FIANCÉ FOR HIRE

by Pamela Burford

  Ben liked things. Expensive things. And as the chief executive officer of a Fortune 500 sporting goods company, he could afford them—up to a point. It hadn't taken long for his spendthrift ways to undermine the stability of their marriage. But by then his womanizing had taken its toil, so there wasn't all that much left to undermine.

  Watching Ben approach her now, with his gleaming bleached grin and out-of-season tan, she couldn't help but wonder how close Nick had come to the truth when he'd suggested that her exes had dumped her primarily to avoid becoming the dumpees themselves. "Any guy with a serious ego," Nick had said, "that's just the sort of thing he'd do."

  If there was anything Ben excelled at more than spending money, it was feeding his voracious ego. Roger, likewise, was no slouch in that area.

  What did it say about her that she'd chosen men like that for the ultimate till-death-do-you-part commitment?

  You sure can pick 'em, girl.

  When Ben reached her, he went for the full-mouth kiss, but she turned her cheek and it landed near her ear.

  "You're looking great, Amanda."

  "Thanks. You, too." She didn't want to stare too openly, but she'd have sworn last time she saw him, Ben's temples had begun to sport a little gray. Now, however, his hair was a uniform light brown. It was a good dye job, and no doubt an expensive one. "You look youthful," she added.

  "You think so?" Ben steered her out of the stream of lunchtime shoppers to a relatively quiet pocket of space in the women's belt department. They set down their shopping bags. "I've been working out. Does it show?" His buttery, black leather coat was open, and he reached inside it to thump his flat abdomen.

  "Sure." Ben had no idea what she'd gone through when their marriage broke up. Amanda realized. Not an inkling about the depression that had threatened to swallow her whole. For his part, he'd been unconvincingly distraught over the divorce and had assuaged his grief with a brand-new thirty-foot cabin cruiser.

  He'd named it after his baby-faced slut du jour: the Ashley.

  Amanda asked, "How's business?" knowing what his automatic answer would be.

  "Incredible! Couldn't be better." Ben believed that to be successful, one had to show the world a positive face, twenty-four seven. The truth could be either extreme or somewhere in the middle.

  Amanda was beginning to perspire under her heavy shearling coat. "That's great. Listen, I've got to get back to the—"

  "I hear you're seeing someone. Is it serious?"

  She wasn't surprised. Word traveled. Plus, Ben's interest in her had experienced a dramatic revival once they were no longer married.

  "It's serious enough," she said, hoping he'd leave it at that.

  "What's his name?"

  "Nick Stephanos."

  "What does he do?"

  The all-important question. With this crucial nugget of information, Ben would be able to fit Nick into the appropriate socioeconomic slot. He'd be able to gauge Nick's success quotient and compare it to his own.

  Amanda almost said, He drives a cab and he's twice the man you are.

  The instant she thought it, she knew it was true. "He owns a fleet of limos," Amanda said, knowing she had to stick to the story she'd concocted, no matter how entertaining it would have been to tell the truth and watch her ex-husband's face.

  "Huh. A big fleet?" he asked.

  "The biggest. He's expanded nationwide and has satellite locations in Hong Kong, London, Frankfurt and Tokyo."

  "Huh! Well. Looks like you did okay for yourself."

  "By the way, Grasshopper's doing great, steadily building market share. Thanks for asking."

  Ben pulled a face. It had been a bone of contention between them that he never took her business seriously.

  "We're getting married," Amanda blurted, and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes bug out in astonishment.

  "You're kidding! Really?"

  Well, no, not really, but that didn't stop her from holding up her left hand and wiggling her ring finger.

  "Nice, huh? It was Nick's grandmother's. A family heirloom."

  "How long have you known this guy?" he demanded.

  "Long enough to know it's the real thing."

  "Yeah, well, you thought that before."

  Amanda's fingernails itched to claw that smug grin off his face. "What can I tell you? It took a couple of mistakes to show me what true love really is."

  Ben didn't like being called a mistake. A muscle near his eye twitched. "Well, look before you leap—that's all I can say. I don't want to see you hurt."

  A sentiment that struck Amanda as hypocritical in the extreme, considering Ben had hurt her worse than anyone else ever had.

  "You know…" He gave her his smoothest smile. "I always thought you and I could've made it work. Sometimes I still think that."

  "The operative word in 'make it work' is work, Ben. Two people have to make the effort."

  He moved a little closer. "I miss you, Amanda. I'm not ashamed to admit that."

  "That's interesting. What does shame you? Certainly not having motel sex with your manicurist while I waited at home with your birthday dinner growing cold on the table. Or racking up an astronomical debt at Atlantic City and nearly bankrupting us. That didn't seem to cause much shame, either."

  "I'll tell you why I left you," he growled, with an ugly sneer. "You don't know how to make a man feel like a man. Never could cut me any slack. If you hadn't been so damn judgmental, if you'd given me just a little understanding and support like a wife should, I never would have looked twice at that manicurist, or any of the others."

  A year ago, this diatribe would have devastated Amanda, reinforcing her conviction that she was a failure as a wife. Now, all she heard was the spiteful rantings of a shallow, self-important clod. Ben no longer had the power to hurt her, and the realization made her feel light as air.

  Amanda said, "I'd love to stand around here and discuss how your weaknesses are my fault, but I have a business to run." She picked up her shopping bag. "Goodbye, Ben."

  * * *

  "I was expecting more, after all the hype," Kirk said the next evening as he steered his new Maxima through the dark back roads of Amanda's neighborhood.

  "Me, too." Amanda spoke up from the back seat. "The reviewers must've been on drugs." They were talking about the latest Liam Neeson film, a historical action picture, which she'd just seen with Nick, Sunny and Kirk. Now they were on their way to her house for dessert and coffee.

  "The battle scenes were amazing," Nick offered, to the murmured agreement of the others. "I can't say that about the story, though, or the writing or the casting."

  "Except for Liam." Sunny, sitting in the front passenger seat, addressed Amanda and Nick over her shoulder. "Ill gladly pay money to see anything he's in."

  "Aha!" Kirk said with a grin. "I was wondering why you gave in so graciously and didn't lobby for another chick flick."

  He pulled into Amanda's driveway and cut the engine in front of the two-car garage. They piled out of the car and followed the brick walkway to the front porch. The house looked warm and welcoming, with the porch light on and the first-floor windows glowing. Amanda hated coming home to a deserted-looking house. She loved the big, modern stone-and-cedar structure, but the fact was it was just too much house for one person.

  Unlocking the front door, she stepped through the foyer to the living room, with the others on her heels. "Should I make decaf or reg—"

  "SURPRISE!"

  Amanda's heart flipped over as dozens of people sprang from behind her furniture and poured through doorways. Sunny and Kirk stood laughing, along with everyone else, at her poleaxed expression.

  Everyone Amanda had ever met had just materialized in her living room! All of her friends appeared to be there, as well as most of the staff of Grasshopper and every relative who lived within a day's drive.

  There was Amanda's dad, holding hands with her beaming mother, who'd moved back in with him just two days earlier. Jared and Noelle
were present, as were Amanda's grandparents, who'd traveled all the way from Maryland.

  She saw a whole bunch of people she didn't recognize, now assaulting Nick with bear hugs, kisses and hearty back-slaps.

  Nick's friends? Yes, it had to be. His friends and, by the looks of it, his relatives, too.

  Oh no, Amanda thought. They didn't!

  "We knew you'd never agree to an engagement party if we asked you," Raven told her, "so surprise!"

  They did.

  Stunned, Amanda let herself be dragged into the festivities, which had apparently been going on for some time before their arrival. She had a polite smile for Nick's parents when he introduced them. George Stephanos was an older and still handsome version of his son. His wife, Eunice, was an attractive, soft-spoken woman who obviously took good care of herself.

  Amanda met Nick's younger sister and brother, Candace and Peter, and their spouses. Candace had recently completed her medical residency and had joined a pediatric practice in Queens. Peter was a staff reporter for the New York Times. They both had children, now home with baby-sitters.

  Amanda struggled to maintain her smile as these warm, sincere people congratulated her and welcomed her into the Stephanos family. Eunice's eyes filled with happy tears as she held Amanda's hand and exclaimed over how well her mother's ring fit Amanda's finger. "And someday you'll pass it on to another generation." Overcome by emotion, she gave her future daughter-in-law a heartfelt hug. "I can tell already, my Nikolaos has found himself a special woman."

  Amanda cast Nick a helpless look over his mother's shoulder. His enigmatic gaze gave nothing away, but she had the unsettling feeling that this party wasn't a surprise for him.

  But that wasn't possible. If he'd had an inkling beforehand, he'd have warned her. He'd have warned her and she'd have taken steps to nip it in the bud.

  Oh Lord, what if one of my friends says something to Nick's family about him owning a fleet of limos?

  Someone pressed a drink into Amanda's hands. Blindly she gulped half of it down, praying that it was something strong. It looked like sparkling Pellegrino water, her usual choice, but blessedly it turned out to be a stiff vodka tonic.

  The throng parted for an instant and she spied the glass-topped console table on the far end of her enormous living room, now piled high with wrapped boxes.

  Engagement presents! What on earth was she going to do with those?

  "Nick, this is lunacy!" Amanda hissed into his ear. "All these people think we're getting married!"

  "Wasn't that the idea?"

  "The idea was to fool a handful of my closest friends, not half the free world. Good grief, is that my dentist?"

  Nick's hand slid around her waist. He leaned in close, his breath warm against her cheek "Smile, Amanda. People are watching you."

  "This has gotten out of hand. I can't do this anymore."

  "Sure you can." He was maddeningly unperturbed. "Just relax and enjoy the party. But don't enjoy it too much," he added, tapping a finger against the glass she was rapidly draining. "Remember how you felt the morning after that New Year's champagne."

  "It's all your doing," she groused. "I was practically a teetotaler before I met you."

  Nick laughed. "Don't blame your bad habits on me," he said, reminding Amanda of her conversation yesterday with Ben.

  That had been satisfying, putting her ex-husband in his place after all he'd put her through. Ben had stood gaping in shock as she'd turned her back and sailed out of the store. Her employees hadn't known what to make of the self-satisfied smile she wore for the rest of the day.

  Amanda endured the remainder of the party in a mental fog, despite switching from vodka to mineral water after the first drink. Her friends and family besieged her with questions: had she ordered a wedding gown yet? What did it look like? Where would they honeymoon? Would Nick be moving into her house or were they planning to buy a new place? And a hundred other innocent queries that had forced Amanda to do some quick thinking, when thinking was the last thing she felt capable of in her present state of mind.

  At one point she found herself alone with her brother in the kitchen. "I wish you'd warned me about this," she grumbled.

  "That's the thing about surprise parties." Jared hauled a ten-pound bag of ice from the freezer and started transferring some of it to an ice bucket. "You don't get any warning."

  "Well, this whole thing is very … awkward for me."

  "Why? Your friends just want to celebrate your happiness. What's wrong with that?"

  Amanda had a sudden urge to tell him precisely what was wrong with that, to blurt it all out, to unburden herself to her brother. Her conscience gave her no mercy. All these people, here for her, happy for her, wishing her all the joy and fulfillment that life had to offer, giving her engagement presents, for heaven's sake! What would they think if they knew how she'd deceived them? What would Nick's parents think? They seemed like such sweet, good-hearted people. She couldn't stand the thought of disappointing them when their son's "engagement" fell through.

  She curled her left hand at her side so she wouldn't have to see the ring.

  Some ice cubes fell to the terra-cotta floor. Amanda squatted to pick them up and toss them in the sink Jared thanked her. She leaned against the central cooking island, watching him tie the ice bag closed and return it to the freezer. "Jared … has Raven or Charli or Sunny ever asked you to, uh, participate in any kind of funny business?"

  "In my dreams. But that's all in the past. I'm an old married man now," he said with a wink. "I don't have dreams like those anymore."

  According to Nick, all men had dreams like those.

  Some chose to act on them, and some chose to honor their marriage vows. She could have told him a lot of women had dreams like those, too.

  "I didn't mean that kind of funny business," she said. "I meant … well, did they ever ask you to participate in any kind of, um, subterfuge? That, you know, had to do with me?"

  "Yeah, as a matter of fact, they did."

  Amanda swallowed a gasp. She straightened from the counter. "They did? What did they ask you to do?"

  "They asked me not to tell you they were planning a surprise engagement party."

  She snatched a handful of ice cubes from the sink and tried to shove them down his shirt, but he was too nimble for her. "You know I don't mean that!" she said.

  "Well then, what do you mean? 'Subterfuge.' Sounds real cloak-and-dagger."

  Amanda sighed in exasperation. "Did they try to fool me, is what I mean."

  "Fool you how?"

  She wished she could ask him directly about her suspicions back in October when she'd accused her Wedding Ring pals of enlisting her brother's aid in whatever devious matchmaking plan they'd concocted. She still didn't know what they'd had up their sleeves back then, only that she'd managed to thwart it by implementing her own devious plan first.

  She couldn't be more specific in her questioning of Jared without revealing the details of the Wedding Ring pact. And that she refused to do. It was a confidential agreement, a sacred vow between best friends, even if her current mature wisdom revealed it as nothing more than a silly adolescent whim. She simply couldn't violate her friends' trust by letting anyone else in on it.

  But she could violate their trust by pretending to have found her happily-ever-after mate.

  Having no desire to explore that particular train of thought, she gave herself a mental shake and said, "It's not important I just thought they might've asked you to help them … play a trick on me."

  "A practical joke, you mean."

  "Something like that. Forget I said anything."

  Only much later, when almost all the guests had departed, did Amanda discover her parents had packed an overnight bag. That wasn't unusual. They'd moved to the southern part of New Jersey several years earlier, and often stayed in one of their daughter's spare rooms rather than make the long drive home at night.

  "Grandma and Grandpa came in from Maryland wit
h Barb and Hal," Liv said, naming Amanda's first cousin and her husband, who also lived near Baltimore. "They're all planning to stay over, too. I hope that's all right."

  "Well, of course it is." Amanda had four bedrooms; it would be a full house. In the morning she'd take everyone to Wafflemania, the local diner where Sunny had waitressed for a dozen years before marrying Kirk.

  "Now, don't you bother with us," Liv said. "We know where the sheets and towels are, and we'll make sure the others are comfortable. You and Nick won't even know we're here."

  "Nick? Oh, he's not staying here."

  Sunny's voice behind Amanda made her jump. "Since when? You two were making breakfast plans earlier."

  Amanda would have liked to dispute that, but the fact was she and Nick had deliberately led Sunny and the others to believe that he spent many nights at her house, as a real fiancé would. Earlier in the evening Amanda had indeed asked Nick, in Sunny and Kirk's presence, where he wanted to go for breakfast tomorrow. It was all part of the act, an act she was coming to despise more and more by the minute.

  "Well, I don't, um … I mean, Nick doesn't really have to…" Amanda glared at her "fiancé" mutely pleading with him to jump into the conversation. When he chose not to do so, she declared, "Nick will sleep on the sofa."

  "He'll have to fight me for it," Grandpa said, dropping heavily onto the couch as if to claim squatter's rights. He bounced a couple of times to test the springs. "I can't take Myrtle's snoring. I'm sleeping here."

  Amanda's grandmother said, "Suit yourself, you old grump."

  "Listen, princess." Amanda's father put his arm around her shoulders. "I don't know who you're trying to kid, playing coy like this, but none of us were born yesterday. You're a thirty-year-old, two-time divorcée, engaged to be married, and this is your own home."

  Grandpa gestured broadly. "Shack up with whoever you want, girl. We're all free-thinkers around here."

  "Off to bed with you two." Grandma shooed Amanda and Nick up the stairs. "We'll see you in the a.m."

  * * *