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Dawn smiled again, then winced slightly. Her hand fluttered to her cheek, then darted away.
“Is anything wrong?” Izzy asked, moving to get a closer look.
Dawn’s big, blue eyes found Izzy and her smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “Why...no. What could be wrong?” The faintest edge of trepidation in her voice heightened Izzy’s concerns.
Dawn shifted her gaze to Mr. Parish. “I have my boarding pass.” She held it up. “So all is well.”
He lifted it from her fingers, slipping it into his pocket with his own. “It should just be a few minutes.” Taking her arm, he added, “Why don’t we sit?”
As Mr. Parish led his striking companion toward a seating area that looked more like a man’s cushy den than a waiting room, Izzy noticed what appeared to be a slight puffiness along the redhead’s otherwise perfect jawline. Once again the woman tentatively touched the place. Izzy had the impression Mr. Parish’s fake wife might be in some pain.
James touched Izzy’s shoulder. “When do I pick them up again?”
She didn’t look his way, but continued to survey Dawn’s profile. “A week from today. Five o’clock in the afternoon ”
“Should I leave now?”
“Wait until they take off.” She glanced at the driver. He was young, nice-looking, new at his job and trying hard. “Once, last year, the plane was taxiing down the runway when something went wrong with the engine and the flight had to be postponed. Mr. Parish doesn’t like to dawdle at airports when he can go work at his office for a few hours. So, never leave until the plane disappears into the distance.”
James nodded, looking solemn.
She smiled at him, feeling for the young man. Their employer could be intimidating. Touching James’s hand in a friendly gesture, she added, “If you have questions, ask me.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she was sorry. Ask me? How could you have said such a thing, dummy? she admonished inwardly. Remember, you’re quitting!
The chauffeur’s frown evaporated and he looked almost at ease. She supposed her tiny fib was worth it if she reduced James’s stress level. He was a wiry, high-strung man, taking everything too seriously.
“I don’t think that lady feels good,” James whispered.
Izzy had gone back to studying Dawn’s face, so the chauffeur’s remark snagged her attention. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“She kept touching her face and popping aspirin. She spotted me watching her in the rearview mirror and almost snapped my head off. Told me to mind my business and drive.”
“Oh, dear.” Izzy was beginning to have a bad feeling. The three summers she worked in her father’s dentist office hadn’t been wasted. Izzy had seen a lot of dental problems walk in the office door. Dawn Day might be an icon of female beauty, but if Izzy didn’t miss her guess, behind those ravishing lips lurked trouble. “If she has what I think she has, she’s going to need medical attention,” Izzy murmured, more to herself than to James.
“If you want my opinion, I think she’d rather die than give up this trip.”
Izzy glanced thoughtfully at the chauffeur. She wouldn’t blame Miss Day if she’d crawled to the airport on broken arms and legs. Mr. Parish was making it worth any woman’s while to take this jaunt. Not to mention the added bonus that he would be there. Nevertheless, if the woman had an abscessed tooth, as Izzy suspected, she couldn’t go. Abscesses usually made themselves known at an earlier stage than Miss Day’s. Though, a few people never realized they had a problem until the swelling began. They might think it was nothing—just a little ache that would pass—but in a few hours the pain would be excruciating. Miss Day needed a root canal—today! Or by tomorrow morning she wouldn’t be able to endure the agony, no matter how spectacular the perks.
Mr. Parish’s deep laugh rang out, drawing Izzy’s gaze. The woman’s throaty giggle was almost too far away to detect. But as Izzy watched, the redhead’s fingers moved tentatively across her jaw. It was clear her self-prescribed aspirin treatment was doing little good.
Fine, she thought dourly. This is just fine! It was too late to hire anybody else from the agency, still Izzy had no choice. She had to confront the woman. If she allowed her to go, she would never forgive herself.
She looked grimly at James. “I have to do something. The poor thing has no idea what she’s in for.”
He shrugged. “I don’t envy you, ma’am. She’s not as sweet as she looks. Be careful she doesn’t scratch out your eyes for your trouble.”
Izzy surveyed the chauffeur narrowly, battling to hold on to a resolve that was trying to scurry into hiding. “Thanks,” she quipped wryly. “You’re a huge help.”
Squaring her shoulders, she headed toward her boss and his pretty companion. To keep up her nerve, she told herself this was right. Fate had taken a hand to keep her boss from perpetrating this fraud. Miss Day’s abscessed tooth might seem like a calamity now, but it was for the better. Really!
Still, how was she going to get Miss Day to admit she was in pain? The redhead had already denied she had any troubles at all.
An idea flashed into Izzy’s brain and she walked around between the big leather chairs in which Mr. Parish and Miss Day were seated. “May I get you anything?” she asked, then pretended to be caught by the sight of something unsightly on the redhead’s face. “Oh—there’s a smudge...” She drew a clean handkerchief from her purse and skimmed it across Miss Day’s puffy jaw. “There—”
A shriek split the air as Dawn lurched from the chair. Stumbling away, her hand went to her jaw. “Why—why you witch!” she screamed, her blue eyes filling with tears. “That hurt!”
Mr. Parish abruptly stood, his confused gaze going from his hysterical companion to Izzy. “What the hell?”
Dawn moaned, tears spilling from her eyes. “Oh—it hurts! That witch did it on purpose!”
“Did you pinch her, Peabody?”
“No, sir.” Sick at heart, Izzy watched as the redhead crumpled back into her chair. Reduced to a miserable heap, Miss Day covered the lower half of her face with both hands, moaning and rocking back and forth.
Izzy placed a solicitous hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. But you must get that tooth looked at right away.”
The redhead glared at Izzy, her eyes glittery and wild. “I’m fine, I tell you! Mind your own business.”
“You’re ill?” Mr. Parish sat down in the chair next to Dawn, his expression worried.
“I’m afraid she has an abscessed tooth, sir,” Izzy said quietly.
“That’s not true! You’re a liar!” Dawn cried, then moaned at the pain her yelling caused. She slumped back, her face ashen.
“We’re ready to board, Mr. Parish.”
Izzy’s gaze shot to the newcomer. An attractive flight attendant stood nearby, her features closed in concern.
“May I be of help?” she asked.
Mr. Parish stood. Frowning, he shook his head. “We can manage.” He motioned to James. When the chauffeur scurried up, his boss indicated Miss Day. “Drive her to my dentist. His private number is programmed into the car phone.”
“But it’s Sunday, sir,” James said.
“He’s a close friend. He’ll see her.” Solemnly he offered the redhead his hand. “I’m disappointed, Dawn. But I can’t allow you to make the trip in your condition.”
Slouched dejectedly in the big chair, she looked at him, her eyes awash with pleading and suffering. “I—I need this job.”
Izzy watched her boss’s jaw harden, a clear indication that he was as disturbed as she. He bent to take her fingers in his. “I’ll compensate you for your trouble, Miss Day. Now see about that tooth.”
When Mr. Parish helped her to her feet, he handed her over to James and sent them on their way.
The first-class passengers began boarding. Izzy stared at her boss, watching him watch his counterfeit wife disappear—along with his chance at the Yum-Yum Baby Food account. So tall and grim, he was a striking vision, even in defeat.
Although Izzy had been against this ploy from the beginning, she felt a twinge of sadness. Her boss had gone to incredible lengths to get the account. Seeing his chance walk out the door along with Miss Day had to be excruciating. “I—I’m sure you’ll realize that—in the long run—this is best, sir.”
He shifted to glower at her. He was furious. Gabriel Parish wasn’t a man who took kindly to losing. He lived for the stimulation of the quest and reveled in conquest. The money he made was a mere by-product. Mr. Parish had to be suffering the tortures of the damned, seeing this challenge slip through his fingers.
A part of her rejoiced that her boss would not be traveling to an idyllic tropical island with Dawn Day, and she felt a pinch of guilt. Well, fate had spoken. It was time to move on.
She cleared her throat, forcing herself to meet his angry gaze. “I’ll see about getting your bags off the plane, sir, but I’m not sure if—”
“No.” He grasped her elbow. “Peabody, you are going to be my wife for a week.”
CHAPTER TWO
HIS wife?
It wasn’t as though she’d never had that fantasy.
But for only a week?
It seemed Mr. Parish and Madam Fate had something in common that Izzy would never have anticipated. Both had a genius for diabolical pranks. Suddenly she had the very thing she’d fantasized about for so long—Gabriel Parish as her husband—yet she didn’t really have him at all.
By the time the shock of being dragged onto the plane wore off, Izzy and her boss were thirty thousand feet above the Eastern seaboard, winging south toward Miami. From her window seat, she blinked, coming fully back to reality. She glowered at the man beside her. He was on the phone. His deep chuckle filled the cabin. Izzy saw people turn and smile. His laughter was contagious. People around him caught it like the flu—only with more palatable results.
However, there was nothing palatable going on from where Izzy sat. She had a feeling she was the only person in the half-filled first-class section who wasn’t smiling. As her boss talked business with one of his advertising clients, he happened to catch sight of her frown and winked nonchalantly. As if he thought that would make it all better! How dare he drag her onto a plane, without even a toothbrush, expecting her to spend the week lying for him.
He hung up. “Okay, Peabody,” he said, drawing her glance. “I know you’re not crazy about this.” She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand, halting her. “Neither am I, but we can make this work.” He shifted to better see her. “Don’t forget, you’re getting a new wardrobe out of the deal, and I’ll pay double overtime.” His grin was sunny, meant to charm the daylights out of her.
But to Izzy that smile was pure cruelty. He knew no flesh-and-blood woman could withstand it—fiendish, manipulative beast! However, since he didn’t think of Izzy as a woman, she had no plans to quiver and sigh and melt like one. Lifting her chin, she muttered, “It didn’t cross your mind that I believe this ruse is unfair and that I might refuse to have anything to do with it?”
His smile didn’t dim, but somehow became wry. She realized the change was in his eyes, which narrowed slightly. “It crossed my mind.”
“And then flitted right out?”
“Yes.”
She eyed heaven and turned toward the window. Outside the sun shone on fluffy clouds below them, the image of a snow-covered landscape in some arctic wonderland. “You take me for granted, Mr. Parish,” she said. “I don’t like that trait in you.”
“Are you bucking for a raise, Peabody?” Amusement rode his words.
She twisted to scowl at him. “Everything is not about money, sir.”
“Reverse psychology.” He nodded. “Good strategy. What about five percent?”
She gaped, anger welling inside her. “What?”
He chuckled. “Okay, seven.”
With an exasperated moan she lay back and closed her eyes. “I don’t want a raise, Mr. Parish. I simply can’t abide the idea of lying to that nice man.”
“If you like him, you’ll go along with my plan.”
She peered at him from behind her lashes. “Excuse me?”
“He needs me, Peabody.” Mr. Parish leaned closer. Reflexively she fumbled for the controls, pressing her seat back to recline. With her retreat, his grin grew crooked. “There, you see? You’re acting like a wife, already.”
She frowned. “Your attitude about marriage alone should disqualify you!”
“My attitude about marriage shouldn’t come into it.”
“Well I shouldn’t be here, but I am.” She wasn’t sure if her argument held a scrap of logic. With Mr. Parish leaning over her, his face inches above hers, her brain was misfiring. Frantically she pressed her seat button, but nothing happened. She was as far back as she could go.
“Are you telling me life isn’t fair, Peabody, and that we must play the hand we’re dealt?”
She had no idea if that’s what she meant, but decided it sounded good and nodded.
The humor in his expression reminded her of a father tolerating a pampered child. “You don’t think I’m playing the hand I was dealt?”
“Yes, I do,” she retorted. “But they used to shoot cardsharps for playing a hand the way you’re playing yours.”
“You think I’m cheating?”
“Think?” She was amazed he could even ask the question.
“I’m not, Peabody. I can’t.”
“No?” She eyed him with distrust, curious to see how he thought he could weasel out of admitting he was a scoundrel. “I doubt that.”
His grin was cocky and sexy. “You can embezzle from a company and cheat on a spouse, Peabody. There are as many ways to cheat as there are people. But you can’t cheat on inspiration.” He watched her speculatively. “Quality can’t be faked. Married or not, I’ll give old Rufus quality work.” He nudged her, a brief, teasing gesture. “Tell me honestly, do you believe I have any intention of cheating the man?”
She stared at him. How did he do it? Deep down, she knew if he got the Yum-Yum account, he would work a miracle—conceive a campaign that would elevate baby food above the mundane and make the hawking of it an earth-shattering event.
Gabriel Parish was gifted that way. She’d seen it happen too many times to doubt his ability. It was almost scary. Defeat washed over her, and she opened her mouth to admit he was right. He wasn’t cheating, wouldn’t cheat. He was merely playing his hand—his own way. His motto was Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained and this was simply another venture to him. The method be damned.
Yet, in a sudden flash of insight she couldn’t make the admission. Wouldn’t. No matter how pretty the words he used to justify it, he would still be lying about being married, and she would have to join him in his lie. Forcing herself, she met his gaze. She had to be firm. “I won’t do it, Mr. Parish.”
He watched her for a minute, his nearness making her too aware of him. The seconds dragged by.
She glared.
He smiled.
She grew panicky. If she looked into those eyes for another second she would agree to anything he asked. “Would you...” She swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat. “Would you back off, sir?”
One dark eyebrow rose a trifle. He turned away to steeple his fingers before his face. He seemed to fall into deep thought. Izzy wondered about what.
Her boss had a keen, unorthodox mind. At thirty-five, he was called “the young genius of promoting” in New York’s fast-paced advertising world. His career was his family, his passion, his children, his wife and his love. In the three years she’d been part of his breakneck-take-no-prisoners world she’d never complained, never objected. She had a feeling he wouldn’t take her rejection well. She was tampering with his whole existence.
Staring out her window, she heaved a sigh. Quite possibly she wouldn’t have to hand him her resignation letter after all.
Renewed yearning swelled in her breast. If Mr. Parish only knew how badly she wanted to be his wife. His real wife. Someone he loved, someone he could come to for comfort and happiness. But a sham wife? She couldn’t go through with it—being near him, braving false endearments and displays of affection.
The idea was too painful to bear.
She breathed deeply in an effort to remain composed. This was no time for silly tears. After staring out the window for what seemed to be a hundred years, it began to nag her that Mr. Parish continued to say nothing. Her nerves tightened like overwound clock springs, and she felt close to screaming. Why didn’t he just say, “You’re fired!” and get it over and done? She wanted to look at him, gauge his expression, his posture, his demeanor, but she didn’t have the nerve.
After ten more agonizing minutes, she knew if she didn’t do something she would jump up and start screaming. That sort of behavior would only get her sent to a home for the mentally disturbed or a cell in airline prison.
