The Game Show Bride
The Game Show Bride
Jackie Braun
Thanks to a reality TV game show, Kelli Walters has to swap lives–and jobs–with one of the "suits" at work, vice president Samuel Maxwell! Yes, that means she gets to sit in his huge office, telling people what to do, while he has to scrape by as a single mom with a dead-end job!But when sexy Sam ups the stakes with his heart-stopping smiles and smoldering glances, Kelli realizes that winning it all may not mean winning the game show, but getting the real prize–him!
Kelli studied Sam.
Nice suit. Made to measure, she was sure. Image was everything to corporate hotshots. 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 that only added to his sensuality.
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 to this game, her adversary. And if she were 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.
Jackie Braun began making up stories almost as soon as she learned how to write them down. She never wavered from her goal of becoming a professional writer, but a steady diet of macaroni and cheese during college convinced her of the need for a reliable income. She earned her bachelor’s degree in journalism from Central Michigan University in 1987 and continues to work as an editorial writer for a daily newspaper. Fiction remains her first love. She lives with her husband and son in Michigan.
Working side by side, nine to five—and beyond….
No matter how hard these couples try to keep their relationships strictly professional, romance is definitely on the agenda!
Hired by Mr. Right
by Nicola Marsh
#3834, in Harlequin Romance®
Books by Jackie Braun
HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®
3804—HER STAND-IN GROOM
SILHOUETTE ROMANCE®
1479—ONE FIANCÉE TO GO, PLEASE
1599—TRUE LOVE, INC.
The Game Show Bride
Jackie Braun
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my “German girl,” Linda Boeke,
exchange student extraordinaire.
I miss hearing you singing around the house.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE (#u75d1b978-07c8-5780-942c-3a2eafe05618)
CHAPTER ONE (#ud5da705e-0048-5d1f-906d-0d1f877e338c)
CHAPTER TWO (#ubaf86f45-3b02-508e-a429-bdfab0f65d58)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE
KELLI WALTERS was late for work again—half an hour late this time. She jiggled the fussy toddler on her hip as she slid her time card through the punch at Danbury Department Store’s distribution center. To make matters worse, she was showing up for her shift with two kids in tow, one of whom was irritable and running a slight fever from teething.
“Remember, Katie, you need to keep Chloe with you in the break room,” she reminded her seven-year-old. “You both need to stay out of sight until Mrs. Baker can pick you up.”
That plan went up in smoke when Kelli turned the corner and ran straight into a man’s broad chest. She stumbled back, an apologetic smile on her lips.
She didn’t know the man by name, but she’d seen him the week before walking through the distribution center with one of the assistant managers. The instantaneous tug of attraction she’d felt then had caught her off guard. She’d chided herself for it, even as she’d returned the smile he’d sent her way.
And here he was again. Only this time he wasn’t smiling.
“Sorry,” she said.
He acknowledged her apology with a curt nod.
“What are those children doing back here?”
At the man’s harsh tone, Katie slid behind her mother and Chloe sent up a wail of distress.
Kelli jiggled the baby and kissed her rosy, heated cheek. “It’s okay, pumpkin. Don’t cry.” She transferred her gaze to the man. “Who exactly are you?”
“Sam Maxwell.”
The name seemed familiar, although she couldn’t quite place it.
“Ah, the new guy,” she said at last, reasonably sure he was the distribution center’s new manager, a position for which she had applied and never received even the courtesy of an interview.
Rumor had it that this guy was some shirttail relation to the personnel director, although Kelli didn’t think he looked much like the short and bald Mr. Elliott. No, he was tall, at least six-two, with a full head of black hair and blue eyes that glared out from beneath a slash of dark brow.
He must be pretty full of himself, she decided, taking note of the nicely tailored suit he wore. Khaki pants and a button-down shirt would have been acceptable management attire in the warehouse. The suit was overkill and now it bore the unmistakable imprint of a child’s runny nose just above the impeccably folded silk handkerchief that peeked from the breast pocket.
Serves him right, she thought none too charitably.
“New guy.” He scowled. And then said dryly, “Yes, I guess I am the new guy.”
Manager or no manager, handsome or not, he didn’t need to upset her children.
“Well, Mr. Maxwell, did you really need to shout?” She tilted her head toward Chloe, who was still whimpering.
Dark eyebrows shot up over icy blue eyes. Clearly, he wasn’t used to being reprimanded, especially from someone who obviously ranked low in the company’s pecking order. Still, he lowered his voice when he said, “I asked a question. What are those children doing here?”
So, he was going to be one of those managers—the overbearing, inflexible kind who believed in following rules to the exclusion of all else. Employees weren’t people with families and problems to this type of boss. No. They were automatons that needed to get the job done without asking questions or voicing complaints.
Unbidden and utterly inappropriate came the thought that it was a pity his good looks didn’t extend to his personality. She brushed it aside, denying the attraction she had felt from that first glance across the room a week earlier. Her girls came first. They always came first.
“They’re my kids. My sitter had a doctor’s appointment this morning. She’ll be here soon to pick them up.”
“Soon? This is a business, not a day care.”
She sighed in exasperation. As if that had escaped her notice. Kelli didn’t know why she had expected him to understand or to care that even on good days being a single mother could be a trial. On days like this one, it was all she could do not to sit down and cry alongside her cranky toddler.
Chloe had kept her up most of the night. She was getting molars and wanted to ensure her misery had company. Of course, it hadn’t helped that Chicago was in the grip of a major heat wave, making Kelli’s fourth-floor apartment stiflingly hot. Two electric fans merely moved hot air around the small rooms, doing nothing to cool them. The coup de grâce had come that morning when the sitter had called. Kelli was ready to sell her soul for one hour of peaceful slumber in an air-conditioned room. Instead, she had eight hours of drudgery to look forward to and then an hour at home before heading to her night class. She’d be lucky to fall into bed before midnight and only then if she ignored the sink full of dirty dishes and mountain of laundry growing out of her closet.
“I’m aware that this isn’t a day care,” she replied, trying to keep her tone civil. “But I couldn’t get anyone else. My backup sitter is out of town for a few days.”
“Your personal problems are just that, personal. But they could become Danbury’s problems if one of your children were to get hurt.” He motioned with one hand toward the stacked pallets of inventory. “This is no place for children to be roaming around free.”
“Roaming?” She sucked in a deep breath, swallowing an oath in the process. And to think she’d smiled at him on that first day. It only went to show how sorely lacking her judgment remained when it came to men.
Voice tight, she replied, “I promise to keep them on their leashes.”
“And how can you do that and perform your job?” He didn’t wait for her to reply. “You can’t. Punch out and go home.”
“Punch out and…Am I being fired?”
“No, but this will go in your personnel file. Now it’s my turn to ask, who are you?”
So, the hotshot was determined to hone his reputation at her expense. Between gritted teeth she said, “Kelli Walters. That’s Kelli with an i. Walters is the standard spelling. My middle initial is A.”
“Well, Kelli Walters, you can consider this a warning. Bring your kids to work with you again and you will be punching out for good.”
She was still gaping after him when someone said, “I see you made friends with Mr. Maxwell.”
Kelli turned to find her co-worker, Arlene Hughes, standing behind her. Arlene was two decades older than Kelli’s twenty-eight, with Lucille Ball red hair and the dramatically bowed lips to match. Despite the difference in their ages, the two women had been fast friends since Kelli hired in just after Chloe’s birth.
“Mr. Understanding? Oh, yeah, he’s going to be a load of fun to work for. He makes the last manager seem warm and fuzzy by comparison.”
“He’s not the new warehouse manager.”
For the second time, Kelli found herself asking, “Who is he?”
“Samuel Maxwell. I believe there’s a Third after his name. You know, the new vice president of Danbury Department Stores.”
Kelli felt her mouth drop open, even as her eyes slid shut. Way to make friends and influence people. If she ever hoped to climb the corporate ladder at Danbury’s once she earned her master’s in business administration—assuming that happened at some point before she needed support hose and a walker—this was not the way to start out.
“Is he important, Mom?” Katie asked.
“Oh, yeah, Katie-did. He’s really important.”
“Well, I didn’t like him,” her daughter announced. “He yells. And he made Chloe cry.”
“I think I might cry,” Kelli mumbled.
She blew out a breath that caused her overly long bangs to stir. She needed a haircut and maybe some highlights to pep up the color of her mousy blond hair, but she had neither the time nor the money for such frivolous things. And that seemed to be the story of her life lately. No matter how hard she worked, she never seemed to get ahead. She felt like a hamster on a treadmill, only a hamster got to sleep all day. Kelli just had more running to do.
Anger and frustration bubbled to the surface. People like Samuel Maxwell the Third, who’d probably been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, would never understand what it was like to sacrifice and scrimp and do without and still wind up dodging creditors.
“I bet that man drinks bottled water, buys designer underwear and has his nails professionally buffed once a week. His kind wouldn’t last an hour doing what we do day in and day out. He might get his hands dirty. Or his clothes.”
She chuckled then, perversely pleased. “Oh my God! Just wait till he realizes he has baby snot on his pricey suit.”
Arlene laughed, too, a great booming sound that had the Danbury’s logo on her T-shirt bouncing on her impressive chest.
“He’s awfully good-looking, though,” the older woman mused. “Kinda reminds me of Pierce Brosnan with all that dark hair and those blue eyes. If I were ten years younger I wouldn’t mind taking him for a tumble.”
“If you were ten years younger and built like a Playboy centerfold he still wouldn’t notice you. His kind dates humorless women named Muffy and Babs. He’s too busy looking down his nose to really take notice of working stiffs like us. If I didn’t need this job, I’d take him down a peg or two.”
“Hey, you know what you should do?” Arlene didn’t wait for her to reply. “You should go on that new reality show, Swapping Places.”
Kelli rarely watched television. She simply didn’t have time. “Never heard of it.”
“It airs every Tuesday night. It’s kind of Survivor meets Big Brother with a corporate twist.”
“Sorry, I’ve never seen those shows, either.”
Arlene shook her head in dismay.
“I know you take classes three nights a week, but what do you do for relaxation?”
“I sleep,” Kelli said dryly.
“That’s depressing, kiddo. You’re young. You’re in the prime of your life. You’ve got a nice shape, a pretty face. You should get out more. Date. Live it up a little.”
“I have too many responsibilities to ‘live it up.’ As for dating, I’m not interested.” She recalled the smile she’d sent Sam Maxwell the first time she’d seen him and her resolve hardened. “I don’t need a man in my life.”
Arlene sighed, knowing her protest was useless. This was an old argument. “Okay, at least hook up to cable or get an antenna so you can escape through television.”
“I can’t afford cable, and besides, the television works just fine with our old VCR. This way, the only things the girls can watch are the educational videos we check out at the library.”
“If you go on Swapping Places you could win half a million bucks. That would buy a lot of educational videos.”
“Yeah, well, I could win ten times more than that playing the lottery and the odds are probably better.” She shook her head. “No thanks. I’ll make my money the old-fashioned way. I’ll work hard and earn it.”
“Oh, you’d earn it on Swapping Places,” Arlene replied. “If Samuel Maxwell agreed to do the show, too, you’d be the vice president of Danbury Department Stores for an entire month.”
Kelli stopped in her tracks. “Get out.”
“I’m serious. Why do you think they call it Swapping Places?”
“And he’d be here in the distribution center, doing my job for the month?”
When Arlene nodded, Kelli snorted out a laugh. Glancing down at her callused hands, she said, “I’d almost pay to see that.”
“More than just trading jobs, you’d trade lives. He’d be living in your apartment, taking night classes, making do on your budget.”
“He’d be in my un-air-conditioned apartment, eating mac and cheese, dealing with backed-up sinks and leaky faucets while I’d go live in the lap of luxury for an entire month? Sounds like a dream.”
Chloe began crying and the dream ended.
“So, what do you say? You want to do it?” Arlene asked.
“Oh, yeah. Sure,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “Sign me up.”
Arlene cleared her throat. “I’m glad you feel that way, because I already did.”
“You did what?!”
“I signed you up for Swapping Places,” Arlene replied as Kelli bounced Chloe on her hip. “I went on the show’s Web site and typed in your name and information.”
“When? Why?”
“A few weeks back. Right after you applied for the manager’s job and didn’t get asked for an interview.”
“So, what, I’m supposed to go on national television and show Danbury’s head honchos what I can do?”
“That was the general idea.” Arlene shrugged. “But if you aren’t interested, when the show’s people call—if they call—you can simply say no.”
“You’d better believe I’ll tell them no.”
CHAPTER ONE
Four weeks later
“YES, I’ll do it. I’ll go on Swapping Places.”
Kelli couldn’t believe she’d said it, but she nonetheless enjoyed the way her announcement caused Danbury’s new vice president to blink in surprise. It didn’t matter that at the moment the last thing she wanted to do was go on some reality television program. She’d think about that later and probably regret it. But right now she wanted to savor her victory, miniscule as it was.
She assured herself that her sudden willingness to participate in the show was only a matter of pride and had nothing at all to do with the fact that, arrogant and annoying as Sam Maxwell was, her pulse seemed to take off like a rocket whenever he glanced her way. Just nerves, she told herself.
And she was nervous.
They were seated in the company’s conference room in the Danbury Building in downtown Chicago. Another time, Kelli might have enjoyed the swank surroundings and the killer view of Lake Michigan. But right now, she was still too tense. Her stomach had been knotted since receiving the call—summons really—from Samuel Maxwell the night before telling her to report to the main office the following morning. He hadn’t given her a reason, but his tone had been no-nonsense to the point of sounding grave. She’d spent a nearly sleepless night worrying that she was about to be fired. She’d been late twice in the past week, after all. Now, she wasn’t sure if being unemployed would have been so bad given what she had just agreed to do.
The legal counsel and assorted other representatives for Swapping Places sat on one side of the long conference table. Danbury’s lawyers, Sam and his secretary sat at the other. One look at her frowning boss and Kelli had opted for the chair closest to the door when she arrived. For the past twenty minutes, the show’s producer had done most of the talking and all of the pacing. Sylvia Haywood stood five-foot-three thanks to a pair of spike heels, but she stalked around the conference room with all the confidence and stature of a five-star general.
“You’ll do it. Great!” She barely paused for a breath before she began ticking off the particulars of the show in a raspy voice that Kelli would bet was the result of smoking at least a couple packs of cigarettes a day. Then she paused and pinned Kelli with a flinty stare.
“You have kids, right?”
“Two girls.”
“Hmm, that won’t do.”
Kelli gasped, startled by the woman’s bluntness. “Well, I’m not going to get rid of them just to do a television show.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Sylvia paced again, running a hand through her spiky red hair. “You’d have to live in each other’s homes, essentially take over all aspects of each other’s lives. This works best with single people.”
“I’m not married,” Kelli said.
“Yes, but you have kids. How are you going to feel about leaving them in his care for a month?”
Kelli shook her head and without sparing a glance at her boss said, “Oh, no. Absolutely not. My kids come with me.”
“That pretty much blows the whole point of the show. He needs to step into your shoes. You’re a single parent. That has to cause a lot of stress and create a lot of challenges for you, especially since you work full time and take night classes.”
“You have no idea,” Kelli muttered.
“No, Ms. Walters, he has no idea.” Sylvia pointed at Sam.
“Well, I’m not leaving my kids in a stranger’s care.”
“Ms. Walters, a camera crew would be there most of the time,” Sylvia said. “And, if it would make you feel more comfortable, you could get your sitter to move in for the duration as long as she stayed in the background and didn’t perform any actual child-care duties. Your girls would be safe and well cared for.”
“No. My daughters are my responsibility.”
Sylvia sighed. “Could they go stay with their father for a month?”
It embarrassed Kelli to admit, “I don’t know where he is.”
“You don’t know where he is? What about child support?” Sam asked.
They were the first words he’d spoken since she’d walked into the room. His tone wasn’t critical. In fact, his expression seemed to be one of concern. Still, Kelli bristled. It reminded her just a little too much of how disposable she and the girls had been to her ex-husband.
Kyle had left without a backward glance while she was still pregnant. He’d never even seen Chloe. The last time Kelli had come face-to-face with him was in a courtroom when they had divvied up their limited assets and dissolved their marriage. He hadn’t sought joint custody or even visitation. He’d simply said goodbye.
“I heard that he moved out of state not long after Chloe was born.” She didn’t add that he’d done so with the college-age girlfriend for whom he’d tossed aside nine years of marriage.
For the millionth time, Kelli told herself it was Kyle’s loss. She didn’t need him. The girls didn’t need him.
“You should have someone track him down,” Sam persisted. “I can put you in touch with a good attorney.”
Pride had her lifting her chin. “I’m perfectly capable of providing for my children, thank you very much.”
“I wasn’t implying that you weren’t. But as their father, he has a responsibility to—”
“Responsibility?” Kelli issued a humorless laugh. “Believe me, that’s not a word in Kyle’s vocabulary.”
“I’ve got it! I know how we can make this show work,” Sylvia interrupted. And Kelli found herself thankful for the woman’s one-track mind. “We’ll have to bend the rules a bit, but I think it would add an interesting twist that our viewers will enjoy.”
“Bend the rules how exactly?” Kelli asked.
“You could spend the weekends with your kids, unless there’s a work function that requires your attention. We probably won’t use much of the tape from then anyway, but Mr. Maxwell would have to be included. And he’d have to handle household tasks as well as any crises that came up. As for during the week, you could slip back into the apartment around midnight, as long as you’re gone by eight the next morning.”
Sam straightened in his seat. “Um, and where will I be?”
“I’m assuming she has a couch,” Sylvia replied, one eyebrow arched. “You’ll have to stay.”
Kelli swallowed hard, but at least had the satisfaction of seeing Sam do the same.
“He c-can’t stay in my apartment,” she stammered. “What would my girls think?”
“She’s right. It wouldn’t look…appropriate.”
“That part wouldn’t be broadcast to America,” Sylvia said. She laid her palms flat on the table and split an exasperated gaze between the pair of them. “Look, we’re all adults here, so this shouldn’t be a problem. You’re not lovers, for crying out loud, and this show is not Temptation Island. So, take it or leave it. This is the last concession I’m willing to make.”
Of course they weren’t lovers. They hardly even knew one another and what Kelli did know about Samuel Maxwell the Third, she didn’t like. Still, a man in her apartment overnight?
“I don’t know,” she said.
“The payout is half a million dollars, Ms. Walters. You need to look at the big picture here.”
Kelli glanced at Sam. Sylvia had already explained that if he won, the television show would make a sizable donation to the charity of Danbury’s choosing. But he didn’t really have anything to lose. Either way, Danbury’s would still receive all that wonderful free publicity. What would she get if she lost? Sylvia seemed to read her mind.
“You’re taking night classes, right?”
“That’s right. I’m working toward my master’s degree in business.”
“This could be the best chance you’ll ever get to prove your potential in management. Consider it an internship. Better yet, consider it a way to broadcast your résumé to every company coast-to-coast. You could wind up a very hot property afterward, Ms. Walters. The last winner was interviewed on Good Morning, America and the Today show, not to mention making the cover of Time. Even the loser wound up doing Oprah.”
Kelli had to admit, her career path at Danbury’s was not looking particularly promising, and not just because the personnel director was hiring family and ignoring her applications. She glanced over at her glowering boss and took a deep breath.
“Okay.”
Sylvia nodded briskly. “We’ll assign a camera crew to each of you for the duration. You’ll have some privacy—bathroom, some financial stuff, it’s all spelled out in the folder I’ve provided—but everything else will be on the record. Not all of what we tape will air. It will be edited down to the salient points. You’ll have to sign a legal waiver, of course.
“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.
Trading places had seemed relatively uncomplicated until this point, even with the two of them sleeping under one roof. Making meals, reading bedtime stories, he wasn’t looking forward to spending time with children, but one didn’t need a PhD to handle that. Deadly allergic reactions, however, were a whole other matter.
For the past six years, Sam had studiously avoided thinking about what kind of father he would make—would have made had things turned out differently. His own father had been firm and somewhat distant, paying the bills and offering his approval on rare occasions. Sam’s mother, a nanny and the teachers at his boarding school had seen to the details.
But when he stepped into Kelli Walters’s single-parent shoes, there would be no one else to whom he could relegate those details. It would all come down to him for an entire month.
“Yes or no?” she asked.
She was sitting next to him on the couch, her gaze unwavering. He didn’t realize he’d reached for her hand until he felt her fingers grip his.
“Yes.” He squeezed hers in return as he added the phrase he had not uttered to a woman in more than six years. “I promise you.”
With some regret, Kelli left her girls with the sitter Saturday morning and hustled not to be late for her hair and makeover appointment. If nothing else, she mused, she would get a much-needed haircut and highlights out of this experience. Not to mention some great clothes.
The show had tried to talk her into going to a chic salon and some of the designer shops on Chicago’s famed Michigan Avenue. But Kelli had held firm in her conviction that as the acting vice president of Danbury’s Department Stores, she would use the people, the products and the clothing available there.
It was her first decision as acting vice president and CEO, and she believed it set the tone for her brief tenure. She wanted to ensure that consumers who normally did not shop at Danbury’s would give the store a second glance after watching the show.
A camera crew filmed her transformation from the first snip of hair and stroke of mascara to the point when, sleekly coifed, she stepped into a pair of stylish leather heels that cost nearly as much as two weeks’ worth of groceries.
She barely recognized the image that stared back at her from the dressing room’s large tri-fold mirror. Her hair had been highlighted and cut even with her chin, managing to look professional despite the sassy little flip it did at its ends.
Her makeup was slightly more dramatic than if she had applied it herself, but the effect brought out her high cheekbones and gave her eyes an almost exotic quality.
And her clothes…
She smiled and did a little turn to admire them from all angles. She’d opted for something a little trendier than classic. The short peach skirt with its flirty, ruffled hem wasn’t exactly her style, but she liked the tank-style tangerine sweater that had been paired with it, as well as its matching cardigan. She decided if she went too conservative, she might give younger viewers the impression that Danbury’s was still their grandparents’ department store, not the place they could go for fun outfits and accessories.
A consultant from the television show helped Kelli pick out a couple dozen different outfits for work and day wear as well as three evening gowns and a couple of cocktail dresses. She’d balked at first. Did she really need so much? But after some persuading and with someone else picking up the tab, she finally got into playing Cinderella.
An hour after the last of her purchases had been boxed up for delivery, she found herself—in a limo no less—being whisked to Sam’s home in a gated community in the suburbs of Chicago that boasted its own exclusive golf course.
The house was as big as she had imagined it would be and looked recently built, judging from the size of the shrubs and staked trees that dotted the landscape. The house was what was called a story-and-a-half, with a tall, pitched roof and lots of big fancy windows that screamed high energy bills. She’d bet her paycheck it was at least 4,500 square feet of living space.
Sam answered the door himself and Kelli had the satisfaction of watching his mouth drop open when he saw her new look.
“Something the matter?” she asked, unable to keep her smug smile in check.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Indecisive? You? Hmm. I thought you had everything figured out.”
She was flirting with him and they both knew it, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. It had been a long time—a very long time—since she’d felt young and attractive.
She thought she heard him murmur, “So did I.”
“Are you going to let me in or do I have to stand out here in the heat?”
“You come in and it won’t be much cooler in the house,” he replied. Still, he stepped aside to allow her to enter.
He was flirting with her as well, she realized.
He didn’t look much like a powerful executive today. In place of a tailored suit, he wore a pair of faded jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt. His feet were bare. And while he was no bodybuilder, his arms were far more muscular than she would have guessed and the broad shoulders were definitely authentic. Urbane, physically fit and mentally agile. Arlene had pegged him right: Sam Maxwell was Pierce Brosnan as James Bond.
“You clean up amazingly well,” he said.
They stood in the foyer, a step too close together, and yet Kelli didn’t back away. She should have put an end to this inappropriate byplay, but like a moth drawn to the danger of a flame, she couldn’t quite bring herself to do so. If it was part of his strategy to win, she wanted him to know that two could play his game.
Surely that was the only reason she let her gaze flick down to his bare feet and back up before replying, “And you dress down well. I wouldn’t have guessed you owned jeans.”
“We’re even then. I wouldn’t have guessed you owned high heels.”
“Oh, I’m full of surprises,” she said.
“I’m beginning to think so.”
He reached out, and for a moment she thought he might stroke her cheek, but he drew a ribbon of her hair between his index and middle fingers instead, following its length to the freshly snipped ends.
“You cut your hair.”
The breath seemed to back up in her lungs and it took an effort to squeeze out the words, “Yes, among other things. What do you think of my makeover?”
“I’m not sure I can think.”
If this was mere flirting, it had taken on a dangerous edge. And still, Kelli did not back away. In fact, she moved forward ever so slightly, testing this new power she seemed to have. Testing herself.
“Come now, a man of your immense control and mental fortitude? I find that hard to believe.” She allowed a smile to slowly lift the corners of her mouth.
“Are you sure you want to know what I really think?” The space between them grew perilously meager as he stepped forward, all but pinning her between his body and the equally unyielding wall.
“Yes.”
The breathy whisper seemed to come from a stranger. Kelli wasn’t sure she knew herself anymore. She certainly could no longer fathom her motives for baiting such a powerful and not always pleasant man.
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Jackie Braun
Thanks to a reality TV game show, Kelli Walters has to swap lives–and jobs–with one of the "suits" at work, vice president Samuel Maxwell! Yes, that means she gets to sit in his huge office, telling people what to do, while he has to scrape by as a single mom with a dead-end job!But when sexy Sam ups the stakes with his heart-stopping smiles and smoldering glances, Kelli realizes that winning it all may not mean winning the game show, but getting the real prize–him!
Kelli studied Sam.
Nice suit. Made to measure, she was sure. Image was everything to corporate hotshots. 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 that only added to his sensuality.
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 to this game, her adversary. And if she were 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.
Jackie Braun began making up stories almost as soon as she learned how to write them down. She never wavered from her goal of becoming a professional writer, but a steady diet of macaroni and cheese during college convinced her of the need for a reliable income. She earned her bachelor’s degree in journalism from Central Michigan University in 1987 and continues to work as an editorial writer for a daily newspaper. Fiction remains her first love. She lives with her husband and son in Michigan.
Working side by side, nine to five—and beyond….
No matter how hard these couples try to keep their relationships strictly professional, romance is definitely on the agenda!
Hired by Mr. Right
by Nicola Marsh
#3834, in Harlequin Romance®
Books by Jackie Braun
HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®
3804—HER STAND-IN GROOM
SILHOUETTE ROMANCE®
1479—ONE FIANCÉE TO GO, PLEASE
1599—TRUE LOVE, INC.
The Game Show Bride
Jackie Braun
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my “German girl,” Linda Boeke,
exchange student extraordinaire.
I miss hearing you singing around the house.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE (#u75d1b978-07c8-5780-942c-3a2eafe05618)
CHAPTER ONE (#ud5da705e-0048-5d1f-906d-0d1f877e338c)
CHAPTER TWO (#ubaf86f45-3b02-508e-a429-bdfab0f65d58)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE
KELLI WALTERS was late for work again—half an hour late this time. She jiggled the fussy toddler on her hip as she slid her time card through the punch at Danbury Department Store’s distribution center. To make matters worse, she was showing up for her shift with two kids in tow, one of whom was irritable and running a slight fever from teething.
“Remember, Katie, you need to keep Chloe with you in the break room,” she reminded her seven-year-old. “You both need to stay out of sight until Mrs. Baker can pick you up.”
That plan went up in smoke when Kelli turned the corner and ran straight into a man’s broad chest. She stumbled back, an apologetic smile on her lips.
She didn’t know the man by name, but she’d seen him the week before walking through the distribution center with one of the assistant managers. The instantaneous tug of attraction she’d felt then had caught her off guard. She’d chided herself for it, even as she’d returned the smile he’d sent her way.
And here he was again. Only this time he wasn’t smiling.
“Sorry,” she said.
He acknowledged her apology with a curt nod.
“What are those children doing back here?”
At the man’s harsh tone, Katie slid behind her mother and Chloe sent up a wail of distress.
Kelli jiggled the baby and kissed her rosy, heated cheek. “It’s okay, pumpkin. Don’t cry.” She transferred her gaze to the man. “Who exactly are you?”
“Sam Maxwell.”
The name seemed familiar, although she couldn’t quite place it.
“Ah, the new guy,” she said at last, reasonably sure he was the distribution center’s new manager, a position for which she had applied and never received even the courtesy of an interview.
Rumor had it that this guy was some shirttail relation to the personnel director, although Kelli didn’t think he looked much like the short and bald Mr. Elliott. No, he was tall, at least six-two, with a full head of black hair and blue eyes that glared out from beneath a slash of dark brow.
He must be pretty full of himself, she decided, taking note of the nicely tailored suit he wore. Khaki pants and a button-down shirt would have been acceptable management attire in the warehouse. The suit was overkill and now it bore the unmistakable imprint of a child’s runny nose just above the impeccably folded silk handkerchief that peeked from the breast pocket.
Serves him right, she thought none too charitably.
“New guy.” He scowled. And then said dryly, “Yes, I guess I am the new guy.”
Manager or no manager, handsome or not, he didn’t need to upset her children.
“Well, Mr. Maxwell, did you really need to shout?” She tilted her head toward Chloe, who was still whimpering.
Dark eyebrows shot up over icy blue eyes. Clearly, he wasn’t used to being reprimanded, especially from someone who obviously ranked low in the company’s pecking order. Still, he lowered his voice when he said, “I asked a question. What are those children doing here?”
So, he was going to be one of those managers—the overbearing, inflexible kind who believed in following rules to the exclusion of all else. Employees weren’t people with families and problems to this type of boss. No. They were automatons that needed to get the job done without asking questions or voicing complaints.
Unbidden and utterly inappropriate came the thought that it was a pity his good looks didn’t extend to his personality. She brushed it aside, denying the attraction she had felt from that first glance across the room a week earlier. Her girls came first. They always came first.
“They’re my kids. My sitter had a doctor’s appointment this morning. She’ll be here soon to pick them up.”
“Soon? This is a business, not a day care.”
She sighed in exasperation. As if that had escaped her notice. Kelli didn’t know why she had expected him to understand or to care that even on good days being a single mother could be a trial. On days like this one, it was all she could do not to sit down and cry alongside her cranky toddler.
Chloe had kept her up most of the night. She was getting molars and wanted to ensure her misery had company. Of course, it hadn’t helped that Chicago was in the grip of a major heat wave, making Kelli’s fourth-floor apartment stiflingly hot. Two electric fans merely moved hot air around the small rooms, doing nothing to cool them. The coup de grâce had come that morning when the sitter had called. Kelli was ready to sell her soul for one hour of peaceful slumber in an air-conditioned room. Instead, she had eight hours of drudgery to look forward to and then an hour at home before heading to her night class. She’d be lucky to fall into bed before midnight and only then if she ignored the sink full of dirty dishes and mountain of laundry growing out of her closet.
“I’m aware that this isn’t a day care,” she replied, trying to keep her tone civil. “But I couldn’t get anyone else. My backup sitter is out of town for a few days.”
“Your personal problems are just that, personal. But they could become Danbury’s problems if one of your children were to get hurt.” He motioned with one hand toward the stacked pallets of inventory. “This is no place for children to be roaming around free.”
“Roaming?” She sucked in a deep breath, swallowing an oath in the process. And to think she’d smiled at him on that first day. It only went to show how sorely lacking her judgment remained when it came to men.
Voice tight, she replied, “I promise to keep them on their leashes.”
“And how can you do that and perform your job?” He didn’t wait for her to reply. “You can’t. Punch out and go home.”
“Punch out and…Am I being fired?”
“No, but this will go in your personnel file. Now it’s my turn to ask, who are you?”
So, the hotshot was determined to hone his reputation at her expense. Between gritted teeth she said, “Kelli Walters. That’s Kelli with an i. Walters is the standard spelling. My middle initial is A.”
“Well, Kelli Walters, you can consider this a warning. Bring your kids to work with you again and you will be punching out for good.”
She was still gaping after him when someone said, “I see you made friends with Mr. Maxwell.”
Kelli turned to find her co-worker, Arlene Hughes, standing behind her. Arlene was two decades older than Kelli’s twenty-eight, with Lucille Ball red hair and the dramatically bowed lips to match. Despite the difference in their ages, the two women had been fast friends since Kelli hired in just after Chloe’s birth.
“Mr. Understanding? Oh, yeah, he’s going to be a load of fun to work for. He makes the last manager seem warm and fuzzy by comparison.”
“He’s not the new warehouse manager.”
For the second time, Kelli found herself asking, “Who is he?”
“Samuel Maxwell. I believe there’s a Third after his name. You know, the new vice president of Danbury Department Stores.”
Kelli felt her mouth drop open, even as her eyes slid shut. Way to make friends and influence people. If she ever hoped to climb the corporate ladder at Danbury’s once she earned her master’s in business administration—assuming that happened at some point before she needed support hose and a walker—this was not the way to start out.
“Is he important, Mom?” Katie asked.
“Oh, yeah, Katie-did. He’s really important.”
“Well, I didn’t like him,” her daughter announced. “He yells. And he made Chloe cry.”
“I think I might cry,” Kelli mumbled.
She blew out a breath that caused her overly long bangs to stir. She needed a haircut and maybe some highlights to pep up the color of her mousy blond hair, but she had neither the time nor the money for such frivolous things. And that seemed to be the story of her life lately. No matter how hard she worked, she never seemed to get ahead. She felt like a hamster on a treadmill, only a hamster got to sleep all day. Kelli just had more running to do.
Anger and frustration bubbled to the surface. People like Samuel Maxwell the Third, who’d probably been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, would never understand what it was like to sacrifice and scrimp and do without and still wind up dodging creditors.
“I bet that man drinks bottled water, buys designer underwear and has his nails professionally buffed once a week. His kind wouldn’t last an hour doing what we do day in and day out. He might get his hands dirty. Or his clothes.”
She chuckled then, perversely pleased. “Oh my God! Just wait till he realizes he has baby snot on his pricey suit.”
Arlene laughed, too, a great booming sound that had the Danbury’s logo on her T-shirt bouncing on her impressive chest.
“He’s awfully good-looking, though,” the older woman mused. “Kinda reminds me of Pierce Brosnan with all that dark hair and those blue eyes. If I were ten years younger I wouldn’t mind taking him for a tumble.”
“If you were ten years younger and built like a Playboy centerfold he still wouldn’t notice you. His kind dates humorless women named Muffy and Babs. He’s too busy looking down his nose to really take notice of working stiffs like us. If I didn’t need this job, I’d take him down a peg or two.”
“Hey, you know what you should do?” Arlene didn’t wait for her to reply. “You should go on that new reality show, Swapping Places.”
Kelli rarely watched television. She simply didn’t have time. “Never heard of it.”
“It airs every Tuesday night. It’s kind of Survivor meets Big Brother with a corporate twist.”
“Sorry, I’ve never seen those shows, either.”
Arlene shook her head in dismay.
“I know you take classes three nights a week, but what do you do for relaxation?”
“I sleep,” Kelli said dryly.
“That’s depressing, kiddo. You’re young. You’re in the prime of your life. You’ve got a nice shape, a pretty face. You should get out more. Date. Live it up a little.”
“I have too many responsibilities to ‘live it up.’ As for dating, I’m not interested.” She recalled the smile she’d sent Sam Maxwell the first time she’d seen him and her resolve hardened. “I don’t need a man in my life.”
Arlene sighed, knowing her protest was useless. This was an old argument. “Okay, at least hook up to cable or get an antenna so you can escape through television.”
“I can’t afford cable, and besides, the television works just fine with our old VCR. This way, the only things the girls can watch are the educational videos we check out at the library.”
“If you go on Swapping Places you could win half a million bucks. That would buy a lot of educational videos.”
“Yeah, well, I could win ten times more than that playing the lottery and the odds are probably better.” She shook her head. “No thanks. I’ll make my money the old-fashioned way. I’ll work hard and earn it.”
“Oh, you’d earn it on Swapping Places,” Arlene replied. “If Samuel Maxwell agreed to do the show, too, you’d be the vice president of Danbury Department Stores for an entire month.”
Kelli stopped in her tracks. “Get out.”
“I’m serious. Why do you think they call it Swapping Places?”
“And he’d be here in the distribution center, doing my job for the month?”
When Arlene nodded, Kelli snorted out a laugh. Glancing down at her callused hands, she said, “I’d almost pay to see that.”
“More than just trading jobs, you’d trade lives. He’d be living in your apartment, taking night classes, making do on your budget.”
“He’d be in my un-air-conditioned apartment, eating mac and cheese, dealing with backed-up sinks and leaky faucets while I’d go live in the lap of luxury for an entire month? Sounds like a dream.”
Chloe began crying and the dream ended.
“So, what do you say? You want to do it?” Arlene asked.
“Oh, yeah. Sure,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “Sign me up.”
Arlene cleared her throat. “I’m glad you feel that way, because I already did.”
“You did what?!”
“I signed you up for Swapping Places,” Arlene replied as Kelli bounced Chloe on her hip. “I went on the show’s Web site and typed in your name and information.”
“When? Why?”
“A few weeks back. Right after you applied for the manager’s job and didn’t get asked for an interview.”
“So, what, I’m supposed to go on national television and show Danbury’s head honchos what I can do?”
“That was the general idea.” Arlene shrugged. “But if you aren’t interested, when the show’s people call—if they call—you can simply say no.”
“You’d better believe I’ll tell them no.”
CHAPTER ONE
Four weeks later
“YES, I’ll do it. I’ll go on Swapping Places.”
Kelli couldn’t believe she’d said it, but she nonetheless enjoyed the way her announcement caused Danbury’s new vice president to blink in surprise. It didn’t matter that at the moment the last thing she wanted to do was go on some reality television program. She’d think about that later and probably regret it. But right now she wanted to savor her victory, miniscule as it was.
She assured herself that her sudden willingness to participate in the show was only a matter of pride and had nothing at all to do with the fact that, arrogant and annoying as Sam Maxwell was, her pulse seemed to take off like a rocket whenever he glanced her way. Just nerves, she told herself.
And she was nervous.
They were seated in the company’s conference room in the Danbury Building in downtown Chicago. Another time, Kelli might have enjoyed the swank surroundings and the killer view of Lake Michigan. But right now, she was still too tense. Her stomach had been knotted since receiving the call—summons really—from Samuel Maxwell the night before telling her to report to the main office the following morning. He hadn’t given her a reason, but his tone had been no-nonsense to the point of sounding grave. She’d spent a nearly sleepless night worrying that she was about to be fired. She’d been late twice in the past week, after all. Now, she wasn’t sure if being unemployed would have been so bad given what she had just agreed to do.
The legal counsel and assorted other representatives for Swapping Places sat on one side of the long conference table. Danbury’s lawyers, Sam and his secretary sat at the other. One look at her frowning boss and Kelli had opted for the chair closest to the door when she arrived. For the past twenty minutes, the show’s producer had done most of the talking and all of the pacing. Sylvia Haywood stood five-foot-three thanks to a pair of spike heels, but she stalked around the conference room with all the confidence and stature of a five-star general.
“You’ll do it. Great!” She barely paused for a breath before she began ticking off the particulars of the show in a raspy voice that Kelli would bet was the result of smoking at least a couple packs of cigarettes a day. Then she paused and pinned Kelli with a flinty stare.
“You have kids, right?”
“Two girls.”
“Hmm, that won’t do.”
Kelli gasped, startled by the woman’s bluntness. “Well, I’m not going to get rid of them just to do a television show.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Sylvia paced again, running a hand through her spiky red hair. “You’d have to live in each other’s homes, essentially take over all aspects of each other’s lives. This works best with single people.”
“I’m not married,” Kelli said.
“Yes, but you have kids. How are you going to feel about leaving them in his care for a month?”
Kelli shook her head and without sparing a glance at her boss said, “Oh, no. Absolutely not. My kids come with me.”
“That pretty much blows the whole point of the show. He needs to step into your shoes. You’re a single parent. That has to cause a lot of stress and create a lot of challenges for you, especially since you work full time and take night classes.”
“You have no idea,” Kelli muttered.
“No, Ms. Walters, he has no idea.” Sylvia pointed at Sam.
“Well, I’m not leaving my kids in a stranger’s care.”
“Ms. Walters, a camera crew would be there most of the time,” Sylvia said. “And, if it would make you feel more comfortable, you could get your sitter to move in for the duration as long as she stayed in the background and didn’t perform any actual child-care duties. Your girls would be safe and well cared for.”
“No. My daughters are my responsibility.”
Sylvia sighed. “Could they go stay with their father for a month?”
It embarrassed Kelli to admit, “I don’t know where he is.”
“You don’t know where he is? What about child support?” Sam asked.
They were the first words he’d spoken since she’d walked into the room. His tone wasn’t critical. In fact, his expression seemed to be one of concern. Still, Kelli bristled. It reminded her just a little too much of how disposable she and the girls had been to her ex-husband.
Kyle had left without a backward glance while she was still pregnant. He’d never even seen Chloe. The last time Kelli had come face-to-face with him was in a courtroom when they had divvied up their limited assets and dissolved their marriage. He hadn’t sought joint custody or even visitation. He’d simply said goodbye.
“I heard that he moved out of state not long after Chloe was born.” She didn’t add that he’d done so with the college-age girlfriend for whom he’d tossed aside nine years of marriage.
For the millionth time, Kelli told herself it was Kyle’s loss. She didn’t need him. The girls didn’t need him.
“You should have someone track him down,” Sam persisted. “I can put you in touch with a good attorney.”
Pride had her lifting her chin. “I’m perfectly capable of providing for my children, thank you very much.”
“I wasn’t implying that you weren’t. But as their father, he has a responsibility to—”
“Responsibility?” Kelli issued a humorless laugh. “Believe me, that’s not a word in Kyle’s vocabulary.”
“I’ve got it! I know how we can make this show work,” Sylvia interrupted. And Kelli found herself thankful for the woman’s one-track mind. “We’ll have to bend the rules a bit, but I think it would add an interesting twist that our viewers will enjoy.”
“Bend the rules how exactly?” Kelli asked.
“You could spend the weekends with your kids, unless there’s a work function that requires your attention. We probably won’t use much of the tape from then anyway, but Mr. Maxwell would have to be included. And he’d have to handle household tasks as well as any crises that came up. As for during the week, you could slip back into the apartment around midnight, as long as you’re gone by eight the next morning.”
Sam straightened in his seat. “Um, and where will I be?”
“I’m assuming she has a couch,” Sylvia replied, one eyebrow arched. “You’ll have to stay.”
Kelli swallowed hard, but at least had the satisfaction of seeing Sam do the same.
“He c-can’t stay in my apartment,” she stammered. “What would my girls think?”
“She’s right. It wouldn’t look…appropriate.”
“That part wouldn’t be broadcast to America,” Sylvia said. She laid her palms flat on the table and split an exasperated gaze between the pair of them. “Look, we’re all adults here, so this shouldn’t be a problem. You’re not lovers, for crying out loud, and this show is not Temptation Island. So, take it or leave it. This is the last concession I’m willing to make.”
Of course they weren’t lovers. They hardly even knew one another and what Kelli did know about Samuel Maxwell the Third, she didn’t like. Still, a man in her apartment overnight?
“I don’t know,” she said.
“The payout is half a million dollars, Ms. Walters. You need to look at the big picture here.”
Kelli glanced at Sam. Sylvia had already explained that if he won, the television show would make a sizable donation to the charity of Danbury’s choosing. But he didn’t really have anything to lose. Either way, Danbury’s would still receive all that wonderful free publicity. What would she get if she lost? Sylvia seemed to read her mind.
“You’re taking night classes, right?”
“That’s right. I’m working toward my master’s degree in business.”
“This could be the best chance you’ll ever get to prove your potential in management. Consider it an internship. Better yet, consider it a way to broadcast your résumé to every company coast-to-coast. You could wind up a very hot property afterward, Ms. Walters. The last winner was interviewed on Good Morning, America and the Today show, not to mention making the cover of Time. Even the loser wound up doing Oprah.”
Kelli had to admit, her career path at Danbury’s was not looking particularly promising, and not just because the personnel director was hiring family and ignoring her applications. She glanced over at her glowering boss and took a deep breath.
“Okay.”
Sylvia nodded briskly. “We’ll assign a camera crew to each of you for the duration. You’ll have some privacy—bathroom, some financial stuff, it’s all spelled out in the folder I’ve provided—but everything else will be on the record. Not all of what we tape will air. It will be edited down to the salient points. You’ll have to sign a legal waiver, of course.
“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.
Trading places had seemed relatively uncomplicated until this point, even with the two of them sleeping under one roof. Making meals, reading bedtime stories, he wasn’t looking forward to spending time with children, but one didn’t need a PhD to handle that. Deadly allergic reactions, however, were a whole other matter.
For the past six years, Sam had studiously avoided thinking about what kind of father he would make—would have made had things turned out differently. His own father had been firm and somewhat distant, paying the bills and offering his approval on rare occasions. Sam’s mother, a nanny and the teachers at his boarding school had seen to the details.
But when he stepped into Kelli Walters’s single-parent shoes, there would be no one else to whom he could relegate those details. It would all come down to him for an entire month.
“Yes or no?” she asked.
She was sitting next to him on the couch, her gaze unwavering. He didn’t realize he’d reached for her hand until he felt her fingers grip his.
“Yes.” He squeezed hers in return as he added the phrase he had not uttered to a woman in more than six years. “I promise you.”
With some regret, Kelli left her girls with the sitter Saturday morning and hustled not to be late for her hair and makeover appointment. If nothing else, she mused, she would get a much-needed haircut and highlights out of this experience. Not to mention some great clothes.
The show had tried to talk her into going to a chic salon and some of the designer shops on Chicago’s famed Michigan Avenue. But Kelli had held firm in her conviction that as the acting vice president of Danbury’s Department Stores, she would use the people, the products and the clothing available there.
It was her first decision as acting vice president and CEO, and she believed it set the tone for her brief tenure. She wanted to ensure that consumers who normally did not shop at Danbury’s would give the store a second glance after watching the show.
A camera crew filmed her transformation from the first snip of hair and stroke of mascara to the point when, sleekly coifed, she stepped into a pair of stylish leather heels that cost nearly as much as two weeks’ worth of groceries.
She barely recognized the image that stared back at her from the dressing room’s large tri-fold mirror. Her hair had been highlighted and cut even with her chin, managing to look professional despite the sassy little flip it did at its ends.
Her makeup was slightly more dramatic than if she had applied it herself, but the effect brought out her high cheekbones and gave her eyes an almost exotic quality.
And her clothes…
She smiled and did a little turn to admire them from all angles. She’d opted for something a little trendier than classic. The short peach skirt with its flirty, ruffled hem wasn’t exactly her style, but she liked the tank-style tangerine sweater that had been paired with it, as well as its matching cardigan. She decided if she went too conservative, she might give younger viewers the impression that Danbury’s was still their grandparents’ department store, not the place they could go for fun outfits and accessories.
A consultant from the television show helped Kelli pick out a couple dozen different outfits for work and day wear as well as three evening gowns and a couple of cocktail dresses. She’d balked at first. Did she really need so much? But after some persuading and with someone else picking up the tab, she finally got into playing Cinderella.
An hour after the last of her purchases had been boxed up for delivery, she found herself—in a limo no less—being whisked to Sam’s home in a gated community in the suburbs of Chicago that boasted its own exclusive golf course.
The house was as big as she had imagined it would be and looked recently built, judging from the size of the shrubs and staked trees that dotted the landscape. The house was what was called a story-and-a-half, with a tall, pitched roof and lots of big fancy windows that screamed high energy bills. She’d bet her paycheck it was at least 4,500 square feet of living space.
Sam answered the door himself and Kelli had the satisfaction of watching his mouth drop open when he saw her new look.
“Something the matter?” she asked, unable to keep her smug smile in check.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Indecisive? You? Hmm. I thought you had everything figured out.”
She was flirting with him and they both knew it, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. It had been a long time—a very long time—since she’d felt young and attractive.
She thought she heard him murmur, “So did I.”
“Are you going to let me in or do I have to stand out here in the heat?”
“You come in and it won’t be much cooler in the house,” he replied. Still, he stepped aside to allow her to enter.
He was flirting with her as well, she realized.
He didn’t look much like a powerful executive today. In place of a tailored suit, he wore a pair of faded jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt. His feet were bare. And while he was no bodybuilder, his arms were far more muscular than she would have guessed and the broad shoulders were definitely authentic. Urbane, physically fit and mentally agile. Arlene had pegged him right: Sam Maxwell was Pierce Brosnan as James Bond.
“You clean up amazingly well,” he said.
They stood in the foyer, a step too close together, and yet Kelli didn’t back away. She should have put an end to this inappropriate byplay, but like a moth drawn to the danger of a flame, she couldn’t quite bring herself to do so. If it was part of his strategy to win, she wanted him to know that two could play his game.
Surely that was the only reason she let her gaze flick down to his bare feet and back up before replying, “And you dress down well. I wouldn’t have guessed you owned jeans.”
“We’re even then. I wouldn’t have guessed you owned high heels.”
“Oh, I’m full of surprises,” she said.
“I’m beginning to think so.”
He reached out, and for a moment she thought he might stroke her cheek, but he drew a ribbon of her hair between his index and middle fingers instead, following its length to the freshly snipped ends.
“You cut your hair.”
The breath seemed to back up in her lungs and it took an effort to squeeze out the words, “Yes, among other things. What do you think of my makeover?”
“I’m not sure I can think.”
If this was mere flirting, it had taken on a dangerous edge. And still, Kelli did not back away. In fact, she moved forward ever so slightly, testing this new power she seemed to have. Testing herself.
“Come now, a man of your immense control and mental fortitude? I find that hard to believe.” She allowed a smile to slowly lift the corners of her mouth.
“Are you sure you want to know what I really think?” The space between them grew perilously meager as he stepped forward, all but pinning her between his body and the equally unyielding wall.
“Yes.”
The breathy whisper seemed to come from a stranger. Kelli wasn’t sure she knew herself anymore. She certainly could no longer fathom her motives for baiting such a powerful and not always pleasant man.
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Jackie Braun
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Thanks to a reality TV game show, Kelli Walters has to swap lives–and jobs–with one of the «suits» at work, vice president Samuel Maxwell! Yes, that means she gets to sit in his huge office, telling people what to do, while he has to scrape by as a single mom with a dead-end job!But when sexy Sam ups the stakes with his heart-stopping smiles and smoldering glances, Kelli realizes that winning it all may not mean winning the game show, but getting the real prize–him!