“Stay.”

Simon didn’t let go of her arm, though his business associates were waiting for him. They’d already staked out a table in the bar, and were looking at Simon questioningly.

“I—I don’t know…” Sarah mumbled.

“Please.” His voice was low, with a husky catch at the end. Or maybe that was desperation. All Simon knew was that he needed to be with her just now. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that way.

She was so…something. Simon found himself terribly attracted to her in this incarnation. She was hot. Totally hot. Look-at-me hot. And Simon looked. He couldn’t stop looking.

What he needed to do was pay attention to his potential clients. Negotiations had reached a delicate stage at which the slightest thing could make them go either way. Simon had already lost two accounts this week. Losing this one after all the time they’d invested would be no good for the bottom line.

Still, his eyes glued on Sarah, all he could think about was that directly above them were floors filled with many, many beds.

And he needed only one.

Dear Reader,

A few months ago I was at a bridal shower, where the topic naturally turned to men. And surprisingly, I discovered there were two categories of women at the shower—well, other than the bride-to-be, who was in a category all by herself, and myself (who is happily married, thank you very much). But as for the others, all the women fell into two groups—the career singles (those who are single and loving it) and the singles who’d made a career out of preparing for marriage.

As the bride opened her presents, there was a friendly yet intense discussion about life and men—specifically whether or not these women actually wanted a man in their lives…and then how to get him there if they did. When they talked strategies, the career singles and the seriously-getting-marrieds sounded a lot like my characters Hayden and Missy. And I couldn’t help thinking that the perfect girlfriend would be someone who was a mix of the two….

That’s how my heroine Sara came to be. I hope you enjoy her adventures in How To Be the Perfect Girlfriend. Who knows? Maybe you’ll pick up some tips!

Don’t forget to stop by www.HeatherMacAllister.com for news about upcoming books.

Happy reading!

Heather MacAllister

Books by Heather MacAllister

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

785—MOONLIGHTING

817—PERSONAL RELATIONS

864—TEMPTED IN TEXAS

892—SKIRTING THE ISSUE

928—MALE CALL

How To Be the Perfect Girlfriend

Heather MacAllister

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

My thanks to perfect girlfriends Candace Cogan and Hellen Knox, who acted as my husband’s personal chauffeurs and let him boss them around so I could stay home and write this book.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

1

THERE WAS NOTHING like a little humiliation to get the blood flowing on an ordinary Tuesday morning. Sara Lipton’s came in the form of rejection by e-mail. It was a new personal low.

Somehow, e-mail rejection was more humiliating than rejection by answering machine, and oh, yes, she’d had plenty of experience with that kind.

In this case, she’d sent a carefully casual, yet sensually perky—and don’t think that was easy to achieve—e-mail to the visiting business associate with whom she’d spent several enjoyable hours last Friday night.

And this was his response: I can’t seem to locate you in my client base—have we met? And then to hammer home the point, he’d signed it, Bradley Whit, Senior Software Consultant, Cynoware Industries.

Oh, they’d met. Their lips had met, too. Several times in a dark corner booth long after the rest of the gang from work had left. In fact, Sara thought Bradley had been kissing her in a we’ve-clicked-and-I-want-to-see-you-again way, when it apparently was an I’m-in-town-from-Boston-and-am-looking-for-temporary-fun-in-Houston way.

Yeah, and she’d given him a real Texas welcome. Or would that be a French welcome? Better not go there.

Have we met? This was fast becoming the story of her life. Okay, then. It was time to rewrite the story of her life.

And she intended to, just as soon as she finished photocopying the end-of-month employee evaluations. Clutching them to her as though they contained Avalli Digital Media’s most sacred company secrets—she was a little worried about the new privacy policy—Sara left her cubicle and headed down the hall.

She’d hoped to finish copying them by lunchtime because she’d called her friend and co-worker Hayden to meet her for a heart-to-heart chat about Life and Men. Mostly men—Hayden’s area of expertise. Sara didn’t want to be late because she’d also asked Missy, the cute little blond temp from Dallas who got on Hayden’s nerves because all she ever discussed was her upcoming wedding. Yeah, so sue her. Sara was fascinated by the details. Go figure.

Between them Sara figured these two women knew everything worth knowing about men. Hayden could give her tips on how to get a man, and Missy could tell her what to do with him once she got him. A perfect plan, if Sara did say so herself.

There was a line at the photocopier and Sara couldn’t wait until after lunch, which meant she was going to be late. Whipping out her cell phone, she called Hayden, hoping to catch her before she left for the café.

“Where are you?” was the way Hayden answered the phone. From the background noise, Sara could tell that she was already in the building’s atrium café.

“Can you grab us a table? I’m caught at the photocopier.”

“Can’t you just scan and print?”

“No. You know we don’t want confidential information on the network.”

“I swear. You people in payroll are paranoid. Hey—you just need black-and-whites, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then go on up to my floor. There’s an old machine that we keep next to the vending machines. It doesn’t collate or do anything fancy, but you’ll get your copies.”

“I’m on my way.” Sara pulled open the door to the stairs and started running up the two flights to the twenty-sixth floor, her steps echoing in the stairwell.

The running lasted half a flight. She really needed to start exercising.

Breathing heavily, Sara found the old machine in the deserted vending area of the marketing department. All the marketing people apparently ate lunch out. If Sara had an expense account, she’d eat out all the time, too. But payroll assistants didn’t have expense accounts. Sara brown-bagged her lunch at least two days a week and aimed for three. It was part of her long-range plan to become fiscally responsible. See? She was planning for the future. She was maturing.

She deserved a mature relationship. One with commitment at its core. A life-partner relationship.

Either that or a lot of really fun, hot, immature relationships. Relationshipettes, maybe. Memorable encounters, even. The kind that inspired women to write memoirs. Sara visualized herself with silver hair, gnarled hands weighed down with diamonds and a satisfied smile as she dictated her life story to a fascinated and envious young woman.

Right. At this point, both visions seemed extremely far-fetched. She was neither fabulously single nor contentedly married. She wasn’t even contentedly single and fabulously married. No, Sara was discontentedly unmarried.

There was a difference between being single and being unmarried. Single had a proactive sound and implied a life of fun dates and attractive men at one’s beck and call. There had never been a man at Sara’s beck and no one had called in far too long.

Lately, Sara had found the idea of being part of a committed couple increasingly appealing. She’d done the casual relationship thing—that is, all her relationships had been casual as far as the men were concerned—and now she wanted to experience the novelty of having a male completely devoted to her. Solely to her.

A love slave would be nice, or at least a man who put her first instead of bowling night with his friends, and who actually checked with her before accepting an invitation to the Astros game, which he went to without her instead of taking her to the art film he’d kinda sorta promised he would that night and then not even realizing why she was mad….

Well, anyway, Sara wanted someone different from her usual sort of man. Maybe it was because she was staring thirty in the face, or maybe it was something as shallow as buying all those wedding shower gifts at Williams Sonoma when she couldn’t afford to buy anything for herself there, but Sara had experienced definite coupling urges. Unfortunately, there was no one to couple with.

The old machine was humming along nicely and Sara was manually collating as she went when there was an ominous whirring and everything stopped. The paper-jam light blinked. It figured. Unfortunately, Sara couldn’t see any scrunched-up paper. In frustration, she put down her papers and called Hayden.

“Does the stupid machine ever jam on you?”

“It jammed for real? Oh, you lucky girl.”

“What?”

Hayden’s voice turned husky. “You get to call Simon.”

“I don’t have time to wait for a repair guy.”

“No—Simon Northrup.”

“You mean Mr. Northrup?” Only Hayden could get away with bothering a company vice president with something like this. But then men treated Hayden differently than they treated the rest of the female population.

“Oh, yes.” Hayden sighed. “I’ve been known to use a rubber band and a staple to jam the copier just so I can watch him lean over the machine.”

“Hayden, you are a sick woman.”

“He wears European-cut slacks and he wears them very well.”

Hayden’s voice was so loud that Sara looked over her shoulder in case there was someone to overhear. “I can’t bother Mr. Northrup. Besides, he’s probably already gone to lunch.”

“He never goes to lunch this early.”

“I’ll just figure out how to unjam the thing myself. Oh, uh, I asked Missy to join us, so don’t wander off. Bye!” Sara hurriedly disconnected before Hayden could protest.

She opened the side door of the big old machine and peered at the copier’s guts. Yeah, there was the paper scrunched way back in there. Stretching her arm through and getting a black toner smear on her blouse, Sara found she couldn’t reach the paper. Great. She was either going to have to go in from the top, and it didn’t look as though she could reach the jam that way either, or pull the thing out from the wall. It was wedged between the Coke machine and the coffee bar.

Or she was going to have to—

“Ah. Another jam.” A tall man wearing cool techno glasses strode across the break room. “Sometimes I wonder why we keep this machine.” It was Simon Northrup.

Sara had seen him before, of course, but had never actually spoken to him. He’d always seemed a little remote and kind of intimidating, but the smile he gave her was friendly enough.

“Yeah, it, uh, jammed.” Brilliant, brilliant.

“Let’s take a look.” He set his coffee mug on the counter next to Sara and unbuttoned the cuffs of his blinding white shirt.

Custom, Sara thought, without ever having knowingly seen a custom-tailored shirt. Nice. More men should go custom. Maybe she should go custom.

“It’s a great old warhorse,” he nodded to the machine, “so I suppose we can allow it this one eccentricity.”

Eccentricity. Each letter sounded crisply. Sara could listen to him talk all day. Since she dealt with personnel records, she knew Simon Northrup was from Boston and had gone to boarding school in England. The resulting accent might not be as noticeable up North, but in Texas the clipped edges and slightly formal word choice contrasted with the good-ole-boy twang she heard all the time. Contrasted in a good way. A sexy way. She was beginning to see why he appealed to Hayden.

As he rolled up his sleeves, Simon asked, “Are you a new employee? A temp?”

Gritting her teeth, Sara sighed inwardly. Unmemorable. That’s what she was.

“Wait—I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” He studied her, his head tilted slightly in a way that emphasized his square jaw.

If Hayden hadn’t gone on about him, Sara would never have noticed the square jaw. “I’m Sara Lipton from payroll. I was trying to avoid the wait at our machine.”

“Well, we’ll see if we can’t get you back in business here.”

Sleeves rolled up to reveal arms more tanned than she’d expected, Simon closed the side door Sara had opened, raised the heavy top section and leaned over the machine.

From then on, Sara saw everything in slow motion…the way his shirt clung to him as he bent over the machine and reached inside; the way his flanks stretched; his hips flexed and the fabric of his dark slacks stretched, smoothed, outlined and emphasized his fabulous behind….

Oh, boy, did it emphasize. Sara inhaled deeply. Simon’s rear end was indeed a thing of beauty. She was an immediate European-cut convert. Who knew?

She swallowed, aware of a nearly irresistible urge to touch it. No, not touch…grab. Manhandle, as it were. It was a revelation. Was this the way men felt about women?

“The paper isn’t jammed in the normal spot,” Simon said from inside the copier.

Sara thought of Hayden’s deliberate jamming which she now not only understood, but applauded. “I really appreciate you taking the time to fix it.” Take all the time you want.

Simon raised himself slightly to glance at her over his shoulder. Sara nearly whimpered when the movement shifted his hips, resulting in the perfect calendar shot. Man and machine.

Actually, just the man was plenty.

“My pleasure,” he said before turning back.

The pleasure is all mine. Sara had picked up her employee evaluations and gripped them closely to her chest. She hadn’t thought she was the type to appreciate a man’s physical attributes à la carte like this. Usually, she accepted or rejected the whole package, not that Simon’s total package was anything to reject. It was just that there were some spectacular, uh, aspects to consider. So she considered them carefully, even while acknowledging that this package was not for her. Undoubtedly, some other woman unwrapped it at night.

“Got it.” He straightened and tossed two scraps of paper into the wastebasket.

“Thanks.” Sara would retrieve them later. Her department now shredded all document-related trash to ensure privacy.

Simon washed his hands at the sink, then poured a mug of coffee. “Happy copying,” he said on his way out before she could say anything memorably brilliant.

Omigosh, omigosh, omigosh. How could this man have been working just two floors away from her for the past year?

Okay. Calm down. Realistically Simon Northrup was not her type. Or rather, she wasn’t his type. She didn’t have the…the something men who looked like that required in their women.

Hayden had it. In fact Hayden had too much of it.

Missy had a younger version of it.

And Sara was going to do her best to get it.

She retrieved the paper and hurriedly finished her copying. She was going to have to use this machine more often.

When Sara made it downstairs to the lobby of the Perkins building, she saw Hayden and Missy sitting at one of the glass-topped tables in the atrium near the fountain. They already had salads and there was a third one for her. Missy was showing Hayden a magazine. From Hayden’s bored expression, Sara knew it was a bridal magazine. At least they hadn’t strangled each other yet.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Hayden was saying as Sara got within earshot.

“The blue is the problem!” Missy reached into the tote bag she carried everywhere—the official Melissa and Peter Wedding Tote. It had once been a pristine white, but was now looking a little shopworn. Missy had been engaged for a year and a half while she planned the ultimate wedding.

She held up a wad of fabric swatches. “I have to make a decision soon and not one of these matches the Jordan almonds!”

“So have them custom dyed. I know a company that will dye them any color you want. They can even match your baby blue eyes.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Sara murmured under her breath as she slid into a chair.

Hayden had a dangerous sparkle in her eye. “In fact, they’ll even inscribe Melissa and Peter or the date on each individual almond.”

Missy’s eyes widened. “They will?”

“In gold or silver if you want.”

“Oh…” Missy stared off into the distance, her expression approaching rapture, as she added personalized almonds to her wedding vision.

They’d seen her zone out before and undoubtedly would again. Sara leveled a look at the unrepentant Hayden.

Moments later, Missy returned from wedding Valhalla. “Okay.” She clicked her pen. “What’s the name of the company?”

“Bridal Sweets,” Hayden told her. “I’ll have to look them up and get back to you.”

“Hayden, you’re a doll. Thanks!” Missy beamed at her. Hayden smiled back.

Sara was sure the world would stop spinning. “Okay, now that Missy’s almond problem is taken care of, I’d like you both to turn your attention to me.”

“That won’t be any fun,” Hayden muttered.

“Mr. Northrup fixed my paper jam,” Sara said to taunt her.

“Mmm.” Hayden closed her eyes. “And did you enjoy it?”

“Oh, yes. It took a while because the jam was way in the back.”

They both exhaled.

“What are you two talking about?” Missy asked.

“Never mind, you’re engaged,” Sara said. “Which is why you’re here. You’re on the Super Corporate Wife track and from watching you these past few months, I can see that it isn’t something that just happens.” Sara figured a little buttering up couldn’t hurt. “You’ve got to go after it, and the man who can make that kind of life happen. It takes work. And you have worked. Most efficiently.”

Missy dimpled, something Sara would never be able to do. “Why thank you, Sara. I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. I’m glad somebody appreciates everything I’ve done to achieve what I have,” she added with a glance at Hayden.

“Whatever floats your boat, honey,” Hayden said and crossed her legs as a TDH—tall, dark and handsome—walked past.

The movement caught the man’s attention and he checked out Hayden’s legs, then met her eyes, all while carrying on a conversation with the man next to him.

“And that would be why you’re here, Hayden.”

“You need my sophisticated style and wit?”

“I want to know how you can attract anything with a Y-chromosome.”

Hayden gave a smile that visually purred. “With the sophisticated style and wit I just mentioned.”

After a glance at Hayden’s climbing hemline, Missy raised her eyebrows. “We call that something else where I come from.”

“No doubt because you lack sophisticated style and wit,” Hayden drawled.

“Hey!” Sara signaled a time-out. “Can we please focus on me? I need help with the man/woman thing. I’m not doing it right.”

“I didn’t think you were doing it at all.”

Sara gritted her teeth. “Well, that would be the problem, Hayden.” She inhaled, knowing she was going to have to tell them everything. “I’m not hooking up with the right kind of men and when I do, I’m Teflon woman—they don’t stick around.” She told them about Mr. Kiss-and-Run from Friday night.

“Well, it’s no wonder—you were making out with him in a public place!” Missy lowered her voice. “A bar. He thought you were one of those kind of women and didn’t take you seriously.”

“I’ve found that men take that sort of thing very seriously,” Hayden said.

“So why did he pretend not to know her? My mama always said, men won’t buy the cow if they can get the milk for free.”

Hayden rolled her eyes. “They’ll just get the milk from another cow.”

“I didn’t give him any milk,” Sara pointed out.

“Maybe that was the problem.”

Missy glared at Hayden. “Well, maybe if all the cows got together and agreed to stop giving milk—”

“They’d end up as hamburger.”

“Not if they chose their herd carefully,” Missy snapped.

“Who cares about the herd? Pay attention to the bull.”

“That is just so typical of you.”

Hayden blinked. “Moo.”

“This is not helping,” Sara said.

“What did you expect?” Missy speared a tomato wedge in her salad so hard she broke a tine on her plastic fork.

“I was hoping for help in attracting men from Hayden and figuring out which ones to attract and how to keep them from you.”

Missy got all huffy. “I can attract men! But I’m engaged, so I choose not to.”

“Right,” Hayden said.

“I can!” Missy glanced around, then peeled off her sweater revealing a tight black sleeveless shell. Then she turned her diamond engagement ring around to hide the stone.

Sara had no idea how big the diamond was, only that when the light caught the stone and it flashed, the reflection left a blue-green dot in her vision.

After fluffing her blond hair and throwing back her shoulders, Missy waited a couple of beats, then picked up the broken fork and gasped. “Oh, no! My fork broke!”

Oh, please. Sara rolled her eyes so hard she felt the muscles twinge.

And yet, there was an instant response. “Here, take mine,” said a man from the next table at the same moment another passing by handed her one from his tray.

“Here you go.” Then he just stood there.

Smiling widely, Missy took the fork. “Why, aren’t you both so sweet,” she gushed as only a Texas belle could.

“I need a fork, too,” Sara said. No one even blinked. But then, she hadn’t expected them to.

Missy held the attention of the men with her smile long enough to make her point, then released them by turning back to her salad. The man with the tray looked as if he wanted to linger, so Missy tucked her hair behind her ear, the flashing diamond visible once more.

Very neatly done. Disappointment crossed the man’s face and he left. Missy shrugged back into her sweater.

“Not bad,” admitted Hayden. “Just don’t try going one on one with me.”

“I doubt that’ll happen.” Missy’s voice was lethally sweet. “We don’t move in the same social circles.”

“I’m not moving in any social circles!” Sara dropped her head to the table. “I give up.”

“But you haven’t started yet,” Missy said.

“What’s the point? I’ll never be able to stop men in their tracks the way you and Hayden do.”

“But do you truly want to?” Hayden asked.

Sara raised her head just high enough to prop it on her fist. “Maybe not stop so much as slow them down.”

“And then what?” Missy asked.

“What do you mean ‘and then what’?”

“What are you going to do with them when you’ve got them?”

“Well, I don’t know. I was hoping we could talk about that after I found somebody.”

“I think that’s been your problem. We should be talking about afterward before.”

“Huh?”

Missy reached into her wedding tote, withdrew a Palm Pilot and unfolded a keyboard for it. “You need a goal and a plan to reach it.” She looked at Hayden. “Am I right?”

“Yes.” Hayden crossed her arms over her chest and watched the parade of men coming down the escalator. “Much as I hate to admit it.”

Missy’s fingers were poised over the keyboard. “So, what do you want, Sara?”

Well, this was it and she’d better pay attention. “I want a man who’s interested in making a life with me.”

Missy started typing. “Marriage.”

Hayden snorted.

“Or at least long-term devotion. Long-term enough for me to decide if I want it to lead to marriage,” Sara added because she didn’t want to completely alienate Hayden with marriage talk. “Certainly a better caliber of man.”

“What kind of man do you want?” Hayden asked, as though it were that simple.

“The perfect man, of course,” Sara said flippantly.

“Then you’ll have to become the perfect woman.” Missy was serious.

“Oh, sure. Why didn’t I think of that? I’ll get right on it.” Sara slapped her hands on the table and looked around the atrium. “Anybody seen my fairy godmother?”

“Snippy, snippy.” Melissa typed something.

“Calm down, Sara.” Hayden stopped casing the escalator for men and closed her plastic salad container. “Perfection is the way you define it. Missy has her idea of the perfect man, I have mine and you should have yours.”

“And then you have to become his match.” Missy eyed her, then typed some more.

Sara eyed Missy right back. “Now, wait a minute—I am not becoming one of those women who completely changes herself for a man.”

“All we’re saying is if you want a pilot, you hang out around airplanes. You don’t want a bowler, then stay out of bowling alleys.” Hayden leaned sideways trying to see what Missy was typing.

“Oh.” That made sense.

“Good Lord, she’s started a spreadsheet.” Hayden grinned at Sara. “You should see what’s in the ‘improvements’ column.”

“Sara said she wanted to upgrade her men.”

“I just thought you’d teach me a secret handshake and tell me to wear a padded bra,” Sara grumbled. Why had she thought this would be as simple as a few tips over lunch?

“Excuse me!” Missy gestured to her chest. “There is nothing padded here. That’s…that’s false advertising.”

“There is nothing false about my advertising, honey,” Hayden snapped.

“Hello?” Sara waved her hands. “Me? Focus on me!”

Hayden grabbed her hands. “Nails.”

“Oh, I know,” Missy tut-tutted. “Acrylic?”

“Hmm.” Both Hayden and Missy looked at Sara.

She pulled her hands away and resisted the urge to sit on them.

Hayden laughed. “Let’s just go for groomed right now.”

“Oh, thanks a lot.”

“What about her hair?” Missy tossed her mane of one hundred and fifty dollar highlights over her shoulder. “Except I really shouldn’t fill that in if she wants a low-maintenance man.”

Sara wasn’t sure, but she thought there was an insult in there.

“Sara, you’re going to have to give us specifics on the kind of man you want.” Missy waited expectantly.

“Well…he should be kind, honest and have a sense of humor—”

“Yeah, yeah, we all want those.” Hayden made a hurry-up gesture. “Add sexy.” She smiled at Sara. “My little gift to you.”

“I’m going to type all those in,” Missy said. “Later, you’ll have to rank the traits.”

“What is this?” Even though she’d asked for help, she hadn’t expected them to be quite this helpful. “Are you running a dating service?”

Missy ignored her. “Possible professions?”

“I don’t know—professional.”

Missy typed. “More.”

“Probably older than me. Mature. Never married—or at least no children. I don’t want to do the stepmother thing.”

“Completely understandable,” Hayden agreed. “Go on.”

“I—” Sara thought of Bradley from Friday night. Why had she thought he was attractive? “Classy. Someone who enjoys dining occasionally, rather than just hitting all the fast food places in town. A man who might like to cook, even, or at least take a class with me. Someone who knows how to use all the silverware and doesn’t make jokes about the spork being the perfect utensil.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Hayden said. “What else?”

“Cultured. Refined. Elegant.” Now she was thinking of Ryan, her last boyfriend, who had been none of those things. She was describing the anti-Ryan. Well? Wasn’t that the idea? “A man who’d appreciate seeing a play, or going to the symphony, or…an art gallery. And money. I don’t want to have to lend him money. And his car should be nice. It doesn’t have to be expensive, it just has to work. And he should be the type of man who’d walk me to the door and pull out my chair and buy my mother a corsage for Mother’s Day because he’s just so damn happy she had me.”

Missy had stopped typing. Sara was aware that she and Hayden were staring at her. “What?”

“Anything else?” Hayden asked.

“He should dress well. You know, somebody who actually owns a suit and doesn’t need help tying his tie and isn’t color-blind. Oh, and he shouldn’t freak out when he sees a wine list in a restaurant.”

“Is that all?” Hayden wore a funny smile.

“Yes—no. He should know how to dance.”

“The Cotton-Eyed Joe?”

“No, real dancing.”

Missy gasped. “Bite your tongue!”

“Okay, he would be willing to dance the Cotton-Eyed Joe if we were ever in a place where people were dancing it. But I was just thinking that it would be nice if he knew how to dance the kind of dances that get played at weddings when the bride and groom get the first dance and then the bridesmaids have to dance and it’s really awful if your partner can’t dance because everyone is staring at you and you trip over the stupid dress.”

“I ran out of room,” Missy said. “I should have brought my laptop.”

Hayden studied Sara. “And is that everything about your ideal man?”

Sara thought. “He should be well-spoken and use correct grammar.” Hey, it would make her mother happy.

“Maybe even with a slight accent?” Hayden asked.

“Accents can be cool.”

Hayden laughed. “I guess so because, Sara, sweetie, you have just described Simon Northrup.”

2

SIMON NORTHRUP was having a bad day. He knew it when the highlight had been fixing a paper jam. The afternoon had gone downhill from there. Not one, but two, count ’em two, accounts had gone to rival companies. Yes, the paper jam had definitely been the best part. And the girl—woman, female or whatever the politically correct term was these days—was the sole reason the paper jam was a highlight.

Until he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to be having female highlights. He had enough trouble with the females in his life as it was. He needed to keep his eyes in front and his mind blank.

But he couldn’t. She’d had brown eyes. Soft brown hair. A quiet, conservative manner. Such a refreshing change from most Texas women who were all woman and let a man know it at every opportunity and expected said man to acknowledge their womanliness constantly. In-your-face-female pulchritude. For some men, sexual nirvana. For Simon, who had temporarily forsworn women, torture. Texas women were so much effort. As he had cause to know, they were well worth that effort. But restful they definitely were not.

The photocopier woman looked restful. Truthfully, in his more active dating days, he might have overlooked her. How ironic that now that he’d noticed her, it would do him no good to dwell on the eyes and the hair and the soft voice and the slim, discreetly covered body and the thought of finally finding a female who could just be and not feel compelled to fill the silence with chattering or discussing or arguing or commenting or complaining or fussing.

Simon hated it when women fussed over him. Some men really got off on that, but he liked to solve his own problems. If he wanted advice, he’d ask for it.

Simon took off his glasses and rubbed the places on either side of his nose where the pads fit. His new glasses were trendy, but uncomfortable. Wasn’t that always the way?

Sara from payroll hadn’t been wearing glasses, but if she had been, he imagined she’d go for comfort over style.

But he shouldn’t be thinking about her. Kayla gave him plenty to think about.

Simon exhaled. Were relationships supposed to be this much work?

As penance, he impulsively picked up the phone and dialed her number.

“Hey, Simon,” she answered. “What’s up?”

He hated caller ID. “I’m just checking in. Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?”

There was silence. Or rather, Kayla didn’t speak. Simon could hear loud music in the background, the kind Kayla liked to play in his car. The kind he didn’t like.

“Will you have any businesspeople with you?”

Kayla didn’t do well in the corporate entertaining arena. He was unlikely to make the mistake of bringing her along on business dinners again. “No, it’s just you and me, kiddo. But you still get to dress up.”

“Yeah, okay I guess,” she said at last. The way she said it told Simon she was in a mood. Lately, Kayla was always in a mood. At first, Simon had wasted a lot of mental energy trying to discover the source of these moods, but he had since learned that it was best to ride them out.

Or order two desserts. What was it about women not ever ordering their own desserts? Where was it written that dessert had to be shared? Simon had realized the key was to order a dessert, pretend not to like it and give it to Kayla. Then order another one and give up half of that, too.

It made Kayla happy and mellow and they had very good times together when Kayla was happy and mellow.

They made arrangements for her to meet him at his office. In the meantime, he could return phone calls and do some scut work so he wouldn’t have to come in so early tomorrow.

He grabbed a stack of expense account receipts and headed for the copy machine wondering on the way how Sara felt about desserts.

“SIMON NORTHRUP?” Sara shook her head. “No way.”

“Why not?”

“Well, he’s, well…he’s old.” She didn’t know how old, but she could find out if it became necessary.

“Not that old,” Hayden said chillingly.

Oops. Sometimes Sara forgot that Hayden was over thirty. She could find out how far over, if she wanted, but she wouldn’t. Hayden was a friend. Snooping wouldn’t be right.

Not to mention against company policy.

“I don’t know.” Missy stared at the tiny screen.

“Well, I do.” Hayden was in a huff.

Puzzled by the tone in her voice, Missy looked up, then batted her hand. “I meant that Sara said she didn’t want a man who had children and there have been rumors that Simon Northrup has been spending a lot of time with a woman who has a daughter.”

“An ex?” Sara shouldn’t have said anything.

Sure enough, Hayden’s eyebrow arched. “You should be so lucky. Simon doesn’t have an ex. Therefore, this is a current and fairly well-entrenched relationship, if he’s met her child. Too bad.”

“I wasn’t considering him anyway.” She knew nobody believed her. But she wasn’t, she told herself. Nope. But even she didn’t believe herself.

“Well, it makes sense that he’s already in a relationship,” Hayden said. “Since he was totally unresponsive.”

“To whom?” Missy asked with precision.

Hayden gave her a look.

“You went for him?” Sara grappled with the image of a Simon/Hayden pairing.

“Well, I—”

“And he rejected you?” Well, that was it. If Simon had rejected Hayden, Sara didn’t stand a chance. Not that she wanted a chance. Not really.

“Reject is such a harsh word. We didn’t click, that’s all.”

“Still, she can practice on him,” Missy said. “Talk to him and see what his interests are. Flirt a little.”

“What’s the point of that?” Sara asked.

“To see what his reaction is,” Hayden answered. “Then you’ll know how to approach men of his type. And, honey, you did describe his type.”

Had she? Had she described a man so out of her league as her ideal man? This was not looking good. “Do you really think I should practice on him?”

Hayden and Missy both nodded. At least they didn’t laugh.

“How am I supposed to approach him, anyway? He’s a vice president. It’s not like I’m going to run across him at Happy Hour or that he’ll have a sudden urge to get coffee from the twenty-fourth floor.”

“No, but there’s always the photocopier. You’ve set a precedent.”

“Won’t he catch on?”

“I hope not.” Hayden fanned herself.

“I am going to have to go to the twenty-sixth floor and copy something,” Missy said.

“You’re engaged,” Sara reminded her, not happy with the idea of Missy in Simon’s line of vision.

“So it’s settled,” Hayden said.

Sara didn’t feel settled at all. “If he’s uninterested, then how am I supposed to judge his reaction?”

“You’ll know,” Missy said. “He may not choose to act, but you’ll still know.”

Hayden smiled. “Just watch for the gleam in his eye.”

Okay, sure. She’d just watch for the old gleam in his eye. Had she ever seen a gleam in a man’s eye? Sara wondered when she was back at her desk. Men must look at Hayden differently than they looked at her. Even Missy had known about the gleam. Sara must be in worse shape than she thought.

She was sitting at her desk stuffing pay envelopes when there was a discreet knock on her cubicle wall. To her complete astonishment, she looked up and saw Simon Northrup.

That rotten Hayden must have said something to him. How mortifying.

“Hello.” Once more Simon’s accent—what little of it that could be squeezed into one word—washed over her.

That wasn’t the only thing washing over her. A gigantic blush began in her chest and bloomed upward.

He’d gotten better-looking in the last few hours. “Sara, isn’t it?”

Holy cow. Sara, tongue paralyzed, nodded. Do not think about cows. Flirt with Simon Northrup. Engage him in conversation. Oh, she was doing so well.

“I found this in the photocopier.” He held up a piece of paper.

And just as quickly as she’d blushed, she felt the heat drain away.

The paper Simon held was an original of one of the employee evaluations she’d been copying before lunch. The ultimate confidential material. And she’d apparently left it lying in the copier for anyone to see.

Such a mistake could cost her her job. Instant dismissal. No second chances. Simon had to have known and yet, rather than returning the paper to personnel and prompting an inquiry, he’d brought it to her.

She took the paper noting that the edges trembled. “This shouldn’t have happened. I feel terrible.”

He gazed down at her, his brown eyes—sans glasses—slightly warmer than polite, but definitely without a gleam. Not that she should be looking for a gleam right now. Or even thinking gleaming thoughts.

“No harm done. I discovered it sitting there on the glass, so I don’t think anyone else used the machine after you did.”

Sara exhaled, sagging with relief. Still dealing with the enormity of her confidentiality breach, she could only nod.

She never made mistakes like this. Never. She’d been in a hurry and she’d been thinking about Simon, or certain parts of him, and look what had happened.

Now she should say something, but it didn’t seem like the time to flirt.

Still, couldn’t she come up with something witty? She stared at the paper in her hands as though there would be something witty to share about Charles Lufkin, who, according to his evaluation, arrived at work promptly and left just as promptly and who performed with satisfactory adequacy.

A real firecracker, that Charles. Nothing like a reality check of the males currently out there to make her appreciate the one standing in front of her. She scoured her uncooperative—and certainly inadequate—brain for something to say. At this point, she’d abandoned any thoughts of wittiness.

She drew a breath and prepared to meet Simon’s eyes.

He was gone.

Oh, great. Fabulous. She almost started after him to thank him, but knew she’d better wait until she calmed down and thought up something to say to him.

Sara put Charles Lufkin’s evaluation on the stack she had yet to file. Imagine that: Simon Northrup, the legendary by-the-book Simon Northrup, had saved her job. He’d taken the time to hand deliver the paper. He hadn’t called her supervisor in the payroll department to come and get it. He hadn’t called her to come and get it.

He’d brought it to her, himself.

How incredibly kind.

Sara heard a faint mental “ding” and realized that kindness was a trait she’d ascribed to her ideal man. And he’d been kind to her twice today.

If she weren’t careful, she’d find herself with a big, fat crush on Simon. Today had certainly put him in a different, and much more attractive, light. How could she ever have thought him intimidating and stuck-up? Stuck-up people didn’t fix paper jams—real or manufactured—for others and they sure didn’t cover for an underling’s mistake the way he had.

By the end of the day, Sara was not surprised to recognize crush symptoms, which meant that flirting with Simon for practice was now out of the question. Practice flirting only worked when emotions weren’t involved. So, no flirting. At least for practice—no, no, no. No flirting at all. She’d have to find another man of that type for practice. With Simon, it was professional contact only. And maybe a lot of paper jams.

Since she hadn’t properly thanked him, Sara screwed up her courage and climbed up to the twenty-sixth floor to stop by his office and basically say, “I owe you.” Like he’d ever collect. Still, it was the professional thing to do.

The twenty-sixth floor was definitely more plush than hers, Sara thought when she stepped off the elevator. The carpet was thicker, the colors more modern and the furniture trendier. Client photographs and media stills lined the elevator bays. The receptionist appeared to have already left for the day. Sara knew where Hayden’s office was, but she wasn’t sure about Simon’s. He probably had an office with windows, which meant if she stuck to the outer perimeter, sooner or later she’d eventually stumble across it.

It was sooner rather than later and there was no stumbling involved.

She heard him talking on the phone and stopped to listen for a moment and gather her thoughts. There weren’t a lot of thoughts to gather, considering she’d had all day to think about what to say to him. “Thank you” was heartfelt and sincere, but once it was said and he responded politely, there wouldn’t be a whole lot left to say.

She heard him return the phone to its cradle and stepped into the doorway. “Mr. Northrup?”

He was standing behind his desk and there was a flash in his eyes. A flash, not a gleam, and it only meant he recognized her. “Sara.”

“I, uh…” Don’t say “uh.” “I—”

The phone buzzed. He frowned, let two buzzes go by then held up a finger indicating that Sara should stay.

She hated that, hated waiting around while someone was on the phone, pretending that she couldn’t hear, when of course she could. Even worse was when the conversation took an unexpected turn and she had to decide if she’d continue to pretend to be oblivious, or leave.

She really didn’t have much to say to Simon. She could just mouth her thank-you and make her escape except…

Except Simon had reached for the phone without breaking eye contact. How sexy was that? He didn’t mean for it to be sexy, she told herself. He couldn’t help it.

She swallowed.

Simon continued gazing at her as he spoke into the phone. If she had to describe his expression, she’d say it was watchful. The weird thing was that she didn’t feel at all uncomfortable or awkward about it.

So she gazed—it wasn’t really staring—back at him. Only at his eyes. Warm chocolate velvet eyes. Awareness crept over her. Awareness of him. Awareness of her. Awareness of what could be.

Awareness that she was probably making way too big a deal of this. But then people with big, fat crushes on other people did that, didn’t they?

“Yes,” he said. “Ask them to come up.” A pause, then, “How many?” He blinked for the first time. Just once. “I see. Yes, it’s all right.” He hung up the phone as smoothly as he’d answered it. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh, no. I know you’re busy. I just wanted to say thanks for not making a big deal out of finding the paper.” She thought about the way that sounded. “Not that it isn’t a big deal, and I know it. And I want you to know that I know it. Huge deal.” Babble, babble, babble. She should have quit after “thanks.”

He wasn’t saying anything. That was the problem. If he’d said, “It’s okay” or something she would have stopped babbling. But he merely watched her, his lips on the verge of a smile. On the verge. No smile. Important distinction.

Sara swallowed again, and attempted to end the conversation with some finesse. She linked her fingers together. “I wanted to reassure you that your trust in my competence has not been misplaced.”

There. That should be precise enough for him.

“Right.” He looked down at his desk. “Well, I’ll just delete this scathing memo to the head of Human Resources denouncing your…competence.”

He pressed a key on the open laptop on the desk in front of him and then closed it.

Sara forgot to breathe.

Simon smiled faintly. “I was joking.”

“Oh!” Sara giggled inanely. “I knew that!”

“No, you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“A lot of people don’t get my jokes. I’ve always thought I was quite witty.” The line was delivered with the perfect deadpan expression. Despite his strait-laced reputation, the man clearly had a sense of humor. Don’t think about that.

Sara laughed, then wondered if she should have. “Maybe your jokes are just too subtle.”

“Chalk it up to my repressed boarding school up-bringing.”

“In England?”

“Yes.”

“You have a faint accent,” she told him so he wouldn’t think she’d been snooping in his file. And she hadn’t—not much.

“So does anyone who isn’t from Texas. I do try. I’ve been sprinkling y’alls and howdys throughout all my conversations.”

Sara tried to imagine a “y’all” passing Simon’s lips. Which made her look at his lips and the way they rested in that almost-smile position. His square jaw made him look strong, but the lips gave him a hint of vulnerability. All in all, it was a potent combination, especially considering his other body parts, which Sara had in no way forgotten.

He had a way of looking at her—maybe everyone—which made her believe that his entire attention was focused on her.

That was potent, too. It kept her focused on him and not on the fact that she should leave and he was being too polite to shoo her out.

Politeness was a lost art these days and highly underrated, Sara thought. Was it on her list of preferred male traits?

Voices erupted from the elevator. Female voices. Surely they were coming to meet with Simon. “Your visitors are here, so I’ll take off. Thanks again.”

He looked as though he was going to say something when Sara distinctly heard the sound of running. She was so surprised that she didn’t go anywhere. An instant later, two girls rounded the corner and headed straight for her. Sara stepped back into the office as the taller of the two reached out and slapped the door frame. “I won!”

“Kayla,” Simon said sternly.

Sara stood there, filled with an entirely inappropriate curiosity.

“This is a place of business,” he continued.

Kayla gave him a disgusted look. “Oh, chill.”

He took a deep breath that told Sara he’d taken many deep breaths in regard to Kayla. He turned to the dark-haired girl beside Kayla. “Howdy, Amber. How’re y’all doing?”

Sara tried to muffle her burst of surprised laughter and thought she was going to swallow her tongue. She made a noise that drew Kayla’s attention.

“Hey, is this your girlfriend?” Kayla eyed her with Hayden-like interest.

Sara judged her to be about twelve or thirteen, the age when girls had boys on the brain. Unlike Sara who had men on the brain.

“I work with Mr. Northrup,” she said.

“Mr. Northrup!” Kayla giggled and jostled a smiling Amber.

“Kayla, I told you girls not to run.” A woman appeared in the doorway of Simon’s office.

“Mom! It’s after hours. Nobody cares.”

Sara stared at Kayla’s mother. The woman was sophisticated perfection and moved with supreme self-confidence. It was as though Missy and Hayden had merged. Merged their ages, too. She looked to be in her early thirties.

And it wasn’t as though she was wearing a killer ladies-who-lunch suit, either. No, she had on slacks and pointy-toed shoes or boots, and a top with a matching sweater’s sleeves tied around her neck just so. A leather messenger bag—Prada? Kate Spade?—was slung over her shoulder.

Here, before her, was the perfect woman, and Sara realized just how far she was going to have to go to attract and hold the interest of Simon Northrup’s type.

Clearly, this was the woman and child that the rumor mill had been buzzing about. Well. Had she ever thought for one minute about flirting for real with Simon Northrup, this chance meeting put an end to that.

She was lucky. Oh, so lucky. She cringed at the thought of future humiliation averted.

There would be plenty of cringing and more humiliation at the complete and ruthless assessment of herself that would occur later, when she compared herself to the polished woman eyeing her with faintly dismissive curiosity. Oh, to master that look. Hayden no doubt had it in her arsenal. Sara would ask her to teach it to her.

Now if she could just slink away unnoticed….

“Sara?” Simon’s voice stopped her.

He was going to introduce her. No. Please don’t. There’ll be the inevitable comparisons and—

But of course he would introduce her because he was polite. Maybe politeness was overrated after all.

“This wild thing is my half sister, Kayla, and this is her friend, Amber.”

Sara nodded, gathering what poise she could. Plastering a smile to her face, she turned toward the woman who was probably Simon’s lover. Someone who didn’t have to jam a photocopier to see his—better not go there.

“And this is my stepmother, Joanna.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.