The Game Show Bride

“You may ask each other for help or advice, but points will be deducted.” She glanced between them. “And not that this should be a problem, but too much cooperation and you will both be disqualified.”

As she went on, Kelli studied Sam. Nice suit. Custom-made, she was sure. A fit that perfect didn’t come off the rack. And those broad shoulders were probably the work of a clever tailor rather than a gym membership. Image was everything to corporate hot-shots. Still, if she was objective, she had to admit, the man was attractive, even more so when he smiled. His lips were drawn into a taut line now, which was a pity since he had such a nice mouth. It was a tad on the wide side with a small scar just below the bottom lip.

I wonder how he got that?

Contact sports? A barroom brawl? Neither seemed likely. Whatever the cause, the scar only added to the sensuality of his mouth.

She coughed into her hand and glanced around the room. Where had such an improper thought come from? Samuel Maxwell was her boss. He was, now that she’d made the commitment, her adversary. And if she was to win, which she certainly planned to do, she had to think of him as such. She could not afford to think of him as a man who had once caused her pulse to rev with a simple smile, no matter how sexy she found that little scar.

She coughed again.

Was the woman coming down with a cold? Sam wondered. That could work to his advantage. He was beginning to think he’d need all the advantage he could get. He sat across from Kelli, lounging in his chair and hoping he looked bored and unconcerned, but he was starting to wonder what he had gotten himself into. Swapping places hadn’t seemed like such a big deal when they had actually been, well, swapping places. But now they would be sleeping under the same roof. Separate beds or not, he didn’t like it. He liked his space and his privacy. Yes, that was why the arrangement had him so unnerved.

But as he clicked the pen he held in his hand, and studied Kelli Walters, a question nagged him. What was it about her that intrigued him so much? She was attractive, but with her unstyled hair and serviceable fashion choices, she certainly wasn’t as polished or poised as the women who usually drew his attention.

He inventoried her features—stubborn chin, high cheekbones, slightly upturned nose, and chocolate-colored eyes. Maybe it was those eyes that pulled at him. They held a hint of vulnerability, but Sam knew firsthand she was no pushover. She didn’t back down. She held her ground even when she had plenty to lose. Grudgingly, he admitted he admired that.

He recalled their first meeting, which really couldn’t even be called a meeting. Sam had seen her as he’d toured the warehouse with a group of managers. She’d been checking in inventory with her back to him, slender legs and slim hips neatly packaged in denim. Forget the fact that he was Danbury’s vice president and acting CEO, only a blind man would have failed to appreciate the view, and his eyesight was twenty-twenty. Then she had straightened and stretched with catlike grace, tilting her head side to side as if to work out some kinks. When she’d turned and caught him looking at her, he couldn’t help but smile. And she’d smiled back—seeming shy, interested and slightly irritated all at the same time.

Even if the company had not had a no-fraternization policy, their second meeting would have snuffed out any possible flirtation. The distribution center already had failed one Occupational Safety and Health Administration inspection. The inspectors were due back the day Sam had run—literally—into Kelli and her kids. Maybe he could have gone a little easier on her. He’d certainly ruffled her feathers, which he supposed was for the best. Again, his mind returned to the disturbing thought that he would be sleeping on her couch for a month.

Click-click-click! Her boss held the pen like a dagger, his thumb depressing the top at regular intervals. Was he nervous or just irritated?

Ultimately, Kelli decided, it didn’t matter. The show of emotion told her he was human. It told her that he could be riled and shook up by life’s curve balls. Well, he’d be thrown plenty of them once he stepped into her shoes. When her gaze traveled from the pen to his face, she discovered he was watching her.

He merely raised one dark brow, but she felt her face heat to be caught staring. At least that’s why she told herself she blushed. Surely it had nothing to do with the fact that he really did resemble the debonair actor Pierce Brosnan. Throw in an accent and he’d be a dead ringer. Throw in the accent, she mused, and she and half the females in Chicago would be a puddle of mush at his feet. Thank God he sounded like the East Coaster he was.

Eye contact seemed to stretch interminably. Sylvia Haywood’s gravelly voice thankfully broke the spell.

“What do you say, Mr. Maxwell? Do you think you can handle Ms. Walters’s life for an entire month?”

His gaze cut to Kelli again, this time far more arrogant than considering.

“Her life for one month?” He shook his head as if insulted. “When I win, make the check out to the American Cancer Society.”

Kelli was halfway to the elevator when she heard Sam call her name. She was tempted to pretend she didn’t and just keep walking. When I win, indeed. The man was insufferable. But she stopped and turned, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited for him to reach her.

“Is there something you wanted to say to me?”

“Oh, plenty.”

“I see. Well, can it wait till I punch back in? I think I’d prefer to listen to you when I’m getting paid for the privilege.”

He scowled. “My office is this way.”

He walked away without another word, obviously expecting her to follow, which she did reluctantly, mumbling oaths under her breath as she went.

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.