Mr. Right Next Door. Arlene James

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      Chuck frowned, then sat forward again and briskly began giving her the details. “It’s about the new retailer coming on-line. I’ve invited the rep to dinner on Friday night at the Ozark Springs Inn. Have you been there yet?”

      “Ozark Springs Inn? No, I haven’t.”

      “Well, here’s your chance to enjoy the amenities at company’s expense. I think we can swing an overnight stay—for both of us.”

      Denise’s stomach turned sour. “Your wife ought to enjoy that,” she said as offhandedly as she could manage.

      “My wife is used to my, uh, work keeping me out overnight.” Chuck smiled and waggled his eyebrows.

      It was all Denise could do to keep from gagging. Instead, she made herself smile and pass a limp hand over her forehead. “Gee, I wish you’d given me a bit more notice,” she said, thinking furiously. “Friday is...day after tomorrow, and I’ve, ah, already made plans.”

      The smile turned upside down. “What kind of plans?” “Well, p-personal plans.”

      He screwed up his face. “A date? You’re telling me you have a boyfriend?”

      He made it sound like a disease, and suddenly she knew why. A boyfriend would mess up all the plans he’d been neatly laying, plans designed to get her off by herself, plans to seduce her. No, Chuck wouldn’t go to all the trouble of being sure that she was willing. More likely, what he had in mind was something along the lines of compromise, if not outright demands- Yes, a boyfriend was definitely in order. She folded her arms again.

      “Yes, as a matter of fact I do have a boyfriend.”

      Chuck knocked his index finger against the edge of his desk. “Well, work will just have to take precedence. If he doesn’t know that already, he’ll just have to learn.”

      “Agreed.”

      “Then you’ll cancel your plans.”

      “Ah, no.”

      “Jenkins,” he said sternly, “this is your job. I want you at that dinner Friday night!”

      She grabbed at the proverbial straw. “Dinner! Well, dinner, yes, I can probably swing that. I’ll just, uh...”

      Chuck’s eyes narrowed, lending him the air of a truculent pig, but Denise was well aware that it would be unwise to underestimate him. “Bring him along?” he suggested smoothly, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

      She had not the faintest idea what he was planning, but no doubt he had something up his sleeve. The Chuck she knew didn’t take kindly to being thwarted in anything. She gulped, trying to cudgel her reluctant brain into giving her a solution, while Chuck warmed to his own scheme.

      “By all means, bring him along! It’ll be a pleasure to meet him. I insist. Really.”

      She felt like a rat trapped on a sinking ship, but if she had to choose, she’d just as soon go down with the ship as have to put herself into Chuck’s hands in order to escape it. Coolly, she inclined her head in acceptance of his “invitation.” It was only after she’d left his office some minutes later that-she realized her little plan had one glaring flaw.

      She didn’t have a date on Friday, let alone a boyfriend.

      

      It was, of course, the obvious solution, not so much because they were friends but because, more pointedly, he was the only single man she knew in the whole area! Moreover, something told her that he would not let her down. She could count on Morgan Holt to come to the rescue, but could she count on him not to take advantage or misconstrue? That was another question entirely. Yet she effectively had no choice. She needed a date for Friday night, a pretend boyfriend, and Morgan Holt was the only candidate. Quaking inwardly, she cleared her throat, inhaled deeply through her nose and shook her limbs, much as if she were preparing for a big match or an especially unnerving sales presentation. The small ritual behind her, she lifted her hand and knocked on the door.

      A male voice called faintly from a distance through the door that he was coming. Denise folded her arms and stepped back, looking around the wide porch with its gingerbread trimming and fresh white paint contrasting with the pale sky blue of the house itself. It was really a lovely old home, not at all what she’d have picked out for herself but very much Morgan Holt. Somehow she sensed the love and pride that had gone into every brush stroke and swing of the hammer. He must have worked for years to refurbish the place. The elegant mahogany door with its large oval of beveled glass swung inward, and Denise jerked around, pasting a smile on her face.

      “Hey! Good to see you. Come on in!” Morgan backed away from the door and allowed her to step past. “Man, it’s beautiful out there, isn’t it?” He inhaled deeply as he pushed the door closed. “I love this time of year. The leaves will start turning soon. Meanwhile the days are perfect and the nights are cool enough for a fire. What more could you want?”

      “Nothing!” She tossed up her hands in a frivolous gesture so unlike her that she immediately regretted it. Morgan composed his squarely chiseled face and lifted a hand to indicate the first room immediately off the hall.

      “Let’s sit down, and you can tell me what’s wrong.”

      Denise closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again and nodded at the same time as she looked around her. The hall was all polished wood and brass and sweeping stairs with marble treads and banisters. A large mirror, framed in heavy, ornately carved wood, hung on one wall, an old-fashioned hall tree stood opposite it. Between them a small, graceful chandelier hung from the ceiling, its brass inlaid with delicate cameos.

      She followed Morgan into the living room. He put her on the couch and sat down opposite her on a wing chair, pulling it close and leaning forward with forearms braced against his knees. She crossed her ankles demurely and folded her hands in her lap, her heart beating a heavy rhythm.

      “Okay,” he said, “now what’s wrong?”

      She put on a smile, her voice falsely bright. “Nothing’s wrong. I just thought you might like to join me and some, uh, other people for dinner...Friday night.”

      “Friday night,” he echoed thoughtfully.

      “At the Ozark Springs Inn,” she added hurriedly. “I know it’s late notice, but I promised I’d bring an, er, a friend. Honestly, Morgan, I’d be so appreciative if you could manage—”

      “Okay,” he said. “Now what’s the rest of it?”

      She was still hung on the okay. Breathless with relief, she sank back against the pillows and closed her eyes. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate—”

      “Just tell me what’s going on.”

      She sat upright again, suddenly believing that it was going to be all right, after all. “Actually,” she said, almost laughing in her relief, “I don’t need a date so much as I need a boyfriend. Oh, not that I want one, you understand! It’s just that, well, my boss is a throwback to a less enlightened age, to put it politely. In fact, if I was willing to give up my career, I could nail him on sexual harassment charges. But I figure the best justice would be to get promoted despite him, maybe over him, and then don’t think I wouldn’t can СКАЧАТЬ