The Husband Sweepstake. Leigh Michaels
“And the man in question screams and runs?”
“Or starts bragging that he owns me.”
“Well, either variety doesn’t offer much promise in the husband sweepstakes,” Amos pointed out. He handed her another section of his sandwich.
“What I really need is someone like…” She looked thoughtful, and then said with a note of triumph, “Someone like Stephen.”
Amos bit his lip hard, but it didn’t help much. “Ms. Forrester, I hate to be the one to break the news to you, but Stephen is…Well, let’s just say he’s not interested in women except as friends.”
She fixed him with a glare. “You think I didn’t know that? What difference does it make, anyway? I’m talking about a legal convenience here, not a—” She broke off.
He couldn’t help himself. “Stud service?”
“If that was all I wanted,” she said bitterly, “I could take my choice.”
He didn’t doubt it—and he didn’t wonder at her tone, because the reason for her disillusionment was obvious. With her face, her figure and her fame, there must be men aplenty who would happily oblige her in bed—and then brag in the locker room that they’d been with Erika Forrester. She was a trophy. A conquest to boast about.
Hey, he told himself, don’t waste your sympathy. She’s the one who’s asking for the attention by putting herself in the magazine ads month after month.
“Well, what you want may not be the most important consideration here,” he said. “It’s the public’s perception that counts. So if you want to make everyone believe it’s a real marriage, then Stephen’s the worst possible choice you could make. Nobody would believe that he’s changed, so you might as well not waste your time.”
“Someone like Stephen, then.” She sounded stubborn. “Someone who’s gentle, who’s helpful—”
“Someone who owes you,” Amos put in.
She looked genuinely puzzled. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you can’t take a chance on him ruining everything by talking. So unless you can think of someone who’d do it for love—”
She turned a shade paler. “I don’t believe in love.”
“Well, at least you’ve got that much sense. I’d hate to think you’d believe it if someone was to conveniently stroll up right now and announce that he was head over heels about you.”
“I’d have to be a fool to bite on that one. I’d much rather have a clear-cut business arrangement.”
“Then we’re back to finding someone who owes you.”
She was silent.
“Since you’re not rattling off names, that must mean there’s nobody already in that category,” Amos guessed. “All right, then you’ll have to buy him.”
“Do you have to be crude?”
“That’s not crude, honey, that’s just straightforward. You said you wanted it clear-cut. But if you’d rather, we’ll call it finding the proper incentives. The bottom line is, what’s in it for the guy?”
“There would be benefits,” she said stiffly.
“Name two.” In the silence that followed, Amos finished the last bite of his sandwich. He picked up a stray crumb, tossed the wrapper in the wastebasket and said, “That’s what I thought. You can’t.”
“Of course I can’t be specific,” she said stubbornly. “It would depend on the man. Not everyone will be intrigued by the same sort of—”
“Bribe.”
“Benefit. Anyway, it’s not like I’m talking about forever here. This is a short-term bargain. Once the buyout is over, that’s it. A couple of months, maybe.”
“What happens the next time you want to acquire a company?”
“Look, I don’t want to own the world. If I can get this deal through, I’ll be satisfied.”
“That’s what you think now.”
“All right,” she admitted. “Maybe I will want to buy something else someday. But the circumstances will be different—the seller might even enjoy the gossip. In any case, I’ll deal with that later.”
“Well, I suppose you could write the marriage contract with a renewal clause,” Amos mused. “Sort of like the way that Hollywood options an actor for the sequel when they make the first movie. Which makes a twisted kind of sense, considering this is about as big a special-effects production as we’re likely to see around here this year.”
“You really think this is ridiculous.”
“Since you’re asking…Yes.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Amos darling.” She stood up. “You’ve been so helpful in clarifying my thinking. I’ll be sure to let you know what I decide.”
“Please do,” he said cordially. The phone rang again, and he put a hand on it. “Because I can’t wait to hear what happens next.”
He was without a doubt right, Erika concluded, when she’d had a chance to think about it. She’d been shaken up by Denby’s attack and by Felix’s reaction, and she’d gone overboard. It was a loopy idea, and not worth further consideration.
Of course, she had no intention of admitting to Amos darling that his opinion had influenced her decision. And there hadn’t been any opportunity, anyway. In the couple of days since their discussion, she’d seen him only a few times. Even then, she’d spotted him only from a distance, or he’d been tied up with other tenants, or Stephen had been present.
She would just forget the whole thing. She’d continue to ignore the tabloids, Felix La Croix would think it over and get in touch as he’d promised, and they’d make a deal. End of problem.
What she couldn’t quite understand was why, since she’d given it up as a loopy idea, she found herself assessing every man who crossed her path, looking at his potential as a husband.
The ad executive who was already working on next spring’s campaign was too slick, too flirtatious, too familiar. Ladylove’s marketing manager was too serious, too reverential, too much in awe of the boss. The lawyer who was drawing up a tentative contract to offer Felix La Croix was too brash, too arrogant, too presumptuous.
But when on Friday at lunchtime she found herself actually taking stock of the delivery boy who’d brought her Chinese takeout—too young, too sincere, too ingenuous— Erika put her face down in her hands and told herself to stop being ridiculous.
Kelly put her head in from the office next door. “Are you all right?”
“No.” Erika caught herself. “Yes, I’m fine. Have some Chinese. I’m not hungry anymore.”
Kelly pulled up a chair and reached for a set of chop-sticks. “You need to eat. You have a photo shoot next week for the fall ads, and you can’t look like a skeleton.”
“I can’t? I thought the ad people preferred me that way.”
“No, you can’t,” Kelly said firmly, “because makeup for dead people doesn’t form enough of the market share to keep the company afloat.”
Erika wasn’t listening. She looked at the draft of the purchase contract she’d been reading when her lunch arrived. “Has Felix La Croix called yet?”
“Not since you asked ten minutes ago.”
“He said he’d think it over and get in touch. I’ve got a meeting with the attorneys in an hour, and I don’t have any idea whether we’re going to have a deal or not.”
Kelly