“You really do know me too well.” She shrugged. “I can’t help it. A good argument gets me all riled up. Trouble is, usually when we’re not fighting the chemistry fizzles. You know?”
“Oh, I know all about fizzling chemistry. In two languages.”
Sarah chuckled. “Look, why don’t I blow off this guy and we can hang out?”
She shook her head. “Can’t. I have to look for a place. Or a homeless shelter.”
“You’re welcome to stay with me for as long as you like.”
“And I would, if I wasn’t allergic to your cat, but thanks.”
Sometimes she wondered why she’d even come back to Philly. Her mom had remarried and moved to Florida, her aunt and uncle had retired to Palm Springs. Yet, somehow this was home. Her friends and all of her memories were here. As much as she’d loved Paris, she’d always known she’d come back.
Philippe had begged her to stay, convincing her that they could open the best restaurant in Paris together and if the authorities gave her any trouble with visas, then he would marry her.
But home had called to her, and now here she was, back home, ironically, without a home.
2
DAVID WAS PRETTY GOOD about staying cool under pressure. In his experience, things usually worked out fine. Maybe he needed to work a little longer, push a bit harder, find a way around a blocked path. But he worked a problem until he found a solution.
This was different. He’d stretched out the date of the engagement dinner as far as he could, but it was fast approaching. Having to produce a suitable fiancée in a few days? How was he supposed to do that without stumbling across a magic lantern or selling his soul to the devil?
And not just any girl would do. This one would be under scrutiny from the top brass, the board and their spouses. He’d mentally reviewed every woman he could think of, scoured Facebook, his personal contact lists, but none of the women he knew were the kind of women Piers and his brother would consider corporate-wife material.
Mainly because he was attracted to certain assets in a woman that had nothing to do with long-term plans.
He should have been spending this whole weekend tracking down high-end matchmakers who might know a suitable woman who wanted to be his fake fiancée for a few months. Somebody serious, maybe a little dowdy, who could hold her own in a conversation. Also, she’d have to be discreet. Then, once the VP job was in the bag, he and his wife-to-be would discover she didn’t want to marry him after all. He’d get all the sympathy of a jilted man and the job would be his.
However, instead of interviewing suitable candidates, he was heading home for brunch at his parents’ place before they headed off on summer vacation for a few weeks.
He pulled in to the driveway of his parents’ Cape Cod, noting that his sister’s car was already there. Suck-up.
He got out of his vehicle, leaned in for the huge bouquet, part send-off and part guilt gift since he hadn’t seen his folks in weeks.
As he walked by his sister’s car he saw that she was still in it, arguing on her cell phone as usual. He sent her a cheery wave and walked on, only to halt and head back a slow step or two until he was level with the driver’s door. He knew it was desperation driving him now, but Sarah was a lawyer with a ton of women friends, many of whom went to Vassar. One of them might impress Van Horne. Sarah was four years younger than he, so most of her friends were in the right age range. Of course, Sarah’s friends tended to be way too serious and definitely too feminist, considering a man’s balls not as one of his chief erogenous zones, but as the handiest place to kick him. Hard.
However, he was desperate.
She clicked off the phone, then gave a purr of satisfaction. His sister rarely lost an argument. Or backed down. As he knew from painful experience. She was the perfect divorce lawyer. “What poor schmuck are you screwing over this time?”
“You want to talk about screwing over? The guy hid millions of dollars overseas and now he’s suing the wife, a high school teacher, for alimony.” She tapped her phone against her chin, “We’ll get him.”
“Do you ever represent men?”
She gave him a scornful glance. “As if.”
Then her gaze sharpened on him. “Well, aren’t you the dutiful son?” she crooned, getting an eyeful of the blooms. Then she stepped out of the car and gave him a one-armed hug. “How’s my big bro?”
Winning an argument always made her mellow, so he decided to ask for her help, assuming he wouldn’t be any further behind if she laughed in his face, which she’d probably do. But maybe, just maybe, she had the perfect woman for him.
“In a jam, as it happens. I need your help.”
Her glance softened and a look of concern crossed her face. “Oh, honey, what is it? Not trouble with the law?”
“No. Nothing like that. Woman trouble.”
Her crack of laughter nearly wilted the roses in his bouquet. “Here’s your problem, lover boy. Those aren’t women you insist on going out with. They are emotionally stunted fashion dolls.”
“Exactly.” He grinned at her shocked expression. “I need to meet a real woman. Someone like you. Who obviously isn’t a blood relative.” He considered her. “Or a man hater.”
“I don’t hate men.”
“Okay.” He wouldn’t get anywhere by insulting her, he reminded himself. “Honestly, Sar, I really need your help.”
“Tell your counselor everything.”
So he did. And watched her eyes grow rounder as the story progressed.
“You lied about having a fiancée for career advancement?”
“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”
She shook her head at him. “What were you thinking?”
“Obviously, I wasn’t. Wasn’t thinking they’d want to meet this woman, anyway.”
She slammed her car door shut with her hip. “I cannot believe any firm in this millennium thinks it’s okay to withhold promotions based on a person’s marital status.” She shook her head. “It’s antiquated and wrong.”
She was clearly thinking deep legal thoughts. “The whole thing’s all but illegal. Want to sue them?” She looked so hopeful he almost laughed.
“No. I don’t want to sue my employer. I want the VP job.”
“Why did you say you wanted my help?”
“I was hoping you might know a nice, unattached woman, somebody smart and classy who would be good wife-of-the-VP material. Who might enjoy coming out to a few business occasions and posing as my fiancée. Then, after I get the VP job, we’d quietly split.”
Her
