“I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s my right hand.”
Was Moe her new boyfriend? Troy gritted his teeth. He wondered where this Moe person came from and why he was working at the bookstore. “How long has he worked for you?”
“Since I opened. I have no idea where he came from, but he’s been my guardian angel since he walked into the place.” She faced Moe. “Bye.”
Moe smiled, a lop-sided grin Troy thought looked fake. But most women would be fooled by it. He should warn Cassie. “Have fun, Cass.”
Cass. Moe called her Cass? Troy waited for her to correct Moe. She merely smiled. “Are you ready, Troy?”
Ready to kill Moe. Was he the one who hurt her back? Troy clenched his fist. “Does Moe stand for Mohawk?”
Cassie laughed. “Of course, not. It’s a nickname. His real name is Zack.”
Troy didn’t know why he was torturing himself, but he had to ask. “Why Moe?”
“He’s a big Three Stooges fan. He didn’t think Curly fit him. His brother is named Larry and who wants to be called Shemp?” she said matter-of-factly, reminding him of when she’d asked him to be her fiancé. Look where that had got him.
Okay, time to go. Troy opened the door for her. “By the way, are you feeling better?”
Why did he ask her that? He didn’t want to know the details. Troy never realized he was a masochist.
“I am, thank you.” Cassandra walked outside the store. “It’s my own fault you know. Moe told me, but I wouldn’t listen.”
Troy did not want to hear the intimate details of her night of passion with a man named after one of the Three Stooges. “Cassie, I—”
“He told me I wasn’t twenty anymore, that I couldn’t stay up all night and work on—”
“Cassie, I really—” Troy paused. What did she say? “Work?”
“Yes,” she said. “I was trying to stack books and figure out how to rearrange the shelves. Moe had to leave around two o’clock. He made me promise I wouldn’t walk home alone.”
Way to go, Moe. Someone needed to look out for Cassie. Troy wanted to shake the man’s hand. “What about your back?”
“I slept on the floor in the storeroom. Guess I’m not a young pup anymore.”
“None of us is anymore,” Troy said, feeling enormously relieved. No need to be jealous. Not that he ever was, he convinced himself. Jealous? Him? No way.
8
As Cassandra rode the escalator to the third floor, she stared at Troy’s reflection in the mirror to her left. He looked like a successful venture capitalist in his charcoal gray double-breasted suit. Who was she kidding? He looked gorgeous, period.
Not her type?
What a joke.
Even his desire to be rich didn’t cause her attraction to wane. Especially after he’d explained about growing up without money, without presents under the Christmas tree.
She shouldn’t have come.
Troy McKnight had haunted her thoughts and her dreams. His first kiss that morning in the breakfast nook reminded her of coffee so much she’d started drinking herbal tea instead. She wet her dry lips.
Now he stood so close to her, only one step down. She resisted the urge to lean back and rest against him.
Hopeless, utterly hopeless. She looked away, fighting another headache thinking about Troy always caused. Resisting the impulse to massage her temples, she clutched the black handrail. The pain drifted away. Too bad Troy couldn’t disappear as easily. But he was here. And wasn’t going anywhere until after their engagement party.
She stepped from the escalator. Moving forward would put her in the china department, staying put would put her in Troy’s arms. Unsure which was worse, Cassandra moved to the side.
Troy took hold of her hand and kissed it.
The fluttery sensations spreading through her meant nothing. “Always the perfect fiancé, aren’t you?”
“I try.”
He tried too hard. Her hand fit snugly in his, too snugly for her own good. “You can let go. I don’t see my mother.”
Troy didn’t let go of her hand. “She still might be here.”
“What time is it?”
“Seven o’clock on the nose.”
“My mother should be here. She’s always on time.” A discreet Bridal Registry sign sat on a cherry, Queen Anne writing desk. Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” played on speakers hidden in the ceiling. The place, elegant and refined, reeked of money and society. “Maybe we should check in.”
A tall, model-thin woman met them halfway. She wore a stylish lime pantsuit that belonged in the pages of Vogue. “My name is Mercedes. May I help you?”
“Hi. I’m Cassandra Daniels.” She forced a smile. “This is Troy McKnight, my, uh…”
“Her fiancé.” Troy shook Mercedes’s hand. “We have an appointment.”
“Oh, Ms. Daniels and Mr. McKnight.” Mercedes smiled, her pearly white teeth a stark contrast to her dark complexion. “I’ve been expecting you. Please have a seat.”
“My mother is meeting us here.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Mercedes waved her hand and her jasmine perfume scented the air. “Your mother called to say she won’t be able to make the appointment. But don’t worry. We’ll find the perfect items to fit your life-style.”
“Thank you, but we should reschedule.” Cassandra tried to sound disappointed.
“Why don’t we get started tonight? You can talk to your mother before we finalize anything.” Mercedes sat behind the desk. “I can fax a copy of what you select to your mother.”
And give her a full report, too. Cassandra sighed.
Mercedes took out a file folder and a Mont Blanc pen from the desk. “Let’s get started.”
Following a ten-minute orientation, Cassandra picked up a clear clipboard and stared at the tasteful displays of crystal, china and hollowware. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. They weren’t engaged. But she didn’t have much of a choice. Not with Mercedes, the spy, watching.
Mercedes motioned them to follow her. “Why don’t we start with a china pattern?”
Cassandra brushed a stray lock off his forehead. “Is that all right with you, muffin?”
“I go where you go, shortcake.” He drew her close to whisper in her ear. “Why are you being so—so fiancéelike?”
“I think Mercedes is going to report back to my mother,” Cassandra whispered back. “Think you can handle it?”
“I’ll try.”
As he kissed her neck, her pulse hit Mach 1. Maybe she should have worded her question differently. Could she handle it?
“The china is over here, my two lovebirds,” Mercedes said.
On the way, Troy pointed out an ivory plate with a black and navy patterned band and a gold rim. “What do you think of this, cupcake?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Like you.”
The words flowed too easily from his lips. Cassandra could almost believed he meant them. But he didn’t. Too bad. “Don’t you think it’s a little bold? We might grow tired of it, tiger.”
“You’re absolutely right, kitten.”
She picked up a plate with peach and blue flowers along the rim and in the center. “What about this?”
“It’s nice.” Troy kissed her cheek and Cassandra nearly dropped the expensive plate. “But the colors might not match our decorating scheme in a couple of years. Something neutral might work better.”
Cassandra set the plate down. “You’re so right, dumpling.”
Mercedes beamed. “The two of you are so adorable. I’ve seen so many couples who are only interested in picking out the most expensive or popular patterns. It’s obvious the two of you are more interested in building a home that will last.”
Cassandra clasped her hand in Troy’s and gazed into his eyes. She wondered if she were doing this for Mercedes’s sake or her own. Truth be known, Cassandra didn’t care whether Mercedes was a spy or not. “I’m lucky.”
Troy caressed
her hand with his thumb. “We’re lucky.”
Standing among the exquisite china and crystal, Cassandra could almost believe they were the happy engaged couple they pretended to be. And she liked the feeling. The strains of Bach played—a tune she could imagine being played as she walked down the aisle.
“Troy’s correct about picking a pattern,” Mercedes added. “You need a pattern with colors that you love and can grow old with. Don’t forget, you will have this china forever.”
Troy released her hand and examined another china pattern. His touch warmed her skin. Cassandra wished he was still holding her hand.
As she looked at the different place settings, she pictured her and Troy at Christmas. A great, big Douglas fir and lots of brightly wrapped presents. Joy and laughter. A table overloaded with food and surrounded with family. Children. Traditions that would carry over. And each year, Cassandra would set the table with the same china. A classic pattern. White or ivory. Something…
Wait a minute. Stop the madness. This wasn’t for real. They would never have a decorating scheme. No traditions or children. They weren’t planning for the future. This was all a lie. Agree to whatever he picks up next. Her heart pounded in her throat.
Troy showed her a white plate with raised white strawberries and vines circling the edge. “What about this?”
“Perfect.” And it was—to her dismay. If she were going to get married, she would have selected that pattern. But she wasn’t getting married. Forget about it. Cassandra readied her pencil. “Eight place settings.”
“Twelve.” Troy gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “I have a large family. We’ll never be able to use them at Thanksgiving and Christmas unless we have enough place settings for everyone. I can almost taste the turkey and homemade cranberry sauce.”
So could she, but wait a minute. Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners? She didn’t know how to cook a turkey and cranberry sauce came in a can or from the caterer. This was getting ridiculous. “But—”
“Twelve.”
“Okay, twelve place settings.” It wasn’t worth arguing about. Whatever gifts they got would be returned anyway.
“Is this for your formal place setting?” Mercedes asked.
“Yes.” Troy ran his fingertips along the edge of the plate.
“We don’t need informal dishes,” Cassandra added, trying to erase the image of shiny, silver chargers beneath the plates and a Battenburg lace tablecloth. She had left that life behind; she wasn’t going back to it. Not for Troy, not for anyone.
Troy smiled. “I want to use our china every day. No sense keeping it locked in a hutch only for holidays. That way, it’ll remind us of tonight and how we chose it together.”
I love you, Troy. Cassandra realized she wasn’t falling in love with Troy. She’d fallen. Headfirst.
Mercedes’s smile grew wider. “Mr. McKnight, I wish I could clone you.”
I wish you were really mine. Cassandra’s chest tightened. She searched for the nearest exit, but didn’t get past staring into Troy’s eyes.
Focus on registering. Forget about him.
Mercedes set the five-piece place setting on a forest green place mat. “Let’s find crystal and silverware to complete the setting.”
“What about this?” Troy held a plain goblet with a narrow stem. “I like this one.”
“Orrefors,” Mercedes said. “Would you care to look at the Waterford patterns also?”
Cassandra remembered Vanessa’s comment at the bridal salon. “I’m not the Waterford type. The crystal Troy has picked out is fine.”
Troy raised the glass as if making a toast. “If I clink the glass do I get a kiss?”
You can have anything you want. Cassandra swallowed hard. “Do you deserve one?”
He tapped his finger on the glass. “Yes.”
She only meant to brush against his lips, but the moment hers touched his she couldn’t stop herself from really kissing him. Everything faded away. Everything except Troy. The taste of him, the texture of him. She never wanted this moment to end.
But it wasn’t real.
As she pulled away from Troy, he smiled. “If I always get kisses like that, I should buy one of these glasses tonight. I could get used to that”
So could she. But Cassandra couldn’t afford to. Remember the hurt, the betrayal. Her heart was off limits.
“Would you like to see the silverware?” Mercedes asked.
“Yes.” Troy held Cassandra’s hand once again.
He’d touched her, kissed her, stared at her. She needed to get away from him. Now. Cassandra made a beeline to a display of silverware against the far wall. As soon as they picked the silverware, she could go home. Alone.
Troy followed her. “Look at this, honey.”
“It’s perfect,” she said, wanting to end this charade right now. She had so much on her mind, so much to figure out.
He stared at a dinner fork. “Perfect?”
Cassandra looked at it. The silver fork resembled something from a fantasy novel with dragons on the handle and swirling arrows of gold forming the prongs. “Maybe not.”
Mercedes pointed to a setting shining against the black velvet background. “What do you think of this?”
Two circular bands near the head of the fork were the only decoration. Plain, yet striking. Cassandra liked it. And once she selected the flatware she could go home. “Yes, that will do.”
Mercedes put the silverware together with the rest of their choices. “Wonderful selections. Look how well the pieces work together.”
Troy placed his arm around Cassandra’s shoulder. “Doesn’t it look perfect, darling?”
You’re perfect. Cassandra’s stomach knotted. “Yes.”
Mercedes smiled. “I’ve seen hundreds of engaged couples and must say the two of you are a perfect match. You will have a wonderful, happy marriage.”
Cassandra couldn’t talk; she couldn’t breathe.
Troy pulled her closer. He smelled so good, so mouthwatering good. It wasn’t fair. “Thank you, Mercedes.”
“If you give me your list, I’ll get you a copy,” Mercedes said. Cassandra resisted the urge to toss the clipboard. She handed it to Mercedes instead. “Would you like to discuss your selections with your mother first or should I have them entered into the computer?”
Cassandra couldn’t go through this again. Picking out a place setting for dinners she and Troy would never share. Just thinking about it hurt. “You can enter them into the computer.”
“I’ll fax a copy to your mother,” Mercedes said. “You can make another appointment to pick out serving pieces, housewares and bedding. I’ll be right back.”
As Mercedes walked away, Troy smiled. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“No.” It was too easy. Too easy to forget they were pretending. Cassandra felt engaged. She felt as if she was going to marry Troy. She wanted to marry Troy.
She loved him. Truly loved. Her stomach churned and did a somersault.
Troy touched the edge of her mouth. “Smile, please. You look like you lost your best friend.”
She forced a smile. It wasn’t easy. Whoever said it took more muscles to frown than smile was a damn fool.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
Wrong? Everything was wrong. What an idiot. Loving Troy even though she knew she shouldn’t, knew she couldn’t. They were too different. He was too much like Eric. Troy defined success by his career, by the amount of money, power and prestige he could achieve. His priorities were not only different than hers, they were a hundred and eighty degrees apart. Beyond the physical attraction and chemistry, they had nothing in common. He was the wrong man for her.
What was she thinking? There wasn’t a right man for her. She had to stop feeling this way; she had to stop loving him. She didn’t want to get hurt; she didn’t want to love anyone.
Getting away from Troy was her only chance. Getting away now. Staying away forever. “I want to cancel the engagement party
.”
His eyes widened. “You want to what?”
Staring into his eyes, Cassandra’s resistance started to melt. Troy’s thick-lashed, blue eyes should be on the FBI’s list of deadly weapons. She would never be able to look him in the eyes and say no. Never. Cassandra looked at the marble-tiled floor instead. “I’m sorry, Troy, but I can’t go through with it.”
He grabbed hold of Cassandra’s hand before she could step onto the next escalator and pulled her toward the dress department on the second floor. “Why don’t I buy you a new dress? That will make you feel better.”
Typical man. “Like a new dress will solve everything.”
“Most women—”
She jerked her hand away. “I’m not most women, Troy.”
“No, you’re not,” he said. “But I still want to buy you a dress for the party.”
Hadn’t he heard a word she’d said? She didn’t want to love a man this stubborn. She didn’t want to love any man. “Spend as much of your precious money as you want, but it’s not going to change my mind. I don’t want to go to the engagement party.”
Troy released an exasperated sigh. “You make it sound like I’m trying to buy you.”
“No, you’re trying to change me.” Oops. She hadn’t meant to say that. She wasn’t thinking straight.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Cassandra walked over and pulled out a boring, black dress from a rack. “Let me guess, you want me to wear something like this with a string of pearls and a stylish pair of pumps.”
“Is that so bad?”
Yes, she wanted to scream. That’s how she used to dress. She’d escaped from everything Troy wanted to achieve. She’d tried that life and wanted nothing more from it. The investment world—Troy’s world—left her cold. She would not return to it. Not for her family, not for Troy.
Even if she could come to terms and accept the life Troy wanted, he would never want her. He would never love her as she was. He would want her to go back to who she’d been.
Just like Eric. He’d traded her in for Emily, who was the definition of a suitable corporate wife—intelligent, beautiful, presentable. That’s what Troy wanted, someone like Emily.
“Don’t you see, it’s not me. It would be a lie. Like our engagement and registering tonight.” Knowing it would never be real caused an ache deep within Cassandra. She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “The engagement party would be another lie, and I’m tired of living a life full of lies. It’s gone too far.”
Fiance for the Night Page 11
