The Fake Fiancée. Megan KellyЧитать онлайн книгу.
not worried about you being happy, Joe. I want you to be married.”
He chuckled. “I have to choose? I couldn’t be both?”
“Are you telling me you’ve proposed?”
He groaned. The woman played hardball. “No.”
“So you’re not really serious?”
“These things take time.”
“How long?”
Joe frowned. He could sense a trap coming, but without knowing what form it would take, he couldn’t evade it. “How long for what?”
“How long do you have to date to get serious enough to propose?”
If he could just buy some time to reassure himself about her health…He wanted a wife eventually, just not on his mother’s timetable. Once the company got firmly established, he’d enter Wife-Hunt in his PDA under Things to Do. He squinted in concentration. How long had he said he’d been dating this imaginary woman? A couple of months? He was almost certain he’d said two.
“Five months,” he said. “Five months just to know, another to ask her, a couple for her to decide. I’ll let you know when it’s official.”
“What kind of woman takes a couple of months after the proposal to decide to marry you? Maybe your father and I had better meet her.”
Joe pulled the receiver from his ear and stared at it. He’d sprung from this woman’s loins? No wonder the electronics world considered him a shark. She was cunning and relentless. He couldn’t help but admire the trap she’d set.
Still, he had to get out of it. “I can’t, Mom,” he said. “Work, you know.”
“Joey,” she said in an understanding tone that raised the hairs on the back of his neck to alert status, “this is why I worry about you so. Too much work. If this girl can’t tear you away, maybe she’s not the right one. I’ll call my—”
“No,” he cut in. He didn’t want to hear which friend or distant relative she’d call. He didn’t want a surprise date at the next family dinner and especially not at his next business meeting. “It isn’t just my work, Mom. It’s hers. I’m trying to be an understanding guy, you know, respecting a woman’s career.”
“Mmm-hmm. What does she do?”
Joe glanced around his office, looking for ideas. He pushed aside some papers on his desk. What would satisfy his mother?
“Joe?”
He flipped through some file folders. One had potential. “She’s a caterer. She owns the business, so she has a lot of pressure and time constraints.”
“What’s her name?” she asked with doubt in her tone.
His mother might be convinced if he stuck with his story. He shuffled through the proposals. The hotel would handle dinner, but he’d decided to have dessert trays set up around the ballroom afterward. Pierre, Antoine, Lisa, Caesar—“Lisa. She owns—” he squinted at the paper “—Goodies to Go.” He just might accept this woman’s bid to cater his company’s year-end party out of gratitude.
“Did you say Goodies to Go?” his mother almost purred. “How extraordinary. She’s catering our exhibit next week at the Garden Society. I’ll have a chance to meet her, after all. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Wonderful. The cold steel of her trap tightened around his neck. Knowing he’d stuck his own head in didn’t help.
THE DOORBELL RANG.
In the bakery kitchen down in her basement, Lisa Meyer jerked, spurting pink icing across the countertop. Glaring at the chime box over her work space, she wiped her hands and ran upstairs.
She flung her apron on the counter as she passed through the family’s kitchen. A quick glance in the mirror had her pushing stray blond hair behind her ears.
Marzipan and icing flowers called her from the basement, taunting her with their lack of completion. She answered the door on the off chance the children might have come home a little early, hands full of leftover pizza boxes. Abby and Bobby were with her best friend, Ginger, eating pizza and playing arcade games—a treat Lisa could ill afford—and weren’t due home for half an hour. Hopefully, Bobby had behaved himself and this wasn’t them coming home early due to one of his outbursts of temper.
A man stood on her porch, the chill mid-April breeze ruffling his hair. Lisa stared at him, instinctively wary of his good looks. A salesman, no doubt, and probably a good one. Old Mrs. Winters next door would buy whatever he was selling just to gaze at his attractive features. Tanned skin, hair as dark as midnight, and deep blue eyes. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a body to lust after in a navy pinstripe suit. A light blue shirt stretched over his chest, bisected by a dark tie. If he had a voice to match her imagination, he’d be trouble.
Fortunately, Lisa could resist temptation. Whatever he offered, she had neither the money to buy it nor the time to listen to his pitch.
“Hi. I’m looking for Lisa Meyer.”
A voice like roasted marshmallows. She firmly repressed a shiver of delight. “How may I help you?”
His smile widened, carving creases in his cheeks.
She swallowed, wishing she had some extra time and a little spare money. But she had neither, not to call her own, anyway. She straightened her spine and her resolve. “I’m rather busy.”
“I don’t intend to keep you long. I’m Joe Riley of Riley and Ross Electronics.”
Her heart leaped. She’d tendered a bid for his company’s function but hadn’t expected a personal visit from the president. Thank goodness she hadn’t been too rude.
Maybe she’d misjudged him. Just because he wore charm like aftershave didn’t mean he had to be a slick conniver like her ex, Brad. Fixing a smile in place, she extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Joe’s hand encompassed hers, leaving an impression of warmth and strength. Lisa berated herself. Business, not pleasure, no matter how gorgeous the client. Besides, she’d learned from Brad that a handsome face could hide a devious heart. “Won’t you come in?”
She closed the door and gestured to the couch. “Would you care for a drink? Or would you prefer to see my kitchen?”
“A cold drink sounds great.”
“I’ll be right back.” Lisa strode from the room, planning a side trip to the bathroom to do a little primping. She needed to resecure her hair—to comply with health code restrictions, not to impress Joe Riley.
She headed for the kitchen first to get their iced tea. Footsteps on the linoleum tapped right after hers. She looked over her shoulder.
Joe smiled at her. “I thought I’d help.”
She shook her head as she retrieved glasses from the cupboard. “This isn’t the right kitchen. My business is downstairs.”
He walked over to the wall of windows and gazed out at her overgrown backyard while she got out the tea. “I didn’t come to inspect your bakery.”
“You’re welcome to. I’m in the middle of a project right now, but you’ll find my set up immaculate.”
“I’m sure it is.” He turned, and his smile deepened, making those enticing creases reappear.
“I’ll show you downstairs after we’ve talked.”
His expression smoothed out, displaying a facade she instantly mistrusted. His eyes remained serious, making him look thoughtful at best, if not downright calculating. Brad all over again, but this time she wasn’t blinded by love. This time it was only business. “Shall we sit in the living room?”
Joe took the