The Trophy Wife. Sandra Steffen
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Название: The Trophy Wife
Автор: Sandra Steffen
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
isbn: 9781472087560
isbn:
She looked him over. “There’s certainly nothing wrong with the way you are. Not from a female’s perspective. This Dr. Perkins doesn’t happen to be a woman, does she?”
He shook his head.
And she sighed. “Too bad. Oh, well. This weekend, we’re going to give the people affiliated with Dr. Perkins’s practice a new and improved version of Dr. Tripp Calhoun, the finest pediatrician in sunny California.”
She ushered him to the door. Although he didn’t remember doing it, he must have opened it, because he walked through.
“Tripp?”
He turned on the top step. “Yes?”
“I’m glad we’re going to be friends again.” Before he could answer, she reached up on tiptoe and brushed her lips across his. “Good night.”
The door closed. He didn’t recall saying goodbye, either, but he must have. At least he hoped he had.
He wet his lips, and tasted the strawberry flavor of her lip gloss. He wiped it off with the back of his hand, and stood statue-still, desire uncurling deep inside him.
Whoa. He appreciated Amber’s offer to help, and he would tell her so. After that, he was going to have to lay out a few ground rules. He needed this position, and the credibility it would bring. Okay, maybe he even needed a new suit. If she thought he would bleach his hair and wear blue contacts, she was mistaken. If he got that position, it would be because of who he was, the man inside, not the trappings.
They were going to pretend to be engaged. He didn’t like the idea of lying, even if it was under the guise of pretending. But he didn’t see any other way.
He and Amber were already becoming friends. That part was real. He would hold it there. There would be no real passion between them.
He would tell her as soon as he saw her tomorrow. He started for his nondescript, dependable car and got in. Now, he thought, trying to find a comfortable position in jeans that were suddenly a good size too small, if only somebody would break it to his body.
Four
“Oh, my, I do believe we’ve found the one!”
Tripp tried not to wince, honest to God he did, but if André’s voice got any shriller, the trifold mirror was going to shatter.
“It has style. It says class with a capital C, and it fits you to perfection. Perfection, I say!” André’s eyebrows were chestnut-colored slashes above startling brown eyes that didn’t come close to matching the yellow streaks in his short-cropped hair. “Don’t you agree, Amber?”
Tripp met Amber’s gaze in the mirror. She smiled demurely. “This jacket looks good, too, André.”
The double entendre was lost on André. “Good? It looks glorious. What do you think, Doctor?”
Tripp thought he would have more fun having a kidney transplant. “It’s black,” he said. Every suit jacket he’d tried on had been black.
André looked to Amber for emotional support. She said, “Black is a formal, classic color that never goes out of style. You can wear it to weddings and funerals, fine restaurants, important galas and everything in between. Montgomery Perkins was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He and his family moved to California from the East Coast twenty-five years ago. His bloodline can be traced back to the Mayflower and beyond. He’s the type of man who would own a closet full of black suits, and expect others to, as well.”
Tripp stared at her. “How do you know that?”
She shrugged, then examined her fingernails. “I checked him out. Apparently he’s a very traditional and wealthy physician, one who wouldn’t appreciate a candidate showing up wearing a clown nose or tweed.”
André fanned himself at her mention of tweed. “Have we found the perfect one, or shall we continue?”
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