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“So tell me,” he said. “Exactly what kind of fun are we having?”
She stared at the strong curve of his mouth. It tilted up a smidgen at the corners. Not a smile, but it wasn’t a frown, either, so apparently he wasn’t mad at her. He sounded curious, more than anything else. Curious and intrigued. Deborah met his interested stare and felt her pulse pick up speed.
“Well?” he prompted. “Are we talking generic, G-rated fun, here? Or a more interesting kind of fun?”
All sorts of images popped into her head, and not a single one was G-rated. Her face felt hot. “I don’t think I specified,” she muttered.
“I see.” He watched her. “She also wanted to make sure I appreciated you.”
Oh, boy. What in the world had he said to that? Maybe nothing. Hopefully nothing. After all, this was not a man who chatted.
His eyes held a gleam. “I assured her I appreciate you very much.”
Deborah’s pulse thudded faster still, but she ignored it. Probably just shock. Cameron Lyle obviously wasn’t himself today, but tomorrow he’d give her the familiar stiff nod and everything would be back to normal. This was no time to be thinking that he looked like a human being this afternoon. A very attractive man, in fact, in spite of the ultraconservative and downright boring three-piece navy pinstriped suit he was wearing.
“After all,” he continued, “it was clear that you were the one who told her we were involved, so I decided you must have a reason for this idiocy.”
Scratch that last thought. He was not a human being.
Deborah counted to ten. He had helped her out by not giving her away to Marilyn. So what if Mr. High Society was a snob and considered the idea of dating her ridiculous? She wasn’t lining up to go out with him and his jaw, either.
He still watched her closely. “Why did you pick me?”
“I didn’t pick you!” She took a calming breath. “Well, I picked your name, that’s true. But only because Marilyn wanted to know who the guy was. Like I said, at first I just told her I was seeing somebody. You know, somebody tall, dark and handsome.” Deborah felt her cheeks warm. Why had she said that?
A skeptical little smile appeared at the corners of his lips. “And then my name popped into your head?”
“No.” She shifted. “Well, yes, actually, it did. Why shouldn’t it? I pass by your sign downstairs at least six times a day. Cameron Lyle, M.B.A., Financial Consultant.” And, of course, he fit the tall, dark and handsome description, although handsome was too bland a word to describe his aggressively attractive face and body.
However, his looks were completely irrelevant. She had not been thinking of Cameron Lyle, the man. In fact, she hadn’t been thinking at all, because otherwise she’d have realized that Marilyn, a businesswoman herself, would have heard of him. And even though she’d never figured Marilyn would say anything, using his name had been dumb.
But then, impulses often turned out to be dumb, which was why she was trying to stop having them.
He leaned forward, his gaze sweeping over her face and body in leisurely passes. “You know, you should have dropped me a few hints. Why play games? We’re both free, and I like admiration as much as the next guy. I’m sure we could arrange something—”
“Arrange something? I don’t want—” Deborah saw his face and stopped. The crinkles around his dark green eyes gave him away, despite his deadpan expression.
He was laughing at her.
With anyone else, she’d have gotten a chuckle out of it, too. She liked to laugh, and she appreciated a good joke, even when it was on her.
But besides laughing at her, Mr. High Society was patronizing her. Every time he talked to her, she read dismissal in his eyes. It was all too obvious he saw her as an unsophisticated and na?ve girl, instead of as the mature woman she really was.
“Very amusing,” she muttered. It just went to show he wasn’t always humorless and unfriendly. Sometimes he was humorless, unfriendly and sarcastic.
Deborah plucked a piece of lint from her royal blue leggings. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Okay, so the man did have a sense of humor. She could acknowledge that fact, even though the discovery of it completely stunned her and his humor was unkind and came at her expense.
Still, Cameron Lyle should be careful, because an even less sophisticated woman than she was might think he’d been flirting with her just now. Which of course he hadn’t been. After all, this was the man who drove a sleek, expensive car and had recently made Indianapolis Living’s “Most Eligible Bachelors” list. Not that she read columns like those, but from the moment she’d moved into the apartment directly over his large office, she’d gotten an earful from several interested parties in Tulip Tree Square, all of them female.
So she knew enough about Cameron Lyle’s love life to realize that she was the total opposite of the women he dated. They were all sophisticated and impeccably stylish. Probably petite, too, and ultrafeminine.
All things she would never be. Things she would never want to be.
Deborah got up from her chair. “So that’s the situation. A bit of a mess, I know, but it’s only temporary. I apologize for any inconvenience…” She let her sentence trail off because it sounded uncomfortably like a renovation notice in a department store.
His dark head tilted. “I accept your apology, but that’s not the main reason I came to talk to you.”
“It isn’t?” How could they have anything else to talk about? They had nothing in common. He spent his days in stiff business suits doing boring paperwork while she spent hers in comfy leggings planning cheerful kids’ parties. In the evenings he ate elegant catered meals and escorted beautiful women to social engagements while she ate frozen dinners and read.
Lengthy, deep conversations between the two of them were not even a remote possibility.
“I want to hire you,” he said.
Deborah stared. For a moment, that was all she could do, because although a variety of thoughts leaped into her head every time she saw the handsome and remote Mr. Lyle, none of those thoughts had anything to do with dinosaur birthday cakes, pizza parties or clowns.
He had to be kidding.
On the other hand, he looked serious, like someone ready to talk business. And it wasn’t entirely impossible that he could need her company’s services.
Even confirmed bachelors had nieces and nephews.
Deborah cleared her throat. “You want to hire me? To organize a party?”
“Yes.”
She considered the idea, turning it around in her mind with the caution of someone tasting a food of unknown character. The difference was that in this case, she had enough knowledge to make her suspect that planning a party for Cameron Lyle would be a mistake. Accepting him as a client was a risk she shouldn’t take. After all, sooner or later she’d have to say something to him. Then he’d give her one of those brusque, stuck-up, disapproving replies, and she would tell him to go soak his haughty head, and then—
“Will you do it?” he asked, saving her imagination any more work.
She opened her mouth to say “no” and then remembered that Libby’s vet bill was due in less than two weeks. “Maybe. I’d need some details first.” Deborah snagged a pen and some paper from the coffee table and gave him her best businesslike voice. “How old are the children?”
He frowned. “The children? There aren’t—”
“Age group is the biggest factor, you know. It determines everything, from food to games. After all, we can’t have twelve-year-olds playing pin the tail on the donkey, can we?” Mentally Deborah winced. She sounded like a geriatric nurse. And one look at his face told her he was completely lost.
“Is there a wide age range?” she asked. Actually, that was only a minor problem, but many clients were stumped by it.
He chuckled, and Deborah stared. She hadn’t been positive the guy ever laughed, and she would never have guessed he could produce such an attractive sound. Deep, rich and melodic, it made her want to join in, even though she had no idea what was funny.
“Very wide,” he agreed. “But I’m not hiring you for a kids’ party.”
Deborah frowned. “You’re not? But that’s what I do. Well, except for a few weddings—” She drew in a sharp breath and almost choked. “You’re hiring me to plan your wedding reception?”
Good grief, no one on the block was going to believe this. She couldn’t believe it herself, after all the what-a-hunk-but-he’s-allergic-to-marriage sighing and sobbing she’d heard since she moved in. Just how everyone knew, or thought they knew, that he’d never marry was a mystery to her. Had he taken out a billboard ad?
More to the point, how had he sneaked a fiancеe past the grapevine groupies?
“No, no,” Cameron Lyle said, with a haste that made her want to laugh. “No reception. No wedding. I’m not getting married.” He looked horrified, as if they were discussing a fatal disease.
Deborah felt a smile tug at the corners of her lips. Besides amusement, there was relief, pure and simple. With the exception of one last booking in March, and her own wedding, sometime in the distant future when she was very, very positive that her fiancе wasn’t going to jilt her, she hoped to plan no more weddings as long as she lived.
“Fine, you’re not getting married,” she agreed. “And you’re not having a kids’ party. So what kind of event are we talking about?”
“A dinner party. A dinner dance, in fact. January thirtieth, seven-thirty. Sixty people, mostly business acquaintances.” He ticked off the details with the air of someone who knew what he was doing and was never indecisive. “Something simple but elegant. Hors d’oeuvre, buffet service, dessert trays. Modern but conservative dеcor, probably silver and burgundy.”
Deborah blinked. “And you want me to plan the event?” Assuming there was any planning left to be done.
“Right. Is there a problem with that?” he asked.
She thought about it. “Probably not.” He had just handed her a golden opportunity, because this party sounded like exactly the type of event she wanted to specialize in. And since she’d been trying, so far unsuccessfully, to take her business in that direction, she shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Still…
“Why?” Deborah asked, unable to stop herself. “Why are you asking me, I mean?”
For a second he looked like he was going to say something, but then he raised a brow instead. “Why shouldn’t I?”
She could think of several reasons. Every time they met she got the impression he thought she was too talkative, too casual, too flippant, too unsophisticated and a whole lot of other toos. Of course, she herself knew that wasn’t true, but then she wasn’t him—a certified Type A personality who took himself and life way too seriously. Compared to him, she was downright frivolous.
“You don’t know my work,” Deborah pointed out. “For all you know, my event dеcor features plastic fruit, fringed table cloths and doilies.”
“You don’t seem like the doily type,” he said. “In any case, I’ll have final approval over everything.”
Not exactly a strong vote of confidence. But it didn’t matter. She really couldn’t afford to turn down this opportunity.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” Deborah said. She told him her fee percentage and, when he nodded, she added, “Once we hash out the details, I’ll write you up a proposal. I’ve also got a contract we can fill out.”
“Good.” He looked satisfied rather than surprised, but before Deborah could decide whether or not she was annoyed that he’d apparently been so sure she would be available to plan the event, he held up a hand. “Oh, yes. I’ll need one other thing.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“A hostess for my party.”
Deborah frowned. “That’s not part of the normal service.”
“I realize that, but you can do it for me, can’t you?” He gave her a confident smile that told her he fully expected her to agree.
Deborah eyed him without enthusiasm. She should have known that coming to a business agreement with this man wouldn’t be easy. Most clients were more than satisfied if she threw in a free cake or pizza with the deal, but not him. Oh, no. Nothing so simple for him. He expected her to come up with a hostess for his party. Not an easy task.
And his confident smile made her want to grit her teeth. He probably used that smile on women all the time. It probably worked, too.
Well, it wouldn’t work on her.
“I can throw in a server with the deal, but that’s the best I can do,” she told him finally.
He gave her a small, amused smile. “I’m not asking for this as a freebie in a business negotiation. I’m asking for it because you owe me a favor.”
Deborah looked up at him. He had her there. “Yes, I suppose I do. Okay, I’ll find you a hostess—”
“No.” He shook his head. “I told you, this isn’t a business issue. I’m asking for a personal favor.”
Deborah met his gaze and then, suddenly, light dawned. She felt herself flush. He must think she was a complete idiot to be so slow catching on. Her only excuse was that this had to be the worst idea she’d heard in a long time.
“Wait a minute. You’re not suggesting I…” She couldn’t finish. The thought was too awful.
“Yes, I am,” said Cameron Lyle. “I want you to be my hostess.”
Chapter Two
Deborah did not look happy. That fact alone was noteworthy, since Cameron hadn’t seen her any other way in the short time he’d known her.
During that time she’d met each of his complaints with a cheerful calm and a chatty reply that kept him off-balance. Amused, too, in spite of his irritation. Even during the past month, when she’d apparently been recovering from her fiancе’s rejection, Cam would never have guessed it by seeing or talking to her. When their paths crossed, she was often deep in conversation with a neighbor, gesturing with an enthusiasm that echoed in her lively blue eyes. She always seemed about to smile.
Except for right now. Right now she looked like she’d rather be doing anything else than having this conversation.
“No.” She shoved a hand through her thick blond hair. “I can’t be your hostess.”
Cam blinked. He wasn’t prepared for a refusal at all, let alone such an abrupt one. What was the matter with her?
He gave a mental shrug. He couldn’t afford to wonder what Deborah’s problem was. He needed her, and she owed him her cooperation. Simple as that.
“This works out well,” Cam said, ignoring her last statement. “I thought I was going to have to go without a hostess for my party, but that little problem is solved now that I’ve suddenly acquired a girlfriend.” He put emphasis on the last few words.
Her expression told him she’d gotten his point, but Deborah shook her head. “I can’t be your hostess,” she repeated. “And I can’t imagine why you’d want me to, anyway, since it’s obvious you don’t approve of me.” Her gaze met his squarely, daring him to deny it.
Cam frowned. “What are you talking about?”
She snorted. “Frowns just like the one you’re wearing now, that’s what I’m talking about. I know disapproval when I see it, and that’s about all I’ve seen from you, ever since I met you.”
Cam stared at her. She was refreshingly honest. He ought to be able to return her honesty. He wanted to. But what could he say? Yeah, you’re right. I sure as hell disapproved of that engagement ring you were wearing. And I still disapprove of the ten years, minimum, difference in our ages.
No, he couldn’t say that. She would think he was chasing her, which couldn’t be further from the truth. After all, even without the age gap they were completely incompatible. And yet he was relieved—happy, even—to see the last of that damned ring.
He couldn’t explain what he didn’t understand himself.
Cam settled for a small slice of the truth. “That wasn’t disapproval. It was plain bad temper, and I’ve been meaning to apologize for it. Let’s just say something was bothering me and leave it at that.”
She looked stunned. Her eyes were wide, almost swallowing up her extremely innocent-looking face. “Okay,” she said finally. After another long pause she added, “But I still can’t be your hostess.” This time her voice held some regret.
“Yes, you can. Helping me out is the least you can do.” He fixed her with a long stare. “You owe me.”
She closed her eyes.
“Consider it a routine payment of a debt,” he advised, watching despair fill her expressive features. He smiled. Talk about melodrama. She had an obvious flair for it. And he should know, because he’d had enough drama from women to last him a lifetime.
“I don’t get it.” She opened her eyes again and gave him a look that was both exasperated and uncomprehending. “You’ve got tons of women to choose from. Why would you want me to hostess your party? People will think we’re…you know…together.” She waved a hand, making her aversion to the idea clear. But then she must have realized her response wasn’t flattering, because her cheeks pinkened.
“Like Marilyn does, for instance?” Cam asked with exaggerated politeness.
She shot him a quelling look. “I told you, that was a spur-of-the-moment impulse. One little slip doesn’t justify a larger deception. Anyway, as you yourself pointed out, the idea of us as a couple is implausible and idiotic.”
