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New York Times bestselling author Shirley Jump didn’t have the will-power to diet, nor the talent to master under-eye concealer, so she bowed out of a career in television and opted instead for a career where she could be paid to eat at her desk—writing. At first, seeking revenge on her children for their grocery store tantrums, she sold embarrassing essays about them to anthologies. However, it wasn’t enough to feed her growing addiction to writing funny. So she turned to the world of romance novels, where messes are (usually) cleaned up before The End. In the worlds Shirley gets to create and control, the children listen to their parents, the husbands always remember holidays, and the housework is magically done by elves. Though she’s thrilled to see her books in stores around the world, Shirley mostly writes because it gives her an excuse to avoid cleaning the toilets and helps feed her shoe habit. To learn more, visit her website at www.shirleyjump.com
Praise for Shirley Jump…
‘Shirley Jump always succeeds in getting the plot, the characters, the settings and the emotions right.’
— CataRomance.com
About NYT bestselling anthology Sugar and Spice: ‘Jump’s office romance gives the collection a kick, with fiery writing.’ — PublishersWeekly.com
Shirley Jump’s THE OTHER WIFE: ‘Filled with humour and heart, this is a wonderful book.’
— Romantic Times BOOKreviews
Nick considered Carolyn for a long second. She felt as if he could see past every wall she’d constructed, every bit of armour she’d put in place over the years.
He leaned down until his mouth met her ear. His breath whispered past a lock of her hair. “You look beautiful today, Carolyn.”
Something hot and warm raced through her veins. She refused to react to him, though her hormones didn’t seem to be riding the same resolve wagon.
“Thank you.”
He was still close, so close she could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. If she leaned a few inches to the right, she could touch him. Feel his cheek against hers.
“Oooh, Miss Duff has a boyfriend,” the children sing-songed.
Dear Reader
My grandmother is nearly a hundred years old, and every time I see her it makes me think about all the changes she has seen happen during her lifetime. The invention of televisions, automobiles, airplanes, computers. Things that have become indispensable to you and me, and were not even around when she was a child. My husband and I tour museums with our kids, and show them things that were in use during their great-grandmother’s childhood. To them, it’s as if she grew up in the Paleolithic Era.
A hundred years. Just thinking about that much time has me in awe. When my editor told me that Mills & Boon is celebrating its 100th birthday this year, I was stunned. In an era when companies come and go with the winds, to hear that Mills & Boon has had such longevity is amazing.
I attribute that not to the great editorial staff or the wonderful authors—both of whom are a big part of making Mills & Boon what it is—but to you, the reader. Without our dear and loyal readers we wouldn’t have enjoyed such long-lasting success. Your commitment to these books, and to the written word, has made Mills & Boon into what it is today. A centegenarian. And, what’s more, even at 100, Mills & Boon is moving fast, with exciting new programmes and great new books every month.
Thanks to you. So, my hat is off to Mills & Boon and my gratitude is deep for our readers. And the next time I see my grandmother I’ll have to ask her if she remembers seeing these little books when she was young. I think she’ll be pleased to know they’re just a little older than her.
Shirley
BOARDROOM BRIDE AND GROOM
BY
SHIRLEY JUMP
MILLS & BOON
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To my parents, who gave dozens of refugees a home in the United States and changed their lives forever. From them, I learned the value of opening your heart to those in need and that family is created, not always born.
CHAPTER ONE
CAROLYN DUFF had made one major mistake in her life—a whopping cliché of a mistake in a Vegas wedding chapel—which hadn’t, unlike the commercials said, stayed in Vegas.
It had followed her back here—and was working in an office just a few blocks down the street. All six-foot-two of him.
Most days she forgot about Nicholas Gilbert and concentrated on her job. As an assistant city prosecutor she barely had time to notice when the sun went down, because her days tended to pass in a blur of phone calls, legal precedents, Indiana case law and urgent e-mails. Her calendar might have said Friday, her clock already ticking past five, but still Carolyn stayed behind her desk, finishing up yet another flurry of work, even though tomorrow was the start of the Fourth of July weekend and the courts would be closed until Tuesday.
For Carolyn it didn’t matter. An internal time bomb kept ticking away, pushing her to keep going, to pursue one more criminal case, to see the prison bars slam shut once more.
To know she’d done her part again.
And yet it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
Carolyn rubbed at her temples, trying to beat back the start of another headache before it got too intense. Then she set to work, working on a negotiation for a plea bargain with a local defense attorney who thought his client—a petty thief—merited merely a ninety-day jail stint and a small fine. Carolyn, who could see the future handwriting on the wall, one that upped the ante to a felony charge—B&E with a deadly weapon—wanted years behind bars. The presiding judge, however, wanted a fast resolution that would clear his docket of one more hassle. He’d given the two attorneys the weekend to find a middle ground.
Mary Hudson popped her head in the door. Her chestnut pageboy swung around her chin, framing wide
