by Jane Graves
He'd be ostracized by his superiors for his questionable taste in women. With him and Sloan neck-and-neck for the promotion, that's all it would take to tip the scales in Sloan's favor. Then he could kiss the partnership goodbye.
"You wouldn't like it," he said, trying to keep his voice light and offhanded. "Believe me."
"Are you kidding? I love parties!"
He sat down beside her. "This isn't a party. It's more like business. It's a group of stuffy, boring people who spend all their time talking about accounting. And I know how you hate stuffy, boring people."
"But it says here that it's at a country club. I've never been inside one of those. I bet it's really something."
"No. These things are so dull. Everybody dresses up like they're going to a ball at Buckingham Palace. You'd hate it."
"Now, you know me better than that," Liz said with a wave of her hand. "I can have a good time wherever I go. It'll be fun."
It'll be fun. Why did those three words coming out of Liz's mouth strike fear in his heart?
Because trying to keep her personality under wraps would be like trying to douse a forest fire with a squirt gun.
He shook his head. "It's really just a business thing, Liz. Dull as dirt. So I don't think—"
"I'll get to meet the people you work with. And they'll be dinner, probably a lot like the one we had at Rosario's, and since we both like to dance, it'll be--"
"Liz!"
He spoke sharper than he intended. He softened his voice, but he wasn't sure he softened the message.
"I think it'd be best if I went to this one by myself."
Liz stared at Mark a long time, trying to understand his reluctance. It was just a party, after all, and she was a party expert. Then, for some reason, Gwen popped into her mind, and slowly the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
She's the woman I need, she remembered Mark saying after he made a date with Gwen. I know this makes no sense to you, but I have to make this work, and I have to do it now.
Gwen was exactly the kind of woman Mark could bring to a company function and impress the conservative management who was making the decision about his partnership.
Everybody dresses like they're going to a ball at Buckingham Palace. You'd hate it.
That's what Mark had told her. But that wasn't what he meant.
The men dress in tuxedos and the women dress in formal gowns. You'd never fit in.
That was what he'd been trying to tell her.
As reality of the situation hit Liz full force, she thought she was going to be sick. It wasn't that she'd hate them.
It was that they'd hate her.
Her heart sank so low it practically tumbled onto the ground. For the first time in her life, she wished she were somebody else. Mark needed a woman who could glide through a room with social competence, radiating sophistication and grace, a woman who would be a positive reflection of his own professional image. Instead, he was getting an unsophisticated nobody who worked as a bartender, whose only claim to fame was that she made the best margaritas in town.
She turned on the sofa to face him. "Mark, I want you to tell me the truth. You're uptight the very thought of taking me to a company party, aren't you?"
He froze. "Uptight? Why would I be uptight?"
"Because I'm not like Gwen."
"And I'm very thankful for that."
"Still, she'd fit in really well at Buckingham Palace, don't you think? I'd fit in better in the servants quarters."
Mark looked at her a long time, and the silence between them seemed to stretch on forever. Finally he shook his head. "It's just these people I work with, Liz. And the big bosses. They think the only reason you have a relationship is to gain money, prestige or power. If they knew I was dating--"
He stopped short, then let out a harsh breath, leaving the sentence dangling.
"If they knew you were dating a woman like me," Liz said, "and a bartender at that, your career would come to a screeching halt."
She waited through a long, miserable silence, wanting desperately for Mark to deny it. Instead, he said nothing. Her chest tightened with disappointment.
"Okay," she murmured. "At least I know where I stand."
"It's not me, Liz! I don't care what you do for a living!"
"But you have to care. Because they care. Right?"
Mark closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tight. "I'm up for a partnership. It's something I've wanted since I started working for that company. I'm in competition with another guy, and right now it could go either way. I can't afford to..."
His voice trailed off, but Liz got the picture. He couldn't afford to make any mistakes because he wanted this so badly. And showing up with the wrong woman might be just the mistake that would make him lose out.
"Do you regret what you did last night? Leaving Gwen to be with me?"
"No! She's not the one I want!"
"But she's the one you need, right?"
"Don't you understand? She's the one they think I need!"
"So where does that leave me?"
Mark opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. He stared at her a long time, and her heart beat frantically as she imagined the words he was getting ready to say. Well, it was fun while it lasted, but it's time to get real. We don't belong together.
Instead, to her surprise, he reached out and lay his hand over hers, caressing it gently.
"It leaves you with me, I hope."
Liz blinked with disbelief. He smoothed the hair away from her forehead with his fingertips, then following them with a kiss.
"I'm sorry, Liz. I don't know what I was thinking. Of course I want you to come with me."
She felt a rush of relief. "You do?"
"Yes. Of course I do. It's just this partnership thing. It's made me a little crazy." He shrugged. "It's just one party. It really isn't all that important."
In spite his offhanded manner, Liz saw the little worry lines around his eyes and heard the hesitancy in his voice, and she knew he was lying. This party was clearly very important. Still, he cared enough about her to ask her to come in spite of the consequences he thought he might face, and she loved him for that.
Yes. She loved him. She hadn't meant for it to happen, but it had happened just the same. She was falling in love with Mark. But she still had that tangled up feeling in her stomach wouldn't go away, the one that reminded her that she just didn't measure up to the kind of woman he was expected to associate with. No matter how he felt right now, how long would he want her if he thought she was going to be a detriment to his career?
Not long. And that was why she was determined not to let him down.
"I can do this," she said. "As long as you help me."
"Help you?"
"I'll get Eddie to dress me, and I swear I'll study up on Emily Post and Miss Manners. But you need to tell me about all the people you work with so I'll know whose you-know-whats I'm supposed to kiss."
He smiled. "No problem. I'll point out all the proper posteriors. I promise."
Liz grinned. "How many 'Ps' were in that sentence, anyway?"
"I have an affinity for alliteration."
She rolled her eyes. Mark pulled her back toward him and kissed her again. The second his lips met hers, she knew she was doing the right thing, even if it involved being somebody she wasn't.
Two weeks. That was all she had to make herself into the kind of woman he needed, or they had no future at all.
* * *
The next two weeks were both heaven and hell for Mark. He and Liz spent every moment they could together, which made him deliriously happy and wildly uptight all at the same time. How had this happened? How could he be falling in love with a woman he was crazy about at the same time she could be a wrecking ball to his career?
The night of his company's dinner dance, Mark climbed the stairs to Liz's apartment, moving up them slower than he ever had before. He'd never sweated anything the way he'd sweated the past several days, because he had no
idea what was going to happen tonight. Liz said she could handle this, but could she really? He didn't know. All he knew was that when he'd seen that look of hurt on her face when he'd suggested that she might not fit in with the crowd at his company, he'd have done anything to erase it—including inviting her along.
He took a deep breath and knocked on her door. A moment later she opened it, and he was so stunned he couldn't move. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never have imagined seeing Liz dressed like this.
She wore a long black gown that exposed her skin only from her wrists down and her neck up, with a satiny skirt that fell in soft folds all the way to her feet. The top part of the dress was form fitting, but subtly so, the high neckline dipping only slightly toward her breasts, enhancing her figure without drawing undue attention to it. She wore a necklace that looked like a simple strand of diamonds. Matching diamond earrings occupied only one set of her many ear piercings, the ones that were actually on her ear lobes. Her hair was swept up in a style so sleek and proper that it was hard to remember just how wild and curly hair her hair really was. She held a simple black satin handbag against her waist and smiled up at him with an aura of calm composure.
"Hello, Mark."
Her whisper-soft voice drifted across her threshold, mesmerizing him. It was Liz, but it wasn't. It was as if the body snatchers had landed, taken the real Liz and put a polished, sophisticated, ultraconservative version in her place.
She stepped aside, and he entered her apartment. He heard the soft swish of her skirt, then caught the scent of a dainty floral perfume that was totally different than the quirky scent she usually wore. She placed a hand against his shoulder and gave him a gentle kiss of greeting on his left cheek.
Okay. Now it was definite. This was not Liz. Liz would have dragged him through the door by his shirt collar and given him a kiss so hot he'd feel all the way to his toes. It was time to call out the National Guard. Earth had definitely been invaded and the body snatchers were taking over.
Every bit of his apprehension about how she would present herself in a social situation suddenly vanished. He'd worried for nothing. Her manner was subdued, which wasn't like the Liz he knew at all, and her dress was a little boring compared to what she usually wore, but both were absolutely correct for the occasion, and he found himself thinking, She makes Tiffany Sloan look like a cheap hooker.
A smile inched across his face. "You look absolutely beautiful."
"Thank you. Shall we go?"
Mark breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe tonight was going to work out after all. They headed for the door, and Liz turned and tossed him a wink and a smile over her shoulder.
I'm still Liz, that gesture told him. But I'm going to play this part just for you. And I'm going to do a bang-up job of it.
Mark didn't know whether to love her for that or cringe in fear. She may have looked like a socialite, but the real Liz still lurked beneath the surface. What if she popped out at an inopportune time?
As they drove to the country club, he gave Liz a primer on the people she'd be meeting that night.
"Edwin Nichols," he said. "Managing partner. Pompous and self-important. Thinks appearances are everything and lives to work. His wife's name is Margaret. She's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she's friendly and talks up a storm. You won't have any problem with her."
"The big boss and his wife."
"Right."
Liz nodded, as if absorbing the information.
He went on to tell her about the other partners and their wives, then filled her in on Jared and Tiffany Sloan.
"Basically, Sloan's a jerk, and Tiffany's nose is so far in the air that if an indoor thunderstorm blows through, she'll drown. They're both insufferable."
"And this guy's your competition?"
"He talks a hell of a good game. You'd be surprised how far you can get in the business world on a good line of bull."
"Anybody else?"
"Yes. Steven Millstone."
"The Steven Millstone?"
"Yeah. Boy wonder of the computer world. They'll be a few other prospective clients there tonight, but Millstone is the biggie. If you're looking to kiss a you-know-what, you might consider his."
Liz nodded studiously, as if committing everything he said to memory. He had to stop worrying. She looked great. All she had to do was stand there looking classy and smile a lot, and the evening would be a success.
Briarwood Country Club sat in the heart of Coral Gables, the clubhouse surrounded by acre upon acre of groomed landscape, and beyond that the rolling hills of the golf course stretched as far as the eye could see. Mark drove through the iron gates, then crept along the road leading to the clubhouse. The evening sun cascaded over the coconut palms, casting long shadows across the manicured lawn.
Mark pulled up in front of the clubhouse and brought the car to a halt. A valet took his car, and he escorted Liz toward the clubhouse, stopping short when he saw the man himself standing at the door greeting guests.
"That's Edwin Nichols," he whispered to Liz.
Liz blinked with surprise. "The guy with the bad toupee?"
"Uh--yeah. But we don't talk about that."
"It looks like--"
"I know. A piece of shag carpet stuck to his head."
"All that money, and yet--"
"Yet he still looks like a electroshocked Pekingese. I know. Just try to focus on his face instead of his scalp."
They walked up the short flight of brick steps to the door of the country club. "Hello, Edwin," Mark said. He shook the man's hand, then turned to Liz. "I'd like to you to meet--"
"Elizabeth Prescott," Liz said, extending her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
Elizabeth?
"It's a pleasure to meet you, too," Edwin said. He introduced his wife, Margaret, to Liz, then turned to Mark. "I had no idea you were seeing such a lovely young woman."
"Why, thank you, Mr. Nichols," Liz said. "What a nice compliment."
"Please. Call me Edwin."
Liz nodded her assent, and Edwin's cheek-to-cheek grin, so different from his usual sourpuss expression, told Mark that she'd sailed over the initial hurdle and made a smashing first impression.
Maybe he'd worried for nothing.
Edwin turned to greet another couple, and Margaret caught Liz's eye.
"So tell me, dear," she said, with that vacuous smile that said she'd lost her brain somewhere along the line and didn't even miss it. "What is it that you do?"
Liz blinked. "What do I do?"
"Yes. What is your profession?"
15
Mark just about choked. It couldn't be. They hadn't been there two minutes, and already their backs were against the wall. He'd been so swept up in how Liz looked and the manner in which she behaved that he'd forgotten all about who she really was. He wanted to say something to ward off the inevitable, but his mind was frustratingly blank.
Liz raised her chin a notch. "I'm a mixologist."
Mark blinked. What did she say?
Margaret looked confused. "A mixologist? I'm afraid I don't know what that is."
"Well, it's quite complicated," Liz replied, "but suffice it to say I deal mainly in the interaction between ETOH and glucose, along with CO2 and NaCl."
Mark's heart practically stopped. He couldn't imagine anyone on Earth who wouldn't translate that into exactly what it was: Alcohol, fruit, seltzer and salt. But chemistry clearly wasn't Margaret's long suit.
"That sounds fascinating!" Margaret gushed. "What college did you attend to get such a degree?"
"Lone Star College."
Margaret's eyebrows pulled together. "I don't believe I've heard of that."
Liz gave her an obliging smile. "It's a small but exclusive private college. They offer a limited number of degree programs. But what they do, they do very well."
Mark almost groaned out loud. Yeah, it was exclusive, all right. Exclusively for people who want to tend bar for a living. And as far as the limited
number of degree programs, yes, one was pretty limited.
"Well," Margaret said. "A professional woman. How nice."
Mark excused them, putting his hand against the small of Liz's back and turning her in the direction of the ballroom before any more questions could pop out of Margaret's mouth.
"Mixologist?" Mark said, once they were out of earshot. "Where did that come from?"
"Would you rather I'd have told her the truth?"
"No! I mean, yes, but--" He exhaled sharply. "It's not me, Liz. I told you before. I don't care what you do for a living. It's them. They care. They shouldn't, but they do, and with me right on the verge of this partnership..."
Liz turned away. He saw her wounded expression, and a wave of guilt spread through him. He had no business wanting her to be something she wasn't just so he could get the job he was after. But when it came right down to it, what choice did he have?
"Just promise me one thing," she said.
"What?"
"Once you get that partnership, you'll unstuff some of the stuffiness at the top."
Mark nodded. "I will."
"And if the question of my profession comes up again," Liz added, "I'll just tell them I'm a hooker."
"What?"
"That way when I tell them I'm really a bartender, it won't sound so bad."
She smiled, but he could tell this whole thing hurt her more than she was letting on, and the only reason she was going along with it was to help him. All at once it struck him again what a lucky guy he was that a smart, sexy, beautiful woman like Liz would even give him the time of day.
Don't screw it up, his brain was telling him, at the same time it was also shouting, Get that partnership no matter what.
"Don't worry," Mark told her. "Chances are it won't even come up again, and you won't have to tell anyone anything."
They moved into the ballroom. It was a spectacular place, with towering ceilings dripping with chandeliers, walnut paneling and polished marble floors. Couples stood talking to one another, the low hum of conversation filling the air. Mark saw Sloan across the room.
He touched Liz's shoulder and whispered, "Jared Sloan at twelve o'clock."
