by Lisa Jackson
“Everyone does.”
Ignoring him, she slapped the button for the first floor. The elevator didn’t move.
“Think about it,” he suggested.
“Oh, I will,” she assured him, raising her chin a fraction, leveling her gaze at his arrogant face. “And I’ll laugh.”
Before he could stop himself, he reached forward, grabbing her arm quickly. The elevator lurched and the doors started to close before he stopped them with his foot. “I’ll call you.”
“Don’t bother.”
Madge appeared in the open door. Her anxious brown eyes flicked from Hale to Valerie and back again. “Paul’s on the line. He wants to know how things worked out. There’s another woman—”
“We don’t need another woman,” Hale said quietly, his eyes fixed on Valerie.
For a heart-stopping second, he clenched steely fingers over her arm.
“Tell Paul I’ve found the one I want.”
CHAPTER 2
Who was Valerie Pryce?
Hale stood at the glass wall behind his desk and watched the traffic and pedestrians swarming through Union Square.
The intercom buzzed, and Madge’s raspy voice sounded. “Paul’s on two.”
“Got it.” Hale picked up his receiver. “Donovan.”
“I have a couple more women you might want to interview,” Paul suggested, his voice sounding tired.
“Not interested.”
“But—”
“Didn’t Madge make it clear? I want Valerie Pryce.” Hale paced from one end of his office to the other. The telephone cord stretched, then recoiled as he strode away from his desk, then back past it.
“Did you hire her?” Hastings asked, sounding mildly surprised.
“Not exactly.” Hale waved impatiently. “She didn’t sign a contract, but it’s just a matter of time,” he said, glancing nervously at his watch.
“Then she agreed?”
“Not in so many words—”
“I thought you wanted someone today.”
“I do.” Hale clenched his teeth. He knew he was being stubborn and unrealistic. The woman just plain didn’t want the job. But he couldn’t forget her. With the razor-edged intuition that had guided him over the years, he believed that Valerie Pryce was the woman who could pull this off. The challenge in her intriguing hazel eyes, her regal bearing and her quick, irreverent humor gave her the right combination of charm and class.
Paul brought him back to the conversation. “Well, if she’s not working out, there are four women from the Jewell Woods Agency down here. Any one of them—”
“You’re not listening, Paul,” Hale cut in, picking up Valerie’s résumé and scanning the two sheets of paper as if they held some clue to his fascination with her. “My fiancée for the next two weeks is going to be Valerie Pryce.”
“You might tell her about it,” Paul suggested, his voice tinged with more than a little sarcasm.
“I will. I’m on my way over there now.”
“She might not agree.”
“I’ll convince her.”
“How?”
“Come on, Hastings. Money talks.” Hale reached for his leather jacket and swung it over one shoulder. “Call Kendrick in the legal department. Tell him what I want. A contract for two weeks—leave the amount of compensation blank. And give the name of personal assistant to the position.”
“If I were you . . .”
Hale waited, listening, his fingers tight around the receiver. He heard Paul sigh in disgust.
“If I were you, I’d just be straight with William Stowell and forget all this phony engagement business.”
“I tried that,” Hale reminded him, his gut twisting as he remembered his last meeting with Stowell. William had hinted he’d like nothing better than to call Hale his son-in-law.
Obviously Regina had agreed. Behind her father’s back, she’d come up with her own plan to trap Hale.
After six hours of heavy business negotiations and several drinks with Stowell, Hale had unlocked his hotel room door and found Regina, wrapped in nothing but pink silk sheets, lying across his bed. A bottle of champagne had been chilling in an ice bucket near the headboard. Regina had smiled coyly up at him, a dimpled come-hither grin pursing her lips, as he’d leaned heavily against the door frame.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she whispered in a clumsy attempt at seduction.
“How’d you get in?”
She smiled. “The desk clerk doesn’t ask too many questions.” “I think you’d better leave,” Hale muttered, angry she was there. He was tired, and all he wanted was a hot shower and a warm bed—a bed without Stowell’s daughter.
“Not yet,” she murmured.
“Now.”
“We could have fun—”
“Your father would kill me, and I’d hate to think what he’d do to you.”
“What Daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” she said, brows lifting as she sank her teeth into her lower lip.
“Forget it, Regina. I’m not interested.”
“Why not?” she complained, holding the sheet around her and looking so young it had made his skin crawl.
“Look, it won’t work,” he said, and when he’d finally realized she wasn’t about to budge, he’d left her, still wrapped in silk, her cheeks scorching red at his rejection.
Hale sighed in exasperation at the memory. Though he knew William wasn’t behind Regina’s advances, Hale didn’t need a replay of that awkward scene. He also knew he couldn’t spend the next two weeks with her—not unless he appeared to be off-limits.
On the other end of the line, Paul cleared his throat. “You’re sure about this?”
“Positive. Send the models home and tell Kendrick to get everything in writing.”
Valerie knocked once on the door of her mother’s small apartment, then unlocked the dead bolt. “Mom?” she said softly as she entered. The shades were drawn, the air heavy and still.
Footsteps approached as Valerie closed the door behind her.
“She’s resting,” Belinda whispered, cocking her head toward the bedroom.
“Is she all right?”
“Better every day,” Belinda said with a smile. A stocky woman with black hair pulled into a tight bun at the base of her skull, Belinda was a godsend. Since the accident in which her mother had been hit by a speeding car, Belinda, a private nurse who worked at a nearby hospital, had lived here, helping with Anna Pryce’s care and recovery. “Your mother’s a strong woman.”
Valerie smiled. “She’s had to be.”
“I think she’s awake.”
“Good.” Valerie walked down a short hall and shoved open the bedroom door.
Anna, thin and wan, was lying on her back, a sheet drawn to her chin. The only light in the room flickered from the television set. A hand-knit afghan was folded at the foot of the old double bed, and magazines and books littered every available surface of the bureau, night table and bookcase.
Valerie smothered a grin as she recognized the characters from her mother’s favorite soap opera, Life’s Golden Sands, the same daytime drama on which Valerie had once played a small role.
“So you’re here, are you?” her mother murmured, struggling into a sitting position.
“I thought I’d stop by.”
“How’d the interview go?”
Valerie tilted her hand in the air. “Not great. I think I’d better keep looking.”
Anna, tucking a wayward lock of fine brown hair behind her ear, studied her daughter. “You had your heart set on Donovan Enterprises.”
“There are other companies.”
“But you’ve always said you liked the way Hale Donovan did business.”
Valerie wrinkled her nose. “I’ve changed my mind. Besides, there wasn’t a position open.”
“But you saw it in the paper . . .” her mother protested, waving at a stack of newspapers near the bed.
“It had already been filled. But it doesn’t matter. I
’ve got callbacks at a couple other places.”
“Well, if you ask me, whoever’s in charge at Donovan Enterprises made a big mistake not hiring you!”
“I’ll tell him the next time I see him,” she replied with a grim smile. There were a lot of things she’d like to tell Mr. Donovan, but of course, she’d never get the chance. And that was probably a blessing, she reminded herself.
“Ask Belinda to make some coffee,” her mother suggested. “And draw open the blinds—I swear, this place is like a tomb!”
Grinning, Valerie snapped open the shade. “I’ll make the coffee. Belinda’s got to get to the hospital.”
Her mother skewered her with a knowing glance. “Then use the real coffee. I don’t need any of that phony caffeine-free stuff.”
“But your doctor—”
“Doesn’t know a thing about coffee.” Her mother grinned. “And don’t waste any time. I think Lance is trying to kill Meredith!” her mother said, mentioning two long-running characters on Life’s Golden Sands.
“He’ll never get away with it,” Valerie called over her shoulder as she started the coffee maker.
“Oh, what do you know?” her mother sang out, laughing quietly.
Belinda followed Valerie into the kitchen. “She’s better today.” “I think so, too.”
“But, then, I didn’t show her these.” Belinda reached into her purse and pulled out several small envelopes.
“Don’t tell me—bills,” Valerie guessed.
“Just six.”
Valerie’s stomach tightened. Not just six—six more.
Belinda chewed on her lower lip. “Look, I didn’t want to tell you, but—”
Valerie waved her apology aside and managed a cheery smile. “Don’t worry, I can handle it.” She took the bills, stuffed them into her purse and waited as the coffee drizzled into a glass carafe.
“So how did the interview go?”
“Like gangbusters,” Valerie muttered sarcastically as she poured two cups of hot coffee. “But I didn’t get the job.” She saw the lines knotting Belinda’s smooth forehead and amended, “Well, actually, I could’ve taken one job, but it isn’t the one I wanted.” Thinking of Hale Donovan’s outrageous proposal, she gritted her teeth. “Don’t worry, there are lots of jobs. I’ll find one this week.”
“Sure you will.” Belinda snagged her favorite navy blue sweater from a hook near the door. “I’d better run. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With a wave, Belinda left, and Valerie, carrying both steaming mugs to the back bedroom, ignored the little voice in the back of her mind that kept reminding her that she was running out of time and that, if she’d used her head, she should have at least heard Hale Donovan out.
“Forget it,” she mumbled.
“Forget what?” her mother asked.
“Nothing. Now tell me—what’s going on?” She handed her mother a cup and pretended interest in the program. “Lance won’t kill Meredith,” she predicted.
“Oh, and why not?”
“I just read that the actress has renegotiated her contract.”
Her mother rolled her eyes. “You really know how to take the fun out of this, don’t you?” But she chuckled and made a face as she took an experimental sip of coffee.
“Maybe Meredith will kill Lance,” Valerie suggested.
“And she should, too,” her mother agreed. ‘’The way he’s treated her . . .”
Two hours later Valerie climbed the triple flight of stairs to her apartment. She was still trying to push thoughts of Hale Donovan aside. Though she’d attempted to concentrate on anything but her interview with him, she could still hear his voice, see the image of his angular face, feel the mockery in his cold gray eyes. Fumbling with her key, she finally jammed it into the lock. “Bastard,” she muttered.
She shoved the door open, and her gray tabby cat, Shamus, zipped out the door and onto the landing. “Miss me?” Valerie asked, bending down to pet his soft striped head. Purring loudly, he rubbed against her legs.
“I bet you’re hungry, aren’t you? Well, come on in, let’s see what we’ve got.”
Black-ringed tail aloft, Shamus trotted after her, then hopped onto a window ledge.
Valerie tossed her coat over the back of her daybed and kicked her shoes into the closet. Her apartment, which she fondly called the crow’s nest, was little more than an attic loft tucked high in the gables of an old renovated row house in the Haight-Ashbury district. The ceilings sloped dramatically, the floors were polished oak, and aside from a walk-in closet, bathroom alcove and kitchen tucked behind folding doors, her entire living space consisted of this one room.
“And it’s a great room,” she told herself as she opened the folding doors to the kitchen, flipped on a burner and placed a kettle of water on the stove. She’d lived here since moving to San Francisco two years before and felt lucky to have an apartment with a view of the bay.
Pouring cat food into Shamus’s dish, she called to him. “Well, come on.” He hopped off the sill and landed not two feet from the bowl, sniffed disdainfully at the dry kiblets and cocked his head toward her as if he expected something more elegant.
“Sorry, boy, that’s all we’ve got.”
The kettle whistled shrilly. “My turn,” she told the cat as she gave him one last pet, then scrounged in her cupboards for a tea bag of orange spice. She found one last bag, dunked it in the steaming water and soon the room was filled with the scents of oranges, cinnamon and cloves. Tomorrow, she thought, testing the tea, tomorrow she would look for another job. Not just any job, but a bona fide job that would pay enough to cover the bills and help support her mother. The kind of job she had hoped to find at Donovan Enterprises.
“Cross that one off the list,” she murmured, conjuring Hale Donovan’s image. His features swam before her eyes, and she frowned thoughtfully as she sipped the hot tea. Handsome? Yes. Arrogant? Definitely. Intriguing? No . . . well, yes.
She wished she’d never laid eyes on him. Yanking the pins from her hair, she leaned back, cradled the warm cup in her hands and sighed. Shamus leaped onto the couch and curled next to her.
With an effort, she closed her mind to Hale Donovan and concentrated on the next few days. She had to find a job and fast. Tomorrow she’d send out more copies of her résumé, call a couple of leads and—A loud rap on the door startled her, and Hale Donovan’s voice boomed through the panels. “Valerie?”
Her heart did a peculiar flip, and she jumped, nearly spilling her tea. Donovan? Here? Now?
“Valerie? Are you in there?” He pounded loudly again.
Startled, Shamus flew off the couch and slunk behind a potted palm. “Chicken,” Valerie muttered, though her own heart was hammering wildly.
“Valerie?” Hale called again.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she said. She set her near-empty cup on a table, drew in a deep breath, then padded to the door in stocking feet. Peering through the peephole, she saw him, big as life, on the landing. Wearing a dark leather jacket and a grim expression, he leaned against the scarred mahogany railing. She’d hoped that his appearance had changed a little, that he wasn’t as handsome as she’d recalled, but she’d been wrong. Hale Donovan in person was downright overwhelming. His arms were crossed over his chest, his eyes fastened on her door, his thin lips pursed impatiently.
“It’s now or never,” she whispered, steeling herself as she yanked open the door. Her stomach knotted as she stood squarely on the threshold. “What’re you doing here?”
“I wasn’t finished making you an offer.”
“And I told you I wasn’t interested.”
“I know, I know, but I thought that by now you might have calmed down a little.” He raked stiff fingers through his wavy, coal-black hair. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“No?” she mocked, wishing her insides would quit shaking and that she didn’t find him so attractive and could simply listen to what he had to say.
“You didn’t hear m
e out.”
“Believe me, I heard enough.”
His crooked smile caused her heart to trip.
“I suppose I did come on a little strong,” he said.
“More than a little.”
“Just give me a few minutes to explain,” he suggested. “What’ve you got to lose?”
Everything, she thought wildly. This man distracted her far too much. His restless energy infected her. His glances cut deep, as if he were looking for something in her eyes—something elusive. Swallowing hard, she swung the door open and stepped aside. “You’re wasting your breath.”
“Mine to waste.”
“Okay. Five minutes.” Glancing pointedly at her watch, she closed the door behind him and stood, arms folded beneath her breasts, her back against the cool panels of the door, and waited.
Surveying the eclectic blend of art-deco paintings, antique tables and mismatched furniture, Hale said, “I want to offer you a job—a legitimate job.” She started to protest, and he lifted a hand, silencing her. “Just hear me out. The title will be personal assistant, but, of course, you’ll be more than that. You’ll pretend to be my fiancée. Just for two weeks. Then the charade will be over. Think of it as an acting assignment.”
“It’s deception.”
He nodded. “For a good cause.”
“To thwart Regina Stowell’s interest in you—I know. But she’s your problem—not mine.”
“And you could be the solution.”
“I already told you I don’t want the job. Deal with Regina Stowell yourself.”
Jamming his fists into his pockets, he muttered, “Regina’s twenty, spoiled and very stubborn.”
“And you don’t want to offend her father.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “So you’ve cooked up this crazy scheme and expect me to run interference for you!”
“As I said, it’s temporary.”
“I’m still not interested.”
Hale studied her. A captivating woman, Valerie Pryce. With wavy, uncombed blond hair framing a small, near perfect face, her eyes shifting from gray to green, her brows puckered in frustration, she touched him in a way he hadn’t been touched in a long, long while. It worried him a little, but not enough to convince him she wasn’t the right woman. “I’m willing to pay twenty-five thousand dollars.”