by Sharon Sala
These days he kept his straw-blond hair short and neat. But when she’d first come to work for him, he’d always been in need of a haircut. And sometimes a shave. She had been the one who had pointed out to him that, even in his business, first impressions were often made as much by a man’s appearance as by his business acumen. And over the years, Holt had taken her advice more times than not. However, even she hadn’t been able to persuade him to wear a traditional business suit. Today, as most days, he stubbornly stuck with his jeans and plaid shirt. However, after years of coercing, he had finally conceded to wear a tie and sport coat. The coat, more often than not, ended up hung over the back of his chair, with the tie stuffed into a pocket.
But that was one of the things she loved about Holt. His nonconformity. He was, first and foremost, his own man. She had grown up around soft, cultured gentlemen who knew more about their Civil War ancestors than they did their own children. She’d even been engaged to one—a man handpicked by her family.
“Well, aren’t we in a good mood this Monday morning?” Rene said. “You and what’s-her-name—the six-foot-tall redhead—must have had a hot and sweaty weekend.”
Another thing Bennie loved about Holt was that he didn’t stand on ceremony. He treated all his employees as equals. He even got a kick out of Rene’s teasing jibes. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a hard taskmaster when the occasion required it.
“Her name is Carmel and I haven’t dated her in over a month.” Holt slapped his briefcase down on Bennie’s desk. “I spent the weekend with Bo and Patsy Reynolds. Bo’s chairman of the committee that will chose a contractor for the new golf and country club.”
“Hobnobbing with the big dogs, huh?” Rene shook her head, bouncing the tips of her silky blond bob. “I’m curious. What are they really like? They’re part of the snob set that’s run this town since it was founded, so tell me—just how different are they from average folks like us?” Rene cast Bennie a meaningful glance.
“Well, actually, Bo’s all right.” Holt grinned. “For a guy who doesn’t have to work for a living. However, Patsy’s a different matter. What I needed this weekend was a wife who spoke that woman’s language. Someone from the same type of social background.”
“You’re certainly not going to find that kind of wife dating women like Carmel,” Rene said. “Actually, the person you needed to shmooze Mrs. Reynolds this weekend was Bennie.”
Directing his sky-blue eyes at Bennie, he settled his gaze on her face. “You know, Rene’s right. You’re always good with our hoity-toity clients. But I can’t impose on your weekends for the rest of your life.”
“I don’t mind helping you,” Bennie said. “After all, it’s my job to assist you, isn’t it?” She tried to keep her tone light, to not allow Holt a glimpse of the real Marianne Bennett, who had been pining away for him all these years.
“I’ve imposed on your personal time too often,” Holt told her. “I know this business couldn’t get along without you, but you can’t be at my beck and call twenty-four hours a day.”
Oh, God, Bennie thought, there was nothing she wanted more than to be at Holt’s beck and call twenty-four hours a day. Days in the office working at his side. Nights in his bed, making passionate love with him.
Just as Bennie opened her mouth to respond, Rene injected a well-chosen comment of her own. “You’re so right. Bennie needs to concentrate more on her personal life and not so much on Jackson Construction. And you, Mr. Jackson, should start looking for a wife with the kind of breeding and family connections that could get you in good with all the really important people in Alabama and in the whole southeast.”
“For a smart-mouthed kid, she gives pretty good advice, doesn’t she, Bennie?”
“I don’t know how good her advice is,” Bennie said, “but she’s got plenty of it.”
“The Lawson contracts are in my briefcase,” Holt said. “Take a look at them and then come into my office and we’ll discuss details.” He turned to Rene. “Bring me some coffee, will you, kiddo?”
“Sure thing, boss.” Rene salaamed Holt, her actions a mocking display of homage.
“If I didn’t find you so damn entertaining, Lowe, I’d fire you.” Holt winked at Rene, then marched out of Bennie’s office.
Both women watched Holt as he exited. The minute he was out of earshot, Rene closed the door. Swirling around, she smiled broadly, showing her perfect teeth.
“Holt said that he needs a wife with certain credentials. And you, my dear Marianne Colburn Bennett, fit his requirements to a tee. Why don’t you tell the man that you’re the girl of his dreams?”
“I do not want the man I marry to marry me because of my blue-blooded background and my sizable inheritance.” Bennie sighed. “Besides, I’ve given up on Holt, remember? I’m placing a personal ad in the paper in order to acquire a husband by the new millennium.”
“I thought you might want to give Holt one last chance.” Rene grinned impishly.
“What are you talking about?”
“Wake up and smell the coffee, honey. Holt wants a wife with certain qualities. So in your personal ad, you should list those specific attributes. Then suggest to Holt that he might find a qualified bride-to-be in the personals.”
“You, Rene Lowe, have a very devious mind.” Bennie bit down on her bottom lip as she contemplated the suggestion. “It wouldn’t work. Holt would never look for a socially refined wife in the personal ads.”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained. What have you got to lose by giving it a try?”
“More of my precious time,” Bennie said. “I’m already twenty-nine and not getting any younger.”
“So what’s one more week in the grand scheme of things? Besides, if you can’t talk Holt into checking out the ads, then you can always respond to the dozens of other guys who are bound to put in a bid for a date.”
“Oh, all right. What difference will a few more days make, after I’ve already wasted five years!”
Holt downed half a cup of black coffee as he sat behind his massive oak desk. He wanted the country club project. Wanted it enough to have spent the weekend with a good ole boy who had more money than sense and a woman who looked down her snobby nose at him the entire time they’d been together. His construction company was successful. He had become a rich man. But he had lost some of the projects that could have made a name for him in Alabama. Despite his competitive bids, he didn’t always land the deals that should have been his. And nine times out of ten, his lack of the right connections played a part in his failure. He needed an entrée into Alabama’s good ole boy’s club.
The right wife could give him the one thing all his money couldn’t buy. A well-bred lady on his arm could open doors that had been permanently shut in his face. But how the hell did a guy like him meet that kind of woman? Even with all his money, he wasn’t receiving social invitations into the best homes.
People in these parts didn’t let a guy forget that he’d been born on the wrong side of the tracks. They might like him, might even admire him and could, on occasion, do business with him. But they let him know, in subtle ways, that he wasn’t one of their kind.
If Holt was honest with himself, he’d have to admit that his need to be accepted was as important to him as not missing out on the occasional deal. Those missed deals usually went to a competitor who’d been an old fraternity buddy or a guy who was married to the wife’s sorority sister. After a stint in the army, Holt had worked his way through college and helped provide for three younger brothers by holding down two jobs. His social life back then had consisted of bar hopping with his redneck buddies.
After college, he’d been too busy building his little empire to even think about marriage. But he’d always promised himself that he’d marry and settle down to raise a family when he turned thirty-five. He had a birthday coming up in January. His thirty-fifth!
The time is now, he told himself. Choose a suitable woman, propose and get married. A simple business dea
l. She could give him social standing and he could give her just about anything her heart desired. There had to be women with the right pedigree whose family fortunes had dwindled. All he had to do was find one of those women and offer her a deal she couldn’t refuse.
By Wednesday morning, Holt had decided he wanted Bennie’s opinion of his marriage plans, but they’d both been too busy for much more than brief hellos. However, he had managed to ask her to share her break time with him.
Holt lifted his head when he heard the soft peck on his office door. “Come in.”
Bennie entered his office, a pleasant smile on her face and a newspaper tucked under her arm. “Are you ready for that midmorning break?”
“Absolutely.” The sooner he discussed his plans with Bennie, the sooner he could put them into action.
“Would you like me to get you some coffee? I picked up some baklava at the bakery this morning.”
“Nothing for me, thanks.”
He surveyed her from the top of her black hair to the tips of her sensible, two-inch heels. As always, she wore a simple suit. Today’s attire consisted of dark-blue trousers and a double-breasted jacket. The only jewelry she ever wore was a watch and a pair of small gold earrings.
Bennie was more than an employee, more than a valued personal assistant. She was his friend. Probably the best friend he’d ever had. And she was a woman. So, who better to talk to about his personal plans than Bennie? She’d be the first to tell him if she thought the idea was stupid. One of the things he liked about her was her brutal honesty. She didn’t cater to his ego like so many of the women he knew. Of course those women were the ones he dated, the ones who thought they might be able to put a ring through his nose.
Besides, Bennie already knew just about everything there was to know about him. Five years ago, he’d been struggling to launch his construction business when he’d hired her. She’d seen him through some pretty rough times. Always at his side. Always supportive and encouraging. She had sacrificed her own personal life, as much as he had his, to devote herself to the business.
Did a woman like Bennie, a no-nonsense professional woman, ever think about getting married and having kids? She wasn’t bad-looking, in a plain sort of way. Maybe a few pounds over the currently fashionable model-thin physique, but then he liked his women with a little flesh on their bones. She’d worn her hair down a couple of times and he’d been amazed at what a mane of long, black curls she was able to confine in a neat bun at the base of her neck. And behind those little wire-frame glasses were a pair of green cat eyes that seemed capable of seeing right through him. Sometimes the way she looked at him was downright unnerving.
What the hell was he thinking? Bennie wasn’t one of his women. She was his valued assistant. And more importantly, she was his friend. Whenever any stray thoughts of her as a desirable woman crossed his mind, he dismissed them. After all, lovers came and went, but top-notch assistants and good friends were worth their weight in gold.
When she stared at him quizzically, he realized he’d been ogling her. He cleared his throat. “I need to discuss something with you.”
“Certainly.” She cleared off a stack of blueprints lying in the leather chair across from Holt’s desk. After sitting, she crossed her legs at the ankles, placed the newspaper in her lap and then folded her hands together over the paper.
Holt rose from his chair. “I want you to be honest with me.”
“I usually am,” she replied, a soft smile curling her lips.
Holt came out from behind his desk. “You know my background. You’re aware, probably more than anyone, that I’ve got some pretty rough edges.” He paused to look at her face, seeking a reaction. She continued smiling, but said nothing. “What I want to know is do you think a guy like me has a snowball’s chance in hell of persuading some socialite to marry him?”
“Some socialite?”
“You know the type—someone who was a debutante, a member of the DAR, whose family either has money or a family lineage that includes Robert E. Lee or Benjamin Franklin. Preferably both.” His gaze met Bennie’s and they both laughed.
“I’d say if the lady loves you, you’ve got a very good chance. She’s not going to care what your background is if all she wants is you.”
Holt shook his head. “No, no, no! None of that love stuff. I’m talking about a business deal here. An exchange of services, so to speak. We’d both know up front what we’re getting.”
“Gee whiz, it all sounds so romantic. Just what any woman would want.”
“Cut the sarcasm, Bennie. I’m serious here. I’m going to be thirty-five in January. It’s time I got married and settled down and—”
“And you want your marriage to be a business deal instead of wedded bliss, huh? The whole thing seems a little too calculated to suit me. I can’t imagine any woman in her right mind settling for such an arrangement.” Especially not with a man like you Holt Jackson.
“Well, it’s the best I can do.” Holt paced the floor. “You’ve known me long enough to know that I’m not the romantic type. And as far as love goes, I’ve seen too many poor fools ruin their lives by falling in love with women who destroy them. A couple of my brothers are prime examples.”
Bennie glanced down at the newspaper in her lap, then nervously flipped the edges with her thumb. “Have you ever considered advertising for a wife? Or checking the ads to see if—”
Holt abruptly halted his agitated pacing and glared at her. “Are you talking about those stupid personal ads people put in the newspaper?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m talking about. And they aren’t stupid. I’ve heard of several people who’d met the love of their lives that way.”
“A guy would have to be pretty desperate to resort to taking out an ad. Or to answer one, for that matter!”
“You seem pretty desperate to me. You want a specific type of woman who is willing to enter into a business deal marriage with a man who’s from a totally different background. And you want to achieve that goal in less than six months.”
Grasping the Wednesday edition of the Herald Daily in her hand, Bennie stood, walked across the room and smacked the paper down on Holt’s desk.
“Why don’t you look over the personal ads and see if you find something you like—someone who meets your criteria.” Echoing Rene’s words to her, Bennie said, “What have you got to lose?”
Holt glanced at the newspaper on his desk, then looked directly at Bennie. “I think the whole idea is ridiculous. But—” he paused for dramatic effect “—since you usually don’t steer me wrong, I’ll think about it.”
“You might not want to waste too much time thinking,” Bennie said. “After all, the woman of your dreams could get snapped up by someone else—while you’re thinking about it.”
Chapter 2
Holt wolfed down his second bowl of cornflakes, then scooted back his chair as he picked up the empty bowl. After placing the bowl and spoon in the sink, he poured himself a cup of coffee. The Thursday morning edition of the Herald Daily lay on the kitchen counter. Still folded and encased in a plastic wrapper, the paper challenged him.
Go ahead and open the damn thing, he told himself. You’d better at least glance over the personal ads. After all, he had promised Bennie that he’d give her less-than-brilliant suggestion a try. Last night, he’d decided that finding a suitable wife in the personal ads was out of the question. Even if Bennie’s advice was usually sound, this time she’d gone off in left field. He had tossed the newspaper she’d given him into the trash and dismissed the whole idea. But upon second thought this morning, he’d realized she was bound to ask him if he’d looked through the ads. He didn’t want to lie to her.
While standing at the kitchen counter, he slipped the newspaper from its wrap, spread it open and flipped through the pages. He hesitated at the personal ads, then forced himself to glance over them. What sort of people advertised for dates? Desperate people? Lonely people? People seeking the thrill of the unk
nown?
SWF, 25, great body, good dancer, loves having fun. Wants young, attractive man who can afford her desire for the good life. Seeking man between 25-35, with good job and no kids.
WWF, 30, tall, slender, college degree, animal lover, seeking a sensitive, well-educated man with a good job who could be seriously interested in a woman with a six-year-old son and two cocker spaniels.
DWF, 33, 5’6”, 110 lbs, loves sports, likes hiking, jogging and guys over six feet tall. Have lots to offer the right man. Good cook, experienced lover, not seeking permanent relationship. Has no children and no pets.
Shaking his head, Holt chuckled as he scanned the page of personal ads. There were plenty of women looking for the right man, but from what he’d read, not one of those females—single, divorced or widowed—was a suitable candidate for becoming Mrs Holt Jackson. He’d known this was a stupid idea, but at least now he’d be able to tell Bennie that he’d given her suggestion a try.
As he continued scanning the page, he finishing off his coffee. Just as he started to set his mug on the counter, an ad caught his attention.
SWF, 29, intelligent, attractive professional, DAR member, prestigious family lineage, seeking a gentleman who appreciates a lady of good breeding and refinement. Prefer a man 30-35, self-made and successful, who is seeking marriage.
He read the ad twice. It wasn’t possible, was it? The lady sounded too good to be true. Why would a woman with her credentials have resorted to placing an ad in the local newspaper? Wouldn’t a woman like that have her pick of men?
Maybe she wasn’t all that attractive, Holt told himself. Maybe she’s built like a stick and is ugly as a mud fence. Or maybe she’s fat as a butterball and has no personality.
At face value, the woman sounded perfect. Everything he wanted in a wife. But there had to be a catch to it. Ms. Right wasn’t going to just fall into his lap this easily. Every instinct Holt possessed warned him against answering the ad. But how could he get out of responding? Bennie was sure to have seen the ad. She’d probably be waiting to ambush him the minute he went into the office this morning.
