The Husband Sweepstake

Praise for Leigh Michaels

“Leigh Michaels is sure to charm readers of Harlequin Romance.”

—www.thebestreviews.com

“Leigh Michaels’s fresh and fiery characters have universal appeal.”

—www.romantictimes.com

“When you sit down with [a Leigh Michaels book], you’re definitely in for a very pleasant and entertaining adventure!”

—www.thebestreviews.com

Leigh loves to hear from readers. You may contact her at: P.O. Box 935, Ottumwa, Iowa 52501, U.S.A. or visit her Web site: leigh@leighmichaels.com

Leigh Michaels has always been a writer, composing dreadful poetry when she was just four years old and dictating it to her long-suffering older sister. She started writing romance in her teens and burned six full manuscripts before submitting her work to a publisher. Now, with more than 75 novels to her credit, she also teaches romance writing seminars at universities, writers’ conferences and on the Internet.

Books by Leigh Michaels

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3783—PART-TIME FIANCÉ

3800—THE TAKEOVER BID

The Husband Sweepstake

Leigh Michaels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

THE trip had been more fast-paced than usual. Erika had crammed at least three weeks’ worth of work into a mere ten days, and even a good night’s sleep in her own bed hadn’t been enough for her to fully recuperate from exhaustion and jet lag. It was barely ten in the morning—at least that was what the tiny gold watch on her wrist said, though her body clock wasn’t anywhere near so certain of the hour. Nevertheless, she was patting back a yawn as the elevator reached the lobby.

That will never do, she thought. With her schedule already crammed with meetings and her in-basket no doubt overflowing, she didn’t have time to be tired. Not today.

She felt as if she’d been gone for a month. Winter had abruptly let go its hold on New York City while she’d been gone. The last traces of dirty snow had melted away, and though it had been almost dusk, she thought she’d glimpsed the first hints of green in Central Park on her way home from the airport yesterday. Even the building’s lobby looked a little different than when she’d left. This morning sunshine poured in through the beveled glass around the main doors, sprinkling jewel-colored patches across the freshly cleaned carpet.

But some things never changed, Erika thought fondly as she walked across the lobby to the small office tucked into a corner next to the elevators.

Inside, with his back to the door as he leaned over a table studying a clipboard full of papers, was—in Erika’s view—probably the single best thing about living in this newly renovated apartment complex. According to the nameplate on the door, Stephen was the manager of the complex, in charge of rentals, deposits, repairs and tenant complaints. But in fact the job he’d carved out for himself in the eight months since the complex opened was more like that of the concierge of a first-class hotel. Need tickets to the symphony? Talk to Stephen—he had contacts everywhere. Need the dog walked? Talk to Stephen—he knew someone who’d be great at the job. Need someone to let the delivery people in with the new couch? Talk to Stephen; he’d not only sign the paperwork but make sure they moved all the furniture to just the right angle…

Yes, definitely the best thing about living here, Erika told herself. “Stephen, darling—”

The man at the table stood up straighter and started to turn to face her.

The instant he moved, Erika knew that she’d made a big mistake. Where Stephen was jittery in his movements, this man was slow and smooth, like a panther on the prowl. He was a little taller than Stephen, too—an inch or two, perhaps—and his hair was just a shade darker.

She should have recognized the difference the moment she walked in—though, she reminded herself, there was no reason to scourge herself for making a simple mistake. She was used to finding Stephen in this office, and she wasn’t used to seeing him from behind. So it was no wonder she hadn’t immediately identified this man as a stranger.

He’d turned all the way around now, and she got her first good look at his face. Now she could see that he wasn’t at all like Stephen, really—not only was his hair darker, almost black in fact, but it was thicker, curlier, and more unruly than Stephen’s. His eyes weren’t brown like Stephen’s but as rich a blue as Long Island Sound on a hot summer’s day, and they looked just as deep and inviting. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but there was something about him which invited a second look. His face was full of healthy color, but he didn’t have the deep sun-bronzed shade that Stephen somehow managed to sport even in the depths of winter.

And though he was wearing the same type of dark suit and ascot tie that Stephen favored, it didn’t fit him the same way. The formal garb didn’t look out of place on him, and yet it seemed somehow uncomfortable, as if he wasn’t used to dressing up.

“I’m not Stephen,” he said.

As if she wouldn’t be able to figure that out on her own. Erika felt like rolling her eyes.

He added, not quite under his breath, “…darling.”

Erika opened her mouth to blister him for impudence, and then decided that it would be more effective in the long run just to ignore him. “I can see that,” she said sweetly. “So where’s Stephen?”

“I can page him if you like, Ms. Forrester.”

She didn’t ask how he knew her name. She didn’t need to.

He went on easily, “I believe he’s helping Mr. Richards locate his missing snake up on the third floor.”

Erika shivered. “Then I certainly don’t want to disturb him.”

His eyes gleamed with laughter. Erika was sure of it, even though the expression was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. She was intrigued despite herself. “And who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Stephen’s new assistant.”

“I gathered that from the uniform.” She waved a finger in the direction of his ascot. “He could certainly use a helper. Or perhaps I should say that the residents could use two Stephens.”

He looked down at the dark suit as if not quite believing what he was wearing. “He does seem to keep himself busy.”

“And your name?” He didn’t answer immediately, so Erika prodded, “In case Stephen’s not here, it would be handy to know who I’m talking to.”

“If it’s not Stephen,” he pointed out gently, “it’ll be me. But you can call me Amos—” He bit off the sentence, leaving the name hanging.

Erika was absolutely certain the word he’d swallowed hadn’t been a last name at all. He’d actually almost had the cheek to say she could call him Amos darling. But at least he’d maintained enough sense to zip the lip before he’d finished, while she could still pretend not to have heard. It was much less embarrassing for both of them that way.

“I’ll tell him you stopped by. I’m sure he’ll be heartbroken to have missed you,” Amos said, and started to turn back to the clipboard he’d been looking at when she came in.

Just who does this guy think he is? she thought. “Well, let me fill you in on the routine around here. It’s cleaning day, so—”

“Are you referring to the housecleaning service or the dry cleaners?” he interrupted politely. “I’ve already been instructed that since it’s Tuesday, your housekeeping team will be arriving before long. And Stephen has made a note to arrange an extra laundry pickup today as well, since you just got home from your trip. So he already has all the usual things covered.”

Erika eyed him for a long moment. The urge to squash him was rapidly becoming unbearable. She would have to either put him in his place, or walk out—and soon. “You know,” she mused, “if you want to be successful around here, it might pay to take a few lessons from Stephen on customer service.”

His eyebrows lifted. “But, Ms. Forrester, I was simply trying not to waste your time. Why should you have to repeat instructions that Stephen has already taken care of?” He looked innocent, and he sounded solicitous.

Erika didn’t believe an iota of it.

“I presumed you would rather have Stephen look after your needs, since he’s already accustomed to your routine. But if there is anything you’d prefer me to do for you,” he went on gently, “you need only ask.”

She hitched her black leather tote bag higher onto her shoulder. “I’ll do my best to think of something,” she murmured. “Because I’d hate for you to feel at loose ends around here while Stephen’s doing all the work.”

The brisk walk from her apartment complex to Ladylove’s building in Midtown Manhattan refreshed Erika, and by the time she arrived at her office, she’d almost forgotten about Amos darling. He was hardly worth thinking about, anyway, she told herself. With that kind of attitude, he wouldn’t last long around an upscale apartment complex, no matter how pleasant he was to look at.

The tapestry-lined elevator whooshed Erika to the top floor. In her corner office, her personal assistant was just setting a steaming cappuccino beside the pile of already-opened mail on the blotter.

Erika checked on the threshold. “How do you do it, Kelly? Always have a fresh cup waiting for me when I come in?”

The little redhead grinned, her gamin face alight with mischief. “The company spy network, of course. Didn’t you realize how efficient it is?” She took Erika’s trench coat and hung it in the small closet. “You have an appointment with your personal fitter this morning, by the way. She’s bringing over some dresses so you can choose one to wear to the banquet Saturday night.”

“See if you can catch her before she leaves the store. I need a white silk blouse, too, because I spilled a glass of red wine on mine when I was in Rome.” Erika frowned. “Wait a minute. What banquet? There’s nothing like that on my calendar.”

“Not officially, but then you’ve been out of the office for more than a week. The invitation came while you were gone. However, since last Friday’s Sentinel announced that you’ll be attending, I thought it best to be prepared—so I sent a check for two tickets, and I called the fitter about a dress.”

“Sometimes,” Erika muttered, “I’d like to do the opposite, just to spite the tabloids.”

Kelly shook her head. “Issuing a challenge like that would only make them more interested. Then they’d run stories about you every day instead of only two or three times a week. Besides, the banquet is for a good cause.”

“They’re all good causes, Kelly.” Erika sat down behind the graceful Georgian table which she used as a desk. “Has the Sentinel announced yet where I’m going on my summer vacation? I can’t make up my mind, but I’m sure they’ve already figured out what I’ll decide.” She sipped the cappuccino and flipped through the mail.

Kelly clicked her tongue. “It’s a wee bit early in the day to be sounding cynical, now.”

“And it’s a wee bit too far from Dublin for you to be using a brogue.”

“Not if it makes you laugh. One plain white silk blouse, coming up. And Erika—I know how you feel about the Sentinel, but you should read today’s edition anyway.”

Kelly pulled the office door closed behind her, and Erika sank back in her chair and reached for the neatly folded newspaper at the bottom of the stack of mail. At least she could find out what the good cause was that she would be supporting by going to a banquet on Saturday…. No, Kelly had said that story had run last week. In any case, the redhead’s voice had sounded almost too casual—as if she was issuing some kind of a warning. So what horrible thing had New York City’s most-highly-circulated gossip sheet said about her this time?

Or had they just gotten hold of a photo that was more terrible than usual? Erika had thought, herself, that the one which had first appeared a couple of weeks ago—the one which seemed to have become the editor’s favorite—would be impossible to top. She’d been chewing a bite of arugula when the paparazzi’s flash went off in her face, and she thought the result had made her look like a serial murderer with a toothache.

But for a change her own face didn’t jump out at her as she scanned the pages. She frowned and started over from the beginning.

She found the story, finally, on page six. It was no wonder she hadn’t seen it before, because this time it wasn’t about her—not directly, at least. The story was an engagement announcement and the photograph which accompanied it was of a dimpled, childlike woman and a man Erika barely recognized. And the editors had waited till the very last paragraph to point out that the prospective groom had been engaged before—to Erika.

She sipped her cappuccino and read the story again, slowly and thoughtfully.

Denby Miles’s previous engagement was to Erika Forrester, who was then the trademark face (and is now also the CEO) of Ladylove Cosmetics. The match was broken off shortly after Erika’s father, Stanford Forrester III, completed the purchase of Mr. Miles’s portfolio of perfume formulae to add to Ladylove’s armory. There was and continues to be some speculation about the timing of the breakup.

“What she did to him stank worse than Denby’s perfumes,” one society matron—who wished to remain anonymous—told the Sentinel. “Leading him on just to get those chemical formulas, and then dropping him flat. I’m just glad the poor boy is finally over his broken heart.”

Erika folded the paper and flung it as hard as she could. It slammed against the office door and flopped onto the carpet.

The door opened a crack, and Kelly peeked warily through the opening. “Does that mean I shouldn’t clip this one for your scrapbook?”

Erika said grimly, “Remind me to send the Sentinel’s editors a gift next Christmas. A new sledgehammer—because at this rate they’ll have worn out the one they’re using now.”

“Yeah, I thought that line about Denby’s perfumes stinking was a little low,” Kelly agreed. She picked up the paper and smoothed the ruffled pages. “There are a couple of his scents which really aren’t bad at all.”

Erika tried to bite back a grin. “Well, no wonder their source wanted to remain nameless, saying things like that. It was probably Denby’s mother. Honestly, Kelly, what did I ever do to annoy the tabloids so much?”

“You seriously don’t know?” Kelly perched on the arm of a chair. “Think about it, Erika. A supposedly brainless blond makeup model takes over her father’s business and—instead of falling flat on her gorgeous face—makes more of a success of it than he ever did. That’s what you did to annoy them. You didn’t stay in the slot they’d picked for you.”

“Well, wouldn’t you think they’d give it up by now? It’s two years since I broke that engagement, and since my father died.”

“And every time a new Ladylove ad comes out, your picture reminds them of how wrong they were. Enjoy it, Erika. It’s a measurement of your success.”

“Sort of like being named the Chamber of Commerce’s Man of the Year? I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Erika picked up her pen. “By the way, Kelly, about that banquet Saturday night—have either you or the Sentinel decided who I’m going with?”

“They haven’t said.” Kelly maintained a deadpan expression. “And I thought it should be your choice.”

“That’s reassuring. Which good cause am I supporting?”

“Adult literacy, I believe.”

“Literacy? I wish I understood how my eating rubbery chicken and listening to a speaker drone on all evening is supposed to help the cause of reading. Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just stay home and take a book to bed instead?”

By the time Erika paid off her cab in front of the apartment complex, Stephen was on the sidewalk to greet her. “Just the person I wanted to see,” she said, handing him the blue-and-silver dress bag she was carrying.

“Welcome home, Ms. Forrester,” he said as he ushered her into the lobby. “I was sorry to miss you when you arrived last night. There’s fresh espresso in my office, if you’d like a cup.”

“You’re a love, Stephen.” She sank into the guest’s chair in his office—an extra-comfortable wing-back covered in a heathery tweed—and put her feet up on the small matching footstool, watching as he hung her dress bag next to an identical one on a hat stand beside the door. “This is wonderful. What happened to your assistant? Did you send him home for the night, or has he already quit?”

“Why would he quit?” Stephen looked puzzled.

Erika shrugged. “It seemed to me this morning that he was already a bit tired of the residents’ oddities, so I’d be amazed if he stuck with it for long.”

Stephen’s gaze shifted a bit. “Oh, I think Amos will be around for a while,” he said vaguely. “He just has a little different philosophy of the job than I do, that’s all.”

Understatement of the year, Erika thought.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Forrester?”

“I need advice,” Erika said crisply. “Break out your little black address book and tell me which of your friends would like to go to a banquet with me on Saturday. Hear an inspiring speaker—”

Stephen shook his head. “I’m running out of friends who will fall for that one.”

“There are benefits,” Erika began.

From behind her, a pleasant voice asked, “A woman like you needs an escort service?”

Erika almost dropped the cup Stephen had just handed her. She twisted around to see Amos, who was lounging against the door with his arms folded across his chest.

Stephen sighed. “Amos, you can’t just talk to the residents like—”

“I’m off duty.” Amos strolled in and perched on the corner of the desk.

He certainly looked it, Erika thought. The dark suit and ascot were gone, replaced with faded jeans and a lightweight sweater with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. His shoulders looked even broader, and the blue of his sweater made his eyes seem brighter.

“I’ve tried to explain,” Stephen said wearily, “that on this job you’re never off duty.”

“Speak for yourself, Stephen. No wonder you’re always tired. I want to hear why Ms. Forrester needs help finding a date. To say nothing of being curious about what she means by benefits.”

It was obviously too late to pretend she’d been joking. Anyway, Erika asked herself, why should it bother her if Amos darling thought she couldn’t attract a man without help? She looked him in the eye. “I don’t know why you’ve got this chip on your shoulder, but if it’s just me you have a problem with, I promise not to bother you anymore. In fact, I’ll simply ignore you altogether. If you can convince enough of the residents to share my feelings, you’ll have a pretty easy job of it—for however long it lasts. Now if you’ll go away, Amos darling, and let me talk to Stephen in private—”

He didn’t move. “Next time you want to talk to Stephen in private, shut the door. Half the building could have heard you, so why object because I happened to walk by?”

Stephen cleared his throat. “All right, let’s get back to the point. What kind of a banquet is it and who will be there? If there are connections to be made, then maybe—”

“It’s for adult literacy. So your friend can hang out with authors and publishers and readers and agents and—”

Stephen was smiling.

“You’ve thought of someone? Stephen, you’re an angel.”

Amos slid off the desk. “Now that you have the problem solved, I’ll be—”

“It sounds right down Amos’s alley,” Stephen said.

Erika stared at him. “This is no time for a joke.”

“I was serious. Amos is writing a book. That’s why he’s here.”

Erika tipped her head to one side and inspected Amos. She thought she saw irritation flicker in his eyes.

Well, that makes two of us who are annoyed at being fixed up with each other. “Why he’s here?” she repeated. “I don’t know what you mean.”

It was Amos who answered. “There are certain advantages to the position. Living quarters supplied, no commuting to work, flexible hours. As long as I take care of the residents’ needs, I can do what I like with the rest of my time. Namely, write.”

“And if you can persuade the residents not to ask you for anything, you’ll do even better. No, Stephen, I couldn’t live with myself if I dragged a genius away from the Great American Novel to attend a boring dinner.” Erika pushed herself up from the chair. “And I’m sure the genius agrees.”

“Now that would depend on the benefits you were talking about,” Amos murmured. “Exactly what do they include?”

In your dreams, Amos darling. Erika looked at the twin dress bags hanging on the hat rack. “Which one of these is mine, Stephen? I lost track when you hung them up.”

“Let me guess,” Amos said. “You brought home a white silk blouse, I presume?”

Erika was puzzled. “Yes, as a matter of fact, though that’s not all I bought. How do you know—?”

“Because Stephen insisted that since the dry cleaner’s deliveryman refused responsibility for your white silk blouse, you must have a new one immediately. So he sent me trekking all the way down to midtown to pick it up this afternoon.”

“So I have two brand-new white silk blouses? That’s hilarious.”

“Very amusing,” Amos said politely. “I suppose you’d like me to take the extra back tomorrow.”

“It would seem to be the logical move. Actually, I’d prefer it if you’d trade it for a different shade, something like teal or periwinkle…”

“How about wine-red? That would be dead easy—I could just finish the job you did on the original.”

“On second thought, just take the blouse back. Don’t bother to get another. It would be very foolish of me to assume that you know your colors, so I might end up with something in flame-orange or fluorescent green.” She picked up a bag in each hand, weighed them and hung the lighter one back on the hat stand. “It was very thoughtful of you to anticipate my needs, Stephen.” She started toward the elevator, bag in hand.

A low voice stopped her in midstride just a few paces from the office door. “You’re quite wrong, Stephen,” she heard Amos say. “That woman doesn’t need a manager looking after her. What she needs is a keeper.”

The members’ lounge at the Civic Club was never noisy or crowded, but on Wednesday as the lunch hour neared, the room was as full as Erika had ever seen it. She toyed with a glass of sherry and tried to force down the butterflies in her stomach while she waited for her guest to arrive.

You don’t have any idea what you’re doing, whispered a voice in the back of her mind.

The voice sounded a little like her father. Erika took a deep breath and another sip and tried not to listen.

You have no experience with buyouts and takeovers. You’ve been lucky so far, that’s all—and it isn’t going to last forever. Don’t push it.

She reached for a business magazine which lay on a small table beside her. She’d grab for anything which might serve to deflect that belittling voice in her head.

Kelly had been right, she thought—at least, up to a point. The Sentinel’s editors weren’t the only ones who’d been surprised when Erika had stepped into her father’s shoes at Ladylove Cosmetics after his death. In fact, Erika herself had been pretty much amazed when she’d actually stood up and said she wanted the job.