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The elevator dinged and she pushed the cart down the hall. No spirit-lifting music played on the executive floor, only the low tones of deals being made came from behind the closed doors and throughout the busy hallways. She paused in front of Mr. Tanner’s corner office, plastered on a smile, smoothed her hair back, then cursed her Irish ancestry for giving her the thickest, curliest red hair on earth as she knocked lightly on his door.
“Enter,” came that same husky command that she’d heard every morning for the past year and a half.
Briskly and with purpose, Abby opened the door and moved into the room. “Good morning, Mr. Tanner.”
He glanced up and smiled. “Good morning.”
She hesitated, her brows knitting together. She couldn’t remember him ever looking at her before, let alone smiling. Swallowing the lump that had just come into her throat, she placed his mail in the wire mesh In basket on the edge of the desk and tried to ignore the spicy scent of his cologne, which always seemed to throw her for a loop whenever she got too close. “Your mail, sir.”
His smile widened and warmed. “Thank you, Abby.”
She froze. Abby? She had no idea that C. K. Tanner even knew her name. What was going on here? And why was he giving her that smile—that unnerving, sexy and very Lancelot-like smile?
Blackbeard, Abby. Think Blackbeard.
“Well, have a good day, sir,” she said, turning quickly to go. But the sleeve of her blouse had other plans, catching itself on the wire basket. Laughing nervously, she tugged on the stubborn fabric, trying to free herself. But it wouldn’t budge. She gave it one last swift pull, but only managed to send the basket of mail flying. On a gasp, she lunged to catch it, hearing her shirt tear as she landed gracelessly.
With her heart slamming against her ribs and a shaky smile plastered on her face, she raised the basket up in a sad show of victory, only to catch C. K. Tanner’s more customary hawk-like stare. Ah, that was more like it, she thought as she leveled her gaze with his own. Trying to pretend that she was calm and unruffled, she stood and set the basket down firmly.
Right onto the lip of his coffee cup.
Suffocating her gasp behind her hand, she watched the dark stain spread menacingly across his desk.
“Ohmigod,” she breathed, hearing him rush up beside her. “I’ll clean this up right away.”
“It’s not a problem.” His strong hands were on her shoulders, pulling her close to his side and away from the hot liquid, even as he rang for his secretary with the push of a button. “Helen, send housekeeping with some paper towels.”
Forgetting who he was and who she was for a moment, Abby glanced up at him—all six feet, two inches of him. Thick black hair, just a little wavy, licked the edges of his starched white collar. Olive skin, chiseled features, full lips and eyes the color of chocolate.
It was a stubborn, arrogant face, but drop-dead gorgeous nonetheless. With that half smile and bedroom gaze, he was the cover of a men’s magazine and the star of every woman’s fantasy. And he fitted his gray pinstripe suit like nobody’s business, while displaying an imposing confidence that permeated the air around him.
She could see why every woman in this building had a crush on him. And why her best course of action was to get as far away from him as possible—as soon as possible.
But she didn’t move.
He held her loosely against his side, those bedroom eyes now filled with concern. “Are you all right?”
The warmth of him, his strength against her, sent currents of heat zipping through her blood. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tanner. I must’ve taken a clumsy pill with my vitamins this morning.”
Finally he released her and she felt as though she could breathe again. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’ll be cleaned up momentarily.”
As he walked back behind his desk, a woman from housekeeping entered and silently mopped up the mess. She was gone in seconds, and Abby turned to make her own hasty retreat. She wasn’t about to hang around and give him time to fire her.
“Please stay for a moment, Abby.” His words stopped her and she looked over her shoulder to see him smiling at her—again—his deep-brown eyes roaming her face. I’ll bet he’s one great kisser.
Before she could scold herself for such an outrageous thought, he asked, “Can I get you a safety pin or…”
Abby put her hand over the tear in her white blouse. “It’s nothing. I can take care of it.” And I should go.
“I insist. If you tell me the name of the boutique where you shop, I’ll have a new one here in an hour.”
Abby tried not laugh. Mostly because it might come out as a wheeze, but also because he’d said “boutique.” She’d gotten that blouse for ten dollars at a discount store. “It’s not necessary, I have another shirt in my locker, but thank you.” Of course, she didn’t have anything in her locker but chewing gum and an extra pair of nylons, but she wasn’t going to share that with him. All she wanted to do now was get out of C. K. Tanner’s office before he gave her two weeks to clear out that locker and never come back.
“How long have you worked for me, Abby?”
Oh, here it comes. “A little over a year, sir.”
As he eased into his brown leather chair, he motioned for her to take the seat opposite. “Why don’t you sit down for a moment.”
Abby bit her lip. “Uh…yes, sir.”
“I’d like to talk to you about something.”
She perched at the very edge of the seat and blurted it out. “Am I being fired? I’m very sorry about the coffee. And that small fire in the mail room last week really wasn’t my fault.”
She thought she saw a hint of laughter behind his eyes, but it passed as he said, “I’m going to Minnesota for the weekend to spend some time with the head of a certain candy corporation. I’m interested in buying his company.”
Abby cocked her head to the side. Why in the world was C. K. Tanner sharing this information with her? And, Lord, what was the proper response? She opted for a short congratulatory speech. “How…nice for you, sir. I’m sure it will be a very good invest—”
He stopped her with just a lift of his brow. “The catch is, I’m fairly certain he wants the company to go to a family man. And as I’m not married or even in the market to be, I find myself in a disconcerting position.” He leaned back in his chair. “Abby, I need you to pretend that you’re my wife.”
Abby hesitated, blinking with bewilderment, not at all sure she’d heard him correctly.
“Don’t misunderstand me. This is strictly a business trip. I need you to act the part of my wife just for the weekend.”
Okay, she had heard him correctly, but that knowledge brought little comfort.
He crossed his arms over his rather broad chest. “I’m afraid I’m one of those abrupt, come-to-the-point kind of businessmen.”
She nodded and managed to choke out, “To say the least.”
“You’re not married—”
“No, I’m not, but—”
He nodded. “Good. Then I would be honored if you would accompany me to this function.”
Abby just stared at him. “Is this some kind of joke, sir?”
He shook his head slowly. “No.”
“You want me to pretend to be your wife for the weekend?”
“Yes.”
“And it’s just business?”
“Of course.”
“Of course,” she repeated, laughter erupting in her throat. She couldn’t help it. It was all so ridiculous. She came to her feet and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but I have to decline.”
He studied her for a moment. “Believe me when I say that you will be well compensated.”
She stood there, blank, amazed. “You’re asking me to go away with you for the weekend and lie about who I am.”
He nodded casually, confidently, as though he’d asked this of a million different women—a million different times—and every one of them had said yes. Well, she wasn’t like other women and she wouldn’t help C. K. Tanner with his deceitful little plot in a million years.
“My answer is no.” She turned and pushed her cart out the door, calling back in the most professional voice she could under the circumstances, “Good day, Mr. Tanner.”
Abby McGrady sure had spunk, Tanner mused a few hours later as he opened his door and ushered the private detective into his office. And he didn’t know too many women like that. He was rarely surprised by people—even more rarely rejected by them.
And in less than ten minutes Miss McGrady had accomplished both.
She intrigued him. And there was certainly no denying his attraction to her—in spite of that “I just baked fresh cookies and you need to call me if you’re going to be late” home and hearthiness. Spending three days and nights pretending they were man and wife would only be possible if he kept reminding himself how much like oil and water they truly were.
Of course, first he had to get Abby to agree to come with him.
Tanner motioned for the detective to take a seat. He’d given the man just three hours to find out as much as he could about Abby McGrady. Tanner already knew she had the right qualifications—smart, quick and attractive—all musts for a good corporate wife. She needed some help with her wardrobe, but that could be taken care of in an afternoon. But her most valuable asset was the fact that her personal—and inexplicable—dislike of him would keep their arrangement totally professional, and that’s what he needed more than anything—no strings.
“Her full name is Abigail Mary McGrady,” the detective began, his gaze focused intently on the paper in front of him. “She’s an aspiring artist. Graduated Los Angeles School of Fine Art in 1998. Teaches an art class Tuesday and Wednesday evenings at the Yellow Canyon Community Center. Miss McGrady has a small apartment close by in West Hollywood where she grows roses in pots on her deck. She buys mint-chocolate-chip ice cream every Friday night after work and she turns twenty-five October the seventh.”
“That’s this Sunday.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anything else?”
“Actually I did find out something that might be helpful.”
As he listened to the detective, Tanner felt the corners of his mouth lift into a smile.
Two
The note that had been taped to the door at the start of class was permanently tattooed in Abby’s mind.
To all art students and staff:
Unfortunately, due to an overwhelming demand for computer courses, we are forced to cancel art classes for the semester. Next week will be your final class and prorated refund checks will be mailed to you. We are doing our best to bring back this art course next semester. Please accept our sincerest apologies.
Yellow Canyon Community Center
What else could go wrong today? Abby wondered as she waited for her students to finish a watercolor exercise. First she’d spilled coffee all over her boss’s desk, then he’d proceeded to ask her to pretend to be his wife for the weekend. And, worst of all, for just a moment when she’d been hypnotized by his gaze, she’d actually been tempted to say yes. With the way her life had been going lately, a weekend of adventure with her gorgeous boss just didn’t sound like a fate worse than death.
But that was her lonely heart talking. When her brain wrapped around the fact that this guy was not only a cocky Casanova, he was also her boss, she’d straightened out.
It would be just business, he’d told her earlier that day. Well, of course it would be just business. The man went out with supermodels and actresses who wore Gucci and smelled like eight-hundred-dollar perfume, not a clumsy mail girl who wore clothes from the secondhand store and considered Ivory soap her signature scent.
But one question still lingered: Why her? With all the women who drooled over him, why had he asked her?
Abby sighed and shook her head. It would remain a mystery. By now Mr. Tanner had probably forgotten her name—forgotten she even existed—and found someone else to play his wife for the weekend.
“Everyone done?” she asked the class when several faces appeared over the tops of their easels.
They all nodded.
She exhaled heavily as she stared at the dejected expressions on their faces. “The center can make more money with computer classes, you guys. And this is a slow time of year for them.” She smiled weakly. “But I’ll figure something out, I promise. Give me a week.”
“I can’t afford lessons anywhere else,” one student said.
“Shoot, I can hardly afford them here,” another added.
Abby nodded. “I understand, but—”
“What if they were free?”
The husky baritone came from the direction of the doorway. The entire room turned to stare, including Abby. Her eyes widened and her heart slammed against her ribs.
C. K. Tanner stood in the doorway, his eyes set on her.
Gone was the pinstripe suit. Jeans and a simple sweater had taken its place. Simple. Hah! Nothing on or about C. K. Tanner was simple, Abby thought wryly, wishing she’d fixed her hair or worn something nicer—something from a boutique.
He moved into the room with the confidence of a general. Tall, dark and sexy as all get-out. And the way he fitted into those jeans had to be illegal, she mused, then quickly told that half of her brain to shush.
“My name is Tanner,” he informed the class. “I’m a friend of Abby’s.”
“Go, Abby,” one female student hooted.
Everyone laughed. Abby’s cheeks burned.
“He’s not a—” she stuttered, then frowned at him, whispering, “I haven’t changed my mind, sir.”
“Hear me out, Abby,” he whispered back. “There’s an element to this proposal that might interest you.” He plunked down beside her on the desk and addressed the class. “I’m here to offer all of you,” he glanced over at Abby, “and you, too, of course, a building where you can hold your art classes. As for the rent—”
“Here it comes,” muttered one of the students.
“It will be a dollar a month,” Tanner finished.
Silence. All twenty students stared openmouthed at Tanner, then at Abby, then back again.
Abby’s muscles felt like water, but her temper was piqued. The man had some nerve. How dare he come in here and raise her students’ hopes like this. How dare he come in here and make their teacher’s pulse race. She jumped off the desk and motioned for him to follow. “Come with me,” she said, the sound of hoots and catcalls following them as she pulled him out of the room.
Once out in the hallway, Abby whirled on him, ready to give him what for. But her heel caught on the doorsill and she pitched forward into his arms.
Her cheeks flamed. Why did her clumsy nature have to show itself every damn time C. K. Tanner was near? Was she cursed?
“I got you,” he said in a husky whisper, tightening his hold on her.
Man, he felt good, she mused, steadying herself on her feet. All solid muscle and formidable strength.
