The Husband Sweepstake. Leigh Michaels

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      “Denby,” she said. “What a nice surprise to see you here at lunchtime.”

      His eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “Exactly what I said. If a simple greeting offends you, I—”

      “It’s what you’re implying that offends me—that the worker bee should be in the lab from nine-to-five, no excuses, no breaks. Well, things have changed a bit now.”

      “Yes, I saw the announcement that you’re marrying your boss’s daughter,” Erika said calmly. “Congratulations are in order, I believe.”

      “Of course you saw the announcement. You just had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?”

      “Ruin? I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”

      “Why do you have to push yourself into everything? You couldn’t even stay out of my engagement announcement!”

      Erika’s jaw dropped. “You actually think I wanted to be part of that story?”

      “Jeanette’s heartbroken. This is the most important thing in her life, and you had to trample all over it.”

      Erika stood up. “Well, she’d better get over it. I’m a part of your past, Denby. No matter how much we’d all like to, we can’t just wipe that out. Of course, if your engagement is as important to you as it is to her, then she doesn’t have a thing to worry about where I’m concerned.”

      “You just have to have all the attention, don’t you? Being the face in the ads wasn’t enough, you had to be the CEO, too. Then—”

      “Look, Denby, it was not my idea to have the Sentinel dish it all out again for the enjoyment of the masses. If you’ll excuse me—” She tried to slip past him, but he was blocking the way.

      “Maybe I’m wrong,” he conceded.

      “Well, that’s big of you.”

      “Maybe you don’t want it brought up again, especially right now—when you’re doing it again.”

      “Doing what? What are you talking about?”

      “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I always believed it was your father’s idea for you to lead me on. To draw me in with promises until he got what he wanted. But now I wonder who was really behind that scheme. Maybe it was your plan after all.”

      His voice was growing louder, unnaturally so in the quiet lounge, and people were starting to stare.

      Denby didn’t pause. “And because it worked so well with me, you’re trying it again. Maybe I should warn Felix La Croix what he’s getting into. Make sure he understands that you’re only making up to him in order to get his business.”

      “I am not making up to—”

      “That’s who you’re meeting today, isn’t it? Maybe I’ll just stick around and be sure he knows the truth.”

      “Denby, this is utterly ridiculous!”

      “Or maybe I’ll just tell the Sentinel,” he mused. “Yes, that’s the ticket. It will have the same effect, and I understand they pay pretty well for tips.”

      From the corner of her eye, Erika caught a swift movement, almost a blur. It was too fast to be any of the club’s members, she thought. They were never in a hurry, not here.

      Realization dawned, and she ducked—but it was too late. The photo flash popped directly in her eyes, almost blinding her for an instant.

      The photographer held his camera above his head, shaking it in triumph as if it were a trophy. Then he dodged past a determined-looking waiter, out the archway from the lounge into the club lobby, and through the front door to the street.

      Denby blinked and said stupidly, “What was that?”

      “The Sentinel,” Erika said grimly. “I’d suggest, if you want to claim a tipster’s fee, that you’d better hurry—before the paparazzi beats you to it.”

      She turned away, and the waiter who had tried to stop the photographer stepped into her path. “Ms. Forrester, Mr. La Croix asked me to give you this.” He held out a folded sheet of paper that she recognized as club stationery.

      For a moment, she’d forgotten all about Felix La Croix and the reason for her lunch date, but the solidity of the heavy sheet of parchment in her hand brought it all back.

      The note was brief and to the point. “I’m sure you understand why I didn’t wish to be part of the show. I’ll be in touch when I’ve had a chance to think things through.” It was signed with his initials.

      Felix La Croix had been there, witnessed Denby’s little act and opted to walk out. She couldn’t exactly blame him for fading away rather than letting himself be drawn into the scene. At least he’d left a note.

      “Will you be coming into the dining room now, Ms. Forrester?” the waiter asked.

      Her stomach turned at the very idea of food. “No—thank you, Harry.” She retrieved her portfolio from her chair and her trench coat from the cloakroom, stuffing Felix’s note into her pocket. There was plenty to be done back at the office…

      Except that right now she didn’t feel like facing Kelly and fending off questions about how the negotiations had gone and why she was back so early.

      She’d go home and lie down, she decided. It was only a few blocks to the apartment complex, and Stephen was guaranteed to have something on hand to settle an unhappy stomach.

      But Stephen wasn’t in the office; Amos was. A sandwich lay on the desk blotter, and beside it was a yellow legal tablet filled with scrawled and scratched-out sentences.

      Erika checked on the threshold. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She started to back out.

      He stood up. “Come in. What can I do for you?”

      Her head was still spinning; that must be why she had the sense that he actually sounded friendly. “What hit you? You sound positively civil. Oh, I know. You’ve decided you wouldn’t mind going to that banquet after all—rubbing elbows with publishers and famous authors.”

      “I told you, it depends on the benefits. You look as if you just lost your last friend.”

      Erika sighed. “Do you have something for heartburn?”

      He waved a hand toward the sandwich. “Italian sausage, onion and Swiss cheese. If that doesn’t do it, nothing will.”

      “I meant something to treat it, not cause it.” She swayed a little.

      Amos seized her arm and guided her toward the wing-backed chair.

      “I’m fine, really,” Erika protested. “I just lost my balance, that’s all. I’m not going to faint.”

      “In any case, sitting down won’t hurt you a bit. What’s the matter?”

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