Her Convenient Christmas Date

by Barbara Wallace

  The idea as to how had hit him like a jolt this morning. It was crazy, but it was worth a shot.

  Now he needed his proposed partner in crime to appear.

  He was about to turn his awareness back to the window when a flash of blue caught his attention. Finally. Susan Collier cut through the dining room, her peacock blue jacket popping amid the room’s gold-and-green garlands. She wore a pair of oversize sunglasses covering her face and moved like a person who didn’t have a moment to spare. Quite a different appearance from the soft, hazy woman who’d tripped her way up her front stairs the night before.

  “Sorry I’m late. We got stuck in traffic.”

  Lewis saw it for the excuse it was. He also always seemed to have problems with the traffic on days he was hungover. “No problem. I’ve been sitting hear enjoying the view. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.”

  “It should. They started decorating the day after Halloween.”

  She looked down at the bench he sat on. Although the alcove table could accommodate up to six people, it had been set for intimacy. This meant the only seating was the velvet bench that curved along the wall. She had no choice but to slide to the middle so they could sit side by side. “Interesting choice of table,” she remarked.

  “I like sitting by the window.” He moved over to make room. Not too much room though. He wanted to sit next to her. That was the point.

  “Don’t suppose you read Lorianne’s site,” he said when she’d settled in—her sunglasses remaining in place.

  “You mean ‘Blind Item’ number five? How could I resist? You had me intrigued.” Reaching into her shoulder bag, she pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. It was a printout of Lorianne’s blog.

  This A-plus bad-boy former athlete with the fancy name was seen playing the gentleman for a member of one of London’s most established families last night. He walked the lady to the door and didn’t stay the night. Fluke? Or has he washed his hands of his wild ways?

  She folded the paper in half again. “Those are some of the lamest clues I’ve ever seen. ‘Fancy name’ for Champagne Lewis? ‘Washed his hands’ for Collier’s Soap? Was this your doing?”

  “I wish. Our driver must have given her the tip. Lorianne’s known for her network. He must have texted her after he dropped us off and Lorianne shoved it in her column.” That was the beauty of the internet. In the old days, the public would have had to wait another twenty-four hours for the news item to go public.

  “Interesting, don’t you think?” he asked.

  “How so?” Susan replied.

  “Good afternoon. Glad you could join us.” It was their waiter, returning with Lewis’s sparkling water. “Can I get you anything? A cocktail perhaps?”

  “The lady will have a Bloody Mary.” Lewis ignored the way Susan’s head spun around to stare at him.

  “A glass of water will be fine,” she told the waiter, in a no-nonsense tone.

  “And the Bloody Mary.”

  The poor young man looked from Lewis to Susan and back, clearly unsure who he should listen to. “She’ll have water and a Bloody Mary,” Lewis told him. He leaned in so he could lower his voice. “Hair of the dog, Trust me.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “You’ll be nursing that headache of yours all day.” A drink wouldn’t ease the pain of her throbbing head necessarily, but in his experience, it helped more often than not. “I’m the expert, remember?”

  “Fine.” She told the waiter to bring her both. “If alcohol is such a cure-all, why aren’t you having any?” she asked once the waiter had gone.

  “Simple. I’m not hungover. Plus, I don’t drink. Anymore,” he added when she opened her mouth.

  “You don’t? Since when?”

  Since he’d woken up with one too many hangovers and realized what a mess he’d made of his career, that’s when. “Been nearly nine months now.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize.”

  “Few people do.” And those who did, didn’t believe it would stick. “I decided last spring it was time to get my act together. Turn over a new leaf, as it were.”

  “How’s the new leaf working out for you?”

  “There’s been a few bumps.” Like last night. “Turns out being sober is only half the battle. Dealing with the mess you left behind...”

  “I’m guessing last night was a bump.”

  “For both of us, wouldn’t you say?” He took a sip of water. “Are you going to wear those glasses throughout lunch?” It was impossible to gauge her expression when it was hidden by those big black lenses. “Feel like I’m having lunch with a Russian spy.” Or a woman embarrassed to be with him.

  Although her lips pulled into a smirk, she removed the glasses. “Satisfied?” she asked.

  Her excess from the night before revealed itself in a pair of dark circles that washed the color from her face. Her eyes’ warm copper center was still visible though. Lewis had wondered if he’d imagined the unusual color. He hadn’t. He hadn’t imagined the intelligence in her eyes either.

  “So...” She dropped her gaze, blocking his view once more. “You said you had a business proposition for me.”

  “Yes.” Apparently they were going to get right down to business. Lewis could deal with that. “Now that I’ve retired, I’m hoping to get into broadcasting but no one wants to give me so much as a meeting. They’re all afraid to take a risk.”

  “No offense, but can you blame them?”

  “Maybe once upon a time, but I’m not the same guy I was nine months ago. I’ve grown up, and if they gave me a shot, they would see that I know my stuff. I’d be damned good.”

  He shifted in his seat so he could look her straight on. “It’s maddening. They won’t even meet with me. It’s as though the world has slotted me into a role and now I’m stuck in it for life. Whether it fits or not.”

  “Everyone thinks they know you,” she said in soft voice. She was folding and unfolding her glasses with great thoughtfulness.

  “Precisely.” The rush of someone understanding made Lewis want to grab her hands and squeeze them. “Telling them isn’t enough. They need tangible evidence that I am not the same person. That’s where you come in.” Taking a chance, he reached over and laid his hand on her forearm.

  In a flash, her hands stilled. Lewis felt the muscles in her arm tense. Slowly—very slowly—her gaze rose to meet his. “How so?”

  Before he could answer, their waiter returned. As the man placed her drinks on the table, his eyes flickered to Susan’s arm, which she quickly pulled away. Lewis tried not to smile. “Are you ready to order?” the waiter asked.

  So eager had he been to discuss business, neither of them had had a chance to look at the menu. “Not—”

  “I’ll have the egg-and-avocado sandwich,” Susan announced. “Is that all right? Or do you need to change my order?”

  Man, but she had a bite to her. And here he’d thought last night’s sharpness was from the alcohol. “Sounds perfect. In fact, I’ll have the same. You’re very decisive, for a woman who didn’t have time to study the menu,” he said once the waiter had moved on.”

  “I read the item at the top of the page and decided it sounded good. I’m not much for hemming and hawing when there’s a decision to be made.”

  “You don’t like to waste your time.”

  “Not if I can help it.” She swished her celery-stalk garnish around in the glass and took a crisp bite off its end. “Bringing me back to my question. What are you looking for from me?”

  Lewis placed his hands on the table. He thought about covering her arm again, but that might look too forward. This was where actions and word choice mattered. “You might think I’m crazy, but I got the idea from Lorianne’s site. Until now, I’ve been staying out of the public eye, hoping people would realize I’d given up the party life, but it h
asn’t been working. People only believe what they see.”

  “Or think they see,” she added.

  She caught on quick. “Precisely. This morning, I read Lorianne’s ‘Blind Item,’ and I realized I had things backward. Instead of being out of the public eye, I need to do the opposite. I need to be seen as much as possible, only, in the way I want to be seen.”

  “In other words, you want to create a new tabloid persona. Makes sense. Although I’m not sure where I come in.”

  “Well...” This was where the proposition got tricky. “I was hoping you’d be my partner in crime,” he said. “Nothing says changed man like a relationship with someone completely against type. A woman who is the total opposite of all the other women I’ve ever dated. You.”

  Susan stared at him, drink hovering just below her lower lip. “Are you trying to get another drink tossed in your face?”

  “Wait.” She’d set her drink down and was gathering her things. “Hear me out.”

  “I already heard you. You spent your sporting career dating beautiful women. Now, to prove you’ve changed, you want to date someone who isn’t beautiful and that someone is me.”

  “That’s not what I meant at all.”

  “Really?” She cocked her head. “What did I miss?”

  “Yes, I dated a lot of beautiful women, but...” He threw up his hands in case the noise she’d made was the precursor to a drink toss. “They were just good-time girls.”

  “The kind of girls whose name you forget.”

  “Right. I mean, no. You should never, ever forget a lover’s name.” He could almost hear the thin ice cracking beneath him with each sentence. So much for making sure his words mattered.

  “You’re smart,” he rushed on. “You own a respected business. Doesn’t Collier’s Soap have the queen’s blessing?”

  “We have a Royal Warrant, yes.”

  “See? You’re someone society takes seriously. No one would expect to see you involved with a party boy like me. So if you were involved...”

  “They would assume you must not be the empty-headed wild man anymore.”

  Forgetting about overstepping, he clasped her hand in his. “That’s it exactly.”

  Her fingers were cold and damp from her glass. Lewis pressed his hands tight to warm them. “And it’s not as though you’re unattractive,” he added.

  She didn’t smile. So much for humor. He was mucking this up big-time. “Look, you’re smart. You’re cute.” Cute wasn’t the right word, he realized. She radiated too much class and intelligence to be labeled merely cute. Sophisticated? Maybe. Different?

  Yeah, different. Unique.

  “Bottom line is, I need your help, if I’m to have any chance of getting a network job,” he said. “Lorianne has already marked us as a potential couple. It would take a while to find another woman as qualified.” Not to mention one whose company he enjoyed as much as he did Susan’s, surprisingly.

  “Why is being a broadcaster so important?” she asked. “Surely there are other jobs out there?”

  “Because I think I’d be good at it. No, I know I’d be good at it,” he told her. There was more though. “Besides, football is the only thing I’ve ever known. I’m not ready to leave it behind.”

  The field and the fans had been the only real home he’d ever had. Without them, all he’d have would be a handful of hazy memories of the glory days. He wasn’t ready to be kicked to the curb, unwanted, again. To go back to being nobody.

  He blinked. Susan was frowning at him from over her drink.

  “Were you even listening?” she asked.

  “Sorry. I drifted off for a moment.”

  “Obviously.” She took a long sip of her drink, which, Lewis noticed, was about a third gone. “You said on the phone this proposition would be mutually beneficial. You explained what you would get out of this ‘arrangement,’ but what’s in it for me?”

  “Simple,” he replied. “You get seen with me.”

  * * *

  Thank goodness she’d swallowed before he spoke or she would have spit tomato juice all over the table. “You’re joking. That’s your idea of mutually beneficial?”

  He leaned back against the bench, his arms stretched out along the back. “You disagree?”

  Talk about ego. Like he was such a prize.

  She took in his chiseled features—far more prominent in the light of day—and the way his cashmere sweater pulled across his equally chiseled torso.

  Okay, he was a prize.

  Still, did he think her so desperate she needed a fake boyfriend?

  Aren’t you? She ignored her own question.

  “I think you have an extremely high opinion of your appeal.” She paused to sip her drink. Much as she hated to admit it, the combination of tomato juice and vodka was easing her hangover. The tension in her shoulders and neck were lessening with each sip. “Why would I care whether I was seen in public with you?”

  “To quote... ‘my own brother didn’t want to be my date.’”

  “When did I say that?” It was true, but she couldn’t see herself sharing the information.

  “While we were waiting for the car.”

  Susan thought back. Much of the trip home was fuzzy. She vaguely remembered growing angry when they passed the ladies’ room and going on a tirade about being single which may have morphed into a drunken pity party.

  Oh, man, now she remembered. Stupid Christmas Wishes. “I was drunk. People say and do a lot of foolish things when they are under the influence, as I’m sure you would agree.”

  “In vino veritas.”

  He flashed a smirk as he reached for his water. “As for the value of my appeal...? There are a lot of women in the UK who would tell you I’ve got plenty.”

  “Then why don’t you ask one of them to be your fake girlfriend? Oh, wait, let me guess. Oh, right, they’re all supermodels and party girls.”

  “You’re not going to let that go, are you? I was trying to lighten the mood.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact that you clearly need me more than I need you.” Or the way it stung.

  “You’re right,” he replied. “I do need you more than you need me.”

  Points for honesty. Sitting back, she waited to hear his expanded sales pitch.

  “Believe it or not, you would get something tangible out of the relationship,” he told her.

  Beyond being able to rub the fake arrangement in Ginger’s and Courtney’s faces—which she had to admit, a part of her found appealing. “How so?”

  “If my plan works, the two of us will be in the tabloids and gossip columns, a lot. Both our profiles will be raised.”

  “Why would I care about a higher profile?”

  “You tell me, Ms. Collier.”

  He was appealing to her ego again. It wouldn’t be only the Courtneys and Gingers of the world she’d be showing, it would be the world. The equivalent of a giant ad announcing her desirability. As if she were that lonely.

  “What makes you think the tabloids, or anyone for that matter, would believe we were a real couple?” she asked. Simply out of curiosity.

  “Are you kidding? Celebrities arrange public relationships all the time in order to sell an image. Remember that pop star who was dating the guy from the Brazilian team? Totally to keep people from knowing he was shagging his equipment manager.”

  “No way.”

  “It’s the truth. I know the equipment manager.”

  Susan remembered seeing the singer on the cover of several magazines at the hair salon talking about finally finding love. She’d been a nobody newcomer before the relationship.

  A thought suddenly occurred to her. “You’re not...?”

  “No.”

  Not that it mattered. She still wasn’t going to say yes to this silly idea.

 
“Granted you and I wouldn’t become an international sensation, but, if we do this right, we will get mentioned in the papers. We only need to be together a few months. Long enough for people to believe we are the real deal.”

  “Even though we aren’t.”

  “Right. But the only people who will know are you and me. Everyone else will think you won me over with your brilliant mind and razor-sharp wit.”

  “And, if I say yes—not that I am—how long would we need to play act?”

  “Just over a month. At least through the holidays.”

  Meaning he would be her “boyfriend” at the Collier’s Christmas Party. Wouldn’t that be interesting? To be part of a couple for once instead of standing around watching everyone else? Even if it was only pretend.

  Despite his offered upsides, the idea struck her wrong. Did she really want to spend weeks with a disinterested man just so she could stick it to a few petty witches? Seemed like she should be better than that.

  Then there was the obvious.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to simply date a different category of women instead of subterfuge?”

  He looked at her for a second, as though weighing his words, his sensual lips drawn in a frown. “If I were looking to get into a long-term relationship, maybe, but...”

  “You don’t have to go on. I get your point.” He was looking to repair an image, not actually change his tastes.

  “I’m not asking you to decide this very moment,” he said. “Let’s have some lunch, and you think the idea over. Let me know later on.”

  “Thank you.” She doubted food would change her mind, but she’d rather not ruin the mood until after she’d eaten.

  In the meantime, she was curious if she still looked like death now that her headache had eased. When the waiter arrived with their food, she excused herself and went to the ladies’ room.

  Whoever decorated the restaurant had the foresight to install ambient lighting as opposed to fluorescent in the sitting room so women checking the mirror would feel good about their appearance. Unfortunately, all the ambient lighting in the world couldn’t brighten her washed-out complexion. She’d tried to hide the damage with powder and concealer, but the dark circles stubbornly remained. Searching into her bag, she pulled out a compact and touched up her blush. No sense bothering with lipstick since it would only wear off again when she ate. Then she combed her hands through her curls and stepped back.