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Get a hold of yourself, Abby. The guy’s a corporate jerk.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Tanner?” she asked, once she was free from his grasp and a few feet away.
He grinned. “Well it looks as though I’m saving your neck—and your class. Now they have a space.”
She glared at him. “How did you know we needed a space?”
He shrugged. “Does it really matter? The point is you need one.”
Abby couldn’t refute that inescapable logic. “I guess I don’t need to ask why you’re doing this. But right now my students are wondering why. And I’m sure some of them have some pretty…obscene guesses.”
He raised a lazy brow. “Like what?”
“That’s not funny.”
“Why do you care so much about what people think, Abby?”
“Why don’t you care more?” She looked directly at him, choosing her words carefully. “Look, Mr. Tanner, I don’t understand this. Why me? You must have a dozen women who would do this for you.”
“I need a stranger,” he said simply. “I have no wish for anyone to know about it, nor do I want my…” He hesitated a moment, as if searching for just the right word. “I don’t want my female friends thinking the words C. K. Tanner and marriage belong in the same sentence. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “I’m afraid I do.”
“Here. Maybe this will help you decide.” He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
With great reluctance she took it and peeked inside with as much unease as if it held a snake.
“It’s a contract and keys to a warehouse space downtown.” He rubbed his jaw. “You can pay me the twelve dollars in advance or at the end of the year. I don’t care.”
She pulled out the small set of keys, shock slamming through her. A whole building for a year for twelve bucks. What on earth did he expect her to do on this weekend? There had to be more to this than—
As if reading her mind, he answered her silent queries. “Three days. That’s it. I’ll probably be down at the plant most of the time. You won’t have to see me very much.”
That should have reassured her, so why was every traitorous part of her balking at the notion?
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he continued. “In the bathtub—whatever makes you comfortable.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever makes me comfortable?”
“Trust me, Abby, you have nothing to worry about.” His voice was resolute, his eyes sincere.
She buttoned and unbuttoned the collar of her sweater nervously.
He glanced down at the keys in her hand. “I’m sure you could find many uses for that space.”
Darn right she could. That warehouse would save her art class. And with her own space she could hold classes on weekends for kids, for anyone who wanted to learn. But at what price? She’d be breaking a vow she’d made to herself years ago that she’d never let another Richie Rich invade her life. They were bad news. There was also the added discomfort of having to lie and deceive people she hadn’t even met.
But the students, the kids. That was almost worth it. “You’ll sleep in the bathtub?” she asked skeptically.
He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
Somehow she doubted he’d ever been a Boy Scout. “Three days?”
He nodded. “Plus time for your makeover and your briefing.”
“I have to get a makeover?” she stammered in bewilderment. “What briefing?”
“You need to know all about me, Abby. My habits, likes, dislikes.” He hesitated, giving her an appraising look from the tips of her vintage saddle shoes to the top of her unruly mop of hair. “You’re a beautiful woman, Abby. God knows why you’d want to hide it. But I think I know someone who can help us with that.” He retrieved his cell phone from his jacket pocket. “I’ll pick you up at your place tomorrow afternoon at one.”
A knot formed in her stomach. “What about work?”
“You have the next two days off.” He regarded her with serious eyes. “Courtesy of the boss. Oh, and Abby, I’d like to keep this arrangement confidential.”
“Wait just a minute. I haven’t said I would—”
He grinned. “Yes, you have. I saw it in your eyes when you held the keys to your new warehouse space.”
She ground her teeth, knowing he was right and wishing with all her heart that she could just toss those keys right back at him. But the students, she thought, glancing through the window. They depended on her. And not only that, if she agreed to this farce, her children’s program could start immediately.
She looked back at Tanner. His brown eyes practically bored straight through her. Her pulse sped up and she felt sixteen and breathless. The kind of man she’d always vowed to stay away from was going to be her “husband” for three days.
“There will have to be some conditions,” she said firmly.
“Of course.”
“I’ll give you a list tomorrow.”
“Can’t wait.” And there it was. That damn half smile again. “’Night, Abby.”
She watched him as he walked down the hallway, cell phone to his ear. Completely unruffled and utterly pleased with himself.
She shook her head, pretty sure she’d just made a deal with the devil. And if he took her soul, she prayed he’d leave her heart intact.
“Are you sick or something?”
Abby rolled her eyes at the suspicious tone in Dixie’s voice. It was lunchtime at Tanner Enterprises, and Abby had expected her friend’s call, but she hadn’t expected the overwhelming desire to tell Dixie about the upcoming weekend with their sexy boss. But unfortunately Abby knew she couldn’t say a word.
“Abby, spill it,” Dixie demanded. “I can’t remember you ever taking a day off since you started here.”
Abby sank deeper into her wicker chair as she stared out at the neighborhood’s midday activity from the tiny deck attached to her tiny apartment. “I have a really bad headache, that’s all,” she quickly explained. It was the truth actually. A headache that hadn’t gone away since yesterday’s mail route had taken an unusual little twist. Well, a major upset actually. And now here she was, waiting for C. K. Tanner to pick her up for a makeover.
She was crazy to agree to this. Truly. No matter how they dolled her up, she wasn’t sophisticated or chic. She was the poor relation at best, and she wondered if she’d get through this weekend without serious damage to her self-respect.
If she could just forget this whole thing, she would. But last night she’d told her students that their class would continue. And this morning she’d called every last parent on her waiting list to tell them that their children would have a place to study art. The deed was done.
She was so deep in thought, she barely heard Dixie ask what she was doing for her birthday. “So, Abby, what’ll it be? Chippendales or club hopping?”
Birthday. Oh, Lord. Sunday. She’d be in Minnesota. Thank God her parents were out of town and they’d had her birthday celebration last weekend. Having to make excuses to them would be virtually impossible.
“I’ll be hiding under a rock,” she muttered, her mind searching in vain for another excuse when Dixie came asking again—which, of course, she would.
Dixie snorted. “Why you hate birthdays I’ll never know. Perky people are supposed to love birthdays.”
“I like other people’s birthdays. It’s just when I’m the one getting older—”
“You’re turning twenty-five, for goodness sake.” Dixie sighed. “I don’t think that qualifies you for Grandma Moses status yet.”
Abby laughed. “It’s not a vain, getting-wrinkles sorta thing, Dix. It’s a productive thing. I really wanted to have the art center up and going by now. And—”
She halted midstream. Having her very own art center was exactly what was happening. No more excuses or feeling sorry for herself. She was going to have her dream fulfilled—and all because of C. K. Tanner.
“You’ll get there, Abby,” Dixie was saying. “One day at a time, you know? Hey, I know what would make you feel better.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“A date,” Dixie exclaimed. “Better yet, a man.”
“What’s the difference?” she couldn’t help saying.
“A thousand miles, hon.” Dixie chuckled. “A man sticks around—he’s a boyfriend, a husband.”
Down the street the wind kicked up leaves with a flourish, announcing the arrival of a gleaming black Mercedes that Abby could only assume was C. K. Tanner’s. This was a modest neighborhood, where understated Spanish homes sat quietly bracketed by smallish apartment complexes. It was a tan Ford kind of neighborhood, not a luxury full-size.
Abby felt her heartbeat pick up speed as the car slowed to the curb in front of her apartment. The windows were tinted a light smoke color, but she knew it was him. The driver’s side door opened and he stepped out, looking unbelievably handsome. Damn him.
You need a man, a husband, Dixie had said. Abby stifled a laugh. If her friend only knew that she was going to have a husband for three days, and it was none other than the mail room’s fantasy, C. K. Tanner.
“Listen, I’d better go,” Abby said, coming to her feet and stepping back into her apartment. “I’ve got to take some, ah…some more aspirin.”
“Will you be in tomorrow?”
“Ah…I’ll see how I feel.”
“Sure you don’t want me to bring you anything? I have an hour for lunch.”
Abby’s stomach dipped as she heard Mr. Tanner’s footsteps heading down the hall. “No, thanks. I’m good. Just lots of bed rest.”
“All right, hon. How about a birthday lunch with the girls and me on Monday, then? We’ll continue the celebrating.”
“Perfect.”
“And don’t think you’re getting off the man subject so easily.”
A knock at the door caused her to jump. “Sure thing, Dix. I’ll call you.”
She ran to the door, swinging it wide. “I’m sorry for not meeting you downstairs, sir, but…” Her words trailed off as she took in the man leaning against the doorjamb.
“No apology required,” he said, his smooth baritone filling the space between them.
Her stomach dipped. “Would you…ah…like to come in?”
“Sure. For a moment.” He inclined his head. “See how my wife lives.”
Wife! Abby cleared her throat, and tried to stop her gaze from raking over him as he walked confidently into the apartment. Black jeans encased his strong legs and a ribbed black sweater molded to his torso, accentuating his muscled chest and broad shoulders. Some odd sense of pride welled within her, as though he belonged to her, but she quickly pushed such a ridiculous thought aside. Remember why this man’s here—why he’s hired you, she chided herself.
“Can I get you anything, Mr. Tanner?” she said, trying to sound light and cheerful. “Coffee, soda?”
“No, thanks.”
She watched him walk around her apartment, looking at her knickknacks, artwork, furnishings and books, assessing. He stopped in front of one of her paintings. An abstract acrylic portrait of a man with normal features except for his eyes. Where pupils should have been there was only a deep shade of gray.
“This is an exceptional piece,” he said. “Who’s the artist?”
She grinned in spite of her nerves. “I am.”
He hesitated, his gaze remaining on the painting. “You’re very talented, Abby.”
“You sound surprised, sir.”
He shook his head. “Impressed. Maybe even the smallest bit envious. I can recognize extraordinary art when I see it, purchase a gallery filled with it if I wanted to, but—” he chuckled “—I can barely draw a stick figure.”
“Well, some people have the art gene and some have the business one, I guess.”
“You certainly have the art one in spades.” He moved closer to the piece. “And who’s the subject?”
“A man I knew a long time ago.” Abby went to stand by him. “He had trouble seeing.”
“He was blind?”
She nodded. “In a way.”
He turned to look at her then, his brown eyes probing, searching, making her uncomfortable in both mind and in body.
She swallowed and took a step back. “Shall we go?”
After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded, and Abby went to gather her things.
They were out of the apartment, down the stairs and walking toward the car when Tanner moved slightly ahead of her to open the car door.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, trying not to sigh when she sat down on the plush leather seat. The interior of the car was immaculate: no candy-bar wrappers, no coffee cups. The leather looked polished, brand-new, and nary a dust bunny lingered on the dash, or in any crevice for that matter. Perfectly in order, just like the man.
He slid into the driver’s side and shot her a look. “You can’t call me ‘sir.’” He turned the key in the ignition and the car sprang to life, purring like a purebred cat. “I think it would be best from this moment forward if you called me Tanner.”
“Shouldn’t I call you by your first name?”
“No one calls me by my first name.”
Abby looked up at him curiously. He had his seat belt on, his gearshift in first and his gaze on her. “For the next several days you aren’t my employee, Abby. That’s certainly not the impression I want Frank Swanson to have of…” A smile tugged at his lips. “Why don’t you just call me Tanner, or if you feel a surge of bravery,” the smile widened, “honey or dear.”
