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The Fiancée Fiasco
Jackie Braun


Bending the Rules of Engagement…Thomas Waverly, successful CEO and serial dater, is anything but a push-over. But what’s a man to do when pinned by the wistful, trembling eyes of his ‘frail’ but secretly wily grandmother, who is uttering the dreaded words ‘Before I die…’? Emotional blackmail at its most effective…Looks as if Thomas needs to find a fake fiancée – and fast! Elizabeth Morris is looking for a way to save her charity, so when she’s offered a deal – a pretend proposal for piles of cash – it seems harmless enough!Convince one little old lady that she’s deeply in love – how hard can it be? Worryingly, when your ‘groom’ is this gorgeous, there’s a fine line between faking it and falling for real…












Praise for Jackie Braun


‘A great storyline, interesting characters and a fast pace

help immerse readers in this tender tale.’

—RT Book Reviews on

Inconveniently Wed!

‘Quite humorous at times, with beautifully written

characters, this is a terrific read.’

—RT Book Reviews on

A Dinner, A Date, A Desert Sheikh

‘Solidly plotted, with an edgy, slightly abrasive heroine

and an equally unforgettable hero,

this story is a great read. Don’t miss it.’

—RT Book Reviews on

Confidential: Expecting!

‘… reading her books [is] a delightful experience that

carries you from laughter to tears and back again.’

—Pink Heart Society on

Boardroom Baby Surprise


Good things come in threes.

Welcome to the world, Tedder triplets:

Mikenzie, Jameson and Savannah.




About the Author


JACKIE BRAUN is a three-time RITA


Award finalist, a four-time National Readers’ Choice Awards finalist and the winner of the Rising Star Award for traditional romantic fiction. She can be reached through her website at www.jackiebraun.com

‘“You can’t judge a book by its cover.” It’s an old saying that remains all too true—as Thomas Waverly learns while getting to know Elizabeth Morris.’

—Jackie Braun



Also by Jackie Braun

Confessions of a Girl-Next-Door

Mr Right There All Along

The Road Not Taken

The Princess Next Door

The Daddy Diaries

Inconveniently Wed!

A Dinner, A Date, A Desert Sheikh

Confidential: Expecting!

Boardroom Baby Surprise



Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk


The Fiancée Fiasco

Jackie Braun




















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CHAPTER ONE


THOMAS Waverly needed a bride.

Time was of the essence, so he couldn’t afford to be too picky. Even so, as he mentally thumbed through his little black book, he knew that none of the women he’d dated in the past would do. They would read way too much into the situation. They would expect it to be real. But the heirloom diamond engagement ring and all talk of a future wedding would be only for his grandmother’s benefit.

Nana Jo was dying.

At least she claimed to be.

Her physician assured Thomas that Josephine O’Keefe was in good health for a woman who’d had a hip replacement the previous year, a brush with breast cancer two decades prior and was now closing in on eighty-one. Her heartbeat could be a bit irregular at times, but medication had been prescribed to take care of that and, according to the doctor, it was. Nana Jo, however, was of another opinion.

She was dying.

It was the dreams, she told Thomas. For the past year, each night as she slumbered, she’d dreamed of her late husband and daughter—Thomas’s mother. Nana Jo was sure the dreams were an omen of her own impending death, and nothing Thomas said could convince her otherwise. It was downright unnerving.

The previous Christmas, when he’d made the drive to upstate Michigan to spend the holiday with Nana Jo in her small condo in Charlevoix, she’d told him that the only gift she wanted was to see her only grandchild happily settled before she passed on.

The woman had raised him after a car accident claimed his mother, after which his father had fallen into an alcoholic tailspin. Thomas had been eight, and he’d essentially lost both of his parents. Without hesitation, and despite her own grief, Nana Jo had stepped into the huge void. Instead of enjoying her retirement, she’d taken on full-time parenting. And she’d done an incredible job.

How could he deny her wish? How could he indulge it? It was a no-win situation. So, yes, he’d lied.

He wasn’t proud of that. Thomas wasn’t one to bend the truth, whether in personal dealings or professional ones, but he would do anything to erase the worry he saw in her eyes. Anything short of actual marriage, that was.

So, even though he was between relationships, he’d said, “I’ve been seeing someone … special. For several months now, in fact.”

The distinction had buoyed Nana Jo’s spirits considerably. And no wonder. He’d never dated a woman longer than three months. By that point they were usually expecting things, like an exchange of house keys, a toothbrush in his bathroom and maybe even a drawer of their own in the bureau in his bedroom.

By three months, they were getting clingy, needy. The L word, he knew, wouldn’t be far behind.

Love. No thank you.

He’d seen firsthand what that four-letter word had done to his father. It had been twenty-seven years since Thomas’s mother’s death, but Hoyt Waverly still couldn’t face life as a widower without a fifth of whiskey handy. Over the years, the brands had become cheaper as Hoyt’s finances had deteriorated right along with his health. Today, he was a shell of a man, who only turned up occasionally on Thomas’s doorstep and then only because he’d run out of money.

Thomas had no desire to end up like his old man. So, he made a point of ending relationships before three months passed, sometimes before then if the woman started to fall for him a little too hard or too fast.

It wasn’t that Thomas was God’s gift to women. His ego was healthy, but not overblown. He supposed he was good-looking. Enough of his dates had told him so. And he made a decent living. Not exactly a millionaire since he’d poured so much of his own money into starting his business, but he was plenty comfortable thanks to hard work and some sound investments. Still, the real attribute that seemed to clinch it for him with members of the opposite sex wasn’t his looks, his bank account or even, to his chagrin, his skill as a lover. It was his manners.

Apparently, while growing up, he’d paid too close attention to Nana Jo’s instructions. She’d insisted that he be polite, chivalrous, attentive and always act interested in other people’s opinions and pastimes—even when he wasn’t. As a result, over the years a number of women had expressed, covertly at least, their desire to become Mrs. Thomas Waverly. But he wasn’t in the market for marriage. Not now. Not ever.

For the past several months, of course, Nana Jo had thought otherwise. To her, special implied altar-bound. He should have corrected her. But she was so happy, so excited. It was all she talked about whenever they spoke on the telephone. He just didn’t have the heart. So, he kept his answers brief and changed the subject at the earliest opportunity. Still, she was so certain that he was heading toward “I do” with the fictional woman he’d named Beth that, finally, he’d just agreed with her.

He wasn’t sure where the name had come from. Only that it seemed a suitable moniker for the sensible and sweet woman his grandmother believed had snagged his heart.

His lie had succeeded in easing Nana Jo’s mind; now his was in turmoil. She was insisting on meeting his fiancée, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer any longer. If Thomas didn’t bring the young woman to Nana Jo’s home in Charlevoix for the upcoming Fourth of July weekend, she threatened to get in her car and make the long trip downstate to meet his Beth.

He didn’t like the idea of his grandmother tooling around town in her vintage Cadillac DeVille, much less getting on an expressway where other vehicles would be whizzing by and no doubt honking their horns in irritation since she always drove at least ten miles per hour below the posted speed limit. But if he told her the truth, she would only go back to insisting that she had one foot in the grave. He couldn’t stand the thought of that.

The only solution, as far as he could see, was to produce a fiancée now, and then later, after a reasonable length of time had passed, have that fiancée call things off. If he seemed heartbroken, perhaps Nana Jo would stop pushing so hard, forget about the “dreams” and go back to living her life to the fullest.

A tall order, to be sure. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes.

A tap sounded at his door. “Excuse me, Thomas.”

He opened his eyes to find his secretary standing there with a look of concern pinching her features. Annette was two decades older than Thomas and, like his grandmother, she worried about him. She, too, thought he should be married or at least in a serious relationship at this point in his life. As his employee, however, Annette was much less vocal on the subject, thank goodness.

“Is everything all right?” she asked now.

“Headache,” he murmured. It wasn’t a complete lie. It was Monday and he had until Thursday to figure a way out of this mess. His temples had begun to throb. He pushed back his chair from his desk and started to rise. “I think I’ll knock off a little early.”

“Oh.” Annette’s lips pursed.

“Problem?”

“No. Not really. It’s just that the head of Literacy Liaisons is here to see you.”

“Right now?”

She nodded.

Reaching for his calendar, he said, “I don’t recall an appointment being scheduled.”

“That’s because she doesn’t have one. She dropped in unannounced hoping for a few minutes of your time.” Annette shook her head. “It’s all right. I’ll tell her that she needs to make an appointment. Maybe one day next week?”

Thomas held up a hand. “No. That won’t be necessary. I’ll see her now. Might as well get this over with.” He rubbed one temple. “I assume she’s after a donation.”

His secretary smiled. “I’m sure you’re right.”

Three things struck Thomas immediately when the young woman entered his office. First, how small she was, despite wearing a pair of three-inch-high pumps that were the same color as her conservative gray pantsuit. Even in them, he doubted she topped out at five-five.

Second, her mouth. It was wide with full lips that were curving into a smile that lit up a pair of surprisingly dark eyes for one so fair. Add in a slightly upturned, freckle-dusted nose and bobbed blond hair that fell even with a blunt chin, and the adjective cute was a far better description for her than beautiful.

Third—and perhaps this was only because he was feeling so desperate—she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. In fact, other than a pair of simple pearl earrings, she wasn’t wearing any jewelry at all.

He eyed her speculatively, both ashamed and intrigued by the direction of his thoughts. What if …? Nah.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Waverly. I’m Elizabeth Morris.” She extended her right hand. “Thank you for taking the time to see me on such short notice.”

He shook her hand. Like the rest of her, it was small. And soft. Her grip, however, was not. It was firm and all business. He liked that about her. There was nothing worse than a limp handshake, even coming from a petite woman who barely looked old enough to order a drink.

“Have a seat,” he said.



“I’m pretty sure you’ve guessed I’ve come here today to ask for money.” Those full lips bowed again, making him appreciate her forthrightness all the more.

The headache he’d been nursing began to disappear. He steepled his fingers in front of him and, in his most businesslike tone, said, “Waverly Enterprises is always interested in helping worthy causes in our community. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yours?”

She exhaled discreetly, as if she hadn’t been sure Thomas wouldn’t show her the door.

“Literacy Liaisons specializes in helping adults in our community learn to read.”

“Is illiteracy really an issue in Ann Arbor?”

She tilted her head to one side. “That surprises you?”

“A little.” The city was home to the University of Michigan and one of the best medical facilities in North America.

“Despite the fact that we live in a college town with a lot of highly educated residents, there are people here and in the surrounding communities who are either illiterate or functionally illiterate. That means they may be able to read well enough to get by during, say, a trip to the grocery store, but they cannot read well enough to hold a decent job. Many of them wind up poor, sometimes even homeless.”

She inched forward on her chair, warming to her subject. Her face lit with the kind of passion that went hand-in-hand with conviction.

“They aren’t intellectually challenged, although many of them do have undiagnosed learning disabilities such as dyslexia. As children, they fell through the cracks in our educational system and now, as adults, they continue to fall through the cracks. Our goal is to change that.”

Finished, she shifted back in her seat. Her demeanor remained confident; her expression, determined. The mouse who roared, Thomas thought, more impressed than amused by the description.

“But it takes money,” he said.

“It does, even though we rely heavily on volunteers for tutoring, we have to supply materials and, sometimes, day care or even transportation to our offices if the client is indigent. We deal specifically with lower-income people who would not be able to afford such services otherwise.”

Intrigued now by the cause as much as by the woman, he asked, “How long has Literacy Liaisons been in business?”

“Nearly ten years.”

“And how long have you worked there?”

“I founded it, Mr. Waverly.”

Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “How old are you?” He apologized immediately. “I’m sorry. It’s just that …”

“I look young. I know.” She tugged at the lapels of her jacket and added, “My power suit notwithstanding.”

Her self-deprecating sense of humor caught him off guard. He’d been sure he’d insulted her with his careless remark. Not sure what else to say—a rarity for him when it came to conversing with a member of the opposite sex—Thomas apologized a second time.

She accepted it with a gracious nod and went on. “I got the idea for Literacy Liaisons while I was in college studying to become a teacher.”

“U of M?” he asked. It was his alma mater, which gave them something in common.

But she was shaking her head. “Sorry. I hope it won’t have a bearing on your interest in Literacy Liaisons, but I’m a Spartan.”

Michigan State? The rivalry between the two Big Ten schools was legendary. He lifted one shoulder. “Good school.”

“Good comeback.” She laughed. “I take it you’re a Wolverine.”

“I bleed maize and blue,” he admitted, referring to the university’s colors.

“Good school,” she said, mimicking his earlier reply. They both laughed before she went on. “Long story short, instead of going into a classroom to teach after I earned my certification, I decided to open the center.”

Gutsy and not exactly the career path most recent college graduates would have chosen.

“Why?” he asked.

She moistened her lips. “I … saw a need.”

There was more to it than that, Thomas thought as he studied her expression. He saw determination there and something else. Sadness?

She was saying, “Our primary funding source has been federal grants and some state Department of Health and Human Services contracts, but money is tight everywhere right now. With tax revenues shrinking at every level of government, cuts have been made. Unfortunately, as vital as having a literate population is to economic prosperity, our funding has been reduced significantly during the past two fiscal years alone.”

“So, you’re seeking donations from the business community.”

“Actually, I’m doing more than that. I want to create an endowment fund to ensure the center’s viability both in good economic times and bad. It’s not easy to go begging for money, no matter how worthy the cause. I would prefer not to have to do it on an annual basis.”

Again, she smiled.

“Then an endowment makes sense.”

The more she said, the more impressed he was with her resolve. He couldn’t think of another woman in his acquaintance who would have started up a nonprofit right out of college and, a decade later, be pounding the pavement to ensure it remained viable.

Of course, the women he dated tended to be far more egocentric than philanthropic. A good number of them didn’t hold a regular job thanks to access to a trust fund or their daddy’s continuing indulgence. Physically, they were Elizabeth Morris’s polar opposite as well. None had been under five-eight. Indeed, a couple had stood eye-level with him in their bare feet. He favored model types, tall and leggy. Arm candy was what Nana Jo called them. It was an apt description. Every last one of them had been flawlessly beautiful and ultrafashionable. None would be caught dead in Elizabeth Morris’s self-described power suit or her nondescript pumps. Which made her somehow all the more perfect.

What if …?

No matter how many times he tried to quell that inappropriate question, it just kept begging to be answered.

She cleared her throat, and he realized he’d been staring. So much for his renowned manners. This made twice in their very short acquaintance that he’d been not only impolite, but also openly rude. Before he could apologize, however, she was rising to her feet.

“I can see that I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ll just leave you with some additional information about our organization as well as our fundraising campaign. My contact information is in the packet should you have any questions.”

There was no hint of a smile on her face as she pulled a folder from her satchel and laid it on his desk. She didn’t look angry, but rather disheartened and maybe even a little bit weary. Who could blame her? Thomas imagined she’d probably run into a lot of closed doors and closed wallets during her quest.

“Please. Have a seat. I’ll take a look right now,” he said, forestalling her departure.

Inside the folder, he wasn’t surprised to find several pages of carefully ordered facts about Literacy Liaisons’s mission, each one bulleted for easy reading. He’d already determined that she was meticulous and organized. He glanced through the numbers regarding the endowment fund. She was nearly two-thirds of the way to her goal.

Prefacing this, he said, “I see you’ve been very busy.”

“I’ve been at it for nearly nine months. Unfortunately, it’s been slow going lately.” She shrugged then and said, “The economy.”

Ah, yes. Two words that said it all these days. The economy had wreaked havoc on Waverly Enterprises’s bottom line, too, causing Thomas and his department managers to scour the company’s budget for savings. The office Christmas party had been scaled back to a luncheon, wages had been frozen and some low-level positions were going unfilled.

Still, he’d tried not to cut back too much on charitable contributions—not because his accountants were quick to remind him that such donations were a tax deduction, but because he genuinely believed in being socially responsible.

Teaching people to read was not just commendable, it was essential. As a businessman, he understood that perfectly. Hers was just the sort of endeavor he preferred to support, especially if the bulk of his donation would go to actual programs rather than overhead, which the paperwork in front of him assured that it would.

The subtle scent of apple blossoms floated his way, and that crazy idea he’d been entertaining since she’d first walked through his door became all the more pronounced.

What if …?

The question no longer seemed so outlandish. Nor did asking it seem totally self-serving. After all, a sizable donation would put her endowment campaign over the top and ensure the future viability of Literacy Liaisons. They could help each other out.

Besides, Elizabeth Morris seemed to be a practical woman, the sort who would see his proposal for what it was: a mutually beneficial business arrangement. Quid pro quo.

“So, do you have any questions?” she asked politely. Her smile was back in place and just this side of hopeful.

Did he ever, and it was a doozy, but the one Thomas went with was: “Does anyone ever call you Beth?”




CHAPTER TWO


ELIZABETH felt her mouth fall open. Of all the questions she’d anticipated Thomas Waverly asking, that one wasn’t among them. Inquiries about her business or her background? Certainly. Her nickname? Not so much. But since it would be rude to question his questioning—almost as rude as calling on him at his office without an actual appointment—she did her best to wipe away her surprise and answered him honestly.

“No one’s ever called me Beth.”

Lizzie sometimes, since that had been her actual name. She’d changed it legally once she reached adulthood. She liked the formality of Elizabeth, the utter timelessness of it, not to mention the respect that it seemed to engender. Queens and Hollywood legends were named Elizabeth. Lizzie? Put the word tin before it and it referred to a jalopy.

He inhaled deeply, as if preparing to make an earthshaking announcement. But all he said was, “You look like a Beth.”

“Perhaps you have me confused with someone else,” she suggested, unsure what else to say.

The conversation had taken an odd and definitely awkward turn, and, even though she hardly could claim to be an expert on men, the speculation brewing in this particular man’s gaze was unnerving. Okay, it also was a bit flattering. Men as gorgeous and accomplished as Thomas Waverly rarely gave Elizabeth the time of day—whether or not she’d made an appointment. They certainly didn’t look at her like he was looking at her—as if he were interested in something more personal than making a charitable donation.

“Perhaps,” he said with a nod before glancing away.

It sounded as if he muttered the word crazy half under his breath. If so, the description fit the situation, she decided. More likely, though, she was just imagining things or blowing them out of proportion. It was best to leave before she said something foolish, especially since he seemed interested in her cause.

Elizabeth started to rise. “I’d better be going. Thank you again for your time.” She nibbled her bottom lip before adding, “I hope we will be able to count Waverly Enterprises among our contributors.”

He pulled her business card from the folder she’d given him and held it up. “I’ll be in touch with you. I promise.”

“Terrific.” She should have been relieved, happy. Why, Elizabeth wondered, did she feel apprehensive? No, what she was feeling wasn’t apprehension, but anticipation, an almost foreign sensation where a man was concerned. But then, Thomas Waverly wasn’t a man; he was a potential donor with pockets deep enough to push her cause much closer to its goal.

Just as she made that determination, he rose from his seat—a little more than six feet worth of perfectly formed and proportioned male. The custom cut of his suit showcased a pair of broad shoulders and a body made up of lean muscle rather than the kind of soft bulk found on a lot of the desk-bound CEOs she’d called on. Not a man? Those words, unuttered though they’d been, taunted her. Oh, he was a man, all right. And every last inch of him was steeped in testosterone.

The satchel slipped from Elizabeth’s hand and landed on the carpeted floor with a thud. Her fingers had gone as slack as her mouth. She snapped her lips closed as he came around his desk. He was bending to retrieve her case even before she managed to move. And here she’d been hoping to make her exit before she could make herself look foolish.

“This thing is pretty heavy.” His smile, thank goodness, wasn’t awash in amusement.

“Thank you.”

Their fingers brushed in the handoff, and she experienced an unprecedented urge to sigh. Oh, it was definitely time to go. During the past month, she had managed to wrest precious little in the way of donations from the local business community, not sizable ones at any rate. Money continued to trickle in—a little here, a little there—but the well of largesse appeared to have run dry. Literacy Liaisons’s endowment fund campaign not only needed Waverly Enterprises’s support, but it was also desperate for it.

So, without further hesitation, Elizabeth beat a retreat, mentally kicking herself all the way home.

Howie greeted her at the front door of her small bungalow with an enthusiastic kiss after nearly knocking her off her feet. Whether she was gone an hour or all day, her golden retriever-slash-Labrador-slash-a-few-other-kinds-of-canine was always happy to see her.

Ecstatic, in fact. If only every door she opened held such adoration on the other side, her life and her job would be just that much more enjoyable.

“I missed you, too, boy.”

She removed his big paws from her chest and stooped to pick up the scattering of envelopes that had been pushed through the door’s mail slot.

Bill, bill, bill, junk, junk and a reminder that one of her magazine subscriptions was about to run out. The internet made communicating with friends, loved ones and business associates quick and easy, but Elizabeth missed receiving actual letters, even if the only person she really hoped to hear from was the one person who would never write. A person who couldn’t write. Or read.

Her brother. She hadn’t seen him in more than a decade, though he occasionally called their parents. For all intents and purposes, though, Ross had disappeared.

Howie’s whining pulled her from the past, reminding her that he needed to go outside and do his business.

When she opened the door, the dog was out in a flash, a bullet of peaches-and-cream-colored fur that pulled up short just before the sidewalk. Elizabeth had installed an electronic fence to keep him within the boundaries of the yard. As she watched him take off after a squirrel in what had become a ritual game of chase, her cell phone rang.

She retrieved it from her satchel. “Hello?”

“Miss Morris?” The deep voice was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Yes.”

“It’s Thomas Waverly.”

This was a surprise, so much so that the cell phone nearly fell to the floor, much as her bag had in his office. She bobbled it before managing to return it to her ear. The man had a way of making her uncharacteristically clumsy.

“Are you there?” he was asking.

“Yes, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting to hear from you.” She gave her forehead a slap. “So soon that is.”

Cool, collected and confident—that was what she needed to be. Unfortunately, she sounded flustered and slightly breathless—reactions that someone as handsome as Thomas Waverly probably experienced on a regular basis when it came to women.

He was saying, “I was wondering if we could meet to discuss … a donation.”

Had she imagined that slight hesitation? Well, no matter. She would clear her calendar if need be to accommodate someone interested in helping her cause. “Certainly. Just name a time and I’ll be there.”

“I was thinking tonight. Over dinner.”

“Dinner. Tonight,” she repeated in surprise, and wanted to smack her forehead again.

Put together like that, it sounded as if she thought he was asking her out on a date, which, of course, was ridiculous. Thomas Waverly was a busy man. His time was at a premium. More likely he preferred to get this out of the way so that he didn’t have to waste office hours on what, for him at least, amounted to an inconsequential matter. That explanation made sense until a little voice whispered in her head that he needn’t be bothered at all. A man of his stature had plenty of subordinates to take care of such things, including the efficient older woman who’d so kindly asked him to see Elizabeth in the first place earlier that day.

As if he could read her mind, Thomas said, “I know it’s a little unorthodox, meeting over dinner, but I have something I’d like to discuss with you. An opportunity that is …” He paused again, just long enough to have Elizabeth holding her breath. “Well, in itself, rather unorthodox.”

“Oh?” Color her intrigued. Before she could respond further, however, her dog sent up a booming howl of protest as the squirrel he’d been chasing perched on the lowest branch of the front yard’s big oak and chattered noisily down at him.

“Howie!” she yelled.

Even though she’d moved the phone away from her mouth, she heard Thomas say, “I apologize. You have company. I should have realized.”

Elizabeth nearly laughed out loud at the statement. Did he think she was entertaining a man? More like man’s best friend. Sadly, no males of the two-legged variety had darkened her door in several months.

“Not how you mean,” she told him, even though she found her dog to be excellent company. She’d rescued Howie from the local pound nearly two years earlier. He’d been on death row, though the pound didn’t actually call it that. Still, his fate had been determined, his date with a needle full of sleepy juice scheduled. His crime? Few people wanted a nearly three-year-old, seventy-five-pound pooch who could be every bit as stubborn as he was affectionate. “Howie’s my dog. He’s chasing a squirrel.”

“A futile endeavor, I take it.” There was a smile in Thomas’s voice.

A fellow dog person? That made him even more appealing in her book.

“Very, which is why he’s barking loud enough to wake the dead.” She held the phone away from her and covered the mouthpiece long enough to holler the dog’s name a second time.

Mrs. Hildabrand, her neighbor from across the street, would be on her front porch any minute to warn Elizabeth that the police would be on the way if Howie didn’t quiet down. The elderly woman already had called the authorities twice in the past month with noise complaints. The officers the department sent out had been kind and even understanding. But Elizabeth couldn’t afford to press her luck. Thankfully, this time Howie obeyed her command to cease and desist. He trotted to the porch and then through the door she’d opened for him, tail held high and wagging madly, probably for the squirrel’s benefit.

“So, about tonight, do you have any plans?” Thomas asked.

“No. Not a thing.” Because the stark reply made her sound, well, pathetic, she amended quickly, “What I mean is, nothing that can’t be rescheduled.”

Or recorded on her DVR. Yes, her social life was that pathetic.

“Terrific.”

The relief she heard in his voice left her as curious as what his “unorthodox proposal” might be. After all, Thomas Waverly struck her as the sort of man who was always in control and only asked questions whose answers he already knew. Yet, he was acting very much like he needed her rather than the other way around.

They made arrangements to meet at an Italian restaurant where the highly rated menu came with equally high prices. Elizabeth had eaten at Antonio’s exactly once, and then, since she’d gone with a girlfriend, she’d ordered only a bowl of soup. Everything else was beyond her budget, especially once a glass of wine had been factored in.

After hanging up, she paced her living room, absently stopping to pick up the magazines that Howie had knocked off the coffee table with his tail. The dog paced alongside her, his tongue lolling out from his open-mouthed grin.

“I’ve got an hour before we meet.”

Howie panted, as much from his recent exercise as from the heat. The house had no air-conditioning and wouldn’t for the foreseeable future. She didn’t have the extra funds in her household budget for that kind of luxury. Everything she had, she poured into her work.

“An hour,” she repeated. “That’s not a lot of time. I need to make the most of it.” She let out a laugh that was brittle with nerves. For her benefit as much as the dog’s, she added, “I’ve worked my way through the alphabet when it comes to donors. Obviously, at W, I’m getting a little desperate.”

Howie stared at her, as if he suspected there was more to those nerves than desperation on behalf of the nonprofit she’d started from scratch a decade before.

“I need to do something to make Thomas Waverly sit up and take notice.”

When Elizabeth sat down in front of her laptop, the dog laid his head on her knee. She planned to print out a batch of success stories from Literacy Liaisons’s client list. The testimonials were proof of how life-changing learning to read could be. But as she perched on a chair in front of the computer screen, she fiddled with the ends of her hair and became distracted. She was due for a trim.

“Maybe the next time I see my stylist I’ll ask about a perm. What do you think, Howie?”

The dog lifted his head from her leg. She swore he looked confused, and no wonder. Why was she thinking about this now?

“Never mind.”

Howie continued to stare at her.

“Look, I know this isn’t a date.” She patted his broad head. Again, for his benefit as well as her own, she said, “But it never hurts to look one’s best. Dress for success and all that.”

With that in mind, she snatched up the phone and dialed her best friend’s number, sighing with relief when Melissa Sutton picked up just before the call would have gone to voice mail. It was hard to catch her very social friend, even on her cell.

The two women had been tight since college, even though they seemed to have little in common with the exception of their commitment to battling illiteracy, which was why after a stint as a packaging engineer, Melissa had showed up at Literacy Liaisons, willing to take a significant cut in pay for rewards of another kind.

The similarities ended there. Where Elizabeth was reserved and, admittedly, a bit of a wallflower, her friend, who was nearly as petite as Elizabeth, managed to stand out. It wasn’t only her infectious laughter and bawdy sense of humor that caught men’s attention. Mel was a bona fide head-turner. On more than one occasion, Elizabeth had witnessed her friend’s effect on men. It was almost comical the way they fawned over her and catered to her every whim. If only that kind of charisma could be bottled up and sold.

“I have an emergency,” she said in a rush.

“My God, Elizabeth, what’s wrong?”

“I need some of your clothes.”

“My clothes?”

“I have an important meeting in roughly an hour and nothing suitable to wear.”

“You’re having a fashion emergency?” Mel’s laughter boomed. “I think I need to sit down.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Sorry.” Her friend’s tone turned serious. “It’s just I’ve never had you call to borrow clothes for a date let alone for work.”

“This is important.”

“So you’ve already said. Work shouldn’t be more important than your love life. That’s just sad, honey. Sad.” Elizabeth thought she heard a tsking sound before Mel went on. “You need to get out more, kick up your heels. And the heels I’m referring to are not those dowdy pair of black pumps that would suit my great-aunt Geraldine.”

Elizabeth pinched her eyes closed. “Can we have this conversation another time, please?”

“Fine. Another time. And don’t think I won’t hold you to it,” Mel warned, then added, “So, am I coming to your place or are you coming to mine?”

They decided on Mel’s since her two-story town house was closer to the restaurant Thomas had selected, and it wouldn’t require her friend to pack up an assortment of outfits.

Once there, Mel wasn’t satisfied with dressing Elizabeth in a ruffled shift that was surprisingly flattering on her less curvaceous form, and pairing the soft pink number with strappy silver sandals. She insisted on restyling her hair and applying additional makeup, too.

The effect was an improvement, and she hardly appeared overmade, but it still presented Elizabeth with a dilemma.

Studying her reflection in Mel’s vanity mirror, she said, “He’s going to think I’m interested in him.”

“He who?” Mel asked, leaning over to dab a little more coral-colored gloss on Elizabeth’s bottom lip.

“Thomas Waverly.”

Her friend drew back, eyes wide with surprise. “Thomas Waverly? GQ-cover-worthy Thomas Waverly? That’s who you’re having dinner with?”

“Do you know him?” Her stomach pitched. Had Mel dated him? That question was followed rapidly by: Why would that matter?

“I know of him,” Mel clarified. “I saw him at a celebrity golf outing that I played with Dominic last summer.”

Dominic, right. Mel’s beau of the month several months ago. A corporate highflyer of some sort. Yet for all the money he’d lavished on Mel, he’d been downright stingy when it came to contributing to Literacy Liaisons.

“So, what’s Thomas like?”

“We didn’t actually meet, but I saw him tee off on one of the par threes. Very nice swing. Fluid and strong. He nearly wound up with a hole in one. He settled for a birdie thanks to one very smooth putting stroke.” Mel made a purring sound that kick-started Elizabeth’s barely settled nerves.

“Do you ever not think of sex?”

Mel propped one hip on the edge of the bathroom counter. “I only think of it so often to take up the slack for you. You need to think of it more.”

“I don’t have the time.” A pitiful excuse, and, of course, Mel called her on it.

“Yes, it would be a real shame to miss your evening line-up of cable television shows once in a while.”

“You like to watch White Collar, too.”

“I like to watch the hunky guy who plays the ex-con,” Mel clarified while examining her manicure. “But I’m not faithful to him. When I have a better offer, I go out.”

Elizabeth scowled. “I haven’t had any better offers.” Indeed, she hadn’t had any offers in months.

“Because you make sure every guy around thinks you’re only interested in your work,” her friend said.

“It’s important.”

“That goes without saying, Elizabeth. And I understand why it’s so important to you. But—”

She put a hand out, pushing away the pain even as she redirected the conversation. “Can we get back to the crisis at hand, please?”

Mel sighed heavily. “Fine, but just so you know, I don’t see Thomas Waverly as a crisis. In fact, I find myself a little jealous of you. He’s one very prime specimen.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Elizabeth managed a nonchalant tone.

Mel wasn’t fooled. In fact, she nearly doubled over with laughter. Her mirth echoed off the bathroom tiles.

“Oh, please. You’d have to be dead not to notice, and even then I have a feeling that man could raise a woman’s pulse rate. Are you really going to sit there and tell me you don’t find him hot?”

“He’s attractive,” Elizabeth allowed.

Mel merely raised her brows at the bland assessment.

“Okay. He’s gorgeous. Drop-dead so. But we’re not going out on a date, Mel.” Elizabeth glanced at her reflection again. She liked what she saw—the softer hairstyle, the somewhat smoky eyes, the flirty dress. But that was the problem. She looked like a woman who was ready for an evening out. “I don’t want him to think that I think it’s a date.”

Mel pursed her lips. Unlike Elizabeth’s, they were an inviting pink color without any added gloss. “Why would that be a problem?”

“This is business. I need his donation.”

“I understand that, but I don’t think that’s the real answer.”

Elizabeth sighed. “You know me too well.”

“And don’t forget it. So, answer the question.” She crossed her arms in challenge.

“Come on. Look at me, Mel.”

“I am looking. I see a beautiful woman, not to mention one who is exceedingly smart and interesting.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Well, I am wearing your clothes.”

“I’m not just talking about what you’ve got on or the way your hair is styled, though that little finger-fluffing trick is flattering and a little extra gloss does wonders for what is already a great set of lips. But clothes, a different hairdo and a little more makeup don’t make you smart and interesting. That’s all you, honey.” She waited a beat before adding, “That dress does make you sexy, though.”

Mel’s perfectly arched brows bobbed twice for emphasis.

Her friend’s words should have done wonders for Elizabeth’s ego, but Elizabeth had never had much confidence in her looks. She chalked that up to the fact that from an early age her post-hippie parents had discouraged any sort of “enhancement” or improvement to one’s appearance. Both her folks sported long hair. Her mother wore hers in an unflattering ponytail. Her father’s was twisted into dreadlocks that streamed halfway to his waist. Skeet Morris didn’t believe in shaving. Neither did Elizabeth’s mother, Delphine. Anywhere. To this day her parents were mortified that Elizabeth wore her hair short and styled, dressed in conservative garb and had plucked the unibrow she’d sported throughout high school into two distinct arches.

“You’re my friend,” she reminded Mel.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be objective. Your problem, Elizabeth, is that you’ve spent your entire life blending into the background, so it makes you uncomfortable when you stand out.”

“That’s not true.” Not completely anyway. She was perfectly happy to stand out when it came to her job.

Mel crossed her arms over her chest again. “It’s a fact.”

“Okay, we’re getting off track here. I’m not after the man. I’m after his money.” When her friend’s lips twitched, she added, “You know what I mean. This is about a donation to Literacy Liaisons, one that very well could be large enough that you and I can sit back and relax for a while … figuratively speaking.”

But Mel wasn’t buying it. “I’ve never understood the big deal with mixing business with pleasure. As long as both parties go into it with their eyes wide open, why not? You’re both adults.”

Nerves fluttered in Elizabeth’s belly. “Maybe I should send you to meet with him. You’re a lot better at this sort of thing than I am.”

Mel manufactured an insulted expression and said, “Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean. Men swarm to you. Thomas Waverly would be putty in your hands. In fact, maybe I should have been sending you to call on potential donors all along. We’d already have our endowment.”

“Oh, no. No thanks.” Mel was shaking her head. “I’m good at flirting, honey, not finalizing deals. Besides, I prefer to remain behind the scenes.”

“So you always say.” Elizabeth reached for a tissue and blotted off a little of the coral-colored gloss. “I just don’t want to give Mr. Waverly the impression that I would be willing to sleep with him in order to ensure that he cuts the agency a sizable check.”

Mel winked. “Does that mean you’d be willing to sleep with him for reasons more primal?”

“God, Mel!” Elizabeth’s nerves kicked up again.

“Just askin’.” Grinning, her friend pointed to her wristwatch. “You’d better get going, Cinderella. Your ball is about to begin.”




CHAPTER THREE


THOMAS did a double take when Elizabeth walked through the door of Antonio’s. He’d arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early, assuming that he would have plenty of time to gather his thoughts and plot out his pitch. All of the women he knew were notorious for being late, in part because they preferred to make grand entrances. He should have known Elizabeth would be different. That was, after all, part of her appeal for the role he was about to ask her to play.

Even arriving early, she managed to make an entrance. No mouths dropped opened in awe, and conversations continued as before. But something inside of Thomas shifted before going oddly still. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

Who knew cute also could be so sexy?

Since their meeting a few hours earlier, she’d changed her clothes. No real surprise, since he had as well, trading in his business attire for a more casual pair of pants and a button-down shirt. He’d left off his tie, too, but he found himself tugging at his collar anyway.

Her transformation was far more dramatic. He wouldn’t have expected the woman he’d met in the severely cut suit and serviceable pumps to own such a fashionable outfit and shoes. The lines of the dress and the heels gave her the illusion of greater height. As small as she was, she had a pair of killer legs.

Because he felt himself beginning to ogle them, he returned his gaze to her face. That wasn’t the safer bet, he realized immediately. She’d done something different with her hair. It was no longer quite so straight and tidy. Tousled was the word that came to mind. He wondered if it would feel as soft as it appeared. As for that mobile mouth of hers, it was now twice as inviting thanks to a slick coat of tinted gloss. How would it taste?

Uh-oh.

He scrambled to put the brakes on the hormones that threatened to rev into hyperdrive. Given what he was about to propose, quite literally, he couldn’t afford to let anything more than business transpire between them. He couldn’t have her thinking he wanted more than what he was offering: a mutually beneficial business arrangement.

He stood when she reached the table. It was second nature, thanks to his grandmother, as was pulling out Elizabeth’s chair. In fact, Thomas beat the maitre d’ to it. The man smiled uncomfortably before withdrawing.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, as she settled in her seat.

Thomas glanced at his watch, even though it wasn’t necessary. “Actually, you’re early.”

“But not as early as you are.”

He shrugged and sat down. “It’s a habit of mine.”

A bad one according to the last four women he’d dated, those grand entrances and all. They didn’t appreciate answering the doorbell before they were ready to wow him with what waited on the other side.

“A good one,” Elizabeth said, as if reading his mind. “There’s nothing worse than keeping people waiting, at least in my book.”

Thomas agreed wholeheartedly, but that didn’t change his plan to keep her waiting, at least until the entrée course, before he started his pitch. By that point, he was hoping she wouldn’t stand up and walk out on him, though he wasn’t ruling out the possibility.

He bided his time, relying on small talk as their drinks arrived. She went with a glass of plain water garnished with a wedge of lemon. Although he wanted to brace himself with a scotch, neat, he settled for red wine, which he intended to sip slowly. He needed to keep a clear head—especially since the woman seated opposite him was having a definite, if odd, effect on his equilibrium. Nerves, he told himself. After all, he had a lot riding on the outcome of the evening. But then, so did she.

By the time the waiter brought their salads and a basket of warm rolls, they had thoroughly dissected the extended weather forecast for the upcoming holiday weekend. It was amazing how much people could talk without really saying anything. Recalling the passion and conviction with which Elizabeth had described her agency’s mission to him earlier, he had a feeling she would be an engaging conversationalist if they ever strayed from the standard polite topics. Because he wanted to, he didn’t. Stay with the script. This wasn’t a date.

Finally, their dinners arrived and the moment of truth was at hand. She’d just taken the first bite of her grilled salmon when he put down his fork and cleared his throat. She glanced over in question. Now or never, he decided.

“I mentioned on the phone that I had an unusual proposal for you.”

She nodded, swallowed. “Unorthodox is how I believe you phrased it.”

“Yes. It is. Very.” He swallowed as well, even though he had not yet touched his steak or the sautéed baby portabella mushrooms in wine sauce that smothered it. “I want to assure you, this isn’t something I make a habit of.”

Thomas had hoped to sound reassuring, but her expression made it clear he was doing a lousy job of it. She appeared a little alarmed, and no wonder given the way he was acting. Better just to get right to it, he decided, except that he didn’t. Rather, he went on in uncharacteristic bumbling fashion.

“It’s just that I find myself in a tight spot. I told someone—someone very dear to me—that I am … that is, that I have been seeing …” He laughed uncomfortably. “This is awkward.”

Across from him, Elizabeth smiled encouragingly, though he thought he saw her glance toward the exit.

“The long and the short of it is I need … I need a …” His gaze focused in on her mouth and he swore his own started to water. “I need a woman.”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure whether to be flattered that he’d singled her out or concerned for her safety given his intense stare. One thing she knew for certain, she was curious. Why on earth did he need a woman? Surely female companionship was not in short supply for a man as successful and handsome as he was. There had to be a rational explanation for what he’d just said.

So, in her most polished business tone, she inquired politely, “Exactly what do you need a woman for, Mr. Waverly?”

“To act as my fiancée.”

He was exhaling in a gust, even as Elizabeth’s breathing stopped. She hadn’t seen this coming.

“Are you asking …? You want me to …? You want to get married?” Her voice rose on the last word. Some of the restaurant’s other patrons glanced their way.

“No. Actually, I just need someone to pose as my fiancée for a while.” He smiled weakly. “So, um, under the circumstances, I think you should call me Thomas.”

She rubbed her right temple in lieu of a response. She’d fallen into an alternative universe. That was the only explanation that made sense. She was wearing Mel’s dress and had somehow become, well, Mel. Except that in the big mirror on the wall behind Thomas, she could see her reflection. The dress was Mel’s, but Elizabeth was definitely the woman wearing it. And looking gobsmacked. She snapped her mouth closed.

“I know. Crazy, right?” Thomas said on an uncomfortable laugh.

“Certifiable,” she agreed.

Both of them were, because, Elizabeth now knew for sure that she was feeling flattered. Thomas Waverly, successful businessman and five-alarm hottie, wanted her to act as his fiancée? But …

“Why?” she managed to ask at last.

His expression sobered. “Before we get to that, I want to make it clear that I’m not expecting you to do me a favor. I was thinking more like, we could, uh, do each other a favor. You help me out by posing as my intended, and I personally match the donation I’ve already decided to make to Literacy Liaisons on Waverly Enterprises’s behalf. Between those two contributions, your endowment will be realized.”

Because her mouth threatened to fall open again, she took a sip of her water. This was more than she’d hoped for. It was everything she wanted, being handed to her on a silver platter. A silver platter held by one of the most eligible bachelors in the city. She checked the mirror a second time, giving that alternative universe theory another go. The same baffled- looking blonde as before gaped back at her. Again, Elizabeth asked, “Why?”

“Right.” He reached for his wine and took a sip. Setting the glass back on the table, he said, “Here’s the thing. I told my grandmother that I was involved in a serious relationship with a woman.”

“Serious as in headed toward the altar.”

“Right. The problem is I’m not, but she’s expecting to meet, um, my significant other …” He coughed. Choked? Before spitting out, “This weekend.”

The long holiday weekend was mere days away, and Elizabeth already had made plans to spend part of it with her parents at their annual soy burger-and-tofu barbecue, but that wasn’t what bothered her. Flattery only went so far. As did business dealings.

Her tone took on an edge that she rarely used and had never allowed to seep into her professional life when she said, “You lied to your grandmother?”

Hot or not, the man dropped several points in her estimation. Make that numerous points, and still counting. She didn’t care how handsome he was or how successful. Nor did it matter how desperate she was for his dual donation—and, God, she was desperate for that donation. But a man who would lie to a frail, helpless little old lady—and that was the image that came to Elizabeth’s mind—was a jerk. End of story. She retrieved the napkin from her lap and set it on the table, fully intending to leave.

Thomas rose part way from his chair as she stood. “Please. Stay and hear me out.”

“You lied to your grandmother,” she repeated flatly.

“Yes. I did. It sounds horrible, I know.” He dropped back into his seat.

“That’s one word for it,” Elizabeth replied crisply, unwilling to let him off the hook, no matter how appealing he looked wriggling from it. Still, he did look remorseful. Slowly, she returned to her seat and spread the napkin back over her lap. What would it hurt to hear him out?

“Let me give you a little background before you form a solid opinion of the situation.” Thomas held out his hands in appeal. “She claimed to be dying and, well, seeing me happily settled is a priority for her. I was hoping to take her mind off her aches and pains.”

“Your grandmother is dying?”

“Her doctor says no, but …” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “She’s sure she is. And she’s not easily dissuaded once her mind is made up. I hate seeing her so troubled, especially when there’s no need to be. I’m fine. Perfectly happy, in fact. I’m just not married and making great-grandbabies for her to spoil.”

“So you’re lying to her to protect her?”

“I don’t want to lie at all, but yes. If she thinks I’m heading toward ‘I do,’ then she’ll be able to enjoy her life again. She deserves that.”

“That’s … sweet.” And it was.

At least his unorthodox offer was rooted in something other than blatant self-interest. Still, what he was suggesting was crazy, but no more so than the fact that Elizabeth was actually considering it.

“Do you really think your grandmother would buy that you and I are …” She made a winding motion with her index finger, unable to speak the actual words. “I can’t believe I’m your usual type.”

She wasn’t angling for a compliment. She wasn’t expecting him to tell her that she was beautiful or even that he found her attractive. Expecting? No. But part of her must have been hoping, she realized, when her heart pinched painfully at his reply.

“You’re not my type in the least, which, in a way, makes you perfect. My grandmother knows the sort of women I prefer to date. Since I’ve never allowed something serious to begin with them, she assumes that’s because I’ve been dating women who are all wrong for me.”

“Have you been?” She immediately shook her head. “I’m sorry. That’s really none of my business.” Even if she was, at this very moment, considering becoming his bride-to-be, at least for appearances’ sake.

“Possibly. Probably.” He shrugged carelessly. “I’m not looking for a deep and committed relationship. That’s not what I’m after.”

Ah, one of those. Elizabeth had dated a couple such men just out of college, not that she’d known their preferences going in, of course. Nope. She’d found out the hard way and wound up with a dinged-up heart for her naiveté.

“Which reminds me,” Thomas was saying. “I never thought to ask if you were seeing someone.”

His complexion bleached a little as he awaited her reply. She wasn’t trying to exploit that with her hesitation. She just wanted to find a way to relay her single status without making herself sound like a loser.

“I date here and there,” she said at last. “But I’m not seeing anyone in particular.”

“Terrific.” He had the grace to grimace. “That came out wrong. What I mean is if you agreed to act as my fiancée, I wouldn’t want to put you in an awkward position.”

She appreciated that, but … “Excuse me for saying so, Mr…. er … Thomas. The situation is already awkward. I barely know you. We met only today. And you’re asking me to pose as your fiancée in an attempt to fool your elderly grandmother into believing you’ve found your soul mate.”

He grimaced again. “It sounds even worse when you say it. In my defense, there’s nothing for me to gain here. I’m doing this for the right reasons, even if I seem to be going about it the wrong way. I love my grandmother, Elizabeth. She’s pretty much all the family I have. She basically raised me.”

So many layers to the man, Elizabeth thought. She wanted him to be what he first appeared when he suggested the arrangement: shallow and callous. Then it would be much easier to tell him no, the sizable donations he was promising be damned. She had standards. She had principles. She also apparently had a soft spot for men who had soft spots for their aging grandmothers.

“Why don’t you tell me a little bit about her,” she suggested, folding her hands in her lap.

“Nana Jo?”

Nana Jo. Cute. He scored another point in his favor. Elizabeth smiled her encouragement.

“She’s a pistol.” His expression turned fond. “She has an opinion on everything and offers it freely, whether you want to hear it or not.”

“My mother’s that way, too.” Elizabeth had little doubt her expression was one hundred and eighty degrees from fond. She shook off all thoughts of Delphine. “And right now Nana Jo’s opinion is that you should be married.”

“Actually, that’s been her opinion since I graduated from college.” He shrugged.

“But you’re not marriage-minded. Commitment’s not your thing. You prefer to keep your options open and continue to play the field.” She paraphrased his earlier comment.

His frown came as a surprise. She got the feeling he wasn’t happy with her assessment, though he didn’t try to correct her.

“About a year ago, my grandmother started telling me she didn’t have long for this life and that the only way she could leave this world peacefully was to know I was settled and happy.”

“That’s because she loves you.”

“And I love her. I’d do anything for her. As I said, she raised me.”

Elizabeth tamped down the questions begging to be asked. Chief among them: Where were his parents when he was growing up? Was he, like Mel, the product of a broken home? She pitied him if that were true. Skeet and Delphine might not believe in the institution of marriage, so their exchange of vows was unrecognized by the state as legally binding, but they were committed to one another in their own way. As counterculture and plain old wacky as they could be, at least Elizabeth had the luxury of an intact family. Or she had until her brother decided to drop out of high school and then drop out of sight.

Thomas was saying, “I told her I was seeing someone special mostly to give her something positive to occupy her thoughts. It worked a little too well and spiraled out of control. From that simple statement she extrapolated my impending nuptials.”

“And you didn’t do anything to stop her?”

“I didn’t have the heart. It made her so happy. She went from telling me which outfit she wanted to be buried in to what she planned to wear to my wedding. A pink organdy gown, by the way. She sent me a magazine clipping of it, as well as suggestions for my tuxedo. Black tails. Very formal and timeless, in her opinion.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a bemused smile that tugged at Elizabeth’s heart. Oh, he’d dug himself a deep hole all right.

“Why not tell her the truth now? They say honesty is the best policy for a reason.”

“I’ve thought about it. Believe me. But I’m afraid Nana Jo will just go back to fretting over her health and my future, and dropping brochures for headstones in the mail to me.”

“But you actually don’t plan to get married to me or anyone,” she pointed out. “Eventually, your grandmother is going to figure that out.”

“I know.” He rubbed his chin. “Which is why I was thinking that, after a reasonable length of time, I would tell her that things between you and I had ended.”

“My doing, of course.”

He smiled guiltily. “She’d be upset. But I think she also would be a little relieved that I almost made it to the altar.”

“Commitment phobia cured?”

With one eye closed, he squinted at her with the other. “You don’t pull any punches,”

he said wryly. “I had you pegged as practical, but not quite so blunt.”

“That’s my professional persona,” she reminded him. “I can hardly afford to insult someone who is about to cut my agency a check.”

“Present company excluded, of course.”

“Your check—”

“Checks. One from my business. One from me.”

“Whether one check or two, they are coming with a lot of strings,” she reminded him.

“I want to make one thing clear. The check from Waverly Enterprises will be forthcoming regardless. I believe in your cause, and I respect what you’re doing.”

Slightly mollified, she said, “Thank you.”

“As for the other check, the one from me personally, yes, it does have strings as you called them. But I prefer to think of them as conditions, in which case they would serve to keep what would go on between us a business transaction as well, just with the funds coming from my personal bank account rather than my company’s.”

That made some sense, but … “I’m not saying I agree, but let’s discuss that business transaction. What exactly would it entail?”

“Some of your time, for starters. We would need to get up to speed on each other in short order. We’re supposed to have been dating for several months. Beyond knowing that you have a dog named Howie and started your nonprofit just after college graduation, I don’t know anything about you.”

“I could write up some notes.”

“Crib sheets, you mean?” His smile was engaging.

“I never had to resort to them myself.” She regretted the chiding comment when his lips flattened into a thin line.

“For the record, I’m not a fan of cheating, or lying, although I can understand where you might find that hard to believe right now. See, this is exactly the reason we need to spend time together before this weekend.”

“Assuming I agree.”

“Assuming that. Yes.”

“So, I would meet your grandmother and visit with her over the weekend?”

“That’s right. She’s incredibly easy to talk to and fun to be around. She plays a mean game of cribbage. Who knows, you might even enjoy yourself,” he said.

“Assuming I agree to do this,” she repeated.

“Assuming.”

But they both seemed to know she was leaning in that direction.

“I won’t lie to her, Thomas.” This time, his given name slipped easily from Elizabeth’s lips. It was important they were clear on this point. She might be willing to bend her principles, but she would not break them. “For her to assume is one thing, but if she flat-out asks me a question that requires me to lie, I won’t do it.”

“This is assuming you agree.” He beat her to it this time.

“Let me make something else clear. The only reason I am even entertaining the possibility of doing this is because Literacy Liaisons means so much to me.”

“I know that.”

Of course he did. He was banking on it, she realized.

“So, is that a yes?”

She exhaled slowly, knowing her life was about to take a huge and unexpected turn. “Yes.”

Once Elizabeth agreed, the rest of dinner passed in a blur for Thomas. When it came time for the check, he didn’t remember eating, possibly because more than half of his steak remained untouched on his plate, as did the side of risotto and steamed vegetables.

He was relieved that she’d said yes, of course. Her agreement was what he’d hoped for. Still, he couldn’t quite shake his apprehension. Now, he had a fiancée—a woman who was also a stranger. He needed to remedy their unfamiliarity and fast.




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