Honeymoon for One (5 page)

Michelle looked about to keel over. All color drained from her face, and if Pam wasn’t mistaken, her friend had just mumbled,
Oh God
.

Thinking maybe the Rat Bastard had summoned the courage to come into the office, Pam glanced around Mr. McEntire. Except for the new receptionist coming down the hall with a cup of coffee, the place was deserted.

Beside Pam, with eyes round as dinner plates, Michelle stared openmouthed at their new boss. Granted the guy was handsome as the devil and tempting as sin, but that was no reason for Michelle to be teetering in place like a woman who had just drunk her lunch straight from a bottle in a brown paper bag.

And if the deep crease embedded between Mr. McEntire’s brows was any indication, the man appeared to be as confused as Pam by Michelle’s odd behavior. “This is Michelle Bradford,” Pam said, “local ad manager.”

His brows lifted, and Pam thought she saw a hint of a smile tug at one side of his mouth. “Micki—”

“Nice to meet you,” Michelle blurted quickly, sticking her hand out so fast she almost stabbed the man in the midsection.

Dark brows knitted together briefly before his expression cleared to a blank slate. "Nice to meet you, too.”

“If you’ll excuse me.” Michelle stepped to the side, tripping over her chair. “I have some things to take care of.” Backing up a step, she pointed at Pam. “You’ll be in good hands. Um, I mean, Pam will take good care of you.” She stepped back again and took a deep breath. “That is, Pam will show you around. I mean, your office. Won’t you, Pam?”

Pam nodded at her friend who’d managed to stumble backward halfway down the hall, then Pam smiled stiffly at the handsome hunk in front of her. “Right this way, sir.”

***

Without a single glance back in Michelle’s direction, Lloyd McEntire followed the sassy redhead. The moment the large wooden door—of what had until recently been Mr. Harrison’s office—clicked shut, Michelle spun around, ran to the ladies’ room and didn’t stop until she stood in a stall, her back pressed to the bolted door. “Oh, God.”

Clutching her stomach as though she’d been punched—hard—she took in a long deep breath and blew it out very slowly. The last thing she needed was to hyperventilate. Hiding in the bathroom like a melodramatic teenager was bad enough. Someone finding her passed out by the toilet would be beyond mortifying. “Oh, God.”

She drew another slow deep breath and another. The mind-numbing shock had begun to ease, but her legs were none too steady. Shifting around in the small space, she closed the toilet lid and sat. “Of all the gin joints."

Lloyd McEntire.
He’d lied. Given her a fake name. She almost laughed. How pathetic she must have seemed to him. On the cruise it hadn’t taken long for her to understand, other than the few tidbits about his college days, Kirk wouldn’t talk about his life off the ship. For him there seemed to be only the then and there. And frankly, the idea of making the outside world off-limits suited her fine. She didn’t want to be pitied. The jilted bride. At the time it all made sense. A cruise fling. No ties to the life on land, just fun in the sun. But to not give her his real name?

Elbows on her knees, she dropped her head into the palms of her hands. At least she’d stopped him from giving her away. When he’d used his nickname for her, her heart almost stopped.

He was supposed to be her private little memory. Tucked away in the back of her mind to be brought out and dusted off every decade or so. He wasn’t supposed to show up in her town. At her job. As her boss, temporary or otherwise. “Damn.”

No one could find out. How would she explain him,
them
, to her young impressionable sister? Taking another deep breath, she straightened her spine. She wouldn’t have to explain. No one would have to know. He hadn’t given her away. Surely that meant he would be willing to ignore their past...history?

Of course. The nervous flutter in her stomach slowed. Just because he was here didn’t mean he wanted to pick up where they’d left off. Why couldn’t they function in the same office and maintain a reasonable working relationship? After all, she hardly ever dealt with Mr. Harrison. If she kept to herself, burying her head in paperwork, she might not have to see
him
much at all.

Standing up, her legs felt stronger, her stomach more settled, and her breathing easier. She could do this. Everything would be fine. She’d do her job. Keep to herself. Yeah. Everything would be fine.

“Michelle, you in here?” Pam’s voice drifted over the stall.

She unlocked the door and swung it open. “Yes.”

“You okay, honey?”

Still shaky fingers brushed at the sides of her skirt, smoothing away nonexistent wrinkles. She nodded.

“Then what in the name of all that is holy has gotten into you? I’ve never seen you act so scatterbrained.”

“Nothing.” She flashed a brief smile. “Everything’s fine.”

Pam raised her hands to her hips, tipped her head, and glared at Michelle with the searing precision of X-ray vision. “You’re not telling me something.”

“I promise you, I’m okay. I just felt a little queasy and needed to get to the rest room.” That much was the truth. “Probably some bad leftovers. I’ll have to clean out the fridge when I get home.” One little white lie wouldn’t hurt anyone. Besides, Pam had no way of knowing Michelle had already scrubbed the refrigerator and every other appliance in her kitchen to within an inch of its metallic life.

“Okay. But whatever you do, don’t throw up on the new guy. Our jobs may depend on it.”

Michelle splashed a little water on her face and pulled at a paper towel to dry her hands. “I don’t plan to get that close to him.”

“Well, you know what they say about the best-made plans. Mr. Hatchet Man wants you in his office. Now.”

***

It’s her. Micki’s here. Kirk booted up the desktop. The old publisher’s password was still registered. He would have to get with personnel about that. Add it to his list. Purge old employees from system access.

When he’d first caught a glimpse of her sitting at her desk, noticed her profile, his insides had twisted with that familiar tug of desire. But when she’d turned, faced him, he’d doubted. Thought his mind was playing games with him. She’d looked...different.

The old computer hummed. The hourglass floated aimlessly on the screen.

Her clothes looked more austere, her hairdo flat and simple, but her scent was the same. He could smell the traces of vanilla shampoo blended with a sweet floral perfume that reminded him of springtime and his grandmother’s lilacs. Only the lilacs never filled him with this kind of longing.

The page flickered in front of him. An outdated design practically jumped off the page. A few clicks of the mouse and he knew Harrison had turned off the automatic updates. The man had been working with the best software features available—five years ago.

Apparently the guy didn’t believe in basic computer maintenance, either. Growing irritation took over any thoughts of lost liaisons, so much so Kirk almost didn’t hear the soft knock at the door. “Come in.”

Michelle entered the room and leaned back against the closed door. “Pam said you wanted to see me.”

He wanted to see her all right. In the shiny gold number he’d spent several dizzying minutes removing before sliding inside her.

Well, now what? Not only was this the first time he’d ever run into a shipboard companion, this was the first time he’d ever slept with someone whose job he would most likely be eliminating. It had been an impulse to send for her. An odd need to reassure himself she was real. Or maybe hope she wasn’t. It would certainly make his world easier if this were a different Michelle Bradford. Not his sensual Micki.

“I understand you’re the local ad manager.”

She nodded, but made no effort to move away from the door.

He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Pam also mentioned you’ve been with the company for seven years. Worked your way up from outside sales.”

“That’s correct.” She eased into the seat slowly, stiffly, as though afraid the chair might come to life and bite her. Or maybe she was afraid he would.

“You look good.” He’d meant to keep this conversation strictly business. The entire situation needed to remain formal. And although the prim wardrobe, the understated hairdo, and the lack of makeup should have made his intentions easy to carry out, the frightened look in her caramel-colored eyes made him want to ask what happened to his Micki.

Nervous fingers twisted together in her lap. “Thank you. For before, too.”

“Before?”

“At my desk, for not letting on we’ve...met.”

Seeing this woman sitting in front of him explained so many things. Sporadic bashfulness the first night of the cruise, parasailing with her bathing suit cover-up, the frightened-doe-caught-in-the-headlights look he would notice just before she’d throw herself into their next adventure with gusto. By the time the cruise had come to an end, those occasional glimpses of the reserved woman now sitting in his office staring at him had disappeared. He should have realized. Somehow, he should have known.

“Yes. Well...” Where was his silver tongue when he needed it? “You’re right, of course. Nothing worse than the employee grapevine. I have a lot of work to accomplish in a short amount of time, and it would be better for all around if people weren’t gossiping about our personal lives behind our backs.”

Fingers stilled, she nodded. “I’m glad you agree a strictly business relationship is for the best.”

Is that what he’d just said? An office affair would be nothing but trouble. He couldn’t argue with her about that. Then why did he suddenly feel like he’d been sucker punched by the heavyweight champ?

“You’re not going to like this.” Pam stood at Michelle’s desk, her back to the hall.

“The earth’s tilted off its axis and is about to collide with Mars.” She should be so lucky.

“Steven just stepped off the elevator.”

Michelle dropped her pen and grabbed the edge of her desk with both hands. “Is Beth with him?”

Pam shook her head. “But I don’t think he’s here to place an ad. Thought you’d want a heads-up.”

For a split second Michelle contemplated running to the bathroom again. It seemed to be the only place she could avoid the men in her life. If she took off now, she’d be safe in the stall long before Steven worked his way over to her desk.

As much as she hated the idea, she couldn’t avoid Steven, or Beth, forever. She might as well get this over with. But she didn’t have to face him alone. She handed Pam a file from the pile on her desk. “Don’t go.”

“I’ll stick like glue.” Pam opened the folder, leaned over the desk, and pointed at the middle of the page.

Her finger was still on the same spot when Steven came up beside her. “Hello, Pam, Michelle.”

“Steven.” Pam nodded, but didn’t move.

Shifting his weight, Steven seemed to be having as hard a time facing Michelle as she had looking at him. “I tried calling you at the house.”

“We’ve been busy.”
Rat Bastard.

“Glad you took the trip. You look lovely. Tanned. It brings out the color in your cheeks.” One corner of his mouth tipped up in an awkward smile.

An urge to wipe the quirky grin off his face rushed through her so quickly she almost didn’t recognize it in time to stop herself from smacking him, hard. But she wouldn’t give him, or anyone else watching, the satisfaction of falling apart. She could do this. Be the better person. Even if it killed her.

“Congratulations.” She smiled, hoping her face didn’t crack with the effort. “I hope you and Beth are very happy together, but I’m really busy now.” She waved her arm over her desk. “Lots to catch up with. Maybe the three of us can get together another time?”
Like when hell freezes over.

His gaze wandered across her desk, most likely evaluating the truth of her statement, then settled on Pam. “Could you give us just a minute, please?”

Afraid Pam might tell him exactly where he could go, not that he didn’t deserve it, Michelle answered instead. “This really is a bad time. We have a new boss, and everyone is a bit unnerved.”

“I only need a few—”

“Hhm hhm.” As though the mere mention of his name had conjured him up, Lloyd McEntire appeared behind Pam with a thick stack of papers in one hand. His attention focused on Steven.

For reasons she couldn’t begin to explain, the air suddenly seemed heavy with testosterone. From the way Pam straightened, her gaze swinging from man to man, she’d noticed it, too.

The two bucks stared each other down, silently daring the other to challenge their claim. Except neither of them had a claim to anything, especially not her. So what the hell was this posturing all about?

“Mr. McEntire, this is Steven Williams, my fi...a friend.” She’d almost said it. After five years, the word
fiancé
rolled too easily off her tongue. “He stopped in to say hi and was just leaving.”

The swift dismissal dragged Steven’s attention away from her boss and back to her. His glare piercing, possessive, and then she saw it. The moment recognition dawned. His hard stare softened, his stance relaxed. She wasn’t his to protect.

Her boss extended his hand first. “Nice to meet you.”

With a resigned sigh, Steven shook hands. “Same here, but I do need to get back to the bank.”

“A teller?” McEntire asked.

Pam choked back a laugh.

“Vice President.”

The posturing was back.

***

“I thought Angie was coming over for dinner?" Corrie dropped into a nearby kitchen chair.

"Another night. She promised her mom she'd help her pick out a new bedroom set."

"Is that what has you all bent out of shape?”

“I’m not bent out of shape. I did groceries.”

“Right. And you’re slamming the cans around loud enough to be heard on the next block because...?”

“I am not...” Michelle brought the can of chili down with a loud bang and stopped to take a deep breath. “It’s been a long day.”

“At least you didn’t have a chemistry test.”

At the moment, being seventeen and worrying over a chemistry test sounded like heaven. “I thought you liked chemistry?”

Corrie looked at her sister as though she’d sprouted a third eye before blowing out an exasperated breath. “No one likes chemistry. That’s so lame.”

“Since when is science lame?” Michelle folded the paper bag and placed it in the recycling bin. “That kind of thinking isn’t going to get you into med school.”

Corrie reached for a bag of chips on the counter and tore it open. “I don’t want to go to med school.”

“What do you mean you don’t want to go to med school?” Michelle turned to look at her sister. “And don’t eat those, you’ll spoil dinner.”

“Chill. I’m almost eighteen. Only little kids spoil their dinner.”

“Age has nothing to do with it.” She snatched the bag away. “You’ve wanted to be a doctor since Gramma Betty gave you the Operation game on your sixth birthday. What happened to change your mind?”

“I’ve grown up. Put away kid’s stuff.”

Since when was practicing medicine
kid’s stuff
? Okay, no reason to panic. The key was to not appear upset. Don’t give Corrie reason to be contrary. Try and smile. Michelle had faked pleasant and content all day. What was another hour or two? She turned the burner on under the frying pan. “So, what would you like to be?”

“A spy.”

Michelle stared at the pound of ground beef in the skillet. Had she heard wrong? “Spy?”

Corrie reached for the bag of chips again. “Yeah.”

Of all the battles of the day, the chips were lagging way behind in priority. What the heck should she say to becoming a spy? Keep it positive. Always positive. “Well, that sounds...interesting.”

“It’s way cool. Think of all the fascinating people I’d meet. Places I’d go. And all for the good of the country.”

“Right. So, do you have to go to college to be a spy?”

“Like the CIA will take any dummy off the street.”

“CIA? I thought you said you wanted to be a spy?”

“Duh. What do you think the CIA is?”

Maybe if she pretended all was well with the world, all her troubles would simply go away. Or maybe she should buy just one teeny little bottle of Baileys. “How many sloppy joes you want?”

“Two. I’m starved.” Corrie flashed a toothy grin, then the phone rang and she bolted over the table to answer. . “Hello.”

Setting the dinner plates aside, Michelle stepped over to look at the caller ID. Steven Williams. Her throat closed and her palms started to sweat. Shaking her head like a petulant two-year-old, she waved her hands frantically at her sister. She did
not
want to talk to him.

“Gee, she’s, uh...in the shower. You know, long day and all. Can I give her a message?”

Michelle bit her lower lip. What little appetite she’d had when she’d gotten home had just left the building.

“Right. I’ll tell her. Bye.”

“What did he want?”

“
She
wants to speak to you. In person.”

“Beth?”

Corrie nodded.

The funny thing was, after seeing Beth at the diner, she was almost worried about her, and she missed her best friend terribly. Right about now the only person she could honestly talk to about Kirk—or Lloyd, the liar—and the cruise, and her sister, and being dumped at the altar, was the person she’d been dumped for. “Do you mind eating alone? I think I’ll skip dinner and go take that shower.”

Corrie shook her head.

A long steaming shower, a hot cup of tea, and a sappy book would help her tonight. But what the heck would she do about tomorrow and the next day?

***

“Where’s Pam?”

Lloyd McEntire stood close enough for the scent of his cologne to tease every one of Michelle’s senses. All week she’d managed to steer clear of the man. Now he'd come within five feet and her every nerve ending tingled with anticipation.
Stupid sensory memories
.

“Dentist appointment. Usually she leaves notes for Mr. Harrison on his desk calendar.”

He looked up from the papers in his hand. For a second she thought he’d only now realized whose desk he was in front of. “I need revenue reports by territory going back eighteen months. I’ve only got six and can’t access the info from the office computer. Who else can get me the numbers?”

“Mr. Harrison wasn’t very fond of computers. I can access the information for you. Give me a few minutes to print it up, and I’ll bring it to your office.”

“Mm.” He nodded, and turned on his heel.

Changing screens, she pulled up the revenue data, typed in the time frame, hit Print, and stared at the empty hallway. The man hadn’t smiled once since he’d arrived. Not that she wanted him to, and certainly not at her, but this wasn’t the same person she’d spent ten days with.
No, you idiot. You spent ten days with Kirk, not Lloyd.

Hidden behind an unending parade of reports, Kirk...Lloyd, rarely came up for air. If he wasn’t buried deep in the financials, or hammering away at his keyboard, he paced his office with the phone glued to one ear. No matter the task, his expression barely changed. Occasionally en route to another department, he’d sweep past her desk, and she would notice a shift from dour to merely glum, but the huge grins and hardy laughs she remembered all too clearly were nowhere to be found.

Every time Michelle turned around, she spied Pam running in one direction or another and always carrying stacks of reports. Before Kir...Lloyd had replaced Mr. Harrison, Pam would be out the door at five on the dot. So far, Pam hadn’t seen the street anywhere close to five. And according to Madge at the Corner Cafe, Pam had canceled all her dinner dates for the rest of the week.

On the ship, when Ki...Lloyd told her he worked hard and played hard, she had never imagined this. A stone-faced man who appeared to eat, sleep, and breathe business. According to the grapevine, he stayed in his office till almost midnight every night and only once had he ordered dinner. If you considered ham on rye dinner. Apparently he didn’t need sustenance to maintain his fit physique. And why was she going there?

The printer spit out the last page. She clipped the report together and took a fortifying breath. Buried in his work, he probably wouldn’t even notice when she stepped into the office. She would knock, set the information he wanted on his desk, and leave quietly. On the other hand, if she simply tossed it across the room from the door, she wouldn’t have to deal with the assault on her senses when she got near him.

Still convincing herself that entering Kir...Lloyd’s office was no different than if Mr. Harrison were still at the helm, she knocked, entered, and found herself standing beside the sexiest man alive. Strands of jet-black hair stood at odd angles. He must be one of those men who raked his fingers through his hair when he thought, but she wouldn’t know that from the ship.

Having fun in the sun, she was the only one to run her fingers through his thick hair. Something inside her pulled and pushed, and her hand reached midway between him and her before she snapped it back to her side.

Lloyd McEntire dropped his pen on the desk and reached for the papers Michelle held. “This computer is virtually worthless. The techs will be done by Monday. Then Pam can take a breather.”

A low-wattage version of his broad smile appeared for a mere second, but the sight made her breath catch.

“What?” He smiled again. A short chortle. If she’d blinked, she would have missed it. “You don’t think I know I’m working your friend to death?” He shook his head and pushed away from the desk. “I don’t usually impose my work hours on the people around me, but I’ve had no choice. After tomorrow things will be easier. For everyone.”

His gaze dropped to her wrist. Focusing on her dangling charm, his normally stone-faced expression softened. “I’m glad you’re wearing it.”

Her heart did a two-step. For a split second she spotted a twinkle in his eye. A glimmer of the man she thought she knew. Wasn’t that a joke? She’d known Kirk. This was Lloyd.

Uncomfortable with the underlying sentimentality, Michelle turned to leave. She needed to get out of here. Away from him. Whatever they’d had, it had been a fantasy. This was reality. She understood that. But there was one thing she didn’t understand.
Why had he lied to her?