Plain Jane and the Playboy / Valentine's Fortune: Plain Jane and the Playboy

She turned back around, not wanting the boys to think that she was eavesdropping on their conversation.

But it was hard not to. The younger of the two sounded so enthusiastic.

“All I had to do was point someone out and he had her eating out of his hand in less than five minutes,” he marveled. “He said it was easy, that all it took was just a matter of making the girl think she was the prettiest one in the room, the center of his attention. But it’s gotta be more than that,” Ricky insisted.

“Well, du-uh,” Josh responded condescendingly. “When you look like Jorge Mendoza, all you have to do is stand still and half a dozen drooling women come running to you. It doesn’t exactly take an Einstein to figure that out, Ricky.”

“I don’t know,” Ricky countered. “I mean, he’s a great-looking guy and all, but this woman I picked out, she looked a little standoffish. I really didn’t think Jorge could melt her as fast as he did.” He shook his head in quiet admiration. “But five minutes after he came up to her, he was kissing her.” He paused to laugh softly. “Really ringing in the New Year, if you know what I mean.”

The one called Ricky was grinning broadly. She could hear it in his voice, even as Jane’s heart froze in her chest.

“I think he’s taking her to his place,” she heard the young teenager speculate to his friend. “That wasn’t part of the bet, but—”

“You actually bet him, you idiot?” the other teen asked incredulously.

Ricky bristled. “Not money,” he protested. “It’s just that I didn’t think he could do it that fast. I just said the word. Like ‘I bet you can’t.’”

She heard the other boy scoff. “I could have told you that you’d lose.”

Jane felt sick. For a second, she was afraid she might throw up.

They were talking about her.

That was why Jorge had approached her out of the blue—because he’d made a bet with a teenager who wasn’t even old enough to shave yet.

How stupid of her to think that a guy like Jorge Mendoza would be attracted to her. To think that he might have even liked her a tiny bit.

A bet.

Jane could feel angry tears forming in her eyes. She couldn’t remember ever, ever feeling this humiliated. This awful.

She couldn’t stay here, couldn’t wait for him to come back. She never wanted to see that honeytongued bastard again. Who did he think he was, making her the object of a bet? she thought angrily.

Clutching her purse to her chest, Jane swung around and forged a path to the front door. She bumped into people as she went, murmuring halfhearted excuses as she passed them.

It was cold outside. Remnants of snow from the last storm crunched beneath her high heels, but she didn’t care.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she searched for a passing taxi to flag down.

There were none out on the street this time of night. Why? Didn’t they know it was New Year’s Eve?

Shivering, she hurried down several blocks and then took shelter in the doorway of an office building. She placed a call to a taxi service on her cell phone and waited for her ride.

And cried angry tears.

Chapter Five

“Patrick, if you want me to take that suit to the cleaners tomorrow, please don’t forget to empty out your pockets,” Lacey told her husband the next morning as she popped her head into the master bedroom.

The bright morning sun was trying to push its way into the room despite the heavy drapes at the windows that barred its passage. It was one of the rare mornings that Patrick actually slept in.

Sitting up now, Patrick ran his hand through his tousled reddish hair. Despite the odd hint of white, he still looked boyish, especially with sleep still hovering around his eyes.

He reached for his glasses on the nightstand and put them on. The world came into focus, as did the digital clock next to the lamp.

He always thought of himself as energetic—except when compared to his wife. “Lacey, it’s New Year’s Day. It’s a holiday. What are you doing up so early and why are we talking about dry cleaning?”

She crossed to him and stood before the bed that she had vacated more than an hour before.

“I’m up, dear husband, because, in case you’ve forgotten, we’re having some of the family over for a late lunch today, and I’m talking about dry cleaning because someone,” she looked at him pointedly, “spilled coffee on his jacket last night.” She ran her hand along his stubbled face affectionately. “And just because it’s a technical holiday doesn’t mean that the world suddenly stops spinning.”

“Technical?” he echoed, just a little perplexed at her meaning.

“Technical,” she repeated. “Do you have any idea how many sales are going on at this very moment as you are lounging around in your PJs?”

Getting out of bed, Patrick groaned. “I could never understand that. Why would anyone want to get up that early just to go shopping? What kind of bargains could they possibly offer to warrant that?”

Sometimes the man she loved could be adorably naive, Lacey thought. She laughed at the look on his face, then stopped to pick up the shirt he must have dropped on the floor last night—or early this morning. He’d been pretty tired as she recalled.

“Spoken like a man who has never had to search for a bargain in his life.”

“My biggest bargain,” Patrick freely confessed as he came up behind her and enfolded his wife in an affectionate embrace, “was finding you and making you my wife. Anything that happened after that would only be deemed anticlimatic.”

“You do know how to turn a lady’s head,” she told him with a warm smile. “But I’m not going to be distracted.” Draping his shirt over her arm, she looked around for the suit she’d mentioned. “Where are the rest of your clothes from the party?”

He released her. “The cleaners aren’t having a sale, are they?” he asked, amused.

“I just want to put the suit aside while I think of it,” she told him. One finely shaped eyebrow arched over a sparkling green eye. “Remember leaving your house key in your pants pocket the last time? Remember wasting all that time, looking for it?”

Patrick inclined his head. “Point well taken,” he allowed with a sigh.

He moved to his side of the walk-in closet. He’d meant to hang the suit back up, but somehow, it had only made it to the floor of the closet. Picking up the pants and jacket, he quickly checked all four pants pockets.

“Empty,” he announced, handing the slightly wrinkled gray slacks to Lacey.

“And the jacket?” she asked as she dropped the pants on top of the shirt she had over her arm.

He checked the right pocket. He distinctly remembered taking out his wallet and depositing his keys beside it on the bureau. But as he slipped his fingers into the left outer pocket, he frowned. His fingers had come in contact with something.

It was a folded piece of paper and he opened it up as he removed the paper from his pocket. He had no memory of putting it in his pocket, no memory of anyone handing it to him.

He scanned the small sheet quickly, his frown deepening slightly.

“Not so empty, is it?” Lacey teased, then saw his expression. Something was clearly wrong, Lacey thought. “What’s the matter?”

Not waiting for him to answer, she came closer in order to read the note, which was printed in large block letters.

“ONE OF THE FORTUNES IS NOT WHO YOU THINK.”

It was Lacey’s turn to be puzzled. She looked up at her husband for enlightenment. “Who gave this to you?”

He turned it over in his hand. There was nothing on the back. “I have no idea.”

A touch of apprehension wove through her. “A note just turns up in your pocket and you have no idea where it came from?”

Rather than crumple it and toss it into the wastepaper basket, he placed it on the bureau. This required closer scrutiny. But not when Lacey was around. He didn’t want to alarm her.

“That about sums it up,” he agreed.

It was Lacey’s turn to frown as anticipation got the better of her. “Do you think that it’s some kind of warning?”

“I think it’s some kind of waste of paper.” Patrick handed her the jacket. “Here you go, one suit, as per your request.” And then he gave her a quick, courtly bow. “Now, if milady doesn’t mind, I’d really like to take a shower.”

She nodded, the note already relegated to a thing of the past unless something more about it came up. Right now, she had a lunch to oversee.

“When you’re done with your shower,” she told him, “I’ve got a few things I need you to do.”

He grinned and kissed her quickly. He’d expected nothing less.

“Of course you do.”

But as soon as Lacey was gone, Patrick picked up the telephone next to the bed and called his brother, William.

Younger by a year, William had an offbeat sense of humor. This might have been his idea of a joke, although, truthfully, Patrick did have his doubts that William’s humor was this offbeat.

“Bill,” he began when his brother picked up on the other end. “It’s Patrick. Happy New Year,” he prefaced, getting the amenities out of the way, even though he’d just seen his younger brother less than nine hours ago at the party.

“Same to you,” William responded. “You know, this is rather a coincidence, you calling like this. I was just debating calling you.”

There was an unsettling note in William’s voice that caught his attention. “Oh?”

“Yeah.”

William paused, hunting for the right words. He’d found himself later in life than Patrick had, finally making a niche for himself with Fortune Forecasting, a company that predicted stock market trends. But ever since his wife had died last year, he’d lost his focus again and had felt adrift. He’d begun to look toward Patrick for guidance again.

“Now this is going to sound a little off the wall,” he finally said, “but I just found this note in my pocket this morning. It says—”

“—One of the Fortunes is not who you think,” Patrick completed.

For a second there was stunned silence on the other end of the line. And then William laughed nervously. “So it was you.”

He’d obviously missed something, Patrick thought. “Excuse me?”

“It was you,” William repeated. “You were the one who put the note in my pocket,” he elaborated when Patrick made no response. “I’ve got to say, this isn’t your usual style, Patrick. What’s the point?” he wanted to know.

“I have no idea what the point is,” Patrick said, sitting down on the bed. “I didn’t put the note in your pocket, William. As a matter of fact, I found an identical note in mine. Someone slipped it into my jacket.” He tried to think of when that could have happened. The restaurant was fairly crowded all night. He’d been jostled any number of times during the evening.

He heard William sigh. “Well, that makes three, then.”

“Three?” Patrick repeated, not sure where William was going with this.

“Three,” William said again. “I just got off the phone with Lily,” he said, referring to their late cousin Ryan’s wife. “She just called. Someone slipped a note into her purse. She had no idea what to make of it. I told her I thought it was someone’s inebriated idea of a joke.”

Patrick looked at the note in his hand. “That was my first thought, too.”

“And now?”

“And now I don’t know,” he admitted truthfully.

He was getting a very uneasy feeling about all this. Why would someone target all three of them with this note? And were they intended as warnings—or threats?

“What do you want to do about this?” William asked.

“We sit tight until something else happens.”

William sounded clearly disturbed. “Who do you think the note’s referring to?”

As far as that went, Patrick hadn’t a clue. “It still might be a joke, albeit a poor one.”

“Nobody comes to mind?” William pressed.

There had been no long-lost second cousin, twice removed on the scene, no reason to believe that members of the family weren’t who they were supposed to be.

“No one,” he assured his brother. “Listen, I know you’re coming over for lunch this afternoon. Bring the note with you. And tell Lily to do the same.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Nothing yet,” Patrick said truthfully. “But it certainly wouldn’t hurt to circle the wagons, just in case.”

There was silence on the other end of the line and for a moment, Patrick thought William might offer an opinion or solution of his own. But when he finally spoke, it was just tacit agreement on his part. “I’ll pass the word along to Lily.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you all later,” Patrick said just before he hung up the receiver.

He was fairly certain he’d managed not to sound as concerned as he felt. It could very well be nothing, just some fool yanking their collective chains. But he was a Fortune and, contrary to the name, he and his family had had their share of adverse dealings.

It never hurt to be prepared.

Jorge stood in the center of the still-crowded restaurant, looking around. He felt exactly like the Prince must have just after Cinderella fled from him at the stroke of midnight.

Except that he was holding a light gray coat instead of a glass slipper. When he’d returned from the coatroom, she wasn’t standing where he’d left her. She wasn’t anywhere at all.

He spent the next twenty minutes scanning the room and describing her to people, asking them if they’d seen her. Finally, when he talked to the bartender who’d ultimately taken over for him, Carlos said he’d thought he’d seen her pushing her way to the front door. And yes, the man added, she wasn’t wearing a coat, which had made him think it was rather odd.

Why, Jorge wondered. Why had she suddenly taken off like that? What would have made her leave without saying anything to him?

And without her coat? It didn’t make any sense to him.

Everything about the woman aroused his interest.

Frustration ate away at him. He had no phone number for her, and no address either. He told himself to just go home and forget about it. But he couldn’t.

Draping her coat on one arm, he took out his cell phone and dialed Information. With one hand pressed against his ear to drown out the surrounding noise, he gave the operator Jane’s name and waited for a response.

She was unlisted.

It figured, he thought. Biting back a curse, Jorge stared at the coat he was holding.

What had made Jane bolt out of here like that? She’d given every indication that she liked being with him. So then what—?

“Did one get away from you?”

The question, spoken so close to him, nearly made him jump. Gloria was standing right behind him. Her husband Jack was next to her.

Jorge saw her looking at the coat, an amused expression on her face. Not what he needed right now, he thought. Squaring his shoulders, Jorge shifted the coat to his other arm. He’d already made up his mind that he was going to find Jane Gilliam and give her back her coat—and ask for an explanation—no matter what it took.

“Not for long,” he told Gloria, his voice cocky. And then, just for a moment, he dropped his guard. “Did you see the woman I was with earlier?”

“The one Mama liked so much?” Gloria countered innocently. Maria had brought all three of her daughters’ attention to Jorge and the woman he was talking to. “Yes, I did,” Gloria added quickly before he could profess any denials. “She didn’t look like your usual arm candy.” Gloria patted his face affectionately. “Looks like you’re finally growing up a little, big brother.”

If she was baiting him, he wasn’t about to bite, Jorge thought. He had more important things on his mind. “You didn’t happen to see where she went, did you?”

Gloria shook her head, surprised. A woman avoiding Jorge? This had to be a first. “Sorry.”

“Maybe someone told her about your reputation and it scared her off,” Jack speculated as he helped Gloria on with her coat.

Gloria felt a tug on her heart, empathizing with her brother. She was certain this had to be the first time he’d ever experienced rejection on any level.

“If it helps any, I think I heard Jack’s father say she works for Red Rock ReadingWorks. I could ask Mama to make sure—”

The second Gloria mentioned the organization, Jorge remembered Jane mentioning the name.

“ReadingWorks,” he repeated. “That’s right.” Grateful, he kissed his sister’s cheek. “Thanks.”

Something different was going on here, Gloria thought, looking at her brother more closely. She’d never seen him like this about a girl. But then, as far as she knew, no girl had ever pulled a disappearing act on Jorge. If anything, it was always the other way around.

“Any time,” Gloria murmured. She’d teased him about finally growing up, but maybe, just maybe, there was something to it.

If so, she thought, Mama was going to be thrilled.

January 2 was a typical cold winter day.

Jane shivered as she made her way to Reading-Works’ front door. She was going to have to dip into her savings and buy another coat, she thought glumly. Wearing three sweaters, one on top of another, just didn’t do the trick.

Maybe her coat was still at the restaurant, she thought hopefully. She’d call over there during her first break and inquire.

And pray that she didn’t run into Jorge Mendoza.

Pushing open the front door, the warm air that met her was lovingly welcomed. At the same time, goose bumps formed all over her body.

Like the ones she’d felt when Jorge had kissed her New Year’s Eve.

What in heaven’s name could she have been thinking? Men like that didn’t give women like her the time of day—unless, of course, there was a bet involved, she thought sarcastically.

Served her right for being so naive.

With a sigh, she shook her head. Well, it was a new year and it was back to reality for her. Time to put impossibly foolish dreams behind her.

Walking into the lounge where all the teachers gathered for their breaks and lunch, she saw that a number of her coworkers were clustered around the main table. At first, she thought that someone had brought in cookies. But then she saw that what had captured their attention was a huge profusion of flowers, nestled in a large basket that was in the center of the table.

Someone had gotten flowers, she thought with a touch of envy. She had no idea what that felt like, to have someone care enough about you to send flowers and publicly acknowledge his attachment to you.

“Who’s the lucky girl?” she asked, trying to sound cheerful as she joined the group.

Sally Hillman turned to look at her, a huge grin on her lips. “You are.”

Jane stared at her, positive she’d heard wrong. “What?”

“Joyce couldn’t help herself,” Harriet Ryan, another tutor, volunteered. Embarrassed, Joyce, the general secretary, made a strange, disparaging noise. “She read the card. Why didn’t you tell us you knew Jorge Mendoza?” she wanted to know.

“When did you meet him?” another woman asked.

“Where?”

“Details, girl, give us details,” Sally begged. “The rest of us are dying to know.”

The questions all melded together into one cacophony of voices and noises as Jane leaned over the table and plucked the card from the basket. She felt as if she were moving in slow motion.

“New Year’s Eve ended much too soon,” the card said. “With affection, Jorge.”

“With affection,” Joyce echoed, looking over her shoulder at the card she’d already read. A huge sigh followed. “You’ve been holding out on us,” she accused Jane.

“Yeah,” Harriet chimed in. “Not very nice of you, Jane. Give.”

And five sets of eyes turned their eager faces toward her.

Chapter Six

Unlike her former beauty queen mother—or maybe because of her—Jane had never liked being the center of attention. It made her uncomfortable.

“There’s nothing to ‘give,’” Jane told Harriet.

The women exchanged exasperated looks with one another, as if they thought she was holding out on them.

“Oh, come on, Jane,” Cecilia Evans, the oldest of the group, pressed. “A man doesn’t send flowers and sign his name ‘with affection’ if something isn’t going on. Especially not a hunk like Jorge Mendoza.”

Cecilia drove the point home. “How does he know you work here?”

Jane looked back at the flowers. They would have had her floating on air—if she didn’t know what she knew. She almost wished she hadn’t overheard those boys gossiping.

Most likely, Jorge had sent the flowers because he’d had qualms of conscience.

But then, she backtracked, why should he if he didn’t know that she knew?

This was all getting very complicated. All she wanted to do was get to work, do what she did best, and forget about everything else.

Some people were meant to have romance in their lives and some weren’t. She belonged to the “weren’t” group and she was just going to have to learn how to deal with that and accept it.

More than anything, Jane didn’t want to talk about Jorge or the flowers or anything that had to do with why they might have been sent. But she had never learned how to be rude or cut people off. She’d certainly never learned how to tell them to butt out.

So she lifted her shoulders in a vague shrug and admitted, “I told him where I work.”

“When?” Joyce demanded excitedly. “When did you tell him?” The slender blonde shook her head when information didn’t immediately come spilling out of Jane’s mouth. “If I’d met Jorge Mendoza, every single last detail would have been up on my blog three minutes after I got home. Maybe two.”

“I don’t blog,” Jane said, seizing on the stray item.

“You don’t talk much, either,” Cecilia grumbled. Two of the other women chimed in their agreement.

Jane pressed her lips together, suppressing a sigh. It wasn’t her intention to seem secretive about the matter. It was just that she knew that these flowers, didn’t really mean anything and honest though she was, she certainly wasn’t about to tell her friends that Jorge had kissed her on a bet.

Some things you just didn’t talk about. To anyone.

Looking at the circle of eager faces surrounding her, she decided to give them just the bare bones and hope they’d be satisfied with that.

“I met him at the New Year’s Eve party I went to at Red, the one Emmett Jamison and his wife threw for the Fortune Foundation. I went representing ReadingWorks,” she added quickly, in case any of them thought she had a special in with the elite circle of people the Fortunes usually associated with. As the one who had worked at ReadingWorks the longest, she’d been the logical one to invite. “I was afraid if I didn’t go, it might insult Mr. Jamison.”

They all knew that the Foundation had given ReadingWorks sizable grants in the last couple of years, and it was largely because of the Foundation that ReadingWorks’ doors were opened to the children whose parents could not afford to pay for private tutoring.

“Right,” Harriet said, waving her hand at Jane’s explanation. “Get to the good part,” she urged. “How did you meet Jorge?”

“Is he as good looking as his pictures?” Sally asked.

Jane had to be honest. She always was. There were times when she considered it almost a congenital defect. “Better.”

“So? Get on with it,” Sally begged. “There had to be a lot of people there.”

“There were.” It had been so crowded and so noisy that she had trouble concentrating on her book when she’d taken it out.

“So how did you two meet?” Cecilia wanted to know. “Don’t skip anything,” she ordered before Jane could say answer.

“He asked me if I wanted to freshen up my drink—he was tending bar for his parents,” Jane explained.

She knew she was being disjointed, that the facts were tumbling out like grains of rice from a hole in the bottom of the box, but it was hard for her to collect her thoughts under all this scrutiny. Especially since she was still having trouble reconciling herself to the fact that the single greatest experience of her young life was tied to a bet, making her—in her mind, at least—the butt of a cruel joke.