Hunter was up on the wooden stage where he normally introduced comedians, including his wife, Raven, who regularly performed her amateur stand-up act on "open mike" nights. Tonight he'd been joined by Pippi Longstocking and Toulouse-Lautrec, the three of them leading his guests in the intricate steps of the line dance. Tonight Hunter was an ancient Egyptian, with a colorful, shoulder-length headdress and one of those short white things that wrapped around his hips, leaving his chest bare. With his dark, collar-length hair and residual suntan, he looked the part.
Casting his gaze toward the buffet tables, Nick spied Sunny and Kirk. Sunny was ethereally lovely in an authentic-looking medieval gown, while her husband had eschewed historical elegance in favor of Hollywood hype. Kirk was the Towering Inferno, from the old disaster movie of that name. The costume was as simple as it was original. He'd draped his long body in strips of red, yellow and orange felt that had been layered and slashed to look like flames consuming a skyscraper. The crowning touch was the tiny toy helicopter perched atop his blond head.
Nick watched Raven greet the couple as she piled a mountain of food on her plate. She'd used her five-months-pregnant belly to advantage when designing her costume, consisting of a black bodysuit adorned with yellow diagonal stripes: a highway speed bump.
Steering Amanda away from the bustle of activity around the bar, Nick headed for a deserted corner. "You seem really uptight tonight," he said, once they were away from prying ears. "Is it something I've done?"
Like almost kiss you last night at my place? He knew she'd never bring it up. To do so would be to acknowledge their mutual attraction. Not only did that attraction have no part in her game plan, it obviously scared the hell out of her. Nick didn't think it was him. He'd never given her reason to fear him. For some reason, the more they got to know each other, the more she resisted her own feelings for him.
And she did feel something for him. What, precisely, he wasn't sure. Perhaps just the age-old chemical thing, maybe something more. It would be helpful to his game plan if he could figure that one out.
Instead of answering his question directly, Amanda said, "You've been asking my friends about me. I want it to stop."
"Stop talking to your friends? Isn't that what I'm supposed—"
"Stop pumping them for information about me!" Amanda snapped, then belatedly checked to make sure no other guests were within earshot.
"I always thought a guy was expected to show a healthy interest in his ladylove. What exactly am I doing that's so terrible?"
"You know what you're doing. Asking about my interests, my upbringing, my family…" She looked him in the eye. "My ex-husbands."
"Amanda, I don't know what you imagine my sins are, but what we're talking about here is just idle conversation between me and your friends. I never pumped anyone for information. Did someone tell you I did?"
"Not… You're too clever to make it obvious. The fact is, you have no business trying to find out things about me."
"Why? Do you have some deep, dark secrets?"
"That's not the point. You have no right. It's not your place."
That last remark was clearly meant to remind him he was the lowly hired help, but somehow it sounded more calculated than spontaneous. She reinforced it with a fixed stare, which he returned steadily until she finally dragged her gaze away.
Nick couldn't dredge up anything resembling indignation. During the past three weeks he'd come to realize that Amanda hadn't been lying when she'd claimed not to be an elitist snob. He knew, too, that her current objective wasn't to grind him under her thumb, but rather to keep him at a distance the only way she knew how: by harping on the rules of conduct in their employer-employee relationship.
And by obsessively guarding her privacy. Nick could honestly say he hadn't crossed the line in his discussions with Sunny, Raven, Charli and their husbands. Nick was a people person—and a man of many talents, as he'd told Amanda. If it was true that he was coaxing information out of Amanda's pals, it was also true that he was skilled and charming and, yes, clever enough to do so subtly, without being considered pushy or rude. Amanda was overreacting.
She was doing everything in her power to disavow her attraction to him and keep him at arm's length, and he couldn't help but wonder why. He knew plenty of people who'd gone through divorces—sometimes more than one. Bottom line: it sucked and then you got over it, got on with your life. You didn't resort to Byzantine machinations to avoid risking another serious relationship.
Not unless you were Amanda Coppersmith.
Amanda placed her half-empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter, who, at six foot five and 250 pounds easy, was dressed as a belly dancer, complete with a long, platinum-blond wig and body hair in the simian range.
She faced Nick squarely. "I've put up with nosy friends my whole life, because I happen to love them and they put up with plenty from me in return. Let me be blunt."
"You?" He couldn't resist tweaking her. "The mistress of tact?"
"You are not my friend," she said. "Our association is strictly a business arrangement, and a temporary one at that. If you can manage to keep that in mind, if you can do the simple job you've been hired to do and keep your nose out of my personal life while you're doing it, then you and I will get along just fine. Plus—" she raised a finger "—your restraint will earn you a fifty percent bonus. If, on the other hand, you persist in the direction you've been going. I'll call a halt to the whole thing and all you walk away with is the two-hundred-dollar advance I've already paid."
Which he'd already spent on her birthday gift. She didn't say it, and neither did he. But of the two of them, only he knew that he wasn't in this for the salary she was offering. Not since day one. He had his eye on a hell of a lot more than payment for services rendered.
"Well?" she said when he didn't respond.
"If you fire me, are you going to go through the same stupid farce with someone else?"
"I am, only next time I'll be more careful who I cast in the role of Romeo."
Nick scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "I guess you're counting on your pals not catching on."
"Why should they? They don't seem at all suspicious of our relationship. They won't be next time, either."
"Well, unless someone clues them in."
Amanda's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What are you saying?"
He offered a nonchalant shrug. "You don't think your lifelong friends, who you say you love so much, would be interested in hearing how you duped them, played them all for fools?" He placed his palm on his chest. "Personally, I think they'd be very interested. Might make it a little hard to run the same scam on them again, though."
Her jaw worked silently. "How much do you want?"
"What, you think I'm trying to shake you down? We already have a deal. I'm not a greedy guy."
"Then why are you doing this?" Her silver eyes burned with an icy flame. "Just to show me who's in charge? To make the 'control freak' squirm a little?"
"That's just an added bonus. The fact is, you're changing the rules of this thing in midstream, and I don't like it."
Amanda advanced on him until mere inches separated them. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides. "I'm not changing anything. You were hired to play a role, nothing more. Certainly not to pry into my personal life."
"Like I said before, it's a little hard to pretend everlasting love when you know hardly anything about the lady in question. Have you thought that maybe I'm just trying to fill in the blanks so your meddlesome friends don't get suspicious?"
"I'm not buying that one anymore. You've had your warning. I'm not impressed by your threat, but if it will keep you focused, I'll up the ante. Two thousand dollars. Payable when we tragically break up following a brief but heartfelt engagement. This discussion is now over."
She ensured it by stomping off. Nick watched her stiff back until she disappeared into the throng of guests. Within moments he became aware of another person separating from a nearby knot of
people and approaching him. He prayed it wasn't Madame Hertz and her cat-o'-nine-tails, and was immensely relieved to hear a familiar deep voice, now tinged with sarcasm.
"Looks like that went well."
Nick looked and saw that he'd been joined by Pinocchio. Every detail was there, from the short pants and suspenders to the painted-on elbow and knee joints to the full-head mask, complete with the signature lie-detector schnozz and pointy cap. Only this Pinocchio was about six feet tall.
"You're a very disturbing sight," Nick said. "You know that, don't you?"
"It came down to this or one of those space aliens with the big eyes. I figured this would be more comfortable," Pinocchio said, indicating the shorts and short-sleeved shirt. "Amanda didn't look like she was too thrilled with you just now. Is she getting suspicious?"
"Nah, it's just these hang-ups of hers. I'm having a little trouble getting past them."
"Nothing you weren't warned about from the get-go."
"All you told me was that she was skittish after a couple of divorces," Nick said. "This lady has built a wall a Sherman tank couldn't get through."
"You don't sound too optimistic. I'm beginning to think you might not be the right choice for this particular undertaking."
Nick had known this guy for eight years, long enough to recognize this unsubtle manipulation for what it was. He refused to rise to the bait. "There's no one better suited than me, and you know it. I just wish I had more time."
"Time's something I can't help you with. We're locked in. Just do whatever you have to, to make it happen, and then we'll all get what we want." Pinocchio glanced at Nick. "Unless you blow your cover first."
"Don't worry about that. As far as Amanda is concerned, I'm a blue-collar drone out to make a quick buck. Speaking of which, she doubled my 'salary.' All I have to do is play my part like a good little boy and not ask too many uncomfortable questions. Can you believe that? As if I'd be satisfied with two grand."
"It doesn't surprise me. Just keep the final goal in mind. And remember, it was my recommendation that got you this gig. Try not to blow it."
"Your faith in me is touching."
Pinocchio slapped Nick on the back. "Whatever you do, just let her keep thinking she's in control."
* * *
Chapter 7
«^»
Amanda's direct line rang as she was hurriedly stuffing work papers into her Louis Vuitton briefcase, one foot practically out the door. Her instinct was to ignore it, but then she realized it could be her mom again. She snatched up the receiver. "Amanda Coppersmith."
"You sound out of breath."
"Nick, I can't talk. I'm on my way out." She glanced at the huge picture windows in her corner office; the snow was coming down harder.
"What's wrong?"
She forced calm into her voice. "Nothing's wrong. I'm in a hurry, so—"
"Don't BS me. What is it?"
"Well, if you must know—" Amanda shut her briefcase "—it's personal. A family matter. So thanks for your concern, but—"
"I'll be there in two minutes."
"What?"
"I'm right around the corner. I'll pick you up in front of your building."
"No, you won't. I'm going to grab a cab."
"That's right—mine."
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Nick, I don't have time to argue with you—"
"Good." Click.
Precisely one minute and twenty-six seconds later, Amanda was power-walking west on Twentieth Street
toward Sixth Avenue
to catch a ride uptown when a yellow taxi barreled around the corner. She might not have recognized Nick's vehicle, but there was no mistaking his driving style, the smooth, tight, self-assured maneuvers, even at that hellish speed and on those slick roads.
He stopped right next to her and rolled down the driver's window. "Get in."
"Don't be ridiculous, Nick." Amanda's breath smoked in the cold air. She snugged the collar of her eggplant-colored microfiber trench coat around her throat. "This isn't your problem."
"I never said it was. Can't you accept a lift from a friend?"
His words were an unpleasant reminder of their conversation a month earlier during the Halloween party. You are not my friend. Our association is strictly a business arrangement.
True words, words that had needed to be said, for many reasons. But that didn't keep her from cringing whenever she thought about them. Yet here was Nick offering her a ride. As a friend.
Snowflakes clung to Amanda's eyelashes as she scanned the traffic visible on Sixth. She didn't see any taxis with their rooftop license-number lights on.
Nick gave voice to her thoughts. "Good luck catching a cab in this weather. Plus rush hour's getting an early start. You know how it is on Fridays." Amanda slumped in defeat, knowing she had little choice in the matter. Yanking open the back passenger door and sliding inside, she said, "But you have to put the meter on."
"Sure thing." Nick pulled away from the curb. He did not put the meter on. After a few moments he said, "It would help if you told me where we're going."
She muttered, "Eighty-sixth between Lex and Third."
"What's up there?"
The Coppersmith family soap opera, she thought. Move over, Jerry Springer.
Nick glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his eyes now a rich dark brown, and too insightful for comfort. "The silent treatment, huh? Now, let's see. What topics of discussion cause the lady to clam up?"
She emitted a loud, exasperated sigh. "There's your marital history, for starters," he said. "Does one of your exes happen to live on East Eighty-sixth?"
"Shut up, Nick."
"Did he call you up and plead with you to take him back? Beg your forgiveness for whatever made you walk out on him in the first place?"
She hadn't seen that one coming. Amanda knew that the wrenching pain of it was there, on her face, for the fleeting instant their eyes met in the mirror. She directed her gaze out the window, too late.
Everyone always assumed the same thing. And why not? How easy it must be to imagine Amanda Coppersmith, frosty bitch boss, walking out on two husbands in succession without a backward glance.
Fine with her. Let them all think of her as some kind of damn Ice Queen. Anything was better than the humiliating truth.
Nick remained silent while he navigated the streets of Manhattan, heading east on Twentieth before turning north on Park Avenue. Snowflakes did their little dance of death into the relentless whoosh-whoosh of the windshield wipers. Traffic built steadily as rush hour got under way.
Nick started humming. Amanda recognized the tune, and her mind supplied the lyrics. She could almost hear James Taylor's honeyed voice singing about the first of December being covered with snow.
She smiled. Today was the first of December. And it was covered with snow.
She shook her head in wonder. Nick had gotten her to smile. A small miracle in her present frame of mind. How had he managed that?
Amanda took a deep breath. She relaxed against the chilly backrest, only then becoming aware of how stiffly she'd been holding her body.
She wiped condensation from the window and peered out at Park Avenue, at the ceaseless tide of pedestrians, at the Waldorf-Astoria, majestic against a gunmetal sky a swirl in snowflakes. She looked at the back of Nick's head, and at the picture on his hack license, mounted just behind him. She recalled the first time she'd seen that picture. All she'd known about Nick then was that he quoted dead earls and didn't smile for license photos.
Now she knew that he was willing to hum a silly old song to bring a smile to her face.
"It's my parents," she said.
Nick's eyes flicked to her in the rearview. He didn't say anything.
"Do you remember…" Amanda's throat tried to close up. Damn it! Why couldn't she just care less? Like Jared. Her brother didn't understand her insistence on privacy, didn't understand the need to keep things under wraps.
She started over. "Do you r
emember the night of my birthday party, when … you know, my parents weren't there and I said they had a wedding to go to?"
Nick nodded, his eyes on the road. He didn't leap on that as he could have, didn't taunt her for waiting so long to come clean when he'd known all along she was lying.
"Well, the thing is … my mom and dad…" She couldn't even say it.
She didn't have to; Nick did it for her. "They split up."
It sounded so simple, the way he said it, so straightforward. She nodded, knowing he wasn't looking at her at that moment, not caring. She wasn't answering him; she was confirming the truth for herself.
Amanda pulled off one cashmere-lined leather glove, extracted a tissue from a small pack in her briefcase and blotted her eyes. "You'd think with my 'marital history,' as you put it, this wouldn't bother me so much."
Watching the rearview mirror, she saw a gentle smile crease Nick's face, though he never took his eyes off the road. "It's your folks, Amanda. You're allowed to be upset."
"Yeah, well, Jared seems to be taking it in stride."
"Why do you say that? Because he's not sobbing and tearing out his hair? Men hold a lot inside—you know that. I'll bet if you asked Noelle, you'd find out it's getting to your brother as much as it's getting to you, he just doesn't show it the same way."
"Well … maybe you're right. I had a hard time persuading him to keep a lid on all this, though. He sees no reason it shouldn't be public knowledge."
"Why are you keeping it secret?" he asked. "Everyone will find out eventually."
"They might not have to. This separation might not last. Mom and Dad could get back together. Why should this little … hiatus be anyone else's business?"
"I don't think you're giving your friends enough credit, Amanda. I mean, people break up, sometimes after decades of marriage. It happens. Raven and Charli and the rest of them are mature, compassionate people. Don't assume they'll think less of your folks because of this."
FIANCÉ FOR HIRE Page 7
