers who normally did not shop at Danbury’s would give the store a second glance after watching the show.
A camera crew filmed her transformation from the first snip of hair and stroke of mascara to the point when, sleekly coifed, she stepped into a pair of stylish leather heels that cost nearly as much as two weeks’ worth of groceries.
She barely recognized the image that stared back at her from the dressing room’s large tri-fold mirror. Her hair had been highlighted and cut even with her chin, managing to look professional despite the sassy little flip it did at its ends.
Her makeup was slightly more dramatic than if she had applied it herself, but the effect brought out her high cheekbones and gave her eyes an almost exotic quality.
And her clothes…
She smiled and did a little turn to admire them from all angles. She’d opted for something a little trendier than classic. The short peach skirt with its flirty, ruffled hem wasn’t exactly her style, but she liked the tank-style tangerine sweater that had been paired with it, as well as its matching cardigan. She decided if she went too conservative, she might give younger viewers the impression that Danbury’s was still their grandparents’ department store, not the place they could go for fun outfits and accessories.
A consultant from the television show helped Kelli pick out a couple dozen different outfits for work and day wear as well as three evening gowns and a couple of cocktail dresses. She’d balked at first. Did she really need so much? But after some persuading and with someone else picking up the tab, she finally got into playing Cinderella.
An hour after the last of her purchases had been boxed up for delivery, she found herself—in a limo no less—being whisked to Sam’s home in a gated community in the suburbs of Chicago that boasted its own exclusive golf course.
The house was as big as she had imagined it would be and looked recently built, judging from the size of the shrubs and staked trees that dotted the landscape. The house was what was called a story-and-a-half, with a tall, pitched roof and lots of big fancy windows that screamed high energy bills. She’d bet her paycheck it was at least 4,500 square feet of living space.
Sam answered the door himself and Kelli had the satisfaction of watching his mouth drop open when he saw her new look.
“Something the matter?” she asked, unable to keep her smug smile in check.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Indecisive? You? Hmm. I thought you had everything figured out.”
She was flirting with him and they both knew it, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. It had been a long time—a very long time—since she’d felt young and attractive.
She thought she heard him murmur, “So did I.”
“Are you going to let me in or do I have to stand out here in the heat?”
“You come in and it won’t be much cooler in the house,” he replied. Still, he stepped aside to allow her to enter.
He was flirting with her as well, she realized.
He didn’t look much like a powerful executive today. In place of a tailored suit, he wore a pair of faded jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt. His feet were bare. And while he was no bodybuilder, his arms were far more muscular than she would have guessed and the broad shoulders were definitely authentic. Urbane, physically fit and mentally agile. Arlene had pegged him right: Sam Maxwell was Pierce Brosnan as James Bond.
“You clean up amazingly well,” he said.
They stood in the foyer, a step too close together, and yet Kelli didn’t back away. She should have put an end to this inappropriate byplay, but like a moth drawn to the danger of a flame, she couldn’t quite bring herself to do so. If it was part of his strategy to win, she wanted him to know that two could play his game.
Surely that was the only reason she let her gaze flick down to his bare feet and back up before replying, “And you dress down well. I wouldn’t have guessed you owned jeans.”
“We’re even then. I wouldn’t have guessed you owned high heels.”
“Oh, I’m full of surprises,” she said.
“I’m beginning to think so.”
He reached out, and for a moment she thought he might stroke her cheek, but he drew a ribbon of her hair between his index and middle fingers instead, following its length to the freshly snipped ends.
“You cut your hair.”
The breath seemed to back up in her lungs and it took an effort to squeeze out the words, “Yes, among other things. What do you think of my makeover?”
“I’m not sure I can think.”
If this was mere flirting, it had taken on a dangerous edge. And still, Kelli did not back away. In fact, she moved forward ever so slightly, testing this new power she seemed to have. Testing herself.
“Come now, a man of your immense control and mental fortitude? I find that hard to believe.” She allowed a smile to slowly lift the corners of her mouth.
“Are you sure you want to know what I really think?” The space between them grew perilously meager as he stepped forward, all but pinning her between his body and the equally unyielding wall.
“Yes.”
The breathy whisper seemed to come from a stranger. Kelli wasn’t sure she knew herself anymore. She certainly could no longer fathom her motives for baiting such a powerful and not always pleasant man.
But she watched his mouth, that sexy, tempting mouth, as he replied, “Then, I’ll show you.”
With his hands flat against the wall on either side of her head, he leaned in. Nothing but their lips touched, but that was more than enough. The kiss was as ruthless as she knew he could be, and yet it made her heart race even as her mind became sluggish and muddled, unable to process anything but taste and texture and undeniable pleasure.
The doorbell rang, but he lingered over her mouth for a moment longer before stepping back. He trailed a finger down her cheek before lifting her chin.
“Rule number one in business, Ms. Walters, never let down your guard. It gives the competition too much of an edge.”
So, it had all been a game. Kelli didn’t know whether to be relieved, disappointed or angry. As she watched him open the door for the camera crew, his expression steeped in satisfaction, she found that she was all three.
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