Wedding Roulette Read online

  The males, suddenly bonded in male appreciation, didn’t spare a breath between them.

  Bob Freeman snapped back to reality first, clearing his throat, touching the rim of hair above his ear.

  Michael wasn’t so quick on the rebound. He swallowed hard, hoping to clear his ringing ears. Simona was exquisite! Her grainy photo in the newspaper didn’t begin to do her justice.

  His body’s instant response to her charms was frustrating. But it was a natural reaction. Simona was most desirable, at least behind the safe wall of glass.

  With effort he stiffened his back. He would do well to remember his anger, his outrage. Beautiful women like Simona used men as chew toys, then tossed them away! Even men she didn’t know got the treatment—through that wretched column of hers.

  Oddly, Bob Freeman also seemed affected by their unintentional window peeping. He had to be accustomed to Simona’s moves and he was her boss. But there was no mistaking Bob’s slow recovery as he grasped the doorknob, swung in the heavy paneled door and plunged inside with the finesse of a chubby schoolboy.

  “My favorite columnist,” Bob said a bit too jovially.

  She spun round then, regarding them with surprise, instinctively tightening the shawl on her shoulders.

  Michael was dumbfounded. Caught in an unguarded moment, she emitted a dizzying swirl of vibes: vulnerability, modesty and, remarkably, a twinkle of intelligence. Qualities in direct conflict with the sloppy gooey advice she doled out each and every day in her column.

  As if recovering, a protective mask fell into place over her face, concealing anything of value. “Thanks, Bob.” It was a throaty dismissal, which Bob obeyed with a hasty exit.

  Suddenly the couple was alone, in a room alive with electricity.

  Michael took a good hard look at his nemesis. Her dark eyes were a rather unusual shade of midnight blue. Her mouth was a pleasing size, with just a flash of white teeth. Her complexion was bronzed to an exotic hue, expertly blended with a number of earth tones.

  This was going to be a battle of the sexes. A heated, intense battle.

  To his credit, Michael had never suffered from any complaints about his own looks, with a towering build, thick blond hair and dark-gray eyes. He was representing himself well today, in a new gray suit, hair clipped short and neat. He sensed a note of approval in Simona’s gaze. No matter how unconscious her gesture, it felt good, considering the stinging slap his ex-fiancée’s letter and Simona’s reply had caused him.

  “I’m Michael Collins,” he said formally, extending a hand.

  Krista slid her hand into his larger one, offering him a grip firm enough to make his brows jump. “I am Krista Mattson.”

  “So you don’t care to be addressed as Simona?”

  She shook her head, causing her loose mane to sway. He couldn’t help noting the henna highlights in her hair were similar to the metallic threads in her dress.

  “I’m guessing you don’t care to be called Doughman, either.”

  “No, I don’t. In fact, I prefer to keep that particularly humiliating tag between you, me and Irritating In Illinois.”

  “You mean, Irritated In Illinois.”

  “Depends upon your perspective,” he grumbled.

  “Well, if you insist on a lawsuit, all will come out.” She flashed him an infuriating smile.

  “Maybe we can avoid opening the floodgates on our personal business,” Michael acquiesced.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Collins.” She gestured to one of the huge leather chairs fronting the desk. “Let’s see what we can do.”

  Michael bristled. Was the directive to sit the kind of deliberate ploy often used in business to gain the upper hand? How would an airhead like Simona know of such things? Out of pride and curiosity he sat down in the chair adjacent to the one she’d selected for him. And she noticed. A frown marred her lovely features as she took her place behind the desk.

  Krista settled back in the leather desk chair, which seemed too large and low for her. “Please, carry on.”

  “Believe me, I wouldn’t be here at all if your stupid advice to my fiancée hadn’t completely wrecked my life, put a strain on my future success!”

  Her artfully shaped brows arched. “Exactly how did I accomplish all this?”

  He shifted in his own chair, which seemed too small for his towering posture. “Well, I own a Decadent Delights franchise in Chicago, am set to attend their upcoming convention.”

  “Ah, the doughnut company.” Krista’s tone held appreciation. “Though the chain hasn’t reached the Twin Cities, I’ve tasted them several times on trips to Manhattan. The shops are bright and inviting, done in pristine green and white tile. The air is warm and sweet, a virtual sugar dough heaven.”

  “Sounds like you can appreciate a good doughnut and a well-run place.”

  Her smile suggested as much.

  Michael started as he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. His head snapped sideways to find a group of spectators at the double windows along the corridor. “You sell tickets to our show?”

  Krista followed his gaze with open dismay as at least twelve people, an equal balance of male and female, peered inside the room without a qualm. So, the women in the lobby had overheard Bob Freeman. Bracing herself, she gripped her shawl closed and rose fluidly. Navigating her sinfully high heels as best she could, Krista sauntered to the windows and snapped down the mini-blinds on the dozen agog faces. Taking a steadying breath she returned to her chair.

  “Do you ever sacrifice a chance at the limelight?”

  She hesitated, then smiled slyly. “Can I help it if the public is interested in me?”

  “I would have thought that a matter this serious would warrant your complete attention.”

  “It does!” She resumed her place at the desk, wearing an expression of polite concern. “Now, please, tell me about your situation.”

  Appearing rather disconcerted, he continued. “It’s difficult to explain the importance of these conventions to an outsider. But to franchise owners like me, it is the rare chance to shine for company founder Gerald Stewart. He hosts a lavish convention for his employees every few years in his hometown of Las Vegas. I’ve been attending regularly since I started working part-time for shop owners Norah and Allen Larkin, then on through my culinary school years, ultimately to the opening of my own franchise. With every convention, I made it my business to interact with Mr. Stewart. Year after year, I’ve played the DD game by routinely sending in a personal anecdote for his monthly newsletter.”

  “Is the newsletter a big deal?” she asked.

  “It’s the electrical current running through the company. Gerald Stewart is big on family values and the newsletter is his way of humanizing his huge corporation. Unable to have children, he chose to adopt his employees nationwide to make up his extended family. The unfortunate death of his wife several years back has made him all the more sentimental about his people. It isn’t easy for a private man like me to reach out with folksy anecdotes. But it’s a system that works, that I can respect.”

  Krista found herself following his logic, approving of his business tactics with nods of understanding. When she realized she was slipping out of character, she tossed her head back and fluffed her hair.

  He leaned over the desk in urgency. “In short, I’ve tried to make mine the best Decadent Delights franchise possible. I love my job. I’m proud of my success.”

  “As you should be, Mr. Collins,” she managed to say.

  He appeared buoyed by her support.

  She leaned back in her chair, heady with seeing her earlier suspicions confirmed. This masculine hunk was born in her own image—a male version of her!

  It was all too tempting to imagine what it would be like to be in Irritated’s place, dating such a dynamic go-getter. The idea of discussing one’s dreams and the challenges of the day over a variety of Decadent Delights doughnuts was so very appealing.

  Michael Collins was very appealing,
indeed.

  A sharp peal brought her back to reality. She glanced at the telephone console. Button three was lit up. It had to be the aunts, primed with complaints.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so.” It rang five more times, though. She finally picked up the receiver. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the ringing. Krista pushed some buttons at random but couldn’t figure out what was wrong. In her defense, the system didn’t resemble her own at Bigtime Promotions.

  “This system appears similar to mine.” He stood up and examined the console. “Oh, you seem to have the intercom on. That’s the problem.”

  “I didn’t even notice,” she rallied. “Must have been the cleaning staff’s mistake.”

  He jabbed the black button, then the glowing white one. The ringing stopped and he sat down again.

  Beverly’s voice boomed in her ear. “This isn’t an A & E Biography special. Listening to this dud’s résumé is a precious waste of our time.”

  “This particular recipe is more complicated than you know, Aunt Beverly,” she improvised cheerily. “You have to start with a dollop of honey. Now I know you aren’t especially fond of anything sweet, but—”

  “I’m a regular sweetie pie when I need to be. Got all my lessons from an expert tart named Rachel a long time ago. We both want you back on track, bringing this man to his knees, begging your forgiveness! Now cut short the businessman’s special and do it the old-fashioned way. Drop that shawl, give those cap sleeves a tug south!”

  “Maybe I already have.”

  “Don’t kid a kidder. Now get to it—and push the intercom back on!” Click and buzz. It took Krista a moment to recover from the scolding and surreptitiously nick the intercom button with her knuckle. Michael Collins really couldn’t see the phone console clearly unless he stood up. “Aunt Beverly’s making a new bread recipe,” she offered lamely.

  Michael expressed interest. “You from a family of cooks, then?”

  “We dabble,” she laughed. They enjoyed a comfortable moment. She felt secure enough to let the shawl slide to her elbows. Michael appeared frozen in appreciation. “As you were saying?”

  He cleared his throat to recover. “Anyway, this year’s convention starts next week. It’s the most important convention yet, the stakes are unusually high.” Closing a hand he gave his chest three self-righteous beats. “I had my plans set, was geared up for the challenges. Everything was perfect—” he took an incensed breath “—until you butted in!”

  “Exactly how is this convention so different from previous ones?”

  “There’s a big contest among about fifty franchise owners to make the next DD doughnut flavor to be distributed nationwide. The winner gets a hundred thousand dollars and a fair amount of fame, with his photo displayed in every store. Without question, this is the highest honor ever offered by Gerald Stewart.” His expression could only be described as reverent. “We contestants are to gather in a kitchen at the convention site to prepare our recipes. A small elite panel of chefs will judge the entries, with Gerald Stewart himself having the final say.”

  Behind her lashes she could envision a kitchen full of sweet smells and the sharp scent of keen competition. She couldn’t bake her way out of a nursery school with an Easy-Bake Oven, but she still understood the spirit of it all. What she didn’t understand was how his jilted fiancée affected the convention.

  “Are you trying to tell me you can’t cook without this woman at your side? Is she your inspiration or what?”

  “I’ve explained!”

  “Not about her you haven’t.”

  “Oh? Guess it’s really simple. With Gerald Stewart’s family values policy, no unattached bachelor has a chance of winning that contest.”

  The business angle again. Not what Krista expected to hear from a crushed Romeo. “Rather than condemning Simona Says, maybe you should be threatening to sue Gerald Stewart for rigging a contest for discrimination,” she suggested helpfully.

  He waved off the idea. “It isn’t blatant discrimination that I can prove. And Gerald Stewart doesn’t mean any harm. He just has a soft spot for family. Let’s just say the odds are against a bachelor winning.”

  “I’ve read about Gerald Stewart,” she admitted. She knew Simona probably wouldn’t have, but it seemed a necessary admission to back up her point. “He sounds like a shrewd straight-shooter. If your doughnut recipe is good enough, you will win on your own merit, despite your single status. Plainly, you’ve managed quite nicely within the system so far as a bachelor.”

  “Being a bachelor has been fine. I guess. But things have changed. To Mr. Stewart, to the whole corporation, I am as good as married.”

  “Why?”

  He hesitated briefly. “I impulsively sent in a brief teaser to last month’s company newsletter, announcing my upcoming nuptials.”

  “You’re a fast worker, calling attention to your rushed engagement to a calorie-conscious whiner.” Krista’s midnight-blue eyes rolled.

  He made a defensive squawk. “At the time it seemed wise. I wanted Gerald Stewart to acknowledge my engagement come convention time. And it worked beyond my wildest expectations. He’s honoring Irritated and me, among others, at the convention’s kickoff cocktail party. Who knows how much trouble he’s gone to. Plainly, he’ll be annoyed to learn his efforts were for nothing, that I couldn’t hang on to my woman. I’ll be much worse off than the average bachelor contestant, let me tell you.”

  “You will appear the bungler,” she said, half under her breath.

  “Thanks a lot.” Then he gave a wave. “Oh, what’s one more insult? You’ve already called me a dud in your syndicated column.”

  Krista was especially sorry that the aunts had resorted to such name-calling. Michael, or any man for that matter, deserved a chance to prove himself more than a dud. As it was, his intense silver gaze searing clear through her scanty costume and minuscule lingerie made the man and the moment far from dull.

  Despite family loyalties, salaries and skating lessons, she felt a magnetic pull over to his side. It took effort to keep in mind her aunts’ position. “As much as I might appreciate your dilemma, I must say your fiancée had no business taking the column so literally. It is an entertainment piece. Showbiz. Simona’s remarks are meant to stimulate and titillate rather than educate or inform. There are other columns more grounded in reality—”

  “But my girl chose yours! Like hundreds of other Americans must do every day. Though I can’t think why. I went to the library to examine some of your previous columns and was appalled by the glib, romantic gibberish you dole out time after time.”

  “It’s all done in the spirit of fun. Maybe that’s what is lacking in your life. A spirit of fun.”

  “I can be. Fun.” Despite his claim, he erupted in a very ill-humored growl. “I’ve worked so hard to build a solid life plan here. Then to have a ditz like you come along and pull out a linchpin. Have you no conscience about that?”

  Chapter Three

  Krista nervously began to drum her red manicured finger-nails on the desktop. She for one had a conscience and was ultimately in charge of this meeting.

  What next? Plainly, she wasn’t going to be able to fix this mess as neatly as the aunts hoped. He certainly wasn’t going to be leaving on the tail of an apology. And she didn’t think he should.

  “Have you any concrete ideas about what I can do for you?” she dared to ask.

  He pivoted on his heel, pinning her with a look of amazement. “Finally! I wondered if and when you’d find the guts to ask. Once I got a good look at you, I must confess I suspected you might hope to make me surrender on bended knee.”

  “No woman in her right mind would expect such a thing,” she scoffed, studying the desk’s ink blotter.

  He leaned closer. “Not even a sex kitten like you could have made me do it.”

  She’d never been called a sex kitten before. It made the blood sing through her veins. M
ade her panty hose feel tight.

  “As it is, I do have some ideas,” he went on curtly. “To start with, you can call Irritated personally. Report to her our meeting and grovel out a suitable act of contrition highly favorable to me, including an assurance that I am, in fact, quite interested in her. Then I want you to draft an open letter to your readers, saying, in effect, that you sometimes jump to conclusions, get a little too cute with your advice. Admit that this behavior has gotten you into trouble with a reader, and you sincerely wish for any other injured parties to accept your blanket apology.”

  “Wow.” Krista sat back and waited for the unavoidable sound of the bell. When it did ring, Michael jumped up in frustration. Steadying herself, she pushed the intercom and snagged the receiver. “Yes. Oh, hello. I’m afraid I’m very busy right now.”

  “His demands are as far from crawling as you can get,” Beverly complained.

  “You set your hopes way too high in the first place, Mr. Bellows,” she added, using the name of the aunts’ cat.

  “Or maybe we sent in a girl to do a woman’s job.”

  “Don’t push it.”

  “Hang on a minute while we decide what you should do,” Beverly said in an aggrieved tone.

  Krista could hear her aunts murmuring in the background. Then Beverly returned to the wire. “Go ahead and make the phone call for him.”

  “I refuse to flirt with disaster.” She was watching Michael pace and couldn’t miss his glare of disbelief. “It’s my stockbroker,” she hastened to tell him. “Always wants me to take wild risks.”

  “Look, Krista, it’s a compromise we don’t like, either. But we see no other way out. He is over twenty-one. If he wants to play footsie with Irritated, who are we to stand in the way? In fact, he’s so determined to wreck his life, he intends to sue us for the right.”

  “I only wish we could find another stock option.”