by Shirley Jump
Traitor. Candace shot her dog a glare, then tugged her back by her collar. “Leave him alone.”
The dog let out a sigh, then plodded back to the corner. Every few feet, she paused to glance over her shoulder at Michael.
He chuckled. “Seems I have a new friend.”
“Toss her a compliment and she's yours for life,” Candace said.
“Too bad her owner isn't so forgiving.” He leveled his sapphire gaze on hers. Her stomach did a flip-flop.
She gulped. “Well, shall we get down to business?”
He stared at her a second longer. “Certainly.”
Rebecca bustled around the room, keeping Michael busy with small talk while she doled out cups of coffee and laid a plate of macadamia nut cookies on the table. He leaned back in his chair, an ankle crossed over one knee, looking far more comfortable than Candace felt.
Trifecta let out a couple of sighs, her gaze never leaving Michael. Candace sent a second evil eye toward her morally deficient dog. Trifecta paused, then lowered her head to her paws and snarfled.
Rebecca sat in an opposite chair. “Mr. Vogler, why don't you explain to Candace and Maria what we talked about earlier?”
He leaned forward, slipping into business mode as easily as some men wielded a remote control. “I represent a number of large clients in the Boston area. A few pharmaceutical companies, a couple of tech firms, several law firms, et cetera. Last week, our office received one of your baskets as a thank you from a client.” He turned to Candace again. “It was delicious. Very memorable, too.”
She got the feeling he was talking about much more than a basket of cookies and homemade chocolates. Oh, God. If she crawled under the table, would her khaki pants blend her into the Berber and let her disappear?
“We have a client,” he continued, “a baby food manufacturer who is looking for a unique promotion to launch their newest line of formula.” The whole time he talked, Michael kept looking at her. A quivering heat started low in her belly and rumbled through her veins.
The temperature rose. Or she had a fever. She needed a dip in a pool, not another glimpse of his rear profile. She forced herself to focus on the words coming out of his mouth.
But all that did was bring up memories of kissing him. Hot memories. She squirmed in her seat.
Focus on business, not on butt cheeks and blue eyes.
She must be coming down with the flu. Maybe malaria. Possibly typhoid. There had to be a reasonable, medically sound explanation for why she had all the concentration of a cat in a field of catnip.
“The company we represent would like to send a gift basket to all the new mothers in the Boston area,” Michael said, looking at each of the women in turn. But his attention kept coming back to Candace. “Sort of a pampering treat. Something for mom, dad, baby. Including coupons and a sample can of the client's baby formula, of course. A major diaper manufacturer has expressed interest in providing a package of diapers to go with the basket, and paying part of the costs for the privilege.”
Michael let his gaze hover on Candace's heart-shaped face. She waved her hand at her throat as if she were hot. He paused, watching her fingers flutter at her neck. Such a simple, uninhibited movement but at the same time damned sexy.
The women he knew were so sophisticated they walked around like bored China dolls, firm and perfect in everything from their manicures to their breast sizes.
Candace's hair wasn't glued down, her figure was natural and she was unplastic-surgery adorned. Though she tried to hide them, her emotions played on her face like a bad poker player.
She was... real. And that had him more intrigued than a slow striptease in perfect, matched Victoria's Secret.
“What a great idea. I would have loved one of those when I had Emily,” Rebecca said, interrupting his thoughts and bringing him back to business.
As Rebecca started tossing out ideas like mini wicker baby buggies and bottle-shaped cookies, Michael reminded himself his priority was the client. He could entertain thoughts of Candace after the meeting.
And maybe entertain more, if he could get her to agree to see him again. What had she said? Three weeks until her wedding?
He was crazy as hell for thinking he should ask her out. She belonged to another man, but...only by a promise, not a binding legal document. That meant he was only playing with fire, not launching a five-story inferno by asking her to dinner.
No need to call in the arson squad. Yet.
“I think this will go over really big,” Maria said, and Michael had to remind himself she meant the gifts, not his potential invitation of her business partner for a date. “We already do considerable business with people who send our baskets to new mothers. A lot of the moms call us to rave about the gift, and later, they order them for other occasions.”
“Great. That’s good to know. Maybe we can tie in a follow-up promotion.” Michael turned. “Miss Woodrow?”
“Huh?”
“What do you think?”
Candace blinked several times. She'd been thinking about a tropical beach. Hot, sweaty sunshine. A man in a Speedo. Actually, this particular man in a Speedo. She took a gulp of coffee to clear her head, but only succeeded in choking on the scorching liquid.
Maria gave her a good thwap on the back. She recovered her breathing and felt her face turn red. Michael stared at her.
“I-I-I.” She cleared her throat. “I agree.”
“Good.” He steepled his fingers, then continued. “We're looking at probably fifteen thousand baskets the first year, delivered to major hospitals in the Boston area. Brigham and Women's Hospital, the biggest birthing center in New England, delivers more than nine thousand babies a year. If this program works out well and sales pick up, then our client may increase the order next year.”
“Fifteen... fifteen thousand?” Maria stammered.
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
The number yanked Candace's reluctant brain back to business. She did the math in her head. It didn't take much to see that this account held a potential major boost. Tens of thousands of dollars, at a time of year when orders often slowed down because the rush of weddings and graduations slowed.
“No, no problem at all,” she said.
“I was hoping you'd say that.” His blue eyes held a sizzling, almost electric heat. Something in her gut melted into a puddle of senseless goo.
“Normally, I'd like to give you time to put together a proposal and budget then wade through the creative steps. But my client is eager to make a dent in the Boston market. The product roll-out is this week and they'd like to coincide a test run of the baskets with that event.”
“Sounds smart to me,” Rebecca said.
“Is there any chance you could get two hundred of these together by Friday? I can get you the product if you can coordinate the baskets and the goodies. And assemble them, of course.”
“Yes, of course,” Rebecca said. “We'd be happy to.”
At least one person in the room sounded confident. All Candace could think about was the possibility of seeing him again this week. Not a good thing for a woman who was about to be married. Him being here had already sent her hormones over the edge.
“Great. I look forward to doing business with you,” Michael said. He spoke to Rebecca, but his body language was clearly tuned to a different latitude and longitude.
When he rose, Candace jerked up and stood, almost knocking over her chair. He hadn't said a word about that night. Maybe he'd forgotten about it. Maybe he was going to be a gentleman and never reveal the details, even under Chinese water torture.
Or maybe the night had been so bad, he'd chosen not to remember or talk about the rest of the story, like a B-horror movie that wasn't worth the price of admission at the theater.
If so, then why did that thought bother her?
With people milling about the room, Trifecta seized her opportunity. She scrambled up and hobbled to Michael's side, pressing against him again like a lovesick fifteen
-year-old.
“You're pathetic,” Candace mumbled to the dog.
Michael laughed. He ruffled Trifecta's multicolored coat, then reached into his trousers, withdrawing a small, bone-shaped dog biscuit.
“You keep kibble in your pockets?” Candace blurted out before the sensible businesswoman side of her could kick in with the idiot mouth lock.
“Sometimes I get hungry.”
The room went silent. Even Trifecta paused, ears perked.
Michael patted the dog's head again. “No, I have a Springer spaniel named Sam. He doesn't like being left alone so I bring him to work with me sometimes. But what Sam hates more than being home by himself is riding in the car. Some past life fear of vet visits, I guess.” Michael shrugged. “I've learned to carry bribes.”
Candace watched her dog lavish her best wags on Michael's navy pants. “So you do have a redeeming quality or two,” she muttered under her breath.
He grinned. “Just a couple.”
“Then where was your dog that... that morning?”
“I have a neighbor who loves to walk Sam. She thinks he's adorable.”
“I bet.” Had that been a trickle of jealousy in her voice? Where had that come from?
Michael gave Trifecta a final pat, then directed his attention toward Candace. “I'm sorry about... well, about giving you a hard time the other morning. I was out of line.”
In the background, Rebecca and Maria had busied themselves with clearing the dishes, silent as guerilla fighters trying not to spook the enemy.
“I'd like to make it up to you, if you'll let me,” he continued.
Candace opened and closed her mouth. Her senses had gone into overload, assaulting her brain with those Tropicana images again, combining them with some very interesting ways he could make it up to her. “I'm... I'm engaged.”
Yeah, Barry. Remember him?
“Does that preclude you from having a cup of coffee with a fellow dog lover?”
She'd never known a man who used the word “preclude” in conversation. Or who read poetry. Or who had the ability to make her forget her name. “We're working on a business deal together,” she said. “It wouldn't be a good idea—”
“To keep the client happy?”
Candace swallowed. “That all depends on your definition of happy.”
“Since I'm not carrying a dictionary with me,” he said, teasing her with her own words, “I'd say that equals a cup of coffee. Nothing more. No strings. No nudity.”
Pity, her mind whispered.
She should say no. She should come up with twenty other excuses why doing anything more than share the air with a guy like this was a bad idea.
From somewhere far off in the background, Candace heard the tinkle of the bell over the shop door. She should get back to work. The general ledger needed to be updated. And if there wasn't enough to do here, she could go home. Scrub the grout on the tub until it shone whiter than her teeth. Pick out all the gunk that had accumulated in the sink drain. Change Bob's kitty litter, maybe draw a pattern in the sand for better chi.
Or, she could forget all that for the first time in a long, long time and just say—
“Candace? Are you here?”
Rebecca and Maria jerked to attention. They looked at Candace, eyes wide. Barry, they mouthed in panic.
“I'm back early, honey. And I have a surprise for you.”
Rebecca sprang into action. “It was very nice to meet you,” she told Michael, thrusting out her hand, holding it tight and dragging him toward the door. “We'll get back to you with the details on the baskets. Later.”
“Candace?” Before anyone could move, the door to the office opened and Barry entered the room. He broke into a wide grin when he saw her. “Hello, sweetheart. I brought you a surprise.”
Barry stepped to one side. Behind him stood a bright fuchsia muumuu, or rather, a large woman in a muumuu, with a matching turban wrapped around her gray hair. “Mother has come to help with our wedding plans. Isn't that wonderful?”
Bernadine Borkenstein shouldered her way past her son and into the room. “Nice shop you have here, Candace.” She harrumphed and looked around. “Too bad the street you're on is so narrow. Practically needed an FBI agent to find it.”
“Now, Mother,” Barry soothed. “Candace has a great business here with her friends. You loved the cookies I brought with me to Maine. She and her friends made them.”
Bernadine harrumphed again. “Best chocolate chip cookies I've tasted in months, except for those burned ones.”
Candace worked up her Miss America smile again, although it was a bit tougher to do the second time around. Those cookies had been perfectly baked. Bernadine was one of those people who derived a perverse pleasure from giving a compliment and then undermining the nicety in the same breath.
“I'm Michael Vogler,” Michael said, sticking out his hand.
Why couldn't the man just leave? Why was he so intent on throwing her life into a tailspin? “You must be Barry. Candace has told me a lot about you.”
The two men shook, Barry's arm rising and lowering like a floppy water pump. “Barry Borkenstein. Nice to meet you.”
“Mr. Vogler was just leaving,” Candace said, ushering him toward the door. If she'd had a bullhorn and a cattle prod, she'd be able to clear the room in double time. But with Bernadine huffing and frowning in place and Michael casting amused glances her way, she could see disaster descending on her faster than a speeding train.
But then, thank God, Michael took three steps toward the door. “You'll be in touch?” he asked. “With the details,” he added, almost like an afterthought.
She gave him the full-wattage Miss Universe smile. Damn, she was getting good at that. “Of course. Soon.”
“I'm looking forward to it.”
Then he was gone, leaving Candace alone with a depressed three-legged dog, an eager fiancé, two dying-to-interrogate-her friends and a muumuu masquerading as a future mother-in-law.
And not a single Hershey bar in sight.
1 box devil's food cake mix
1 box white cake mix
2 containers frozen whipped topping, thawed
1/2 cup finely chopped pecans
l/2 cup mini chocolate chips
Chocolate syrup to taste
This is mindless cooking, girls, the best kind. Whip up the cakes according to the package directions. Bake and cool, then cut into rich, hunky cubes. Put half of the devil's food cake cubes in the bottom of a deep glass serving dish. Remember to leave lots of room for the chocolate syrup and whipped topping.
Add one-fourth of the whipped topping, some of the pecans and chocolate chips, then squeeze the chocolate sauce all over. In every nook and cranny. No need to make it pretty. This is a parfait, not a work of art. It's a lot like sex—just make it taste good and don't worry about how it looks.
Repeat with the white cake and top again with the same layers. Add more whipped topping and as much chocolate sauce as it takes to satisfy your carnal appetites. Chill until ready to serve. Or, if you don't feel like sharing, get a massive spoon and dig in. If anyone catches you, tell them the Devil made you do it.
CHAPTER 6
“Wait!”
Michael paused in unlocking his Lexus and turned around. Candace ran up to him, out of breath, cheeks aflame, chest heaving, honey-colored hair in wild, windblown disarray. She looked messy and sexy all at once and he thought about kissing her again, until she looked that way because she wanted him, not because she'd been doing the fifty-yard dash. “Change your mind about that cup of coffee?”
“No, I...” She grimaced, then let her question tumble out in a rush. “Can I talk to you?”
“Sure.” He leaned against the car. He'd hoped she wanted the coffee, maybe more, but it was clear she didn't. She had her priorities—in a five-foot-eight accountant type who seemed to lack a pulse. Why on earth she wanted to marry that guy, he didn't know. To Michael, locking lives with a guy like Barry Borkenstein was
akin to following a lemming off a cliff.
“No, not here. Not where—”
“Barney might see?”
She didn't correct him on the mangled name, and he took that as a good sign. “I don't want him to get the wrong idea.”
“I'm just a client, remember? What idea is there to get?” But he unlocked the Lexus, walked around to her side of the car and opened the door for her.
She slid in against the cream-colored leather. Her long khaki pants and beige silky top made her blend with the car, the seat. Like she belonged there. The last few women to ride in his car had seemed more like decorations—with beaded dresses and high heels. Somehow, Candace's simplicity fit the lines of the Lexus better.
“Shall we go someplace?” he asked after he'd come around and gotten into the driver's side.
“Here is fine.” She cast a glance over her shoulder at the backdoor of the shop, maybe afraid Bob Boring and his Mommy might come charging through the door. “I have to get back in a minute anyway.”
That wasn't what he'd wanted to hear. Like a craving he couldn't shake, he had this overwhelming urge to save her from herself. Or at least from marrying someone who looked about as right for her as a coat on a cantaloupe.
She didn't say anything for a long minute, just sat there, hands in her lap, knitted together so tight the knuckles whitened.
“Did you want to talk to me or just check out my car?”
She released the grip on her fingers and turned to him. “I wanted to ask you about that night. When you brought me home, to your place.” She let out a breath and he got the feeling this was a conversation she'd rather not have. “Why?”
“Why did I take you home?”
“Well, yeah, that's part of it. But more.” She paused, then gulped and finished, “Why ... why did I go?”