Her So-Called Fiancé

“I mean,” Jake said deliberately, “would you do it the same way?”

He had her there. Because with the benefit of hindsight—and a whole lot more maturity—she wouldn’t have been so rash in her denunciation of Governor Ted Warrington. Wouldn’t have made those distraught calls summoning the media to a midnight press conference, thus guaranteeing the story would trounce every other headline off the front pages. She wouldn’t have forced Jake and his family to wake up to a posse of reporters on their doorstep, so that his dad appeared before the nation aging and vulnerable in his pajamas.

She didn’t want to think about that night, or about what happened afterward—the public frenzy that had condemned Ted before he gave his side of the story. And the flaming, bitter end of her relationship with Jake.

“The outcome would have been the same,” she said uneasily, not meeting his eyes. She caught her reflection in the oven door, saw how she’d hunched down in self-defense. She straightened on her stool. “Your father would still have had to quit.”

“People might at least have given him credit for having selfless motives. If he’d been allowed to retain some dignity…” He let out a hiss. “My parents’ marriage might have survived.”

She drew in a pained breath. If he dared suggest that had his parents not divorced, his mom would never have dated the man who’d taken her sailing on a day when no right-thinking person would have gone out, and drowned them both…

Sabrina shuddered—and saw from Jake’s narrowed eyes that she was taking exactly the path he wanted her to. Fortunately, he brought out her fighting instincts like nobody else. “Whatever help you want from me,” she said coolly, “you obviously think you need to guilt-trip me first. Let’s consider that done, and you can tell me why I’m here.”

He blinked. He must have expected her to cave at the first hint of conflict. She could practically see him rearranging his tactics.

“I need your help to establish public confidence in me,” he said finally, matching her bluntness.

“How could I—” That’s when realization dawned. “Ah. You mean, like—” she waggled her fingers, quote marks for an imaginary headline “—Fat-Thighed Beauty Queen Says, Vote Warrington?”

“I mean—” he made quote marks of his own “—Whistle-blower Says Son Is Not Like Father.”

She had to admit, it had a certain poetic beauty. If the woman who’d blown the whistle on crooked Governor Ted Warrington endorsed Ted’s son for office, voters would have to believe Jake was on the level. But the thought of getting involved with him again, even politically…

“I don’t understand why you’re even running for office,” she hedged. “You knew this would be a problem.”

“Susan did some polling before I decided to run. The results suggested that my grandfather’s and great-uncle’s years of public service to the state were enough to outweigh Dad’s mistakes.” Susan Warrington, Jake’s aunt and Tyler’s mom, was Jake’s campaign manager, as she’d been his father’s before him. Jake came from a long line of Georgia governors. “None of the numbers we’ve polled since then support that conclusion,” he finished.

Sabrina tapped the page in front of her. “That tells me why you thought you could win. You still haven’t said why you want to be governor.” Jake had always thought bigger than Georgia; he’d had his heart set on national politics, starting with Congress, back when he and Sabrina were dating.

The bribe scandal had ended that ambition. Jake had quit politics to work with Max at Warrington Construction.

“My father cheated this state, and I want to put that right,” he said. “I want to move on. I’m sick of being ‘crooked Ted Warrington’s son.’”

Sabrina swallowed and ducked her head. The poll data caught her eye. “This isn’t all bad news. People think you’re intelligent, likable and—and you have a nice smile.” According to the demographics data at the bottom of the page, seventy percent of the respondents were women. Sabrina knew they meant his smile—the one that adorned campaign posters around town, the one she never saw—was sexy. “Maybe Susan’s original numbers were right, and people will look past what your dad did.”

“They won’t,” he said flatly.

“My support would be more of a handicap than a help,” she assured him. “You saw those photographers at the airport. I’m a bad joke.”

He barked a laugh. “I guess you haven’t seen the local papers. The media might be poking fun at you, but there’s been a swell of public sympathy like you wouldn’t believe. The newspapers are full of letters saying what a wonderful Miss Georgia you are. And you’re Saint Sabrina of Talkback Radio.” The sweep of his hand encompassed the Georgia airwaves.

“You’re exaggerating,” she said, a part of her hoping he wasn’t. That the entire state didn’t hold her in contempt.

“Sabrina.” Jake gripped the edge of the island. “Would you trust me as governor?”

She would never trust him with her heart again, and would recommend no other woman should, either, but she did trust him as a politician. Unlike his father’s, Jake’s integrity was unshakable.

“Yes,” she said.

“Then we don’t have a problem.” His fingers relaxed. “Do we?”

She almost agreed. Then she realized what Jake was doing. In short order, he’d had her feeling grateful for his intervention at the airport, sorry for him over his poll results, guilty about the role she’d played in his family’s breakup…He was manipulating her emotions, just as he had five years ago. Back then, he’d left her shattered. Thankfully, he’d been too mad to see how he’d hurt her.

“Your getting involved in the governor race will take everyone’s minds off your legs,” he coaxed, as if offering her an irresistible enticement.

“Politics being even weightier?” she said sharply.

He grinned, almost amicably, and she guessed he thought her agreement was in the bag.

“I need you to tell the world you have complete trust in me,” he said. “And to attend some of my campaign events between now and the primary vote in June. We could start Monday—I’m opening an art exhibition at Wellesley High School. Your dad will probably be there, his firm is one of the sponsors. You could come along. What do you say?”

Sabrina studied her fingernails to avoid the compelling pressure of his gaze. “I say no.”

Chapter Two

JAKE SHOVED HIMSELF off his stool and took a couple of paces away from the island. “No to the high school art show?”

“No to all of it,” Sabrina said. No, I’m not dumb enough to get sucked into helping a guy who knows exactly how to reel me in. She cringed at the thought of how he’d led her to this moment today. Sabrina Merritt is a beautiful person, inside and out. Jake knew her looks were the source of her confidence, and he’d pandered to that. It felt just like the old days, when he’d played on her vulnerability to dissuade her from reporting his father the moment she’d learned of the bribe. What next? Would he try to use the attraction that still shimmered in the air between them, the heat that rose above their enmity?

“Dammit, Sabrina,” he said. “I’m not letting you out of here until you agree to help.”

She pressed her right hand palm down onto the island, slid it toward him. “Is this where you chop off my fingers for the ransom note?”

His gaze dropped to her manicured, Crushed Raspberry nails. “Just tell me why,” he said tightly.

“I have plans for my future, and they don’t involve revisiting the past.”

For long seconds he processed that. “When you say plans, do you mean like your plan to climb Everest?”

That stung. “When I said that, I was back on my feet for the first time after the accident.” She hated thinking about the car crash that had killed her mom and left Sabrina, then still a teenager, unable to walk for eighteen months. She glared at Jake. “Cut me some slack, will you?”

“Like you cut my father some slack?” he retorted.

The animosity between them was a tangible beast, provoked in an instant, snuffling at territory they hadn’t explored in years. Sabrina found herself shaking. Jake touched her hand and said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned the Everest thing.”

It was safest to assume his remorse was prompted by concern for his campaign. She pulled her hand back, rubbing the spot he’d left tingling. “You always were a know-it-all jerk,” she grumbled.

His shoulders eased. “You always were a spoiled brat,” he returned. He sat back down on his stool. “What’s your plan, Sabrina?”

“I don’t have to tell you. I haven’t even told Dad yet.”

“So it’s something he won’t like,” he speculated. He knew how close she was to her father. “Does it involve liposuction?”

“Of course not.” Her hands went involuntarily to her thighs. “There’s nothing wrong with my legs.”

“A point I made on your behalf today,” he reminded her.

She knew he was manipulating her again, but it wouldn’t hurt to tell him. “I’ve lined up a job with the Injured Kids Education Trust.”

He drained his cup. “Never heard of it.”

“The trust aims to establish a dedicated school for kids who’ve suffered serious injuries. It’ll combine physical rehabilitation with a regular high school education in a social environment. I met one of the directors through Tyler—the foundation funds their operating costs.” Tyler was the president of the charitable Warrington Foundation.

“I approached the trust a couple of months ago to ask if I could get involved. They want me to be their front person, to promote the need for the school and help lobby for funding. I had to get the Miss U.S.A. Pageant out of the way,” she said, “but the trust plans to announce my appointment this week.”

“Why haven’t you told your dad?” Jake cleared their cups away.

“Dad still wants me to work at Merritt, Merritt & Finch with him. Every time I suggest another job, he comes up with ten reasons why I should be somewhere he can look out for me, even though I’m not qualified to do anything in a law firm beyond opening the mail. He’s driving me crazy.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “You love being pampered and protected by your father.”

Jake Warrington, The Man Who Knew Too Much. He knew she’d been born with an extra dependency gene that was the perfect match for her father’s extra protectiveness gene.

Jake had neither defect. Sabrina looked at him, at the broad shoulders that could bear the problems of a dozen chunky-thighed beauty queens, then at the uncompromising jaw that warned against leaning on him.

She wished she’d heeded that warning five years ago.

“I don’t love it anymore,” she said.

“You’ve never held down a job longer than six months. How is this different from any of your other one-minute-wonder careers?” Jake leaned back precariously on his stool. “From, say, cordon bleu catering, or your burning ambition to join the police?”

“Neither of those was right for me, but I know this is.”

“Then there was, let me see…” He rubbed his chin. “Dog-grooming school?”

Did he plan to catalog all the career choices she’d embraced and abandoned with equal speed? “That was over summer vacation, and I was trying to make a point to my father.”

The point being that, unlike her sisters, she didn’t want to pursue a law degree. Her father had finally conceded the point, but his latest idea was that she should work at the family firm while she trained to be a paralegal.

“What about your job in Congressman Smith’s office, working for world peace?” A sneer in the words. “At least that used your political science degree.”

“My degree is in international relations.” Didn’t he remember even that much about her?

“You mean, that Swiss guy you dated in your final year?”

She scowled. “Funny.” But since she’d chosen international relations specifically because the course wasn’t as tough as political science, then just scraped by while her social life took off exponentially, she wasn’t on firm ground. “Congressman Smith gave me the job as a favor to Dad, so I’d have something to talk about at the Miss U.S.A. Pageant. It was only ever a part-time, short-term project, not something I wanted to make a career out of. World peace is overrated.” It had been mentioned countless times at the Miss U.S.A. Pageant, the most warlike environment she’d ever encountered.

“And you think you can metamorphose into someone who’s serious about her work?” Jake’s stool scraped on the floor as he stood. “I can see why you’re attracted to this injury-trust idea, but admit it, Sabrina, the chances you’ll stick with it are low to zero.”

He wouldn’t be the last person to say that. Sabrina stood, too, robbing him of the height advantage.

“Your opinion is irrelevant,” she said. “I’m twenty-six years old, and I’ve finally found an opportunity that will let me be more than Jonah Merritt’s pampered youngest daughter, the one who had the accident.” There was a time when she’d thought Jake saw past that label, but she’d been proven wrong. “This is a fresh start for me.”

It might have been a moment’s sympathy that softened Jake’s blue eyes, but more likely it was a trick of the light, because when he spoke, his voice was harsh. “I want a fresh start, too. Warringtons have served this state as governor for generations, until my father screwed up. I can’t wipe the slate clean unless I win this primary. If I can just do that, I’ll be a shoo-in for governor—the party will swing its full support behind me, and it hasn’t lost an election in Georgia in fifty years.”

His hands curled into fists, as if he had to squeeze out his next words. “Please, Sabrina, help me.”

Like her, he wanted to put the past behind him. Despite their mutual dislike, Sabrina sympathized. Don’t let him get to you. She wrapped her arms around her middle. “The days when I fell over my feet in my rush to do whatever you wanted are long gone, Jake.”

What the hell did that mean? Jake paced to the French doors, then turned to face her. “If you fell over your feet, that was your choice. I didn’t ask you to.” He couldn’t suppress his outrage, even though logic told him to stay calm. Back when they were dating, he’d indeed known she would do anything for him, and been careful to ask for nothing. Until the bribe. And look how well that had turned out.

“You didn’t have to ask. I did whatever it took to please you. But I’m stronger now, stronger than you or anyone knows.”

The disconnect between what she was saying and her appearance couldn’t have been greater, Jake thought. Sabrina might not be as skinny as some of her rivals at Miss U.S.A., but there was something about her that suggested fragility. Her wrists were slender, her fingers long and fine. She had a habit of shielding her clear blue eyes with her lashes, so that people—men—worried about her.

Since their breakup, Jake always assumed she was hiding her laughter at the way they made idiots of themselves over her.

The way he almost had. The only good to come out of her betrayal was that it had forced an end to a relationship that teetered on the verge of out of control but that he hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to abandon.

He hauled his mind back to the present, to Sabrina standing hands on hips in front of him. “Okay, I believe you,” he said. “You’re strong. And I accept that you’re dedicated to your new job—in fact, I admire that.”

She didn’t relax one iota.

“But your responsibilities for the trust don’t sound like full-time work. Surely you can help me out with the occasional interview, a couple of public appearances?”

She was shaking her head before he finished talking.

“Dammit, Sabrina, you’re not the one who should be holding a grudge here,” he snapped. She was famous among their friends for her generous willingness to give people the benefit of the doubt, a second chance. Why should he be the exception to the rule? Unless…

“This isn’t about you and me, our personal relationship, is it?” He grasped her shoulders, and the contact with bare flesh, covered only by the thin straps of her dress, shocked him with the power of a lightning strike. He jerked backward, at the same moment as she wrenched herself free. Jake willed his breathing to slow down. “Are you refusing to help me because you’re still mad that I dumped you?”

Damn, damn, damn. What was it about Sabrina that destroyed his rationality? Now he’d made her mad.

She pressed her full lips together as she snatched her purse. “I’m leaving.”

Jake recognized that stubbornness. The last time he’d seen it, she’d been in the hospital, not much more than a kid, fighting to recover from the accident with everything she had.

Years later when he’d been drawn against all good sense to Sabrina the Social Butterfly, he’d concluded that her recovery must have drained the reserves of her strength, her courage. Which explained why she was content to accept, almost welcomed people’s stifling protectiveness and concern. He’d understood, sympathized…though not to the extent that he’d let her pull her helpless act on him.

Now, he realized that teenage obstinacy had just been shelved until she needed it. And he was at a disconcerting loss as to what to do next. No more begging, that was for sure. He would think of something else. Tomorrow. He grabbed his keys. “I’ll drive you home.”

“I’ll call Tyler, have him pick me up.”

If Jake hadn’t felt so bitter, he’d have laughed. She expected him to believe her refusal was about her new start, nothing to do with their personal history. He held out the phone to her. “Here you go, Miss Independence. Summon Tyler to your rescue.”

He watched as she blushed beet red. Wordlessly, she took the phone from him. Her finger hovered over the buttons, then she dialed.

She ordered a cab.

Too little, too late, Jake thought as they waited in silence for the taxi. Which they both knew would take her to her father’s house. Sabrina could claim the independence of a yeti. But she was still the same old Sabrina, relying on her looks and on her family and friends to get her through life’s difficulties.

And if she was the same old Sabrina, one way or another, he would convince her to do what he wanted.

“SABRINA, THANKS FOR rearranging your schedule to meet with us this afternoon.” Richard Ainsley, head of the Injured Kids Education Trust, shook Sabrina’s hand and ushered her into his luxurious penthouse apartment.

“No problem, you know the trust is my top priority.” Sabrina smiled at the man who had sufficient belief in her abilities that he’d offered her the job of her dreams. In her new role, she would do so much to help children and teens with spinal and other serious injuries. To give them hope. Nothing could be more worthwhile.

The tension of yesterday’s conversation with Jake faded with each step she took across the plush, cream-colored carpet.

She just wished she was a little more wide-awake for this meeting. Behind Richard’s back, she stifled a yawn. She shouldn’t have wasted precious sleep time last night tossing and turning, worrying about Jake’s election prospects. She’d bet he hadn’t given her career another thought.

Sleep deprivation must be the reason why it took a while for Richard’s exact words to seep into her brain. “Uh, did you say, to meet with us?” As far as she knew, this get-together was an informal one-on-one meeting to draft an announcement of her appointment.

Over his shoulder he said, “A couple of the other board members are joining us.”

“A couple” meant four, Sabrina discovered when she followed Richard into the dining room. A silver-haired woman, a slightly younger brunette and two middle-aged men were already seated at the antique mahogany table.

Was it her imagination, or did four pairs of eyes drop to her thighs?

Richard introduced her to the board members. Focused on clenching her thigh muscles in an attempt to minimize their bulk, Sabrina struggled to absorb their names.

Richard pulled out a green velvet-upholstered chair for her, the other side of the table from the others. He took his seat at the head, which meant she now had five people staring at her. Outranked by age, number and severity of demeanor, Sabrina felt like a five-year-old who’d flunked Finger Painting 101.

“I’m honored that the announcement of my appointment was important enough to bring you all here.” She laughed nervously.

Richard didn’t offer her coffee, the way he had at previous meetings—Sabrina looked longingly at the pot on the sideboard. Behind the coffee, through glass-fronted cabinet doors, she saw an array of spirits. A stiff whiskey held sudden appeal.

“You’ll remember,” Richard began, “my mentioning that your appointment would need to be ratified by the board.”

“I recall your describing it as a formality,” she said.

His gaze slid away. Sabrina got a hollow feeling behind her ribs.

Maybe because she’d just had her first personal conversation with Jake in five years, a saying of his father’s popped into her head. If you want orchids, don’t plant camellias.

If she wanted this job, she couldn’t afford to joke, or to skirt around the topic.

“Is there a problem with my appointment?” Sabrina asked. “Because I am one hundred percent committed to the trust and to what you’re—we’re—trying to do. As you said, Richard, my past injuries and my public profile make me the ideal candidate.”

Richard’s mouth pulled back in a smile that was more grimace, as if he didn’t appreciate her excellent memory. “The board’s thinking with regard to public profile has, uh, changed. We’re now thinking of a specific kind of profile.” He sent a silent appeal to his colleagues.

The silver-haired woman spoke up. “The Injured Kids Education Trust is at a crucial juncture.”

So is my life.

Silver Hair continued, “With the election coming up, this is our big chance to lobby for funds for the school and to create awareness at the local and national levels. We believe we need a front person with more—” her gazed flicked to the table, as if she could see right through the mahogany to Sabrina’s thighs “—gravitas.”

She raised her eyebrows, perhaps questioning whether Sabrina knew what gravitas meant.

“You think being Miss Georgia means I don’t have gravitas?” Sabrina asked.

One of the men cleared his throat. “It’s more that we wouldn’t expect our spokesperson to be front-page news in the tabloid newspapers.”

The man next to him fingered the knot in his navy-blue silk tie. “The rumors of physical confrontation in Las Vegas…”

“The only confrontation was verbal, when another competitor said she wanted to slap me.” Sabrina shifted on her chair; it was mortifying to have to explain Miss Maine’s sudden conviction that Sabrina’s wealthy father must have bribed the judges for her to win the Miss Georgia contest. Just because nearly every other woman had worked her way up through contests like Miss Save ‘n’ Grow Bank Summer Carnival before making it at state level…

Distaste crossed Richard’s face.

“She said it,” Sabrina said levelly. “I walked away and that was the end of it.”

“Not as far as the media were concerned,” Silver Hair pointed out. “The public perception is of a squabble.”

The temperature in the room seemed to have plunged to arctic levels. Sabrina shivered in her pink silk blouse and tailored knee-length cream skirt, perfect, she’d thought this morning, in their demureness. Maybe something severe and black would have been a better choice. She rubbed her arms. This was how Jake must feel, poised to lose the primary.

But she knew for sure Jake wasn’t about to give up on becoming governor just because she wouldn’t cooperate.

I won’t give up, either. Sabrina drew a steadying breath and willed herself not to react in a way that might shred the board’s paper-thin respect for her.

“My level of public support has actually grown since the incidents you mention,” she said. Jake’s comments had checked out in the online search she’d run last night. She had a lot of new fans since the Miss U.S.A. debacle.