The Fake Fiancée. Megan Kelly
to be addressed immediately.
“With only weeks left in the school year,” she said, “I wouldn’t want you to move him. How will before-and after-school ‘challenges’ help him behave during class?”
Bushfield opened his mouth but offered no answer before closing it again.
“And,” Lisa continued, “his temper problems aside, today’s ‘incident’ sounds like a personality conflict between Bobby and this Arnold kid.”
“If my son were fighting,” Bushfield said, “I’d be concerned.”
Pompous ass. Lisa reached deep inside herself for patience. “I am concerned, Mr. Bushfield. I just don’t agree that this is the answer for Bobby.”
Bushfield leaned back in his black leather swivel chair and linked his fingers over his paunch. “We considered this program for Bobby in the fall because of his abilities, not because of his misbehavior.”
Her teeth clenched so tight her jaw ached. His misbehavior? What about that other kid, calling Bobby names and smashing his head on the floor?
“However,” the principal continued, “this opportunity cannot be offered to every child due to its cost.”
The blood drained from Lisa’s face. Because she’d had to sign up for reduced lunch prices and book-fee assistance for both children, all her financial information lurked in the kids’ files. No doubt Bushfield and every other administrator had access. It was degrading.
Now it came down to money again. Bobby hadn’t been considered last fall because she was broke? She swallowed her rage. Damn Brad.
“Unfortunately,” the principal continued, “it isn’t funded through tax revenue, and we must rely upon the parents—or parent in your case—to provide the majority of the tuition. Bringing highly talented professionals together to educate our children with the best cultural activities is expensive.” He cleared his throat. “Given that Bobby’s special needs have intensified this week, we might be able to provide a grant through the school district for the remainder of the year. Some monies have become available.”
Lisa tried to remain expressionless. Humiliated beyond measure because she couldn’t afford to give her child this special opportunity, she fought her anger—against Bushfield, against Brad, against anyone she could think of, especially herself. No way would she allow her children to suffer because she had been left with an overwhelming debt. If only that investigator could track down Brad, perhaps she could squeeze some child support from him. Unfortunately, rumor had it Brad had left the country.
She stiffened her spine and eyed Bushfield steadily. “If you have a brochure, I’ll look it over.”
She marched out with her head held high, determined to get the money somehow, even if she had to sell her soul to the devil.
Fortunately, she’d just met the devil. He was handsome and devious, and he needed a favor from her.
Chapter Three
The next day, Lisa paced the waiting area outside Joe’s office, recalling her adamant refusal to help him. Now she had to swallow her pride and ask for a favor. She could humble herself for her children. She’d had practice enough in the past eighteen months. But deceiving Joe’s parents stuck in her craw.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have much choice. She wanted to rise above the humiliation of being broke, but more importantly, she had to get Bobby into that program. Providing for her children drove her every action.
The night before, Lisa had seated herself beside Bobby as he climbed into bed. She brushed a stray lock of white-blond hair off his forehead.
“Bobby, why did you hit Arnold?”
He stared at his lightweight blanket, threading it between his fingers. His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug.
The cicadas started their nightly song outside. An early June bug thunked against the window screen, trying to reach the light. The overhead fan whirred. Her son said nothing.
She bit her bottom lip, then prodded, “Bobby? You must have had a reason.”
Still not looking at her, he mumbled, “He called me a name.”
Lisa sighed. She’d gotten that much from his teacher. “Honey, you can’t just hit people because you don’t like what they say. Miss Jensen said you shoved him yesterday, too.”
He shrugged again.
“And you kicked Mr. Riley.”
Bobby’s eyes flashed to hers. “But he was yelling at you!”
“No, honey, he wasn’t. Even if he had been, it would still be wrong to kick him.”
Bobby’s bottom lip stiffened. “I’m the man of the house now. Just like on TV.”
Lisa’s chest tightened. How could she scold him for protecting her? She kissed his forehead. “I love you. But no more hitting, no matter what the reason. Hitting doesn’t make a boy into a man.”
He didn’t respond, but Lisa knew he’d heard her.
Now she glowered at Joe’s pretty young secretary, who kept her gaze on her computer monitor. The brunette might appear to be a bubblehead, but she’d guarded Joe like a pit bull, not letting Lisa speak to him. Lisa had hoped to make this distasteful arrangement on the phone or at her house, giving her home-field advantage. But Joe’s secretary screened his calls and relayed his messages, limiting her access—no doubt on his orders. He could only fit Lisa into his schedule if she came to see him that morning. Given Bobby’s increased violent streak, the sooner she received the advance money and could enroll him, the better.
“Lisa.” Joe’s deep voice shivered through her. He leaned against the door frame of his office, hands in his pants pockets. “I must admit I’m surprised to hear from you, but I’m very pleased.”
He radiated confidence, with a touch of smug victory. In a dark charcoal three-piece suit, he looked even more handsome than she remembered. Her mouth went dry. Nerves, not attraction, she assured herself. She nodded cordially. “I’d like to discuss something with you.”
A second man emerged from Joe’s office, sans jacket or tie, with his gray shirt unbuttoned at the throat. Dark blond hair brushed his collar.
“This is my partner, Dylan Ross,” Joe said. Turning to Dylan, he added, “This is Lisa Meyer, owner of Goodies to Go. We’re about to negotiate the fine points to her providing desserts for our first fiscal year-end party in Howard.”
“Nice to meet you.” Dylan stepped forward and shook Lisa’s hand.
“Are you staying for the meeting, too?” She darted a look at Joe, relieved when he shook his head. At least he hadn’t spread the tale of their distasteful pact.
“Sorry,” Dylan said, a teasing light in his blue eyes. “Joe conveniently forgot to mention how attractive the caterer was he had to meet with. How’d you let that happen, Sue?” he asked Joe’s secretary, who watched their exchange avidly. Dylan glanced at his wristwatch. “Come to think of it, I might be able to spare a few minutes.”
“No, you really can’t.” Joe took his arm and marched him a few steps on his way.
“See you again,” Dylan called with a laugh as he continued on his own steam toward the door.
“Nice to meet you.” Lisa was still smiling when she met Joe’s narrowed gaze.
“So you’ve reconsidered?”
She glanced at his secretary, who bent over her keyboard, actively not listening. “Under certain circumstances, I might agree to your…proposition.”
Joe smiled. “I’m intrigued. Shall we step into my office?”
Said the drooling wolf to the lamb. Not fooled by his charming facade, she ignored the