The Boss's Fiance Box Set

by Amanda Horton

  Wolfe smiled sheepishly. “I asked Mom to. She doesn’t know the reason why. I forgot that she will take any excuse to throw a party. You’ll like her.”

  Miranda frowned, resisting the urge to run her fingers through her elaborately styled hair. “But will she like me is more the question. She’ll see right through me and know I don’t belong here.”

  “Rubbish. I like you. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

  Miranda exhaled noisily. He likes me? She’d thought she couldn’t be more jittery, but Wolfe’s statement had set off another bout of nerves. How to interpret his statement? Did he like her as a colleague or...? She realized Wolfe sat waiting for her. “Okay, let’s do this.” She climbed out of the car.

  Wolfe offered her his arm. “You sound like you’re going to the dentist instead of a party.”

  As his arm guided her toward the entrance, Miranda felt a rush of gratitude. Surely, with Wolfe supporting her, she couldn’t help but succeed. The thought reminded her of why she was there at all. It’s for the kitchen. Miranda raised her head high. She might not be used to these occasions like the other women in their glittering frocks, but she was damn sure that she could make a better omelet than anyone present!

  Inside, the club was even more stunning. Chandeliers blazed from above, illuminating thick carpets and the modern paintings on the wall. Orchestral strains floated in the air, mixing with the pungent smell of jasmine flowers. Twin staircases flanked the entrance, leading to a mezzanine floor.

  Wolfe guided her past the staircase and into a long gazebo where they were greeted by tables with immaculate linen and elaborate settings.

  An elegantly dressed woman in an embroidered gown came forward as they entered the room. “Wolfe, darling.”

  Wolfe released Miranda, leaning in to kiss the woman on her cheek. “Mom, this is Miranda. Miranda, meet my mom, Mrs. Diane Simpson.”

  The look of surprise on the woman’s face was comical. Obviously, she didn’t expect Wolfe to arrive with a date. “I thought you were bringing someone from the office.” Diane beamed. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Miranda. Pardon my shock. My son is a constant surprise.”

  Miranda forced a smile, murmuring a greeting. Without Wolfe’s touch, she felt extremely out of place among the gathering. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “You mustn’t listen to Wolfe,” Diane said immediately. She elbowed her son playfully. “You should have told me you were bringing such a beautiful date! Come.” She put her arm out to take Miranda’s hand. “Let me show you to our table.”

  Miranda followed. The discovery that Diane shared her son’s humor was welcome. Her spirits soared. Maybe I can pull this off after all.

  As they approached their table, Diane cleared her throat. “This is my husband, Bruce.”

  Miranda schooled her features into a neutral expression. So this is the wicked stepfather. His eyes bulged as he took in Miranda. As he got to his feet, he swayed slightly. An empty glass beside him suggested he’d started the party early.

  Wolfe greeted his stepdad coolly, taking the empty seat at the head of the table. Miranda’s hopes of remaining by his side were dashed as Diane led her to a chair beside Bruce Simpson. Still, this is why we’re here — to make a good impression on his family. Miranda smiled, prepared to make chit-chat with the man.

  Very quickly, Miranda found herself sharing Wolfe’s dislike of the man. He made no attempt to hide his curiosity about her relationship to Wolfe. “So you’re Wolfe’s latest, hmm? I have to admit that he knows how to pick ‘em.” He leered, his eyes dropping to her breasts.

  Miranda fought the urge to slap him. “Actually, we share an interest in philanthropy.”

  “And is that how you met?” Diane’s eyes shone. Miranda looked at her face and felt a sudden qualm at the idea of deceiving the woman. She was evidently pleased with the idea that her son had met someone.

  “Yes, actually, it is.” At least that was the truth. Miranda took a deep breath. “I understand you do quite a lot of charitable work yourself. Maybe you can give me some pointers.”

  Diane was evidently delighted, eagerly sharing her experience. Miranda nodded, finding out that the woman possessed all the ease of conversation of her son. Her eyes traveled to Wolfe, engrossed in conversation with a sprightly old woman to his left. From what she could hear of their conversation, Miranda gathered she was the curator at the Guggenheim. They were engaged in lively debate over an art piece. The curator made a snide comment and Wolfe threw back his head in laughter. His eyes met hers and he winked.

  Miranda felt encouraged; the butterflies in her stomach subsided a little.

  An elaborate five-course dinner was served. Miranda was in heaven, savoring every mouthful of the exquisitely prepared feast. She was in her element, identifying the flavor combinations and techniques used by the chefs and full of ideas for her own menu. This bisque is perfect! If only the lobster wasn’t overdone... And whoever let this rubbery chicken be served needs a stern talking to.

  Not even the fact that Bruce made a renewed effort to discover her connection to Wolfe ruined her enjoyment of the meal. She peppered him with remarks about food preparation and foreign sounding condiments until his attention wavered and left her.

  Miranda breathed a sigh of relief, only to see a signal pass between Wolfe and his mom. What now?

  Diane left her seat to ascend the stage. She smiled, and her audience quieted to listen to her. She soon had everyone laughing with her irreverent banter. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve dragged you all here in rags. You know me. Wolfe said ‘party’—I didn’t ask what it was for,” she said, pausing for laughter.

  Miranda gulped. This is it.

  Wolfe ascended the stage like he owned it. Miranda marveled at the way he took command. His authority was palpable in the air. The guests leaned forward, eagerly awaiting his words. Miranda found herself keenly aware of his power—and liking it.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming tonight even at such short notice.” His eyes sparkled as he smiled at Diane. “That alone shows who holds the power in the Hawkins household.” He turned back to guests. “No, the rumors are not true. This is not a coming out party. Tonight is significant because I am about to embark on a new endeavor. Miranda, can you please join me on stage?”

  Miranda got to her feet. As she walked through the crowd, she could feel every eye on her. Her steps wobbled. Think of the kitchen! Looking up, she saw Wolfe’s eyes fixed on her. Suddenly she felt the strength to continue. In moments, she was on the stage, Wolfe’s hand on her back as if it belonged there.

  “This beautiful young lady is someone truly special and the reason why we’re all here tonight. I’ve asked Miranda to be my wife — and she agreed.”

  The announcement was followed by stunned silence then transformed into a riotous cacophony of good wishes.

  Diane cried as she embraced Miranda tightly. “Oh, my dear, I’m so happy!”

  Again Miranda felt a pang at the deception. “I—” She never finished her sentence. She and Wolfe were surrounded by a throng of well-wishers.

  As Miranda descended the stage, she found herself grabbed by Bruce. “Who would have thought?” He kissed her noisily on the cheek. Miranda cringed. This close, the smell of alcohol that clung to him was overpowering.

  She took a step back, grateful to be besieged by a gaggle of ladies, eager to see her engagement ring.

  The next hour passed in a blur. Miranda felt like a spectator, unrelated to the action taking place around her. She accepted the congratulations of strangers, exchanging pleasantries with them, conscious that the words had no meaning. What am I even doing?

  Finally, the crowd thinned. Looking around, Miranda saw that the orchestra had picked up the beat, abandoning background concertos for a waltz. She saw Wolfe on the dance floor with his mother. She spotted Bruce slipping into a backroom, a cigar in hand. Everyone seemed to be having a ball.

  Ex
cept me. Miranda grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and headed to the pocket garden at the back. It was so much cooler here away from the maddening crowd.

  Standing in the cool night air, Miranda grappled with her thoughts. It was no easier to think, even without the crowds of well-wishers. I should be happy. I’ve done it—I’ve pulled off the engagement party. A few days after she said yes to Wolfe, her catering business started to take shape and the building was in the final stages of renovation. Through it all, Wolfe’s guidance had proven invaluable. He’d saved her from wasteful expense. She was grateful for the time he’d taken to make sure her business got off to the best possible start.

  “Miranda.”

  She started. When had Wolfe joined her? Each time her thoughts went to him, he always showed up. She plastered a smile onto her face. “Hey.”

  He studied her seriously. “You’re not having much fun, are you?”

  “Of course I am. I just came out for some air.”

  Wolfe shook his head. “I’ve been watching you and you look dejected. It’s time to ditch this party.”

  She blinked. “You can’t ditch your own party!”

  Wolfe gave her his trademark crooked smile. “I can and I will. Let’s go!”

  Inside the car on their way out of the club, Miranda’s guilt at making him decide to leave wrestled with her relief. She glanced at Wolfe. He’d been silent the entire drive. How did he feel about the evening? “The food was great.”

  Wolfe snorted. “The chicken was rubbery and the lobster was dry.”

  Miranda beamed. “You noticed that, too?”

  Wolfe glanced at her and suddenly they both burst out laughing.

  “To tell you the truth, it could have been the most expertly prepared meal in the world, and it would still have stuck in my throat.” Wolfe grimaced. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so nervous.”

  He’d been nervous? Miranda stole a glance at him, settling back in her seat. “I wish I could cook for you...but the restaurant kitchen is closed at this hour.”

  Wolfe grunted.

  Soon, Miranda recognized the streets of Manhattan. Where is he taking me? As the car stopped outside a familiar building, Miranda felt a jolt of apprehension in her stomach. It was the lobby to his condo. “What are we doing here?” They’d talked about moving in together as part of the charade, but she’d never actually been to his place before.

  “You said you needed a kitchen to cook. I think the kitchen in my apartment should be fully stocked. Mom has someone come over every week to replenish it.”

  Half an hour later, Miranda was standing in Wolfe’s apartment, her head reeling from the tour she’d just received. She was privately aghast that each of his five bedrooms was bigger than her entire apartment. Wolfe’s apartment was just as affluent as the country club but not as ostentatious. She appreciated that his furnishings were understated and didn’t scream ‘wealth’. The couches were made of genuine leather and the hardwood floors gleamed with polish. The glass windows displayed the twinkling lights of the city below. Central Park resembled a murky splotch from above, even as Manhattan Bridge glowed like a string of diamonds.

  “I’ve saved the best for last.” Wolfe opened the final door. “The kitchen.”

  Miranda stepped inside, noticing the sparkle on the appliances. “How often have you cooked in here?”

  “Never.”

  No wonder everything looks new. Miranda opened the pantry. He’s got no excuse not to—just look at this! “Not using a kitchen like this is a crime.” She weighed her options thoughtfully. “What to cook?” Given the elaborate dinner they’d just had at the club, she decided on an easy pizza recipe. A glance at the fridge confirmed her choice. She had all the ingredients she needed. “Hand me the bread flour, please.”

  “Er… Which one is that exactly?”

  “That one over there.” Miranda pointed to the jute bag on the top-most shelf of his kitchen cabinet.

  Wolfe reached up and pulled a corner of the bag. He miscalculated the size and the sack dropped. He just managed to catch it, but the sack burst open, spraying him with flour.

  Miranda burst out laughing. “You look like you’ve been flour-bombed.”

  “Oh yeah?” Wolfe took a handful and threw it in her direction.

  Miranda squealed. “Not in this dress!” She tried to duck past him. He grabbed another handful and ran after her. Miranda felt doused with the flour. “Oh, it’s on now, Wolfe Hawkins!”

  She grabbed the sack from him, chucking a handful of flour in his direction. Wolfe barely ducked in time to escape the white stuff. Miranda grabbed another handful. This time she hit him squarely in the chest. “Take that!”

  Soon they were having a flour-fight, laughing like kids in the playground. The whole kitchen was covered with the fine grain.

  Miranda lost her footing and almost slipped on the floor, her arms flailing as she fought to keep her balance. Wolfe caught her just in time, clutching her close to him. Reaching for a small kitchen towel, he wiped the smudges from her face.

  Laughter faded into significant silence. Miranda stilled as awareness of their physical proximity took hold of her. A sudden flare of passion made her catch her breath. There were many explanations for the sudden rush of emotions. Giddiness from their flour fight or the release of tension from the party. None of which explained why Miranda offered no resistance when Wolfe lowered his face to hers, kissing her lips for the very first time.

  Miranda’s response took her by surprise. Her arms snaked around his neck and she kissed him back. All the thoughts cluttering inside her head vanished, leaving her in a serene calm place where nothing could hurt her. She pressed her body closer to his, feeling hardness pressed against her groin.

  What are you doing? This is a mistake! Her first instinct was to ignore the small voice at the back of her head. Her heart, her body, both cried out for more. She opened her eyes and found Wolfe looking at her seriously.

  The impasse made the decision. She pulled back from Wolfe. “Please take me home now.”

  For a moment, she thought she saw a flash of disappointment cross his face, followed by understanding. He nodded and released her. “Yes, of course.”

  Back in the car, no words were spoken. Miranda didn’t know what was running through his mind. For her part, she couldn’t stop thinking about the brief moment in which she was in his arms. I felt...like I belonged there. Miranda gulped. Like I was home.

  In that brief moment, her entire being betrayed her. Wolfe Hawkins was even more dangerous than she had feared.

  Chapter Seven

  A week later, Miranda wove her way through the crowd on the busy New York avenue. Even Sunday was busy in the city that never slept. She was using her day off from the restaurant to scope out a potential wholesale supplier for her soup kitchen. A buzzing called her attention to her phone. Her heart leapt into her throat as she saw the name that popped up. Wolfe.

  Ever since the kiss, Miranda’s latent attraction toward the man had been on overdrive. It was harder and harder to play it cool in his presence. Miranda silenced the thought. “Hello?” Wolfe was considerate and attentive, solicitous toward her feelings and emotions. The least she could do was return the favor.

  “Are you busy tonight?”

  “No ... Why?” Had he changed his mind about their agreement? She stepped out of the crowd into a side street, waiting for his reply.

  “I wondered if you’d like to join me on a date.”

  “What do you mean?” While the thought of spending time with him appealed, Miranda cringed at the idea of another ‘intimate gathering.’

  “Nothing formal.” He sounded amused as if he guessed her thoughts. “So don’t bother picking out a fancy dress.”

  “What kind of a date is this? Hello?” Too late. Wolfe had hung up.

  Miranda dropped her phone into her bag, her mind whirling with different thoughts.

  Since the kiss, he’d made an effort to
avoid coming too near. When he accidentally touched her, he murmured ‘sorry’ and moved away. While Miranda appreciated his actions, she couldn’t help but feel frustrated. Had Wolfe interpreted her action that night as rejection? She replayed the scene in her mind. She was torn then, just as she was torn now. I want more than a kiss...but does Wolfe?

  Something stirred within her. She’d been wrong about Wolfe’s intentions once. Maybe she was wrong about other things too? He was so different from every man in her life... Miranda glanced at her watch and winced. No matter how different Wolfe was, he wouldn’t enjoy being kept waiting. She sprinted for the nearest subway station.

  ***

  Miranda waited for Wolfe outside her apartment building. She was surprised to see him dressed down, wearing faded jeans and a white V-necked shirt, a sharp contrast to the formal suits she had gotten used to. This casual side to his nature was a perfect fit to her own. “Where are we going?”