Rent A Millionaire Groom. Judy Christenberry
her.”
“Tonight?” Elise almost squeaked, then cleared her throat to sound normal. “Uh, I can’t tonight.”
“Why not?”
“I’m, uh, doing research.”
“For Daisy?”
“No! For me. I’m using the book to solve one of my problems.”
“When are you going out?”
“At seven.”
“Great, Daisy and I will be right over. We want to hear all about this research.”
Before Elise could protest, Phoebe hung up. But it didn’t matter. She’d have to tell her friends the truth, anyway, sooner or later. Better to get it out of the way.
She grabbed a quick shower, shampooed her hair. When she stepped out, the doorbell was ringing. “Coming!” she shouted as she dashed to her bedroom to find her silky robe. Then she let in her two friends.
“What’s going on?” Daisy asked at once. “It sounds mysterious.”
“No, it’s not. Come in. I’ll get us a cola.” Elise figured she had half an hour before she needed to get ready. “I’ve figured out a way to stop my family from harassing me about my single state.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Phoebe said. “Haven’t they been making daily calls?”
“Yes. But I’ve found a fiancé.”
Daisy almost dropped the drink Elise had just handed her. “What? You’re engaged?”
“No, but the book said look around your neighborhood and—”
“You’re hitting on Jeff? Elise, he’s way too young for you,” Phoebe interrupted. “Besides, I thought you didn’t want to marry?”
Elise closed her eyes, knowing she’d made a mess of her explanation. Jeff was the guy who cleaned the pool at Mesa Blue. He was always flirting with all of them, but he was only twenty-two—a baby.
Just how old do you think James is? that irritating inner voice asked. She didn’t want to think about that. Instead, she attempted to answer Phoebe.
“I don’t want to marry. I’m telling this all wrong, just like I did this afternoon.”
“You told someone else before you told us?” Daisy asked, hurt in her eyes.
“Well, I had to!” Elise exclaimed. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have agreed to be my fiancé. My pretend fiancé!” she emphasized.
“Oh, this is good,” Phoebe said, curling up on the sofa. “Tell us all about him.”
And Elise did, providing the basic facts. Phoebe, however, thought she’d left something out.
“You haven’t described him.”
“Well, he’s your typical Hollywood hunk.” Elise hoped that would satisfy her friends. She should’ve known better.
After staring at her, Phoebe nodded her head and said, “I can’t wait to meet him. Are you going to introduce him to Daisy afterwards?”
“No! Actors aren’t—stable. I mean, their jobs aren’t stable. That wouldn’t be good for a prospective dad, you know.”
“She’s right,” Daisy agreed, which settled Elise’s nerves. “They’re always gone. And they’re notorious for having affairs with the women they work with.”
Elise didn’t like that thought. Not that it was any of her business what James did when he made movies. If he made movies.
Desperate to end the conversation before she revealed too much to herself as well as to her friends, she stood. “Look, I need to get ready. He’s going to be here at seven.”
“Want to let me do your makeup?” Phoebe asked.
Phoebe was a makeup consultant as well as a college student, a “retread” college student as she called herself, and she frequently offered to do Elise’s makeup. Elise always refused.
“This isn’t a date, Phoebe, but thank you. It’s research. That’s what James called it.”
“Okay, come on, Daisy, and I’ll tell you about the guy I found for you today over dinner at The Prickly Pear.” Phoebe stood and offered a hand to pull Daisy to her feet.
Daisy joined Phoebe. “I wish you were coming with us, Elise.”
“When I get in, I’ll call you to find out what the two of you decided about the latest husband prospect for Daisy. With that book to help us, I’m sure you’ll be married and expecting soon, Daisy.”
“I hope so,” Daisy said with a sigh.
JAMES COULDN’T BELIEVE how much he was looking forward to his evening with Elise. Dr. Elise Foster. His friends would laugh if they realized he was dating an egghead, an intellectual.
Not that he was dumb, but he’d made his money understanding popular culture. His ad agency had done some of the most successful ad campaigns in the past few years. That was a long way from Shakespeare, or maybe he should say Molière, the French answer to the famous English playwright.
And Bobby would probably come unglued. James was pretty sure Bobby had taken French with Elise. He remembered now his brother talking about a beautiful French teacher. And Elise was beautiful, in a quiet way. Bobby had only stayed in the class one semester. Studying verb conjugations wasn’t his cup of tea. He’d only wanted to pick up the proper accent.
That probably explained why Elise hadn’t remembered his brother.
He dressed carefully, sticking with jeans and a casual shirt, topped by a linen sports coat. He took the check Elise had given him and tucked it in his breast pocket. His good luck charm.
Earlier, he’d convinced his housekeeper to swap cars with him for the evening. She hadn’t wanted to drive his Mercedes, but she’d promised to visit her sister. If he turned up in the sleek black car, Elise would smell a rat for sure. So tonight, he was driving MaryBelle’s inexpensive sedan.
He reminded himself to talk MaryBelle into allowing him to get the car tuned up for her. It was an older model car, and the rough sound of the engine had him concerned for MaryBelle’s safety. His housekeeper was an energetic sixty-year-old, who could cook and clean like a demon. But she knew nothing about cars. If it broke down with her, she’d be stranded.
He parked in front of the condominiums where Elise lived. Mesa Blue. It actually had a front lawn, an unusual feature in Phoenix. Elise had said it got its name from the swimming pool, the center of the complex. Its tile bottom was a deep blue.
He approved of the well-lit area. It looked safe to him. Funny, he’d never evaluated the security of his dates’ homes before. It was probably because he’d been thinking about MaryBelle’s safety. Yeah, that was it.
He found her apartment on the second floor, apartment 2D, and knocked. His heart rate sped up as he heard footsteps approaching.
When the door opened, he caught his breath.
Gone was the staid suit, the prim hairdo. Elise was dressed in jeans, as he was, topped by a green short-sleeved sweater with a modest V-neck. Her light brown hair was down, curving around her face, and she looked like a college student herself.
He found himself leaning forward, as if to kiss her hello, and stepped back. “Ready?” he asked hastily.
“Yes. Do you want to come in for a drink?”
“If you don’t mind, no. I’m starving.”
She immediately stepped out of her apartment and locked the door behind her. “Of course. Where shall we go?”
“I’ve found a place I think you’ll like. I wanted somewhere quiet