The Great Baby Caper (2 page)

Wavering slightly, she turned.
“Well, actually, I just had in mind . . . well, the truth is, I’m here on here
on business for Bootle’s Baby Bower—”

“Bootle’s what?” asked Blondie.

“Hey, what’s a bootle?” laughed
Pony Tail.

“Whatever it is, I’d sure like to
bootle her,” jeered Grayhead.

The men fell into gales of raucous
laughter.

“Oh!” Courtney retorted, glaring
at the men. “That’s not what I meant at all. I just meant I need to hire
someone—”

“I’m for hire, honeybuns,” slurred
Baldie. “Though I don’t come cheap.”

That comment brought down the
house, the foursome rolling about on their stools. Seething, Courtney pulled a
twenty from her purse and tossed it at Baldie. “Here.”

His eyes lit with lecherous
pleasure. “Is this for what I think it’s for, baby doll?”

“Oh, yes,” Courtney simpered back.
“Be my guest and
go screw yourself
.”

She dashed out the exit to the
sounds of the men’s ribald chuckles. Lord, how dumb could she be? What had she
expected, anyway? A knight in shining armor sitting in a den of iniquity?

Now what? She gazed about the
teeming street, just catching a distant flash of lightning. Great! Rain was
clearly on the agenda, and she hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella or a trench
coat.

Perhaps someone on the street
would suffice . . . She carefully studied the throng of humanity trooping by.
Couples walking arm in arm, derelicts and drunkards, clumps of tourists. At
last she spotted a likely lone candidate ahead, a tall, brown- haired man
wearing a neat black suit. Quickly approaching, she called, “Sir, may I have a
word with you?”

He turned to smile at her. “Yes,
miss, may I help you?”

Courtney groaned. Another totally
unsuitable candidate, but not for the reasons she would have guessed. “Thanks,
but I’m afraid I mistook you for someone else—er, Father.”

The priest smiled politely, then
turned and continued on his way.

Courtney ground her jaw. Darn! From
sinners to a saint! Was there no “suitable bachelor” anywhere in this town?
Unwilling to give up, she charged on, heard the limo roll up behind her, and
turned to the driver. “Don’t you dare say anything.”

The grinning, dark-eyed Cajun
chuckled. “You try to pick up the good father, no? We have limits,
chère
,
even in the Big Easy.”

“Oh, hush.”

He gazed at the skies. “Don’t you
think you should get in,
chère
? It look like rain, eh?”

Courtney glanced at the brooding
skies. “No, not yet.”

At once, thunder boomed overhead
and scattered fat raindrops began to fall.

“Damn it!” Ignoring the driver,
Courtney shielded her head with her purse and charged on, tearing into the next
bar. Standing in the doorway, panting to catch her breath, she spotted a pair
of handsome yuppies playing pool, one guy with short brown hair, the other
blond. Both appeared to be about her age, were tall, slender, and wore
impeccable casual clothing.

At last, a couple of gentlemen!

She made a beeline to the pool
table. “Hello,” she began rather breathlessly. “Hey, could I ask you guys a
favor?”

The blond guy turned, smiling at
her. “Well, that depends on the favor.”

“I’ve a business proposition for
you—that is, if you can respond without turning into a couple of sex maniacs.”

The two exchanged a meaningful
look, laughed, and then the second man turned to Courtney. “We’ll try our
best.”

Courtney decided that this time,
simply telling the truth might work best. “Well, I’m here in New Orleans at a
convention, and my boss is something of an eccentric. To make a long story
short, he has sent several of us out on a scavenger hunt as a competition for
an important promotion. My assigned task is to find a man to be . . . that is,
to pose as, my fiancé.”

Both men fell into laughter again.
“Sweetie, you can’t be serious,” the second man said. “Your boss really did
that to you?”

“He sure did.”

“Looks like you have grounds for a
lawsuit, honey,” added the blond one.

“I know, but that’s really beside
the point,” Courtney continued. “For the moment, I think it’s best just to
indulge the old tyrant. So, if one of you will just help me out by posing as my
fiancé, I’ll pay you. Anything reasonable.”

Again the two men exchanged a
look, then both chuckled. “I’m afraid we wouldn’t be of much help,” the
brown-haired one replied.

“Why not?”

He wrapped an arm around his
friend’s shoulders and winked solemnly at Courtney. “Because Stevie and I are a
couple.”

Courtney gave a groan. “Well, good
for the two of you. But frankly, it makes no difference to me at all. I mean,
can’t one of you pretend or something?”

“You mean like Rupert Everett’s
character did with Julia Roberts in that old movie
My Best Friend’s Wedding
?”
the blond asked.

Courtney snapped her fingers.
“Yes! Precisely like that.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sorry, sweetie,
but this is the real world.”

“Don’t I know it,” Courtney
groaned.

Spirits sagging, she stalked
toward the door, only to gasp when a seedy looking man in shorts, a T-shirt,
and a golf hat stepped into her path and grabbed her arm. “Hold it, lady.”

She shrugged off his fingers.
“Leave me alone. I’m not interested.”

“But I am.” He reached into his
pocket and pulled out a badge, flashing it at her. “New Orleans vice, lady.
I’ve been following you—”

“You’ve what?”

He shook a finger at her. “And let
me tell you, what I just seen comes dangerously close to solicitation.”

Courtney was outraged. “Be
serious!”

He looked her over with distaste.
“Now I’d a’thought a well-heeled chick like you would know better than to
proposition a priest, much less a couple of fruitcakes like them two over
there, out looking for Lord only knows what kind of kinky kicks.”

“Kinky what?”

“Why, I should haul you in—”

Furious, Courtney cut in, “And I
should report you for gross stupidity, as well as for bias toward persons of alternative
lifestyle persuasion.”

“Huh?” He gave a snarl. “Can the
lip, babe, and let this be a warning to you. Flash your wares at any more of
our citizens and I’ll pack you up in the paddy wagon along with the rest of the
floozies. Now get out of my sight.”

“With pleasure!” Courtney snapped.

She stormed out into the light
rain. This was too much. She was going to strangle M. Billingham Bootle. For
the sake of her promotion, she had not only been propositioned, but had been
accused of solicitation herself.

Just as she was thinking things
couldn’t possibly get any worse, she heard an ominous boom, and the skies above
her began to pour.

“Great! Just great!”

She heard a horn honk, then her
chauffeur called, “
Chère
, won’t you please get in the car?”

Courtney glanced back at the limo
and reluctantly nodded. As she started for the vehicle, the chauffeur jumped
out, fighting a grin as he opened her door.

“You’re really enjoying this,
aren’t you?” she accused, sinking into her seat. “I’m warning you—one more
smirk and I’ll personally mop up the streets with your ugly face.”

He clucked at her. “
Chère
,
I not ugly.”

“Get this vehicle moving.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Shutting her door,
he returned to the driver’s seat. Rolling down the connecting window, he said,
“There are some tissues in the compartment in front of you.”

“Right—tissues to sop up Noah’s
flood.” Nonetheless, she grabbed a handful and began dabbing her dripping face.
“Now what do you suggest?”

“
Chère
, I just the driver.”

“Baloney. You’re a local, aren’t
you?”

“Sure am.”

“Where would I go around here to
hire a husband?”

He roared with laughter. “Oh, no,
Ms. Kelly. Your boss, he already warn me about you. He say carry you around,
but no helping you. That be cheating, no?”

Courtney rolled her eyes. “Come
on, he’ll never know the difference if you help me out just a little. I mean,
you’re a presentable looking guy—”

He chuckled. “So you change your
mind, now you need my help, eh?”

“Don’t you have a friend or
relative I could hire?”

He wagged a finger at her. “Your
boss man, he smart. Try that and you be caught,
chère
.”

“Damn it.”

With a smile, he relented. “Well,
maybe I help just a wee bit.”

She lurched forward. “Oh, please.
I’ll give you a huge tip.”

He eyed her image in the rear view
mirror and frowned. “You know, you not exactly dressed to entice a man,
chère
.”

“Believe me, I enticed plenty,”
Courtney rejoined cynically, remembering the drunkards in the bar. “In fact,
had I done any more enticing . . . well, I shudder to think of what might have
happened to me.”

“Maybe so, but you still looking
for love in Slime Alley,
chère
.”

“My orders said the French
Quarter, damn it. And you’re the one who let me out on Bourbon Street,
remember?”

A wicked chuckle escaped him. “The
truth is, your boss man, he say have a bit of fun with you.”

“The jerk! Why am I not
surprised?”

“Now the Vieux Carre, it mostly
clubs where scuzz-buckets hang out,” he continued rather philosophically.

“Don’t I know it. Where would you
suggest I look?”

“On the edges,
chère,
at
the hotels. That where all the rich tourists are.”

“Ah. Like where?”

He pulled up to a posh corner
establishment, an old stone building with handsome shutters and an iron-lace
balcony on the second floor. “Like there.
La Belle Duchesse
. The hotel
bar, it face the street.”

“Ah.” She peered past the open
double doors at a softly lit interior with a handsome bar and bistro-style
tables. “It doesn’t look too bad.”

“You try the bar, then.” He turned
off the ignition, got out of the car, and opened her door. “I be waiting,
chère
.
Good luck.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it.”

Courtney emerged onto the walkway
and stood gathering her resolve. She was still wet, but there was no cure for
that. She whisked straggles of hair from her eyes, brushed down her damp suit,
and bravely marched inside the hotel bar. Her eyes perused the dim expanse.
Damn, the place was deserted, except for . . .

Then she saw him, sitting at the
bar, like her knight in shining armor. Tall, dark, magnificently handsome.
Mid-thirties, she judged. Thick dark brown hair, perfectly cut, flawless
features, dark-rimmed glasses adding a distinguished touch. He was dressed in
an understated green tropical shirt, pressed khakis, and Italian loafers, and
wore an expensive watch with a leather band. Although he was sipping a sidecar,
he appeared anything but drunk. A class-act if she’d ever seen one. Perhaps the
chauffeur had been right. One didn’t reel in a prize marlin while fishing in a
sewer.

But would he help her?

Squaring her shoulders, she
approached him. Within feet of him, she watched him turn and smile. Heart
thumping, Courtney smiled back

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Close-up, he was even more
handsome, she noted, watching him turn to observe her approach. His eyes were
bright and deep-set, his brows beautifully arched, his nose perfectly boned and
strikingly male. His high cheekbones revealed good bloodlines, and his mouth
was fine and straight, with just a hint of seductive fullness. When he smiled
in apparent approval of her approach, her pulse surged.

Through it all she was nagged by
the feeling that there was something vaguely familiar about this stranger. Yes,
there was, she quickly decided. He resembled any number of tall, dark, and sexy
male movie stars she could think of.

Clearly she had a winner. But in
order to enlist him, she would have to be her most clever and charming self.
Possibly even flirt with him.

How long had it been since she’d
flirted with any man?

Suddenly, however, she found the prospect
of flirting with this stranger enormously appealing.

As she arrived at the bar, he
spoke first. “Well, hello there, miss,” he murmured in a deep, British-accented
voice.

“Hello,” she managed, charmed by
his accent.

He stood, and at once she admired
how lean and tall he was. The scent of an expensive male cologne wafted over
her. “A bit beastly, the weather out, eh?” Eyeing her damp clothing, he
clucked. “I can see that you have already reaped the vengeance of the elements.
May I offer you a drink to ward off pneumonia?”

At his droll commentary, Courtney
had to laugh. He was certainly all British and very quaint, she had to give him
credit for that. She also couldn’t believe her good fortune, for here was a
true gentleman who had greeted her not with the usual crude come-on, but with
actual concern for her plight. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

“Splendid, then. So you’ll join
me?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” she replied,
taking a seat.

Resuming his own seat and
gesturing to the bartender, he remarked, “The sidecars are quite palatable
here, if you’d like a recommendation.”

“By all means,” she agreed.

He turned to the bartender and
ordered her a drink, then flashed her his dazzling smile again. “So what brings
out a beautiful young lady such as yourself on this stormy evening?”

Courtney was feeling coy. “What
makes you ask?”

He looked her over, though with a
respectful eye. “Well, you’re not exactly dressed to go clubbing in the Vieux
Carre, I must say. Looks to me as if you’ve just come from some corporate board
meeting.”

Amazed at how close he had
ventured to the truth, she murmured, “Actually, I’ve come from . . . well,
something like that. And from the sound of you, you’ve just come from merry old
England.”

He grinned wryly. “How did you
guess?”

“It’s written all over
your—er—accent. You here on vacation?”

Now his response, too, proved
teasing. “Something like that.”

The bartender deposited Courtney’s
drink, and she lifted it toward her companion. “To us, then. Two strangers
passing in the night in the rainy French Quarter.”

“Ah—how romantic that sounds.
Hear, hear.” He clicked his glass against hers, and took a slow sip. “So, was I
correct? Are you here in the Big Easy on business?”

She nodded. “My company’s annual
convention.”

“Ah. Stodgy affairs, conventions,
aren’t they?”

There Courtney had to laugh at the
irony. “You said it.”

“No wonder you’re an escapee from
the unmitigated boredom.”

She sipped her drink, savoring the
sweetly tart taste. “Hmmmm . . . could be.”

“So what company is this, anyway?
If you don’t mind my asking.”

“No, I don’t mind. It’s Bootle’s Baby Bower.”

He appeared astonished. “You don’t
say.”

“That’s right, the company has its
roots in England.”

“Indeed. Why, I pass your London outlet all the time. Just around the corner from where I live—St. Katherine’s
Dock.”

She nodded. “Ah, yes, I’ve heard
that’s a haven for London yuppies.”

He winked. “We’re called ‘high
fliers’ over there. But, yes, it’s quite a posh quarter, with plenty of quid lying
around to be squandered in pricey boutiques like Bootle’s.”

She regarded him with keen
interest. “Do you have a family?” Feeling a rush of warmth at his sudden, sharp
scrutiny, she quickly amended, “I mean, children for whom you might shop at Bootle’s?”

He shook his head. “Not ones of my
own, though I’ve two younger sisters, both married, and a bumper crop of nieces
and nephews coming along.”

“You’re kidding,” she replied.
“I’m pretty much the last holdout in my family, too. Three married older sisters
and one younger brother, complete with fiancée. All of my sisters have
children.”

“How fascinating. Do your siblings
also exert intolerable pressure on you to proceed to the altar?”

“Do they ever!” she declared,
thoroughly enjoying herself. “And my parents. You’d think they’d be content
with their brood of seven grandchildren—”

“
Seven
?”

“But, oh, no—they won’t be
satisfied until I take the plunge,” she finished.

He scowled sympathetically. “Ah,
yes, all that pressure to take the plunge, matrimonially speaking.”

Courtney struggled not to smile;
he appeared so pious and sympathetic that she was hard-pressed to figure out
whether he’d meant the double entendre.

“At any rate,” he continued,
“there’s nothing worse than a pair of parents determined to marry off their
offspring.”

Courtney had to laugh as she
considered her own plight. “Well, that depends. I can think of something
worse.”

“What do you mean?”

She eyed him skeptically. “If I
tell you something, will you promise to take me seriously, and, well, not to
laugh?”

At once his expression grew grave.
“Absolutely.”

“You asked me what I’m doing here
tonight.”

“I did.”

She leaned closer and spoke in a
conspiratorial whisper. “Well, it’s all the fault of my boss, M. Billingham
Bootle.”

“Ah. I take it he must be the head
of Bootle’s Baby Bower?”

“CEO and chairman,” she replied.

“I see. What does the ‘M’ stand
for, if I may ask?”

She gave a shrug. “You know, I
don’t know. Money, most likely. Anyway, M. Billingham is about to retire from
active leadership in the firm. In fact, I’ve just learned that he’s about to
select his successor.”

“Really? Might you be in line for
the post?”

She laughed. “Yes, if I can ‘bag
my kill.’”

He grimaced. “I beg your pardon?”

“You see, M. Billingham is . . .
well, something of an eccentric. He has ordered a scavenger hunt in order to
select his successor.”

He gave an incredulous laugh. “A
scavenger hunt? Why, how peculiar.”

“My thought exactly, but
unfortunately, my boss is certifiable, a madman with a long history of bizarre
practical jokes. To make a long story short, he simply refuses to listen to
reason. He has ordered me and three male colleagues out on the streets here, to
hunt up whatever ‘items’ his demented mind has managed to conjure up. The first
man—or woman, in this case—to successfully complete his mission wins the
promotion.”

“Well, I’ll be deuced. What
exactly did this old imbecile ask you to do?”

“That’s where you have to promise
not to laugh.”

He solemnly crossed his heart. “On
my honor.”

She sighed. “I’ve been ordered to
find the most eligible bachelor in the French Quarter willing to marry me . . .
by morning.”

His reaction was predictably
extreme. First he choked on his drink. Then he burst out laughing.

“You promised!” Courtney accused,
though with good humor.

Still half choking, half laughing,
he pulled off his glasses and wiped away tears. “Sorry! But, great Scot, you
cannot possibly be serious. Your boss is trying to
force
you to wed a
stranger? Why, that’s the most outlandish scheme I’ve ever heard of.”

“Tell me about it.”

He glanced up at her then, and
Courtney struggled not to gasp as she found herself staring into the stranger’s
brilliant blue eyes, eyes that were so much more vibrant than she’d first
thought. Excitement and a second spark of recognition swept over her. It seemed
downright criminal that any man could be so handsome. And still he seemed
hauntingly familiar to her. Had she met or seen him somewhere before?

“Miss?” he asked, regarding her
with concern. “Are you all right?”

Courtney felt herself blushing in
stark contrast to her usually self-possessed nature. “Oh, it’s nothing. It’s
just that—well, you have such vivid eyes.”

He wagged a finger at her. “If I
didn’t know better, I’d swear you were flirting with me.”

Courtney smiled. Unexpectedly, she
found she was having a lot of fun with this stranger. “Could be. But that
doesn’t solve my dilemma, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t. And just how were
you planning to solve it?”

She bit her lip. “Well, I guess I
need to find someone—a man, that is—to help me.”

“Ah, yes,” he murmured drolly, “a
male of the species. They do sometimes come in handy, I suppose.”

Liking him more by the moment, she
gathered her courage. “Will you do it?”

“
Me
?” He appeared
astonished.

She nodded solemnly.

He leaned closer, eyeing her
almost raptly, his seductive scent filling her lungs. “Do you mean, will I
marry you?”

His question was so wry and
disarming that she choked out a laugh. “No, no, silly, I mean, would you be
willing to
pose
as my fiancé, just for a little while, so I can—”

“Bag your promotion?” he politely
supplied.

“Well, yes. You’re pretty quick on
the uptake, aren’t you?”

“I suppose I am. So you’re just
enlisting me in a sort of—acting assignment?”

“Precisely. Well put.”

“But are you sure our pretending
will be enough?”

Although his words sparked a stab
of doubt, she squared her shoulders with bravado. “Sure, why not? After all,
the old man is crazy, and has a short attention span. As long as I show up with
a warm male body, I’m sure everything will be fine. So . . . will you do it?
Will you help me out?”

He scowled over this for a long
moment, then broke into a grin. “Sure. Why not? I don’t think I’ve had such fun
since my Cambridge days.”

Relief swept Courtney. “You mean
you’ll really help me?”

“Of course.”

She clapped her hands. “Oh, this
is wonderful. And there’s no time to waste. Come on, drink up so we can get
back to the hotel.”

He flashed her a puzzled frown.
“But aren’t you forgetting something?”

Disappointment seared Courtney. “Oh,
so you’re just like the others—”

“Others?” he asked mildly.

“The others I approached with
this, before you.”

A look of feigned dismay darkened
his features. “You mean I’m not your first potential hired groom? Darling, I’m
crushed.”

Though tempted to relent at his
charming melodramatics, she scolded, “Come on, quit teasing me.”

“You think I’m teasing?”

She forged on with the issue at
hand. “The others, well, they expected to be paid, or expected me to . . .”

“To what?” he asked raptly.

She blushed again. “You know
what!”

“To compromise your virtue?” he
asked in horrified tones.

Courtney burst out laughing again.
He was just too much!

“Why, the scoundrels!” he
blustered with the same air of mock outrage. “That’s utterly despicable. I’d
call them all out for insulting my fiancée—albeit
pretend
fiancée—if I
only knew who they were.” He paused to pat her hand. “And I assure you, my
dear, that I have no such dishonorable intentions.”

Courtney was still fighting
laughter. “I’m relieved to hear it.” She frowned. “But if that’s so, then what
exactly do you think I’ve forgotten?”

He could hardly contain his own
amusement. “Why, introductions.”

As his meaning sunk in, she
chortled. “Good grief, how silly of me. You’re right, of course. I can’t
exactly pass you off as my fiancé if I don’t even know your name, right?”

“Righto.”

Grinning, she extended her hand.
“Courtney Kelly.”

He shook her hand. “Mark.”

“Mark who?”

He gave her a chiding look. “Now
you have to promise not to laugh.”

“Okay.”

“Mark Wiggleshaft.”

She gasped, then burst out
laughing.

He wagged a finger at her.
“Naughty girl.
You
promised.”

“Sorry. But that can’t actually be
your—”

“It is, indeed.”

Courtney grimaced in horror. “Oh,
brother. You mean I have to go back to the hotel and introduce Mark
Wiggleshaft
as my fiancé?”

He affected a look of chagrin.
“Having second thoughts already, darling? And we’ve only just gotten engaged.”

“Well, it is pretty funny. And
probably just what M. Billingham Bootle deserves.”

“Yes. And if you want to talk
about silly names, there’s one for you.”

“You’re right. And I really
shouldn’t berate your heritage. I’m sure you must come from a perfectly
respectable family, the—er—Wiggleshafts, who might even frown on what I’m
asking you to do.”

Merriment twinkled in his eyes.
“Truth to tell, I suspect my stuffy ancestors might well roll in their graves
at this torrid episode—especially Sir Hugo and the Dowager Biddlespoon.”

“Ah. So you do come from an old
English family?”

“We’ve traced our lineage back to
Elizabeth I. A couple of dukes, a bumper crop of marquesses and earls—even a
black sheep or two. Present company excluded, of course.”

“Goodness, I’m impressed. And,
just for the sake of our current situation, what exactly do you do, Mr. Mark
Wiggleshaft?”