Millionaires' Destinies(32)

As he’d predicted, Melanie looked intrigued by the prospect of getting even. “In public?” she bargained.

“Won’t be any fun if it’s not in public,” he agreed, willing to endure the humiliation if it gave him a few weeks to woo Melanie into his bed. That was his short-term—his only—goal. He had to remember that. Getting even with Destiny, getting public perception back on his side, those were purely a bonus. Happily-ever-after was out of the question. He didn’t believe in it. Or, perhaps more accurately, he didn’t trust himself to want it.

“How long do we carry out the charade before I get to dump you?” Melanie inquired.

Richard gave the question the serious consideration it deserved. Melanie had a right to know how much of a commitment she was making. “For as long as it takes to get Destiny off our backs and make it believable for everybody else.”

“A month?” she asked hopefully.

“She’ll never buy it.”

“Two?”

“How about six and we’ll see where we stand?” He gazed deeper into her eyes. “There’s no one in your life who’ll object, is there?”

“Sadly, no,” she said. “Believe me, I’d love to have an excuse to get out of this.” She gave him a knowing look. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

“I was reasonably confident that you wouldn’t have traipsed after me to that cottage if there had been an important man in your life.”

Her gaze narrowed. “I came down there on business. Even if there was a man in my life, he wouldn’t have the right to object to me taking a business trip.”

“He wouldn’t have left you down there, snowbound with me, though, would he? Not if he had an ounce of sense. He’d have been there to rescue you by dawn on Saturday.”

“Nothing happened that needed to be explained or forgiven,” she retorted, eyes flashing.

Richard gave her an innocent look. “Really? Here I thought that was when we fell in love.”

Melanie groaned. “Do you have any idea how much I hate this?” she asked again.

“You’ve mentioned that,” he admitted. “But you’re going to go along with it, aren’t you?”

For a minute it almost looked as if she might balk, but then she finally nodded.

At her acquiescence—albeit reluctant—Richard felt the oddest sensation in his chest. It felt a whole lot like relief. Or maybe elation. He couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t a sensation he’d ever experienced before. That was happening a lot lately.





Melanie’s head was spinning. She had just agreed to pose as Richard’s almost-fiancée for the foreseeable future. There was no question in her mind that this was going to be a role she could handle by making an occasional appearance by his side in public. He was going to insist that she give it her all to make it believable, at least to one person. Unfortunately for both of them, there was also little doubt that Destiny was going to be a hard sell.

So why try? Melanie asked herself that repeatedly on the drive back to her office. Why had she agreed to this? Because she’d felt guilty over that stupid item in the morning paper? That hadn’t been her doing. Because she had some insane idea that this was the only way to get Destiny to leave them alone? Richard might be convinced of that, but she wasn’t. Not entirely, anyway. So, what was the real reason?

Because some teeny-tiny, totally insane part of her wanted it to be true. Even as the thought crept in, she was shouting no-no-no to herself as emphatically as she possibly could. The noise was so loud in her head, she barely heard the cell phone when it rang. Relieved to have an excuse to turn off her own chaotic thoughts, she punched the button on the dash that put the call on speaker.

“Yes,” she barked.

“Show time,” Richard said.

“What?”

“We’re having dinner with Destiny tonight.”

“How did that happen? I just left you ten minutes ago. Word couldn’t have gotten back to her that quickly.”

“I called,” he told her without the least hint of regret. “Preemptive strike.”

“Are you crazy? I haven’t even gotten used to the idea. I’ll bungle this.”

“Just follow my lead. I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something glamorous. Destiny likes to dress for dinner.”

He hung up before Melanie could get a vehement objection to cross her lips. What was he thinking? Maybe he figured it was like swimming—better to toss her into the deep end to test her mettle than to wishy-wash around in the kiddie pool for weeks.

If she was going to do this, she needed help. She punched speed dial for her office.