High-Powered, Hot-Blooded(3)

Duncan raised an eyebrow.

"I'm more the best friend," she continued, feeling the hole getting  deeper and deeper. "The girl you talk to, not the girl you sleep with.  The one you take home to Mom when you want to convince her you're dating  a nice girl."         

     



 

"Exactly," he said.

What? "You want to introduce me to your mother?"

"No. I want to introduce you to everyone else. I want you to be my date  for all the social events I have going on this holiday season. You'll  show the world I'm not a complete bastard."

"I don't understand." He was hiring her to be his date? "You could go out with anyone you want."

"True, but the women I want to go out with don't solve my problem. You do."

"How?"

"You teach small children, look after your family. You're a nice girl. I  need nice. In return your brother doesn't go to jail." He folded his  arms across his chest. "Annie, if you say yes, your brother gets the  help he needs. If you say no, he goes to jail."

As if she hadn't figured that out on her own. "You don't play fair, do you?"

"I play to win. So which will it be?"





Two


While Duncan waited for his answer, Annie grabbed a kitchen chair and  pulled it over to the refrigerator. She reached the overhead cupboard  and pulled out a box of high-fiber cereal. After opening it, she removed  a plastic bag filled with orange and brown M&M's.

"What are you doing?" he asked, wondering if the stress had pushed her over the edge.

"Getting my secret stash. I live with three other women. If you think  chocolate would last more than fifteen seconds in this house, you're  deluding yourself." She scooped out a handful, then put the plastic bag  back in the box and slid the box onto the shelf.

"Why are they that color?"

She looked at him as if he were an idiot, then climbed down from the  chair. "They're from Halloween. I bought them November first, when  they're half off. It's a great time to buy seasonal candy. They taste  just as good. M&M's are my weakness." She popped two in her mouth  and sighed. "Better."

Okay, this was strange, he thought. "You had a glass of wine before," he said. "Don't you want that?"

"Instead of chocolate? No."

She stood there in a shapeless blue sweater that matched her eyes and a  patterned skirt that went to her knees. Her feet were bare and he could  see she'd painted little daisies on her toes. Aside from that, Annie  McCoy was strictly utilitarian. No makeup, no jewelry to speak of. Just a  plain, inexpensive watch around her left wrist. Her hair was an  appealing color. Shades of gold in a riot of curls that tumbled past her  shoulders. She wasn't a woman who spent a lot of time on her  appearance.

Which was fine by him. The outside could easily be fixed. He was far  more concerned about her character. From what he'd seen in the past ten  minutes, she was compassionate, caring and led with her heart. In other  words, a sucker. Happy news for him. Right now he needed a  bleeding-heart do-gooder to get his board off his back long enough for  him to wrestle control from them.

"You haven't answered my question," he reminded her.

Annie sighed. "I know. Mostly because I still don't know what you want from me."

He pointed to the rickety chairs pushed up against the table. "Why don't we sit down."

It was her house-she should be doing the inviting. Still Annie found  herself dragging her chair over to the table and plopping down.  Politeness dictated that she offer him some of her precious store of  M&M's, but she had a feeling she was going to need them later.

He took a seat across from her and rested his large arms on the table. "I run a company," he began. "Patrick Industries."

"Tell me it's a family business," she said, without thinking. "You  inherited it, right? You're not such a total egomaniac that you named it  after yourself."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I see the chocolate gives you courage."

"A little."

"I inherited the company while I was in college. I took it from nothing to a billion-dollar empire in fifteen years."

Lucky him, she thought, thinking she had nothing to bond with. Scoring  in the top two percent of the country on her SATs was hardly impressive  when compared with billions.

"To get that far, that fast, I was ruthless," he continued. "I bought  companies, merged them into mine and streamlined them to make them very  profitable."

She counted out the last M&M's. Eight round bits of heaven. "Is that a polite way of saying you fired people?"

He nodded. "The business world loves a success story, but only to a  point. They consider me too ruthless. I'm getting some bad press. I need  to counteract that."         

     



 

"Why do you care what people say about you?"

"I don't, but my board of directors does. I need to fool people into  thinking I have a heart. I need to appear … " He hesitated. "Nice."

Now it was her turn to smile. "Not your best quality?"

"No."

He had unusual eyes, she thought absently. The gray was a little scary, but not unattractive. If only they weren't so cold.

"You are exactly what you seem," he said. "A pretty, young teacher with  more compassion than sense. People like that. The press will like that."

She'd been with him, right up until that last bit. "Press? As in press?"

"Not television media or gossip reporters. I'm talking about business  reporters. Between now and Christmas I have about a dozen social events I  need to attend. I want you to go with me. As far as the world is  concerned, we're dating and you're crazy about me. They'll think you're  nice and by association, change their opinion of me."

Which all sounded easy enough, she thought. "Wouldn't it just be easier  to actually act nice? This reminds me of high school when a few people  worked really hard to cheat. They could have spent the same amount of  time studying and gotten a better grade without any risk. But they would  rather cheat."



His dark eyebrows drew together. "My reasons are not up for debate."

She picked up another M&M. "I'm just saying."

"If you agree, then I'll arrange for your brother to enter rehab  immediately, under the conditions we discussed. He'll get the second  chance you seem to think he deserves. However, if you let on to anyone  that our relationship isn't real, if you say anything bad about me, then  Tim goes directly to jail."

"Without collecting two hundred dollars."

"Exactly."

A deal with the devil, she thought, wondering how a nice girl like her  got into a situation like this. Of course, her being a nice girl was  apparently the point. She sighed.

The sense of being trapped was very real. As was the knowledge that  while she was expected to take care of her cousins, Tim and apparently  even Duncan Patrick, no one ever bothered to take care of her. Or worry  about her.

"I'm not lying to my family," she said. "My cousins and Kami have to know."

Duncan seemed to consider that. "Just them. And if they tell anyone-"

She nodded. "I know. Off with their heads. Have you been through any  seminars on teamwork or communications? If you worked on your people  skills, you might … "

The gray eyes turned to ice. She pressed her lips together and stopped talking.

"You agree?" he asked.



Did she have a choice? Tim needed help. She'd tried to talk him into  getting it before, but he always blew her off. Maybe being forced to  spend some time in a safe place would make a difference. As the  alternative was him being charged with a felony, she didn't see that she  had a choice.

"I will," she began, "act as your adoring girlfriend between now and  Christmas. I will tell anyone who will listen that you are kind and  sweet and have the heart of a marshmallow." She frowned at him. "I don't  know anything about you. How am I supposed to fake being in a  relationship?"

"I'll get you material."

"Won't that be happy reading."

He ignored her comment. "In return, Tim will get the help he needs,  fifty percent of the debt will be forgiven and he'll have a reasonable  payment plan for the rest. Do you have an appropriate wardrobe?"

She nibbled on the last M&M. "Define appropriate."

He looked at her with a thoroughness that left her breathless. Before  she could react, he'd scanned her battered kitchen, his gaze lingering  on the warped vinyl flooring.

"Someone will be in touch to arrange a session with a stylist," he said.  "When the month is over, you can keep the clothes." He rose.

She stood and trailed after him. "What kind of clothes?"

"Cocktail dresses and evening gowns." He paused by the front door and faced her.

"I have the dress from my prom."

"I'm sure you wouldn't be comfortable wearing it at one of these events."