My Fair Gentleman

Her lashes swept up, exposing her shy pleasure. “You do?”

She’d taken it as a compliment, and suddenly he was glad. All the fun had gone out of playing a goon.

“Sure I do. Everybody breaks loose and acts crazy sometimes. Guess this was your night.” He scooted back his chair and stood. “Now if you’re ready, we’ll chalk this up to a full moon and go about our separate—”

“Wait! We haven’t finished negotiating.”

There was that hint of desperation again. He frowned at her upturned face. “Let it go, Catherine. It’s just a stupid bet.”

“It’s not a stupid bet. Well, it is, but the principle it represents isn’t. Oh, I can’t think with you looming over me like that. Sit down. Please.”

He sat, cursing himself for a fool.

“Look, what you said earlier about Carl coming here specifically to find someone who would ‘flunk’ the bet…well, you were right. He simply can’t imagine anyone without a background and family tree similar to his being able to move comfortably among elite society.” Her expression gentled. “Frankly, Joe, right now you couldn’t.”

He grabbed the neck of her beer bottle, draining half the contents and suppressing his rising belch. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

She choked on a laugh. “I don’t blame you. Elite society is filled with boring people. But there’s no doubt in my mind that with four weeks of tutoring, you can be just as boring.”

“You mean just as good, don’t you?”

The teasing glint in her eyes faded. “No, I don’t. You would simply be proving a point. And you might find that having a little savoir faire—learning a bit about the arts and sophisticated pursuits—will open doors that would otherwise be closed. That could be of real benefit to someone in the job market.”

“I’d benefit from some money, dammit.” Spending four weeks just to get hoity-toity was nuts. It was time to cut his losses and go home. “I sure as hell don’t need savoir faire to work for the refinery.”

“You’re going to work for the refinery?”

“I’ve got a standing job offer.” He’d wear a thong bikini before accepting any position not related to sports, but Catherine didn’t have to know that.

She studied him shrewdly. “I can see that you’d hate working there, but at the same time you’re skeptical about the return on a four-week investment in my plan.”

A chill prickled his arms. Earl was right. She was a damn witch.

“I promise after we win the bet you’ll have employers standing in line to make you an offer—in the field of your choice.”

A damn good witch, Joe amended.

“Did you know that savoir faire means literally ‘to know how’? As Father says—” her expression turned snooty “—it separates those who are cosmopolitan from those who read Cosmopolitan.”

Her father sounded like a prick. “What do you say, Catherine?”

“Me?” She looked startled, as if no one asked her opinion much. “I believe we all have the power to change the circumstances of our birth, to become whatever we choose. Winning this bet will show Father and Carl I’m right.”

Something about her intensity made him think there was more to it than that.

“And it will help you land that job you’re after,” she continued. “Coaching, perhaps? Sports broadcasting?” Her brow arched knowingly. “Ah, sports broadcasting.”

He hastily closed his mouth.

“I was running out of guesses,” she admitted with a chuckle. “Just think. Two candidates. Each knowledgeable about sports. One articulate, polished and experienced on camera. One articulate, polished and an ex-major-league player. Which candidate do you think the station manager knows will attract more viewers?”

She’d made one helluva case, he had to give her that.

A close-the-sale gleam entered her eyes. “I’d say that’s a pretty fair return on four weeks of your time, wouldn’t you?”

Still, a man had to be practical. “It won’t pay my rent next week.”

With a strangled sound of frustration, she yanked the beer bottle from his hand, tipped it to her mouth and threw back her head. Glossy hair slipped away, revealing an arched white throat. Sensual. Feminine. Totally uninhibited.

Joe stared at each rippling gulp and felt his blood head south again. A neck like that rated special attention. Starting at the delicate hollow where her pulse beat, then nibbling up to her smooth jawline—

She clunked the bottle down, snapping Joe out of his fantasy. He scrubbed his face in his palms.

“Did I mention the vacant apartment that comes with my offer?”

His head came up. “It must’ve slipped your mind.”

“It’s a darling little place.”

“I’m all ears.” Hell, he was Dumbo.

“Very cozy. Completely furnished. And it’s free.”

He could fly! “Where’s it located?”

“On the outskirts of Richmond College. Right behind our house, so you could walk up for lessons—”

“Our house?” Everything in him bristled.

“Actually it’s my father’s house, although I don’t see what difference…” She let the sentence trail off and followed the direction of his gaze. “Good heavens, no! I mean, Carl and I don’t…That is, I live with Father. It’s convenient for me to conduct my research where he keeps his private notes.” Her tone could’ve corroded batteries.

What was the story with these three?

She brightened. “He’ll lease the apartment to a student in the fall, but right now it’s just collecting dust.”

His thoughts were already rounding third base. His agent needed a place to park and think for a while. If he sublet his apartment to him for a month, he could tear up that thong-bikini-endorsement contract. And a little polish was exactly what several sports directors had said he lacked.

“What about expenses?”

“I’ll take care of lesson-related costs—tickets, gasoline, rentals and the like—but meals are your responsibility.”

He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, but meals he could handle. Allie was a whiz at stretching hamburger…Oh, God, Allie. Lately she’d been so moody he didn’t know what to expect from his little pal anymore.

“How many bedrooms did you say this apartment has?”

A wary glint entered Catherine’s eyes. “One. But it’s very large.”

“Is there a sofa bed by any chance?” He’d slept on worse, and it was only for a month.