The Husband Sweepstake

Not that she was as certain of what she was doing. But then Stanford Forrester hadn’t always been able to predict the future, either. He hadn’t intended to give up control, even when he died. And if he’d had any idea how close that day was, Erika was convinced, he’d have revised his will—because the one thing Stanford Forrester would never have wanted was for Erika to run his precious company.

Don’t worry your pretty head about business, dear. Your job is to smile for the camera…

Well, she’d proved him wrong. In the eight quarters since she’d become the CEO, Ladylove had shown steady growth in market share and profits. Now that her position was solidified, Erika was ready to spread her wings. It was time for Ladylove to grow in scope as well as sales and production, and buying Felix La Croix’s business and rolling it into Ladylove’s was a natural move.

All she had to do was convince Felix La Croix, make the deal, and pull the two companies into one solid unit.

Her sherry glass was empty. She looked around. There was still no sign of Felix, and all the waiters appeared to be busy as well. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes to do some creative visualization. Picture yourself as a success and you’ll be one.

She sensed someone standing very still directly in front of her chair, and she sat up quickly, embarrassed. Would her guest think she’d been taking a nap? “Felix, I’m so glad—”

But the man standing over her with feet braced and arms folded wasn’t Felix La Croix. It was Denby Miles, her exfiancé.

She’d run into him from time to time, of course, in the two years since their engagement had been broken off. Manhattan society wasn’t large enough to avoid someone absolutely, even if one wanted to—and she’d never gone out of her way in order to stay out of his path. But on the rare occasions when they’d come face-to-face, they’d been coolly polite, exchanging greetings and then quickly moving on. He had never sought her out before, as he so obviously had this time. And she’d never had the opportunity, or felt the need, to look him over closely—not since that day two years ago when she’d taken off his ring and handed it back to him.

He was wider now, but not solider. He looked as if he’d put on weight, but not muscle. A smile might have masked the added fullness in his face, Erika thought, but he wasn’t smiling.

“Denby,” she said. “What a nice surprise to see you here at lunchtime.”

His eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said. If a simple greeting offends you, I—”

“It’s what you’re implying that offends me—that the worker bee should be in the lab from nine-to-five, no excuses, no breaks. Well, things have changed a bit now.”

“Yes, I saw the announcement that you’re marrying your boss’s daughter,” Erika said calmly. “Congratulations are in order, I believe.”

“Of course you saw the announcement. You just had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?”

“Ruin? I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Why do you have to push yourself into everything? You couldn’t even stay out of my engagement announcement!”

Erika’s jaw dropped. “You actually think I wanted to be part of that story?”

“Jeanette’s heartbroken. This is the most important thing in her life, and you had to trample all over it.”

Erika stood up. “Well, she’d better get over it. I’m a part of your past, Denby. No matter how much we’d all like to, we can’t just wipe that out. Of course, if your engagement is as important to you as it is to her, then she doesn’t have a thing to worry about where I’m concerned.”

“You just have to have all the attention, don’t you? Being the face in the ads wasn’t enough, you had to be the CEO, too. Then—”

“Look, Denby, it was not my idea to have the Sentinel dish it all out again for the enjoyment of the masses. If you’ll excuse me—” She tried to slip past him, but he was blocking the way.

“Maybe I’m wrong,” he conceded.

“Well, that’s big of you.”

“Maybe you don’t want it brought up again, especially right now—when you’re doing it again.”

“Doing what? What are you talking about?”

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I always believed it was your father’s idea for you to lead me on. To draw me in with promises until he got what he wanted. But now I wonder who was really behind that scheme. Maybe it was your plan after all.”

His voice was growing louder, unnaturally so in the quiet lounge, and people were starting to stare.

Denby didn’t pause. “And because it worked so well with me, you’re trying it again. Maybe I should warn Felix La Croix what he’s getting into. Make sure he understands that you’re only making up to him in order to get his business.”

“I am not making up to—”

“That’s who you’re meeting today, isn’t it? Maybe I’ll just stick around and be sure he knows the truth.”

“Denby, this is utterly ridiculous!”

“Or maybe I’ll just tell the Sentinel,” he mused. “Yes, that’s the ticket. It will have the same effect, and I understand they pay pretty well for tips.”

From the corner of her eye, Erika caught a swift movement, almost a blur. It was too fast to be any of the club’s members, she thought. They were never in a hurry, not here.

Realization dawned, and she ducked—but it was too late. The photo flash popped directly in her eyes, almost blinding her for an instant.

The photographer held his camera above his head, shaking it in triumph as if it were a trophy. Then he dodged past a determined-looking waiter, out the archway from the lounge into the club lobby, and through the front door to the street.

Denby blinked and said stupidly, “What was that?”

“The Sentinel,” Erika said grimly. “I’d suggest, if you want to claim a tipster’s fee, that you’d better hurry—before the paparazzi beats you to it.”

She turned away, and the waiter who had tried to stop the photographer stepped into her path. “Ms. Forrester, Mr. La Croix asked me to give you this.” He held out a folded sheet of paper that she recognized as club stationery.

For a moment, she’d forgotten all about Felix La Croix and the reason for her lunch date, but the solidity of the heavy sheet of parchment in her hand brought it all back.

The note was brief and to the point. “I’m sure you understand why I didn’t wish to be part of the show. I’ll be in touch when I’ve had a chance to think things through.” It was signed with his initials.

Felix La Croix had been there, witnessed Denby’s little act and opted to walk out. She couldn’t exactly blame him for fading away rather than letting himself be drawn into the scene. At least he’d left a note.

“Will you be coming into the dining room now, Ms. Forrester?” the waiter asked.

Her stomach turned at the very idea of food. “No—thank you, Harry.” She retrieved her portfolio from her chair and her trench coat from the cloakroom, stuffing Felix’s note into her pocket. There was plenty to be done back at the office…

Except that right now she didn’t feel like facing Kelly and fending off questions about how the negotiations had gone and why she was back so early.

She’d go home and lie down, she decided. It was only a few blocks to the apartment complex, and Stephen was guaranteed to have something on hand to settle an unhappy stomach.

But Stephen wasn’t in the office; Amos was. A sandwich lay on the desk blotter, and beside it was a yellow legal tablet filled with scrawled and scratched-out sentences.

Erika checked on the threshold. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She started to back out.

He stood up. “Come in. What can I do for you?”

Her head was still spinning; that must be why she had the sense that he actually sounded friendly. “What hit you? You sound positively civil. Oh, I know. You’ve decided you wouldn’t mind going to that banquet after all—rubbing elbows with publishers and famous authors.”

“I told you, it depends on the benefits. You look as if you just lost your last friend.”

Erika sighed. “Do you have something for heartburn?”

He waved a hand toward the sandwich. “Italian sausage, onion and Swiss cheese. If that doesn’t do it, nothing will.”

“I meant something to treat it, not cause it.” She swayed a little.

Amos seized her arm and guided her toward the wing-backed chair.

“I’m fine, really,” Erika protested. “I just lost my balance, that’s all. I’m not going to faint.”

“In any case, sitting down won’t hurt you a bit. What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing much,” she said lightly. “A ghost from the past, paparazzi popping out from the potted plants at what’s supposed to be the most private club in the city, and a business deal gone sour.”

“Well, I’m glad it wasn’t anything important.” He pushed aside the sandwich.

She pointed to the tablet. “Is that your book?”

He frowned at the scratched-out sentences. “A small piece of it.”

“How’s it going?”

“Slowly. Too many interruptions.”

“I could have told you that. This may look like an easy job, but it’s not.”

“Only because Stephen has spoiled all of you.”

“And especially me,” Erika said steadily. “You might as well say it as think it. Though I don’t see why you said I needed a keeper.”

“What you need is a combination ladies’ maid, secretary and bodyguard. It would fall more along the lines of a wife, actually.”

“A wife?”

“Yes, I think that covers it.” He sounded quite pleased with himself.

“And that’s your definition of a wife? My goodness, you have a twisted view of the world…Though come to think of it…”

Something was nagging at her. Ladies’ maid, secretary and bodyguard…

She had the secretary, and she was perfectly capable of picking up her own clothes. But the bodyguard…

“You know, I think you’ve hit on something,” she said. “Not a wife, of course—that would really give the tabloids something to talk about. But a husband…now that’s another thing entirely. Amos—darling—what do you think?”

CHAPTER TWO

AMOS could think of only one reason why she could possibly want to know what he thought of her harebrained scheme. The explanation was ridiculous, it was insane, it was nigh impossible. But it was the only one he could come up with which even began to cover all the facts.

He stared across the desk at Erika, still trying to convince himself that she hadn’t really said what he thought he’d heard. She was perfectly calm, her violet eyes wide and showing the same sort of mild interest as if she’d just asked his opinion of the latest hit movie.

She didn’t look like an alien. But this madcap idea of hers belonged to an entirely different planet than the one he lived on.

A husband…that’s another thing entirely…

She’d actually asked for his opinion, he reminded himself. “Amos—darling—what do you think?” she had said. So he had not only the right but the obligation to answer.

Of course, if he told her what he thought, she’d probably try to have him arrested for using indecent language in the presence of a lady. And she’d be right—at least about the indecent language. As for the part about the lady, that was open to debate.

“What kind of a lady…” He stopped to clear his throat and started over. His voice felt rough. “A lady doesn’t propose marriage to a perfect stranger.”

Her lovely face went blank for an instant, and then as understanding dawned, her eyes brimmed with horror. “You thought I was suggesting I wanted to marry you?”

Now his head was really spinning. Amos—darling… But if that wasn’t what she’d meant, where had he gone wrong? “It sure sounded that way to me.”

“Then you’re hearing-impaired as well as arrogant. All I said was—”

“All right, all right. I get it.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “And boy, is that a relief.” You bet it is.

“How could I be proposing to you? I don’t even know your last name.”

Amos didn’t enlighten her. It wasn’t like she was asking for a formal introduction, anyway. “So whom are you planning to marry? Take it from the top and tell me what all this is about. Unless, of course, you’re really just talking to yourself and so I’m not supposed to ask.”

He thought for a moment that she wasn’t going to answer. Then she raised the pointed little chin which was such a distinctive part of every Ladylove ad and said, “It’s a business matter.”

Either he was getting used to her, Amos thought, or he was growing numb, because he wasn’t even vaguely surprised.

She shrugged out of her trench coat, settled back in the chair and took a deep breath.

Amos had been noting the cut of her suit jacket, but he couldn’t help being distracted by what the deep breath did to her figure. The Ladylove ads always focused on her face, and the other day when she’d come through the lobby she’d been wearing a coat, ready to go out for the day. So he’d never had an opportunity to pay much attention to the rest of her. But in fact, the shape of her body was very nearly as perfect as the planes of her face. Too bad the quality of her insides didn’t match…

“There’s this firm I’m trying to buy, you see,” she began. “Up until a couple of years ago, Ladylove was totally focused on cosmetics, things like lipstick and eye shadow and foundation and mascara. Then we expanded into perfumes—”

“Courtesy of Denby Miles’s formulas,” Amos mused.

“I see you read the tabloids.” Her voice was chilly.

“Only while I’m standing in line at the market to buy cat food for Mrs. Haines’s Persian on the fourth floor. It was a very slow line this morning.”

“Be glad she didn’t send you fishing so Fluffy’s lunch would really be fresh.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time she needs to lay in a supply of kibble.”

She crossed her legs.

Nice, long slim legs, Amos noted, with shapely knees that barely peeked out under the hem of a blue wool suit. She must have noticed him looking, because she cleared her throat firmly. She did not, however, make a coy show of pulling her skirt down. Amos liked that.

He sat up a little straighter. “You were talking about the tabloids.”

“Only because I can’t avoid the subject. I’m sure I don’t have to explain that the Denby Miles episode didn’t happen quite the way the Sentinel would like to believe it did.”

I’d give a pretty penny to hear what really did happen.

“At any rate, now Ladylove is ready to expand further, and there’s a firm which would be a perfect match.” She looked at him warily for a long moment, and then seemed to make up her mind to trust him. “I want to pick up Kate La Croix’s line of hair care products.”

Amos frowned. “I thought Kate La Croix died.”

“She did—about six months ago. That’s why her husband wants to sell the business.”

“And since you want to buy, it’s a great deal all the way around.”

“Exactly. We can combine two fairly small firms and create a major player.”

“Makes sense. I just don’t see where the part about the husband comes in. Unless…Oh, now I get it. It’s just dawned on you that if you married him instead, you could get the company cheaper.”

From her always-placid photographs in the Ladylove ads, Amos thought, one would never suspect that Erika Forrester possessed a temper. Only now did he realize how misleading that impression was. She didn’t blow up; he’d give her that. But her gaze was so cold that he found himself feeling a little frosty around the edges.

“That,” she said, “is exactly what the kind of idiot who gets his news from the tabloids would think.”

“Well, excuse me for being an idiot,” Amos said coolly, “but I still don’t quite see the problem.”

She had the grace to color. “Sorry. I didn’t intend that personally. I meant you’re not the only one who’ll jump to that conclusion.”

The phone rang on the desk.

Erika looked at it and then at him. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“No, I’m going to let voice-mail take it.” Amos sliced his sandwich into chunks. “The quicker the tenants learn to share and take turns, the easier it’ll be on all of us.” The phone rang four times and stopped, and he held out a piece of the sandwich to her.

Erika took it almost absently and nibbled at a corner.

“You were talking about what the tabloids will say,” he prompted. “Because of the Denby Miles thing, of course.”

“Yes. Half the world thinks I only dated him for those formulas, and that I dropped him the instant my father got his hands on them. Now they’re going to think I’m doing the same with Felix La Croix.”

“Ignore them. They’re tabloids. What difference does it make what they think?”

“It doesn’t matter to me—other than being generally annoying. But it matters a great deal to Felix.” She pulled a folded paper out of her coat pocket and held it out.

Amos took it reluctantly. The words had obviously been written in haste; the penmanship was uneven, and the signature was nothing more than scrawled initials.

I’m sure you understand why I didn’t wish to be part of the show. I’ll be in touch when I’ve had a chance to think things through.

He lifted an eyebrow at her.

She said, sounding reluctant, “That’s from Felix. Denby made quite a scene at the Civic Club today.”

“And Felix saw it and ducked for cover?”

She nodded. “I can’t blame him, exactly. The tabloids haven’t heard about the negotiations yet—but they will, and probably soon. There will be a feeding frenzy, and poor Felix will be caught in the middle of speculation about why he’s seeing me and what the terms of the sale will be and how long it will take after the agreement’s made before I dump him. For a man who’s still grieving his wife—”

“That would be a little hard to take,” Amos said thoughtfully. “But maybe it’ll be an incentive for him to make a quick sale.”

“More likely he’ll refuse to talk at all, especially if he thinks I’m manipulating the publicity to get him to agree to a fast deal. Which I’m not. But if I was married…settled…obviously not interested in him personally…”

“And you think getting married in order to deflect the tabloids doesn’t count as manipulating the publicity? Never mind. If Felix’s sensitive feelings are a problem, why not just look for another shampoo company?”

“There isn’t another one. Do you think I haven’t looked? Most of them are divisions of huge companies, but we couldn’t swallow a giant like that even if it was for sale. And Kate’s product meshes well with Ladylove’s—she insisted on entirely organic ingredients instead of chemical substitutes. Do you know how many shampoos are really just laundry detergent with a nicer smell?”

“Hadn’t given it a lot of thought,” Amos said. “But it sounds to me like Felix needs you more than you need him. Since it was his wife’s company, it must be losing value with every day that goes by. Sit back and wait, and he’ll come around.”

She shook her head. “No. In fact, sales have gone up since Kate’s death—it’s actually become sort of a cult thing to use Kate La Croix shampoo. Felix only wants to sell because it’s too painful for him to face the reminders every day. I’ve assured him that we’ll keep Kate’s name and the brand label. It’s a perfect match—if the tabloids will just leave the personal stuff out of it. Which of course they won’t, because they’ve created this image of me.”

“So you’re thinking of changing the image. Okay,” he conceded. “I see where you’re coming from. I still think it’s a really loopy idea, but let that go for a minute. Who on earth are you thinking about marrying? If you can’t even get a date for a Saturday night banquet—”

Her eyes flared. “I have no shortage of dates.”

“Then why were you asking Stephen to find you an escort? If you have so many guys standing in line, why not choose one of them rather than add another to the list?”

“Because if I’m seen twice with any one man, the whole gossip mill goes into overdrive.”

“And the man in question screams and runs?”

“Or starts bragging that he owns me.”

“Well, either variety doesn’t offer much promise in the husband sweepstakes,” Amos pointed out. He handed her another section of his sandwich.

“What I really need is someone like…” She looked thoughtful, and then said with a note of triumph, “Someone like Stephen.”

Amos bit his lip hard, but it didn’t help much. “Ms. Forrester, I hate to be the one to break the news to you, but Stephen is…Well, let’s just say he’s not interested in women except as friends.”

She fixed him with a glare. “You think I didn’t know that? What difference does it make, anyway? I’m talking about a legal convenience here, not a—” She broke off.

He couldn’t help himself. “Stud service?”

“If that was all I wanted,” she said bitterly, “I could take my choice.”

He didn’t doubt it—and he didn’t wonder at her tone, because the reason for her disillusionment was obvious. With her face, her figure and her fame, there must be men aplenty who would happily oblige her in bed—and then brag in the locker room that they’d been with Erika Forrester. She was a trophy. A conquest to boast about.

Hey, he told himself, don’t waste your sympathy. She’s the one who’s asking for the attention by putting herself in the magazine ads month after month.

“Well, what you want may not be the most important consideration here,” he said. “It’s the public’s perception that counts. So if you want to make everyone believe it’s a real marriage, then Stephen’s the worst possible choice you could make. Nobody would believe that he’s changed, so you might as well not waste your time.”

“Someone like Stephen, then.” She sounded stubborn. “Someone who’s gentle, who’s helpful—”

“Someone who owes you,” Amos put in.

She looked genuinely puzzled. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you can’t take a chance on him ruining everything by talking. So unless you can think of someone who’d do it for love—”

She turned a shade paler. “I don’t believe in love.”

“Well, at least you’ve got that much sense. I’d hate to think you’d believe it if someone was to conveniently stroll up right now and announce that he was head over heels about you.”

“I’d have to be a fool to bite on that one. I’d much rather have a clear-cut business arrangement.”

“Then we’re back to finding someone who owes you.”

She was silent.

“Since you’re not rattling off names, that must mean there’s nobody already in that category,” Amos guessed. “All right, then you’ll have to buy him.”

“Do you have to be crude?”

“That’s not crude, honey, that’s just straightforward. You said you wanted it clear-cut. But if you’d rather, we’ll call it finding the proper incentives. The bottom line is, what’s in it for the guy?”

“There would be benefits,” she said stiffly.

“Name two.” In the silence that followed, Amos finished the last bite of his sandwich. He picked up a stray crumb, tossed the wrapper in the wastebasket and said, “That’s what I thought. You can’t.”

“Of course I can’t be specific,” she said stubbornly. “It would depend on the man. Not everyone will be intrigued by the same sort of—”

“Bribe.”

“Benefit. Anyway, it’s not like I’m talking about forever here. This is a short-term bargain. Once the buyout is over, that’s it. A couple of months, maybe.”

“What happens the next time you want to acquire a company?”

“Look, I don’t want to own the world. If I can get this deal through, I’ll be satisfied.”

“That’s what you think now.”

“All right,” she admitted. “Maybe I will want to buy something else someday. But the circumstances will be different—the seller might even enjoy the gossip. In any case, I’ll deal with that later.”

“Well, I suppose you could write the marriage contract with a renewal clause,” Amos mused. “Sort of like the way that Hollywood options an actor for the sequel when they make the first movie. Which makes a twisted kind of sense, considering this is about as big a special-effects production as we’re likely to see around here this year.”