The Fake Fiancée. Megan Kelly
agreed to help you out. I’m taking a chance on you.”
The calculation in Joe’s smile sent shivers of warning across her skin. He stepped toward her. “But I’m taking a chance on you, as well. I have to trust you to behave as though you love me.”
“You can trust me.”
“How do I know?”
“I can fake it.”
He smirked. “I’ve never had a wom—”
“Don’t even say it.”
“Maybe I ought to put you to the test.”
She eyed him with suspicion. “What test?”
“We’ll be performing in front of my mother, who can sniff out a fraud like a bloodhound.” He smiled. “Maybe we ought to rehearse.”
“What? Why?”
“We’re not exactly friends. My mother—everyone—will be able to tell if it’s our first kiss. We should practice, just until it feels natural.”
Lisa glared at him, disgusted with his tactics. Another manipulator, just like Brad. “I should’ve expected something like this from you.” She stalked to the door, followed by Joe’s laughter, soft, but edged with triumph. “Mail me the contract.”
“Coward,” he called across the room.
“With the advance money.” She slammed the door on his grin.
LISA TOOK HER CHECK to the principal’s office the next day as school let out, Joe’s advance having arrived by special courier. Laying down the money for Bobby’s program, without having to apply for any grants from the school district, didn’t offer her the satisfaction she had imagined.
Abby jumped into the car. Bobby had been invited to practice soccer at the house of one of his teammates. Tomorrow she’d tell him about his starting “a new adventure,” which was how she’d decided to view the program.
Lisa hated to cut into her special time alone with Abby doing a mundane chore, but she needed to stop at the grocery store on the way home. Time seemed to slip away from her these days, never leaving enough for all the things she had to do.
“Sally Turner’s having a birthday party, Mom, and she invited me! Everyone’s going. Can I go? Please.”
After an affectionate glance at Abby, Lisa checked the rearview mirror for oncoming cars then pulled into traffic. “When is it?”
“Her birthday is next week, but the party’s not till June eighth. It’s a Sunday. We have lots of time to shop.”
“What are you planning to get her?” She could stretch the budget to include a present, as long as Sally “The Girl Who Has Everything” Turner didn’t expect expensive name brands. “Why is her party so far in the future?”
“Everybody who’s invited decided to get new T-shirts with the band’s name on them. I can have one, too, can’t I? It shouldn’t cost too much.”
Lisa frowned. “What band?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you the best part!” Abby bounced on the seat in her excitement, a grin splitting her face. Lisa hadn’t seen her this happy or this animated since Brad left. Thank you, Sally.
“Sally’s parents are taking us to see Juniper Jones.”
“Wow.” Concert tickets for the Turners and a group of girls would cost a load of money. Lisa bit her lip, hoping Abby understood her own birthday celebration wouldn’t include anything nearly as expensive.
“So I can go?” Abby insisted.
“I suppose so.”
Juniper Jones was the name of an all-girl band, whose songs focused more on friendship and teen angst than drugs or sex. Abby had their two most recent CDs, and their poster decorated her wall. At least the Turners, whose lax parenting methods Lisa usually abhorred, had chosen music appropriate for eight-and nine-year-olds. She struggled over letting them take her daughter to the crowded concert. Surely they could be responsible for Abby for one evening.
“That’s really cool,” Lisa said. “I didn’t know Juniper Jones was playing in Kansas City this summer. I suppose we can find a band T-shirt somewhere.”
Maybe one of those Internet bargain sites would have a shirt available. Souvenirs at the concert were costly.
Abby hunched in her seat. “They’re not.”
Sure she’d lost track of the conversation, Lisa said, “I don’t understand.”
“We’re going to see the concert in St. Louis. We get to stay overnight at a hotel. With a pool.”
Fortunately for the other drivers on Wilson Avenue, the light ahead turned red. Lisa braked with extra care then stared at Abby. She wouldn’t even let parents she trusted take Abby across the state overnight, let alone the Turners. “And you’re just now mentioning this part.”
Abby nodded, not quite meeting her eyes.
“After you made sure I said you could go.” Lisa tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, Abby. The answer’s no.”
“Mom!”
She raised an eyebrow at her daughter, a definite warning sign should Abby care to heed it.
Abby’s chin dropped onto her chest. “That’s so unfair.”
Lisa inhaled and glanced ahead. Still red, thank heavens. She didn’t think she could negotiate traffic and this conversation without killing someone. Preferably Sally Turner’s parents. What were they thinking? She shook out fingers gone numb from her hold on the steering wheel.
The light changed, and Lisa carefully advanced.
After three blocks, Abby burst. “Why can’t I go?”
Lisa let the silence hold until she parked at the curb in front of the store. “It’s too far. You can’t stay overnight in another city at your age without me.”
“Sally’s parents will be with us. And it’ll be summer, not a school night.”
Lisa held up her hand. “Don’t start. You knew what the answer would be before you asked, which is why you wanted me to say yes before you filled in all the details. I don’t appreciate being manipulated, young lady.”
“Sorry,” Abby muttered.
Lisa blew out a deep breath.
They got out of the car, although Lisa had never felt less like seeing food in her life. Abby got quieter as the hours progressed, and by bedtime, Lisa almost wished the girl would let loose her feelings the way Bobby did. Abby’s silent melancholy tore at her heart.
AT THE CONVENTION HALL the next week, Lisa glanced around at the hothouse exhibit of roses, orchids and gardenias and felt satisfied that her sugary confections complemented the beauty of the room. Moreover, her flowers offered a delight for the tongue as well as the eye. About fifty women in sequins and chiffon led their handsomely suited men through the partitioned-off areas. Muted conversations, briefly punctuated by outbursts of greetings, blended with the classical music in the background.
Lisa darted to the main dessert table to inspect the platters again, having checked on the four satellite stations she’d set around the room. She felt the eyes of the attendees drifting over her. Eager to make a good impression in hopes of future business, she smiled at everyone and said a few words, while trying to maintain a professional, I’m-just-the-invisible-help type presence.
“I need to set out more cookies,” Ginger said as she replaced a tray of mint crème candies. “Things are going really well.” She laid out more cocktail napkins and plates then whisked her tray to the next table.
As Lisa gathered up the dirty dishes and hurried