Fiance for the Night

by Melissa McClone

  “I used to-work for Richardson and Scott.”

  Richardson and Scott was one of the largest and most prestigious investment banking firms in the country. Cassie with her flowing skirts and oversize shirts and sweaters worked at the traditional firm? He couldn’t picture it. “What did you do?”

  “I was a research analyst.” By the tone of her voice, he would have thought she was a member of a firing squad. “Computer software, and I also did a stint in M & A.”

  His spontaneous, rule-breaking, tattooed Cassie had been a research analyst and worked in mergers and acquisitions? Troy wondered if she had an M.B.A. “Why aren’t you still there?”

  “I didn’t like it.”

  “But it’s a great company. Long hours, but the compensation makes up for it.”

  He caught her shrug from the corner of his eye. “I still didn’t like it.”

  What didn’t she like? Richardson and Scott had a solid mentor program and promoted more women than any of the other big firms. She must have been out of her mind to quit…or been fired. “Why?”

  “Lots of reasons. I hated getting up early. I hated working late, especially during reporting season. I hated all of the office politics.” Cassie grimaced. “But most of all I hated wearing panty hose every day.”

  Panty hose? She gave up a tremendous career because of panty hose? With her long, shapely legs, she’d be a knockout in panty hose and heels. Troy would have stared at her in disbelief, but he didn’t want to look away from the road. “You were burnedout. Why didn’t you take a leave of absence?”

  “I did.” She smiled. “I took a permanent leave of absence.”

  “But—”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” Cassie bit her lip. “It wasn’t just the job, Troy. I hated the entire investment industry. It made me miserable. I never smiled. I was on the verge of getting an ulcer. It was awful. I would stare at the mirror and not recognize myself. My priorities got screwed up, and I lost sight of who I was inside.”

  “But you must have had everything.”

  “Oh, I had a great flat in the Marina, designer clothes and a German-built convertible. I was making lots of money, but when you’re working eighty hours a week and unhappy, what good is it? It didn’t take long to realize money wasn’t as important as I thought it was.”

  But money was important. If Cassie had grown up as he had, struggling to make ends meet every month, every day, she’d think differently. “That’s easy to do when you have your father to fall back on.”

  “I have never fallen back on my father.” Anger flared in her eyes. “Do you think my daddy sends me a check every month?”

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  “I own a bookstore. I used the money I saved when I worked for Richardson and Scott, sold my car and borrowed the rest.” Cassie wrinkled her nose. “At least those long hours got me something worthwhile.”

  Her words surprised Troy. She didn’t seem the type to devote the time needed to make a business successful. “What about the gas money?”

  “All of the money my father gives me I save. Once a year I use it to buy him gift certificates for rounds of golf at his favorite courses in the Bay Area. Has your curiosity been appeased?”

  “Yes.” Troy had upset her. “I shouldn’t have assumed—”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why is money so important to you?”

  He hesitated. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  “You grew up with the proverbial silver spoon. I grew up on a farm where my parents struggled to put food on the table, to dress us in clothes that fit.” Troy sighed. “We never had any money. Never.”

  He continued. “One Christmas we had a really rough time. Rain had damaged the crops that fall. My father had broken his leg. There wasn’t enough money for presents. My mother and I stayed up all night on Christmas Eve. We baked cookies and made candies so my brothers and sisters would have something in their stockings on Christmas morning.” Troy gripped the steering wheel, remembering how haggard his mother had looked. “That Christmas, I decided I would never struggle like my parents. I wanted to be able to provide for my family, put food on the table and presents under the Christmas tree.”

  “How old were you?” Cassie asked.

  “Twelve.”

  “Were you happy?”

  “Yes, before I realized how much my parents struggled,” he said. “I know it’s hard for you to understand, Cassie. But please don’t romanticize it. Being poor and happy don’t go hand in hand.”

  She stared out the window. “Neither does being rich and happy.”

  Tuesday night, Troy hung up the telephone. Leave it to Vanessa Daniels. The woman wouldn’t take no for an answer. Damn. Cassie was not going to be happy. He’d better tell her the news so she had time to cool down. A pillow fight was one thing, but he couldn’t afford to have her smashing china and crystal at one of the most exclusive stores in San Francisco.

  Not that he didn’t want to talk to Cassie. He did. He wanted to see her, too. Being with her drove him crazy; being away from her drove him crazy. He couldn’t win. Troy picked up the telephone and dialed her number.

  After four rings, her answering machine picked up. “Hi, you’ve reached Cassandra’s answering machine. At the beep, you know what to do…”

  Before he could hang up, the machine beeped. “Hi, Cassie. This is Troy, Troy McKnight. Your mother called and invited me to go register with you. Before I knew what was happening, I got roped in. Give me a call.”

  Damn, he hated answering machines. Troy hung up the phone. He brushed his hand through his hair, hoping he didn’t sound as stupid as he thought he sounded. And her message…

  Why did she say her name?

  She should say only her telephone number and we cannot get to the phone right now. Didn’t she know anything about living in a big city? She needed to protect herself and take precautions.

  Troy glanced at his digital alarm clock. Nine o’clock. He didn’t know what time her bookstore closed, but she must still be at work. She would call him when she got home.

  At eleven o’clock, Troy got worried. Surely her bookstore didn’t stay open late. If she wasn’t at the bookstore, where was she? More importantly, who was with her?

  Staring at the phone, he willed it to ring. It didn’t. He drummed his fingers on the desk. His fingers picked up pace until all he could hear was the rat-tattatting rhythm of “From the Shores of Montezuma.” When he finished the song he started again. He didn’t want to stop, because without the noise, he’d be sitting in his silent bedroom thinking about calling her again.

  By midnight, Troy paced his apartment. He couldn’t sleep; he couldn’t work. She still hadn’t called. He picked up the telephone and called her. When her machine answered, Troy slammed the receiver down.

  What if something happened to her? An accident or…His gut tightened. Waiting was hell. But it could be worse. A lot worse. Imagine what he’d be going through if she were his real fiancée…

  As Cassandra entered her apartment, she yawned. It had been a long night. She hadn’t meant to work so late, but she hadn’t realized how much work needed to be done. Work that couldn’t be done with a store crowded with customers. Work that kept her from sitting at home and daydreaming about Troy.

  She dropped her backpack on the floor and unlaced her black boots. A sharp pain shot up her back when she bent over. That’s what she got for sleeping on the hard floor last night. Oh, well, a hot shower would help. She kicked off her boots.

  She caught a glimpse of the- blinking red light on her answering machine. Her only thought was of sleep, but the message could be important. Too tired to lift her feet, she shuffled her way across the hardwood floor. Dust from her unswept floor clung to her socks.

  She pressed the button and the tape rewound.

  “You have two messages,” the digital unisex voice said. “Message delivered Tu
esday, 8:14 p.m.”

  “Hi, Cassandra,” Vanessa said. “Sorry to bother you, but I had the most wonderful idea. What if we bring Troy with us tomorrow? Wouldn’t that be fun? I’ll call him since you’re gone. Maybe I’ll find you at Troy’s. Otherwise, I’ll see you tomorrow night at the store. Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”

  Great. Just what she needed, her mother watching her and Troy select a china pattern. Cassandra hoped he had nixed the idea, but she was too tired to think about it. She didn’t want to think about the engagement party or registering for wedding presents or her soon-to-be ex-fiancé. She wanted to sleep.

  “Message delivered Tuesday, 8:59 p.m,” the machine’s voice said.

  Cassandra rubbed her tired eyes. The machine beeped. “Hi, Cassie. This is Troy, Troy McKnight. Your mother called and invited me to go register with you. Before I knew what was happening, I got roped in. Give me a call.”

  “End of messages,” the electronic voice said.

  Cassandra thought for a moment, trying to ignore her sleepiness. Roped in? Troy was too polite. He probably said yes without a fight.

  What time was it? She pressed the clock button on her answering machine. “It is Wednesday, 8:07 a.m.”

  So early. No wonder she couldn’t keep her eyes open. She should be asleep. She had to be back at the store at noon so she could take off early tonight. And pick out china and crystal and…

  And this sucked.

  Cassandra stretched, lifting her arms toward the ceiling. Oh, boy, her back hurt. She needed to buy a futon for the back room of the bookstore. No more sleeping on the floor.

  She stared at the telephone. She should call Troy and tell him not to come, but she didn’t want to talk to him. Okay, maybe a little. If only she could forget about him, but that was easier said than done. Troy McKnight was a hard man to forget.

  Eight o’clock. Troy would be on his way to work, so she wouldn’t have to talk to him. She could leave a message on his answering machine. Perfect.

  Cassandra dug through the scraps of paper piled near her phone until she found his business card. Troy had scribbled his home number on the back. She dialed the number.

  On the third ring, the machine picked up. “Hello.”

  Cassandra waited for the rest of the message, but heard a second hello instead. She panicked for a second. Only psycho ex-girlfriends or ex-wives called men and hung up on them. Common sense told her to say hello, so she did. “Hi, Troy.”

  “Cassandra?”

  “Yes,” she said, thinking he should be at work. Not that she cared. All she cared about was why hearing him say her name made her feel all warm and tingling. “I was happy to hear your message.”

  “You were?” He sounded surprised.

  Damn. Happy wasn’t the right word. Boy, what a scatterbrain she was when she didn’t get enough sleep. “Actually I meant I got your message.”

  “Isn’t it a little early for you to be up?”

  “I just got home.”

  “You just got home?”

  “Uh-huh.” She yawned. “Aren’t you going to work today?”

  “I have a breakfast meeting.”

  “That sounds like fun.” Like a trip to the dentist, she added silently. She leaned her head back. Another pain shot up her back. “Ow.”

  “Are you okay, Cassie?”

  “I’m tired and my back is killing me.” She yawned again, thinking how nice it would feel to crawl into her comfortable, warm bed: It would be nicer if Troy was with her. Too dangerous to think like that. She must really be tired. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. I’m going to bed as soon as I hang up the phone.”

  Static sounded. “Troy?”

  More silence.

  Had they been disconnected? “Are you there?”

  “I’m here,” he said finally.

  Cassandra shrugged, sending another knife-edged pain shooting through her back. She didn’t know what his problem was, nor did she care right now. “You don’t have to come tonight”

  Cassandra pictured herself and Troy selecting dishes and appliances and bedding. Very couplelike, very intimate. The line between fact and fiction was blurring. This wouldn’t do much to help. “Don’t you think it will be, uh, awkward?”

  “Yes, but your mother thought I should come.”

  “You’re turning into the dutiful son-in-law.”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  No, Troy didn’t. He wasn’t coming to please her. Ambition was a powerful motivator. “I know.”

  “I’ll pick you up and drive you to Union Square,” he said. “Your bookstore’s on Twenty-fourth Street in Noe Valley, right?”

  Cassandra yawned. “Yes.”

  “What’s the name?”

  Her heavy eyelids drooped so she forced them open. “Cassandra’s Attic.”

  “I’ll come by at six-thirty.”

  “Okay.” She stifled another yawn. She didn’t want to think about seeing Troy. All she wanted to think about was a couple of hours of uninterrupted, comfortable sleep. “And, Troy, thanks. I know this isn’t easy for you, either.”

  “No problem.”

  Black spots appeared before her eyes and the room blurred. She had to get some sleep. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  That evening, Troy walked along Twenty-fourth Street. The smell of olive oil and lamb wafted in the air as he passed a crowded Greek restaurant. He inhaled, wondering if the food tasted as good as it smelled. His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten much at breakfast or lunch. He couldn’t eat. Thanks to Cassie.

  She must have met someone else. But she told him she wasn’t interested in dating. Whoever it was must be someone special.

  Hell, she was already sleeping with him. She’d even hurt her back doing it. Didn’t Saturday night mean anything to her? It wasn’t a simple, meaningless kiss. It was more.

  Warning bells sounded.

  Danger signs illuminated.

  He was falling for Cassie Daniels. And falling in a way he hadn’t done before.

  It didn’t make sense. His once routine life was being taken over by a woman who would think nothing of ordering dessert first at a five-star restaurant. A woman who would jump out of an airplane then check to see if she were wearing a parachute. A woman he’d known a little more than a week. Troy’s stomach knotted.

  Dammit.

  He didn’t want to feel this way. He had a great job with a partnership on the horizon. In a few years, he’d be a millionaire and have everything he ever wanted. He’d never have to worry about taking care of his family, about anything. He didn’t need this. So why was he so bothered?

  Because he couldn’t stop thinking about Cassie kissing another man. Troy wanted to punch someone, preferably her new guy. As his temperature rose, he shoved his fists into his pockets.

  It took him a minute to realize he had walked past the bookstore. He retraced his steps. Standing in front of the window, he peered in. Cassandra’s Attic was larger than he thought it would be. Besides the main floor, there was a loft—most likely “the attic.” He’d expected her store to specialize in New Age books. He didn’t know why, but the display of New York Times Bestsellers in the window surprised him.

  Cassie stood behind the counter. Smiling, she talked to a customer. She wore a ponytail, but a few blond tendrils had fallen, framing her face. Pale pink crystals dangled from her ears and matched her T-shirt. She also wore a lace vest. She was beautiful.

  And she was involved with someone else.

  Troy exhaled slowly, wondering what to do next. He couldn’t stand here all night.

  Walking into the store, he caught the scent of cinnamon and cloves in the air. The wooden shelves were battered and scratched, but they fit the casual atmosphere. The walls could use a new coat of paint. The shelves, if arranged differently, would make better use of the space. She could convert the upstairs to a coffee bar. But even without the improvements, the store had a small town charm, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
/>   Glancing around, he noticed her customers felt the same way. A man with jet black hair sat on a wooden chair, thumbing through a large book about lighthouses. Toward the back of the store, a woman read to her two children. Several others lounged on stools reading books and magazines.

  “I’ll be with you in a minute, Troy,” Cassie said from behind the counter. She turned her attention to an elderly woman. Cassie dashed out from behind the counter and hurried down an aisle. She pulled a paperback from one of the shelves and rushed back. As she rang up the sale, she laughed with the woman as if she were an old friend. As soon as Cassie finished with her, another customer stepped up to the counter, a stack of paperbacks in her hands.

  Cassie glanced at Troy.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “I’m early.”

  Watching this responsible, business side of Cassie intrigued Troy. He had recognized her intelligence, but she seemed too free-spirited to run a successful business on her own. But from what he could see, she was doing fine. Not an easy task for an independent bookseller. Troy smiled. He liked this side of Cassie, a side earning his respect.

  As another customer walked up to the counter, Cassie yelled, “Moe.”

  A young man raced down the stairs. He had short black hair with what resembled a six-inch Mohawk down the center. He was tall and thin with an ear-toear grin. Cassie whispered something into the man’s ear, and Moe stepped behind the counter.

  As Cassie walked toward Troy, she swung her small purse over her shoulder. Her long, black skirt flowed around her legs. “I’m sorry you had to wait.”

  “You have a nice bookstore.”

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  Troy motioned to the man behind the counter, who watched every move Cassie made. “Does he work for you?”

  She glanced back. “You mean Moe?”

  Troy nodded.