The One-Week Marriage. Renee Roszel
face, so the chauffeur’s remark snagged her attention. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“She kept touching her face and popping aspirin. She spotted me watching her in the rearview mirror and almost snapped my head off. Told me to mind my business and drive.”
“Oh, dear.” Izzy was beginning to have a bad feeling. The three summers she worked in her father’s dentist office hadn’t been wasted. Izzy had seen a lot of dental problems walk in the office door. Dawn Day might be an icon of female beauty, but if Izzy didn’t miss her guess, behind those ravishing lips lurked trouble. “If she has what I think she has, she’s going to need medical attention,” Izzy murmured, more to herself than to James.
“If you want my opinion, I think she’d rather die than give up this trip.”
Izzy glanced thoughtfully at the chauffeur. She wouldn’t blame Miss Day if she’d crawled to the airport on broken arms and legs. Mr. Parish was making it worth any woman’s while to take this jaunt. Not to mention the added bonus that he would be there. Nevertheless, if the woman had an abscessed tooth, as Izzy suspected, she couldn’t go. Abscesses usually made themselves known at an earlier stage than Miss Day’s. Though, a few people never realized they had a problem until the swelling began. They might think it was nothing—just a little ache that would pass—but in a few hours the pain would be excruciating. Miss Day needed a root canal—today! Or by tomorrow morning she wouldn’t be able to endure the agony, no matter how spectacular the perks.
Mr. Parish’s deep laugh rang out, drawing Izzy’s gaze. The woman’s throaty giggle was almost too far away to detect. But as Izzy watched, the redhead’s fingers moved tentatively across her jaw. It was clear her self-prescribed aspirin treatment was doing little good.
Fine, she thought dourly. This is just fine! It was too late to hire anybody else from the agency, still Izzy had no choice. She had to confront the woman. If she allowed her to go, she would never forgive herself.
She looked grimly at James. “I have to do something. The poor thing has no idea what she’s in for.”
He shrugged. “I don’t envy you, ma’am. She’s not as sweet as she looks. Be careful she doesn’t scratch out your eyes for your trouble.”
Izzy surveyed the chauffeur narrowly, battling to hold on to a resolve that was trying to scurry into hiding. “Thanks,” she quipped wryly. “You’re a huge help.”
Squaring her shoulders, she headed toward her boss and his pretty companion. To keep up her nerve, she told herself this was right. Fate had taken a hand to keep her boss from perpetrating this fraud. Miss Day’s abscessed tooth might seem like a calamity now, but it was for the better. Really!
Still, how was she going to get Miss Day to admit she was in pain? The redhead had already denied she had any troubles at all.
An idea flashed into Izzy’s brain and she walked around between the big leather chairs in which Mr. Parish and Miss Day were seated. “May I get you anything?” she asked, then pretended to be caught by the sight of something unsightly on the redhead’s face. “Oh—there’s a smudge...” She drew a clean handkerchief from her purse and skimmed it across Miss Day’s puffy jaw. “There—”
A shriek split the air as Dawn lurched from the chair. Stumbling away, her hand went to her jaw. “Why—why you witch!” she screamed, her blue eyes filling with tears. “That hurt!”
Mr. Parish abruptly stood, his confused gaze going from his hysterical companion to Izzy. “What the hell?”
Dawn moaned, tears spilling from her eyes. “Oh—it hurts! That witch did it on purpose!”
“Did you pinch her, Peabody?”
“No, sir.” Sick at heart, Izzy watched as the redhead crumpled back into her chair. Reduced to a miserable heap, Miss Day covered the lower half of her face with both hands, moaning and rocking back and forth.
Izzy placed a solicitous hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. But you must get that tooth looked at right away.”
The redhead glared at Izzy, her eyes glittery and wild. “I’m fine, I tell you! Mind your own business.”
“You’re ill?” Mr. Parish sat down in the chair next to Dawn, his expression worried.
“I’m afraid she has an abscessed tooth, sir,” Izzy said quietly.
“That’s not true! You’re a liar!” Dawn cried, then moaned at the pain her yelling caused. She slumped back, her face ashen.
“We’re ready to board, Mr. Parish.”
Izzy’s gaze shot to the newcomer. An attractive flight attendant stood nearby, her features closed in concern.
“May I be of help?” she asked.
Mr. Parish stood. Frowning, he shook his head. “We can manage.” He motioned to James. When the chauffeur scurried up, his boss indicated Miss Day. “Drive her to my dentist. His private number is programmed into the car phone.”
“But it’s Sunday, sir,” James said.
“He’s a close friend. He’ll see her.” Solemnly he offered the redhead his hand. “I’m disappointed, Dawn. But I can’t allow you to make the trip in your condition.”
Slouched dejectedly in the big chair, she looked at him, her eyes awash with pleading and suffering. “I—I need this job.”
Izzy watched her boss’s jaw harden, a clear indication that he was as disturbed as she. He bent to take her fingers in his. “I’ll compensate you for your trouble, Miss Day. Now see about that tooth.”
When Mr. Parish helped her to her feet, he handed her over to James and sent them on their way.
The first-class passengers began boarding. Izzy stared at her boss, watching him watch his counterfeit wife disappear—along with his chance at the Yum-Yum Baby Food account. So tall and grim, he was a striking vision, even in defeat.
Although Izzy had been against this ploy from the beginning, she felt a twinge of sadness. Her boss had gone to incredible lengths to get the account. Seeing his chance walk out the door along with Miss Day had to be excruciating. “I—I’m sure you’ll realize that—in the long run—this is best, sir.”
He shifted to glower at her. He was furious. Gabriel Parish wasn’t a man who took kindly to losing. He lived for the stimulation of the quest and reveled in conquest. The money he made was a mere by-product. Mr. Parish had to be suffering the tortures of the damned, seeing this challenge slip through his fingers.
A part of her rejoiced that her boss would not be traveling to an idyllic tropical island with Dawn Day, and she felt a pinch of guilt. Well, fate had spoken. It was time to move on.
She cleared her throat, forcing herself to meet his angry gaze. “I’ll see about getting your bags off the plane, sir, but I’m not sure if—”
“No.” He grasped her elbow. “Peabody, you are going to be my wife for a week.”
CHAPTER TWO
HIS wife?
It wasn’t as though she’d never had that fantasy.
But for only a week?
It seemed Mr. Parish and Madam Fate had something in common that Izzy would never have anticipated. Both had a genius for diabolical pranks. Suddenly she had the very thing she’d fantasized about for so long—Gabriel Parish as her husband—yet she didn’t really have him at all.
By the time the shock of being dragged onto the plane wore off, Izzy and her boss were thirty thousand feet above the Eastern seaboard, winging south toward Miami. From her window seat, she blinked, coming fully back to reality. She glowered at the man beside her. He was on the phone. His deep chuckle filled the cabin. Izzy saw people turn and smile. His laughter was contagious. People