Plain Jane and the Playboy / Valentine's Fortune: Plain Jane and the Playboy

She heard the other boy scoff. “I could have told you that you’d lose.”

Jane felt sick. For a second, she was afraid she might throw up.

They were talking about her.

That was why Jorge had approached her out of the blue—because he’d made a bet with a teenager who wasn’t even old enough to shave yet.

How stupid of her to think that a guy like Jorge Mendoza would be attracted to her. To think that he might have even liked her a tiny bit.

A bet.

Jane could feel angry tears forming in her eyes. She couldn’t remember ever, ever feeling this humiliated. This awful.

She couldn’t stay here, couldn’t wait for him to come back. She never wanted to see that honeytongued bastard again. Who did he think he was, making her the object of a bet? she thought angrily.

Clutching her purse to her chest, Jane swung around and forged a path to the front door. She bumped into people as she went, murmuring halfhearted excuses as she passed them.

It was cold outside. Remnants of snow from the last storm crunched beneath her high heels, but she didn’t care.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she searched for a passing taxi to flag down.

There were none out on the street this time of night. Why? Didn’t they know it was New Year’s Eve?

Shivering, she hurried down several blocks and then took shelter in the doorway of an office building. She placed a call to a taxi service on her cell phone and waited for her ride.

And cried angry tears.

Chapter Five

“Patrick, if you want me to take that suit to the cleaners tomorrow, please don’t forget to empty out your pockets,” Lacey told her husband the next morning as she popped her head into the master bedroom.

The bright morning sun was trying to push its way into the room despite the heavy drapes at the windows that barred its passage. It was one of the rare mornings that Patrick actually slept in.

Sitting up now, Patrick ran his hand through his tousled reddish hair. Despite the odd hint of white, he still looked boyish, especially with sleep still hovering around his eyes.

He reached for his glasses on the nightstand and put them on. The world came into focus, as did the digital clock next to the lamp.

He always thought of himself as energetic—except when compared to his wife. “Lacey, it’s New Year’s Day. It’s a holiday. What are you doing up so early and why are we talking about dry cleaning?”

She crossed to him and stood before the bed that she had vacated more than an hour before.

“I’m up, dear husband, because, in case you’ve forgotten, we’re having some of the family over for a late lunch today, and I’m talking about dry cleaning because someone,” she looked at him pointedly, “spilled coffee on his jacket last night.” She ran her hand along his stubbled face affectionately. “And just because it’s a technical holiday doesn’t mean that the world suddenly stops spinning.”

“Technical?” he echoed, just a little perplexed at her meaning.

“Technical,” she repeated. “Do you have any idea how many sales are going on at this very moment as you are lounging around in your PJs?”

Getting out of bed, Patrick groaned. “I could never understand that. Why would anyone want to get up that early just to go shopping? What kind of bargains could they possibly offer to warrant that?”

Sometimes the man she loved could be adorably naive, Lacey thought. She laughed at the look on his face, then stopped to pick up the shirt he must have dropped on the floor last night—or early this morning. He’d been pretty tired as she recalled.

“Spoken like a man who has never had to search for a bargain in his life.”

“My biggest bargain,” Patrick freely confessed as he came up behind her and enfolded his wife in an affectionate embrace, “was finding you and making you my wife. Anything that happened after that would only be deemed anticlimatic.”

“You do know how to turn a lady’s head,” she told him with a warm smile. “But I’m not going to be distracted.” Draping his shirt over her arm, she looked around for the suit she’d mentioned. “Where are the rest of your clothes from the party?”

He released her. “The cleaners aren’t having a sale, are they?” he asked, amused.

“I just want to put the suit aside while I think of it,” she told him. One finely shaped eyebrow arched over a sparkling green eye. “Remember leaving your house key in your pants pocket the last time? Remember wasting all that time, looking for it?”

Patrick inclined his head. “Point well taken,” he allowed with a sigh.

He moved to his side of the walk-in closet. He’d meant to hang the suit back up, but somehow, it had only made it to the floor of the closet. Picking up the pants and jacket, he quickly checked all four pants pockets.

“Empty,” he announced, handing the slightly wrinkled gray slacks to Lacey.

“And the jacket?” she asked as she dropped the pants on top of the shirt she had over her arm.

He checked the right pocket. He distinctly remembered taking out his wallet and depositing his keys beside it on the bureau. But as he slipped his fingers into the left outer pocket, he frowned. His fingers had come in contact with something.

It was a folded piece of paper and he opened it up as he removed the paper from his pocket. He had no memory of putting it in his pocket, no memory of anyone handing it to him.

He scanned the small sheet quickly, his frown deepening slightly.

“Not so empty, is it?” Lacey teased, then saw his expression. Something was clearly wrong, Lacey thought. “What’s the matter?”

Not waiting for him to answer, she came closer in order to read the note, which was printed in large block letters.

“ONE OF THE FORTUNES IS NOT WHO YOU THINK.”

It was Lacey’s turn to be puzzled. She looked up at her husband for enlightenment. “Who gave this to you?”

He turned it over in his hand. There was nothing on the back. “I have no idea.”

A touch of apprehension wove through her. “A note just turns up in your pocket and you have no idea where it came from?”

Rather than crumple it and toss it into the wastepaper basket, he placed it on the bureau. This required closer scrutiny. But not when Lacey was around. He didn’t want to alarm her.

“That about sums it up,” he agreed.

It was Lacey’s turn to frown as anticipation got the better of her. “Do you think that it’s some kind of warning?”

“I think it’s some kind of waste of paper.” Patrick handed her the jacket. “Here you go, one suit, as per your request.” And then he gave her a quick, courtly bow. “Now, if milady doesn’t mind, I’d really like to take a shower.”

She nodded, the note already relegated to a thing of the past unless something more about it came up. Right now, she had a lunch to oversee.

“When you’re done with your shower,” she told him, “I’ve got a few things I need you to do.”