by Debby Conrad
Gwen wasn’t helping matters. “Thanks a lot. You’re my best friend, and you’re supposed to be making me feel better, not worse.”
Gwen grinned. “Hey, I was only kidding.” She elbowed Bailey in the arm again. “But I was serious about them not liking Stanley. If they disapproved of him, they’d be only too happy to have you stay single--at least for awhile.”
“Well, like I said, there’s no way they’re going to meet Stanley.”
Pulling a compact and lipstick from her purse, Gwen touched up her lips, giving them a fresh coat of red. “Why couldn’t you find someone to pose as Stanley? Someone your parents wouldn’t approve of. Someone they would loathe. And then they’d be happy when you told them the wedding was off. You could even say it was your idea.”
“That sounds like it would work.” This from Pete, who Bailey hadn’t realized was listening to their conversation. Their private conversation.
Bailey looked his way and grimaced, wondering what else he’d heard.
“Let’s see,” Gwen said. “We need someone intimidating, obnoxious and rude. Maybe someone who can’t keep his hands off you. Parents hate guys who maul their daughters.”
“Lots of people loathe me,” Pete said. “And I used to maul all the girls I dated in high school. I can be intimidating, obnoxious and rude too.” His gray eyes lit up. “Hell, I’ll do it.”
“This is ridiculous. I’m not going to lie to my parents.”
“Why not? It’s not as if you’ve never lied to them before. In fact, I can remember plenty of times--” She stopped mid sentence and snickered. “Remember when we were eleven and we snuck out of your house. Kaitlyn locked all the doors to teach us a lesson, and we had to break a window to get in. You told your parents we’d been abducted by aliens.” Gwen giggled, remembering.
“That was different. I’m an adult now.”
“Fine, then. Call them at your sister’s house as soon as you get home and tell them the truth.” Gwen looked at her watch. “Oh, darn. I have to run. I’m supposed to show a house in five minutes, and I’m going to be late, as usual.” She pulled her cell phone from her handbag and started punching numbers.
“I’ll take care of the check,” Bailey offered, but Gwen didn’t pay her any mind. She was already heading for the door, speaking into the phone.
“You’re welcome,” Bailey murmured. Reaching for her purse, she dug out her credit card, and drank the last sip of wine from her glass while she waited for Quinn to bring the check.
“I think your friend had a good idea,” Pete said. “And like I said, I’d be happy to pose as your fiancé. Just say the word. I’ll make your parents absolutely sick. I promise.”
“That’s nice of you, but I don’t think that would work.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re too old for her,” Quinn snapped, butting in. “And besides, I don’t think your wife would appreciate it.”
How had he known what they’d been talking about? Bailey wondered. She supposed they’d been a little loud, trying to be heard over the lunch crowd and the music, but still.
“I suppose you think you’d make a better fiancé than me,” Pete said, challenging Quinn and cracking his knuckles at the same time, as if he were getting ready to take a swing at the man.
“You got that right.” Quinn turned her way and winked, and Bailey felt her face flush. She felt like such a fool. She didn’t even know these two men, and here they were discussing her problems like they knew all about her. “But I’m not interested in pretending to be her fiancé, or anyone’s fiancé for that matter. You wouldn’t get me to do something that crazy for all the money in the world.” With that he picked up Bailey’s credit card and took it to the register.
Bailey stared at Quinn’s back with her mouth hanging open. Like she’d ask him to do something like that! A complete stranger, for God’s sake! She glanced at Pete and shrugged her shoulder slightly, feeling even more foolish.
Quinn brought the receipt and a pen and set them in front of her.
“Hey,” Pete said. “We never discussed money. Just how much were you planning on paying this pretend fiancé of yours?”
“I’m not paying him anything,” Bailey said, lifting her head, her eyes shifting from one man to the other. “Because I wouldn’t do something as underhanded as that. Why, the whole thing is ridiculous.”
“Yeah, sure,” Pete agreed, “but let’s just say you were thinking seriously about it. How much would you be willing to pay? Fifty? A hundred? Two hundred?”
Since the whole thing was preposterous, she said simply, “I don’t know. I have no idea what the going rate is for a job like that.” Bailey signed the credit card slip, took the bottom copy and handed the top copy and the pen to Quinn.
“Uh, huh,” Pete went on. “Hypothetically speaking, if the guy was to do a good job making your parents hate him and all, do you think a hundred would be fair?” He seemed obsessed with wanting an answer.
Bailey shook her head, shrugged and decided to agree with him just to get him to drop the subject. “I suppose one hundred thousand dollars would seem fair if I was desperate enough.” Which I am.
“But--wha--I--” Pete began, but it was hard for him to talk with his mouth hanging open.
“You did say hypothetically, right?”
Pete’s jaw moved up and down, but not a sound escaped this time. What the heck was wrong with him? Bailey wondered.
Quinn just stared at her, his eyes unreadable. Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, Bailey slid from the stool. “Well, I have to be going. It was nice meeting you both.” With that she headed for the door.
As soon as she’d gone, Pete slapped his hand on the bar. “Whoooheee! Did you hear that? A hundred thousand dollars, just for posing as her fiancé.”
Quinn rolled his eyes at Pete. “The lady was jerking our chains.”
Pete looked surprised, then nodded in glum agreement. “I hate when women do that.” He picked up his mug and drained his beer. “If I had a hundred thousand dollars I’d buy me one of them Harleys and take off. Maybe drive to Bermuda or Hawaii or one of them places. I might even take up surfing. You think Marilyn would like surfing?”
Quinn tried not to laugh. Picturing Pete on a Harley was bad enough, but surfing?
“What would you do if you had a hundred grand, Quinn?”
Quinn knew what he’d do with the money. He’d save his bar. But it didn’t make sense wasting time thinking about something that wasn’t going to happen. One hundred thousand dollars was a lot of money, but like he’d told Pete; the lady had been jerking their chains.
* * * * * * * * * *
Quinn had just finished wiping down the bar and was about to call it a night when he heard the front door open. He looked up to see Bailey Maguire making her way toward him.
She’d changed clothes. Instead of the all black outfit she’d worn earlier, she had on a low-cut, bright green, halter-style dress that showed off the creamy mounds of flesh just above her small breasts. The short skirt gave him a nice view of her shapely bare legs. Her rich, glowing auburn hair hung loosely at her shoulders, and her lips were painted a pretty shade of coral.
“Where is everyone?” she asked, sliding onto a bar stool, her kaleidoscope eyes blazing and glowing. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous like her friend Gwen Peterson, but she was pretty in a subtle kind of way, and her creamy white skin showed off pale freckles on her chest, arms and dainty nose.
“Monday’s our slow night,” he said. “I was just getting ready to close. You should come around on a Wednesday or a Friday--karaoke nights. And Thursdays and Saturdays, we usually have a live band. Can I get you something? Chardonnay?”
She laid a small white handbag on top of the bar. “No, thanks. I think I’ll be daring and try the Bahama Mama. If it’s not too much trouble,” she added.
Quinn stared at her a moment before moving away. “No trouble at all,” he lied. He’d already torn the bar down for the night, but he didn�
�t want to get a reputation for turning away business. Besides, he found her interesting--in an odd sort of way. And he had sort of a perverse desire to find out what had made three fiancés dump her. He busied himself making her drink, all the while keeping an eye on her.
“You meeting someone?” he asked, trying to make small talk.
“No. I came to see you.”
Quinn raised a brow. “Yeah, what about?”
Successfully disarming him with her saucy smile, she said, “You’re probably going to think I’m crazy.”
He watched as she fidgeted in the chair. “Why don’t you just say what’s on your mind?”
She looked at her manicured nails, then back at him.
Since she seemed nervous, Quinn prompted her again. “When I’m behind the bar, people confide in me about all sorts of things. Sometimes, I think maybe I should have been a psychiatrist.”
That made her laugh. Her face and neck turned a pretty shade of pink. She brought a hand to her hair, smoothing it away from her face. “Like I said, you’re probably going to think I’m crazy, but do you remember earlier when I was here, and we were sort of joking around about someone posing as my fiancé?”
Quinn stuck a paper umbrella and two maraschino cherries in the glass and set it in front of her. She looked like a two-cherries kind of woman. “I should warn you Pete’s wife can be a real hellcat at times. I know he isn’t much to look at, but Marilyn adores the man.”
Joy bubbled in her laugh and shone in her eyes. “I can see why. He’s a sweetheart. But I’m not interested in Pete posing as my fiancé.”
Leaning his elbows on the bar, he said, “You’re not?”
Shaking her head slightly, she sucked daintily from the straw and swallowed. Her eyes grew wide and her lips puckered. She shoved the glass a few inches away and asked, “What’s in there?”
“Three kinds of rum, triple sec, and fruit juice. Give you a jolt, did it?”
Clearing her throat, she said, “Yes, you could say that.”
“You want me to make you something else?” he asked, reaching for the glass to take it away.
Staying him with her hand, she said, “No. It’s good. Really.” Holding back a grin, Quinn watched as she pulled the drink toward her and took another taste. “Mmmm.” She wasn’t a very good liar, he thought, noticing her eyes water.
“So, if you’re not interested in Pete posing as your fiancé what did you come in here to talk to me about?”
“Well,” she said quietly. “I’m not interested in Pete, but I am interested in you.”
CHAPTER TWO
Quinn nearly fell backwards. “Look, lady,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “I’m not interested in playing any of your games.”
She took another drink, swallowed, and licked her lips provocatively. “Not even for one hundred thousand dollars?” Picking up a cherry by the stem, she stuck the fruit in her mouth and gently bit down, making Quinn’s mouth water. Those coral lips had him thinking naughty thoughts about her. Dropping his gaze from her mouth to the low-cut bodice of her dress, he eyed her cleavage appreciatively.
What the hell was he doing? Now he knew the reason for the seductive dress; she’d worn it deliberately to catch him off guard. What the hell did she take him for? Some kind of fool?
Shaking his head in disgust, he said, “You’re right, I think you’re crazy. Why don’t you finish your drink, and get on your way? It’s still early. Maybe you can go hustle some other poor sap before the night’s over.”
Looking offended by his accusation, she tugged at the skirt of her short dress as if she were trying to hide her legs. “I’m not trying to hustle you, Mr. Quinn. But it so happens that I spoke with Gwen a little while ago, and she told me about your . . . financial problems.”
“My finances are none of your damn business!” Quinn clenched his hands into fists, feeling angered and humiliated. Weren’t realtors supposed to live by a code of ethics? Like doctors and lawyers? Gwen had no business shooting off her big mouth.
Ignoring his temper, the lady grabbed her purse from the bar. “As a good faith gesture I brought a check for ten thousand dollars.” Taking the check from her purse, she slid it in front of him. “Take it.”
Refusing to look at the check, Quinn narrowed his eyes at her. Ten thousand dollars wouldn’t make a dent in his mound of bills. But one hundred thousand dollars--What the hell was he thinking? He couldn’t take her money. “Look, this whole idea is ridiculous. For chrissakes, you’re a grown woman. Tell your parents to butt out of your business.”
“Do you have a mother?”
“What?” he asked, feeling confused. “Of course I have a mother.”
“Would you tell your mother to butt out of your business?”
She had a point. His mother was one tough old bird. “The point is--”
“The point is,” she said, interrupting him. “I can’t tell my mother to butt out. All my mother has ever wanted is to see my sister and me get married and have babies. It’s all she’s ever talked about. And Kaitlyn, my sister, has the most wonderful husband and three beautiful children, and I can’t even get a guy to show up at the altar.” Her eyes filled with moisture as she lowered her head to take another sip from her drink.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“You have plenty of time to get married and have babies. You need to enjoy your single years a while longer.” Quinn crossed his arms in front of him and rested a hip against the counter. He was thirty-four, and had no intentions of getting married any time soon.
Although he’d come close, once. He’d even gone as far as moving in with Lisa. But it hadn’t taken him long to realize that the only thing they’d had going for them was great sex. Especially after Lisa had informed him that she expected him to sign a pre-nup.
Quinn hadn’t been interested in her money; he’d been more interested in her body. And that was a sad excuse to marry someone. That was two years ago. These days he was more selective about his dates. Not that he’d had more than a handful since then.
In fact, until he cleared up his financial nightmare, he had no intention of dating; not that there’d been any decent prospects lately. He supposed it was one of the reasons he’d hired Sean as the manager. Running the bar left him very little time for his personal life.
“Well, I haven’t been enjoying them,” she insisted. “The pressure of marriage constantly takes the fun out of dating for pleasure. Let me tell you, it hasn’t been a picnic the last few years.” Tossing the straw aside, she lifted the glass to her lips and took several swallows.
“But, what do you want, Bailey?” he asked softly, testing her name. “Do you want marriage and babies?”
“I used to think that’s all I wanted, but maybe what I really wanted was to please my mother.” Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t know anymore. I’ve thought about a career.” She frowned. “My mother doesn’t believe a woman can have a successful marriage and a career.” She drained the rest of her glass, picked up the second cherry and tore it from the stem with her front teeth. “But I have an idea I’d like to try.”
Quinn scowled. Bailey’s mother sounded like a brainless control freak. “Well, I wish I could help you, but I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” she said, her eyes brightening. “I’ve thought it all through. All you have to do is come to my place for dinner tomorrow night and act like a complete jerk. Before the night is over, my parents will be begging me to call off the wedding.”
She made it sound so simple. Act like a jerk for a few hours, then walk away with a huge check. Quinn, don’t even go there, he admonished himself.
“Can I have another drink?” she asked, her eyes slightly glazed. Quinn wasn’t sure she could handle another one, but he made it just the same.
He set the drink in front of her and watched as she attacked it. Slurping from the straw, Bailey grinned up at him.
“You might want to take it easy. That’s pretty po
tent stuff.”
“I know. My legs are already turning numb.” With her index finger, she poked at her thighs as if to test them.
“I can call you a cab when you’re finished.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, giggling and waving her arm. Picking up the paper umbrella, she stuck it behind her ear and grinned again, her straight white teeth flashing brightly. The lady was drunk. Great.
Quinn continued to watch with interest while she worked on her drink. With smoldering eyes, she said, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
Uh, oh. “Definitely,” he said.
Looking delighted with his answer, she asked, “Then why is it that my fiancés keep running off?”
Cocking his head, he studied her intently. He’d told the truth. She was pretty. And she obviously had more money than she knew what to do with. “I have no idea,” he said. “Maybe you should ask them.”
“Oh, who cares what they think.” She waved a hand and nearly toppled off the stool.
Quinn’s hand shot out to steady her. “You okay?”
Bringing a hand to her flushed cheek, she shook her head and said, “I don’t feel so well all of a sudden.”
“Hang on.” Quinn came around the other side of the bar. “Grab on to me,” he said. Her slim fingers clutched at his upper arm as he helped her from the seat. “Are you going to be sick?”
“No, I’m just a little woozy. Is there somewhere I could lie down for a minute?”
Lifting her into his arms, Quinn said, “I’m afraid not.” But he’d spoken to deaf ears because the lady had passed out, her head resting against his chest, her slender, willowy limbs draped loosely over his arms. “Stick a fork in her,” he said. “She’s done.”
Feeling helpless, he stood frozen in place. He had three choices. He could call a cab for her, but he wouldn’t feel right dumping her into the back of a taxi and trusting the driver to get her home safely. No telling what might happen.