Temporary Fiancée
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Temporary Fiancée
by
Judy Rogers
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Temporary Fiancée
COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Judith Johns
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Cover Artist
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
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Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Champagne Rose Edition, 2013
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-895-0
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Judy Rogers
TEMPORARY FIANCÉE
has won several awards in various state writing contests and was a RWA Golden Heart finalist in 2004.
~~~
WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR?,
Judy Rogers' first novel, was published by The Wild Rose Press, Inc., in 2000.
Dedication
To my husband Roger,
who is the hero in everything I write,
who has been a support and advocate
not only for my writing career,
but for every aspect of my life.
~
To my six married children,
who still can’t get over the fact that
“Mom writes romances,”
and to my friends on the Tuesday morning shift
for the laughter, spiritual support, and encouragement.
Temporary Fiancée
is Judy Rogers’ second novel published by The Wild Rose Press, Inc. This book is a RWA Golden Heart finalist, and has won several awards in state and national romance writing competitions. Judy is also an award-winning poet. Her book,
If I Could Speak in Silk
, won her the honor of becoming Utah’s Poet of the Year, and was received with much acclaim.
Chapter One
Haley Marchand staggered, her arms windmilling as she caught the heel of her navy pump on the rim of the taxi door. Her purse fell to the ground, spilling an assortment of pens, her cell phone with its dead battery, makeup and personal items, including a tampon, on the circular driveway in front of the imposing brick house. Heat rose from her neck to her forehead as she knelt to gather the items and stuff them back into the navy bag.
She risked a sideways peek at the man gazing down at her from the terrace of his very elegant home. The tabloid pictures hadn’t done Andrew McNeil justice. He was, as her Granny Justine would say, a stud muffin. An irritated stud muffin judging by the scowl marring his chiseled features.
The man should be used to women throwing themselves at his feet, she thought, as she stood and slipped the purse strap over her shoulder. In disbelief, she stared down at the two-inch run in her pantyhose as it began galloping up the front of her leg and disappeared under the hem of her conservative navy skirt. Damn, this was getting more embarrassing by the minute.
Ordinarily, she’d laugh off this kind of clumsiness, but Terry had warned her that McNeil demanded the highest level of professionalism from his temporary help, which was why she forced herself to wear pantyhose. She shot another glance at the man now clenching his jaw and glaring at her as if she’d committed some kind of crime.
“Hi,” Haley attempted a smile as she walked toward the house, trying to appear both brisk and friendly.
“Are you the girl from the WorkForce Agency?” he asked.
Girl? Had he actually said girl? She opened her mouth to answer, but he cut her off.
“I’m sorry, but you won’t do.”
He didn’t sound sorry. Haley’s back stiffened, and her feminist nerve endings leaped to high alert as she climbed the three steps to his level. She willed her five-foot-three stature to appear intimidating, a tall order since she had to crane her neck about ten inches to meet his eyes. She needed this job, in fact she was desperate for this job, and he’d better have a good reason for not giving it to her.
“What do you mean I won’t do? I’m a qualified and highly competent secretary, and that’s what you asked for.” Belatedly she realized her approach might not be the best way to win him over.
He regarded her more intently. “How old are you?”
What was with this guy? Hadn’t he heard of the Equal Opportunity Act? “Twenty-five,” she said in a clipped voice. “How old are you?”
He raised an eyebrow. “What difference does that make?”
“Exactly. You hired a temporary secretary, so what difference does my age make?”
Her boss, Terry Engles, had warned her that McNeil was demanding, but made no mention of any age hang-up. Maybe he worried she’d come on to him.
“Mr. McNeil,” she said, “I assure you I will act professionally at all times.”
Andrew “Rand” McNeill, tall, sandy haired, and leaning heavily on a cane, shook his head again, and Haley felt the unconscious rejection right down to her toes. Was it something personal about her he didn’t like? The way she looked? Dressed? Practically fell at his feet getting out of the cab?
Even in casual clothes, he looked very...crisp, she thought for want of a better word. His button-down denim shirt was perfectly ironed and tucked neatly into the waistband of navy jeans. Absently, she noticed the left leg of his jeans was slit from the ankle to his knee to accommodate a bulky cast and walking shoe.
“Broken leg,” Terry had explained that morning when he called with the assignment. “He’s working at home for a few weeks. His administrative assistant is on maternity leave, and he needs someone pronto. I feel bad for you, kid, having to work in all that luxury.”
He chuckled as he continued. “He’s going to pay big bucks, and he wants a temp with major computer skills. I know you need the money, and you’re the best we got.” Before Haley could react to the compliment, he added, “Besides, everyone else has that weird flu. Indian Hills is an upscale neighborhood, so don’t wear your ratty sneakers,” he ordered. “And don’t mention Delphine if McNeil asks about your last job.”
Feeling more bewildered than anything, Haley tried again. “I assure you, Mr. McNeil, I’m a fully qualified secretary, familiar with spreadsheets and data processing programs.” She lowered her voice a little, trying to sound more mature.
Suddenly his face looked haunted. He raised a hand as if to placate her. “I know it sounds crazy, but I’m in a bind.” His deep voice had a desperate edge. “I need a sophisticated, attractive woman right away, and frankly, you look like you’re sixteen. I’m sorry, but you just won’t do.”
He needed a woman and
she
wouldn’t do? What was his problem? If she hadn’t already committed the money from this job, she’d tell him to shove it. But the taxi had left, and stomping off the premises loses something if you have to ask to use the phone first.
Need, as well as curiosity moved her closer to stand next to him on the flagstone terrace. Why did Rand McNeill need a woman? Obviously not just for secretarial work.
He eyed her warily.
“I thought you wanted a secretary, Mr. McNeill. If you need a woman so badly, perhaps you could call an escort service,” she suggested politely. “Our company doesn’t cater to those kinds of needs.” As soon as the words popped out of her mouth she realized she shouldn’t have said anything. She wanted to convince the man to hire her, not run her off his property.
For a moment, his face lost its harried look and once again he did a head to toe survey. “Look, I don’t mean anything personal by this, but if that’s what I was looking for, you still wouldn’t do. I like my women to look like women, not adolescents.”
Haley’s head snapped up as if she’d been slapped.
What a jerk!
And he had the nerve to tell her not to take his comment personally. Her face and body had nothing to do with her secretarial skills. Inwardly cursing her light complexion, she felt the heat creep from the back of her neck to her face. Embarrassment coupled with anger always had her looking like a tomato impersonator.
Gearing up to recite chapter and verse of the gender discrimination code, she suddenly noticed his gaze was more stressed than sarcastic. Insatiable curiosity, as well as the memory of the two-hundred dollar sauté pan on her wish list, kept her from threatening him with a lawsuit.
“I give up. What
do
you want?” she asked with growing frustration. “My boss said you needed a secretary for a couple of weeks.”
As he clumsily lowered himself into a white wrought iron chair, she was snidely pleased to see a faint flush now climbing his neck as he avoided her eyes. “I do, but I also need someone to pretend to be my fiancée, and I was hoping the temp could do double duty.”
He needed a fiancée! Boy, howdy. This is incredible, like waking up on the set of
Sex in the City.
Things like this just didn’t happen in Boise, Idaho.
“It’s only for one evening,” he added, making Haley think he might be reconsidering her ineligibility. The tips of his ears now flamed red, which she found strangely endearing. So Andrew McNeill, computer wonder kid, rich as God, and handsome as a movie star, needed to hire someone to play his fiancée. This was great! Really great! She almost wished she worked for the tabloids.
She stared at him, mesmerized. “Why do you need a fake fiancée?”
His eyebrows jammed together in what seemed to be a permanent frown. Looking somewhere over her head, he answered, “My former fiancée and her father are coming to finalize a major business proposal. They called about an hour ago. I thought they wouldn’t be here for a week, but they’re coming tonight.”
“And...” She instinctively leaned toward him.
He winced at her avid curiosity, then scowled. “For reasons I don’t want to go into, I told Angela I was planning to be married. Angela Blakely is my ex…”
Haley nodded. “I know.”
“You know Angela?” he asked, obviously surprised.
Haley grinned. “No. I know she’s your ex-fiancée. Probably half a million other people who stood in grocery checkout lines a few months ago also know it.”
He swore. “Why does Bill Gates make the front page of
The New York
Times
and I end up in the
National Enquirer
? I hate reporters!”
His epithet lacked heat. Apparently he was too upset with the present to worry about what happened several months ago.
Haley leaned against the wrought iron railing. Should she mention that he was tons more attractive than Bill Gates? A tingle of excitement rippled up her spine while she waited for him to continue.
“Since I’m not really engaged, and I have no female acquaintances I want to involve in this charade, I thought maybe I could hire someone to play the part while the Blakelys are here.”
McNeill frowned at Haley’s raised eyebrow. “I know. It’s stupid. But I’m desperate. If you were the least bit suitable...”
That does it
! Haley straightened and squared her shoulders. “What’s so wrong with me that I can’t play your fiancée for a few hours?” she snapped, realizing her response was mostly hurt feelings.
And why
, she wondered,
am I volunteering to do something this crazy?
She was able to answer the question immediately.
Oh yeah, the man’s paying big bucks. I’d better not forget that.
“Angela would never believe it. You’re just not my type.” She glowered at him, and he backpedaled. “Please don’t get your feelings hurt. You’re not unattractive. I just like more mature looking woman. More…ah...tall.”
“I don’t exactly qualify for the Munchkin Hall of Fame,” she snapped. Suddenly the absurdity of defending her height struck her, and her sense of humor kicked in. She fought to keep the grin off her face, but the corners of her mouth turned up anyway.
Maybe Rand McNeil had a point. This certainly wasn’t the first time someone had questioned her age. It was partly her size, but mostly it was her hair. No matter how hard she tried, to straighten it or how much hair spray or gel she used, she couldn’t keep the black curls from springing up all over her head in manic disorder. She kept it short, but most of the time she still looked like a wild child.