Hand-Me-Down

Hand-Me-Down
Lee Nichols

For Anne Olsen, new and improved is the only way to live. So how'd she fall for a secondhand man?Charlotte had the Malibu Barbie with a full wardrobe, Emily inherited a slightly used Barbie with two outfits and Anne was left with a one-armed, bald Barbie who enjoyed nudist colonies. It's little wonder that at twenty-nine, Anne drives a new car, eats only from freshly opened packages and thinks antique is a euphemism for moldy.After growing up in the shadows of her older sisters–one a swimsuit model, the other a pop-feminist–Anne's personality is one part sibling rivalry and two parts VD (stands for Vague Dissatisfaction, and yes, it itches). Now she's the self-professed underachiever in the family, determined to find happiness on her own terms. But when her sister's ex-boyfriend–seemingly perfect, potentially interested–reenters her life, Anne's got to ask: Could she possibly fall in love with a hand-me-down man?

Hand-Me-Down

Lee Nichols

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Thanks are long overdue to Nancy Coffey, Farrin Jacobs, Lynn Nichols, Jessica Alvarez, Helen Ross, Paula Ross and Constance Wall.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 01

CHAPTER 02

CHAPTER 03

CHAPTER 04

CHAPTER 05

CHAPTER 06

CHAPTER 07

CHAPTER 08

CHAPTER 09

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 01

The second time Ian Dunne came into my life, I was trapped under a pile of bodies, behind a sheet of plate glass.

I’d just graduated from UC Santa Barbara, my hometown school. I’d finished at the top of the middle of my class—which is the story of my life—and a week later had grabbed the bottom rung of corporate America.

I was folding men’s charcoal woolens at Banana Republic when my manager materialized at my shoulder.

“You’ve almost got it!” Jenny chirped. “First the sleeve, then over, over…” Showing me, yet again, how to fold a sweater.

I gritted my teeth, and gestured to my pile. “Mine are fine.”

“Good enough for the Gap.” Jenny smiled encouragingly. “Maybe.”

“Maybe I should do the windows instead.”

“You can’t do the windows.”

“But I want to do the windows.”

“Sorry,” she said, and scurried into the back office.

My problem was that I was assertive enough to annoy, but not enough to succeed. That’s always been my problem: I’m the uneasy medium. Pretty enough, but not beautiful. Smart enough, but not brilliant. If I were a college, I’d be a safety school. If I were a skirt, I’d be basic black.

Wren finished ringing up a sale and drifted over. We’d started work the same day, and she’d been promoted to the register by the end of the morning. I liked her despite her obnoxious competence and her glossy dark hair and clear olive skin. She smiled and neatened my sweater stack. “Jenny’s teaching you to fold again?”

“Folding’s not really my strength.” I glanced toward the front of the store. “What I should be doing is—”