The Husband Sweepstake

“I’d have to be a fool to bite on that one. I’d much rather have a clear-cut business arrangement.”

“Then we’re back to finding someone who owes you.”

She was silent.

“Since you’re not rattling off names, that must mean there’s nobody already in that category,” Amos guessed. “All right, then you’ll have to buy him.”

“Do you have to be crude?”

“That’s not crude, honey, that’s just straightforward. You said you wanted it clear-cut. But if you’d rather, we’ll call it finding the proper incentives. The bottom line is, what’s in it for the guy?”

“There would be benefits,” she said stiffly.

“Name two.” In the silence that followed, Amos finished the last bite of his sandwich. He picked up a stray crumb, tossed the wrapper in the wastebasket and said, “That’s what I thought. You can’t.”

“Of course I can’t be specific,” she said stubbornly. “It would depend on the man. Not everyone will be intrigued by the same sort of—”

“Bribe.”

“Benefit. Anyway, it’s not like I’m talking about forever here. This is a short-term bargain. Once the buyout is over, that’s it. A couple of months, maybe.”

“What happens the next time you want to acquire a company?”

“Look, I don’t want to own the world. If I can get this deal through, I’ll be satisfied.”

“That’s what you think now.”

“All right,” she admitted. “Maybe I will want to buy something else someday. But the circumstances will be different—the seller might even enjoy the gossip. In any case, I’ll deal with that later.”

“Well, I suppose you could write the marriage contract with a renewal clause,” Amos mused. “Sort of like the way that Hollywood options an actor for the sequel when they make the first movie. Which makes a twisted kind of sense, considering this is about as big a special-effects production as we’re likely to see around here this year.”

“You really think this is ridiculous.”

“Since you’re asking…Yes.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Amos darling.” She stood up. “You’ve been so helpful in clarifying my thinking. I’ll be sure to let you know what I decide.”

“Please do,” he said cordially. The phone rang again, and he put a hand on it. “Because I can’t wait to hear what happens next.”

He was without a doubt right, Erika concluded, when she’d had a chance to think about it. She’d been shaken up by Denby’s attack and by Felix’s reaction, and she’d gone overboard. It was a loopy idea, and not worth further consideration.

Of course, she had no intention of admitting to Amos darling that his opinion had influenced her decision. And there hadn’t been any opportunity, anyway. In the couple of days since their discussion, she’d seen him only a few times. Even then, she’d spotted him only from a distance, or he’d been tied up with other tenants, or Stephen had been present.

She would just forget the whole thing. She’d continue to ignore the tabloids, Felix La Croix would think it over and get in touch as he’d promised, and they’d make a deal. End of problem.

What she couldn’t quite understand was why, since she’d given it up as a loopy idea, she found herself assessing every man who crossed her path, looking at his potential as a husband.

The ad executive who was already working on next spring’s campaign was too slick, too flirtatious, too familiar. Ladylove’s marketing manager was too serious, too reverential, too much in awe of the boss. The lawyer who was drawing up a tentative contract to offer Felix La Croix was too brash, too arrogant, too presumptuous.

But when on Friday at lunchtime she found herself actually taking stock of the delivery boy who’d brought her Chinese takeout—too young, too sincere, too ingenuous— Erika put her face down in her hands and told herself to stop being ridiculous.

Kelly put her head in from the office next door. “Are you all right?”

“No.” Erika caught herself. “Yes, I’m fine. Have some Chinese. I’m not hungry anymore.”

Kelly pulled up a chair and reached for a set of chop-sticks. “You need to eat. You have a photo shoot next week for the fall ads, and you can’t look like a skeleton.”

“I can’t? I thought the ad people preferred me that way.”

“No, you can’t,” Kelly said firmly, “because makeup for dead people doesn’t form enough of the market share to keep the company afloat.”

Erika wasn’t listening. She looked at the draft of the purchase contract she’d been reading when her lunch arrived. “Has Felix La Croix called yet?”

“Not since you asked ten minutes ago.”

“He said he’d think it over and get in touch. I’ve got a meeting with the attorneys in an hour, and I don’t have any idea whether we’re going to have a deal or not.”

Kelly shrugged. “Maybe he’s still thinking it over. Or maybe he’s hoping if he holds out, you’ll sweeten the offer. Maybe you should invite him to take you to the banquet tomorrow…Or have you already decided who to take?”

Erika wanted to groan. “No, and I doubt Felix would be interested. It’s only been six months since Kate died.”

“Which means it’s past time for him to come out of his shell—at least far enough to be sociable. You’d be asking him to take you to dinner, Erika, not meet you at the altar. Right?”

Erika wanted to bang her head on the desk. Not you, too, Kelly.

“Anyway, if you’re so sure he’ll say no, then it’s a perfect opportunity to call him. You can get a feel for where he’s standing without actually asking whether he’s made a decision on selling the business. And that way you won’t be stuck with him for a whole evening, either.”

“Maybe I’ll just take you instead,” Erika threatened. “Why should going to an event like this have to look like a date, anyway?”

“Sorry, but I’m already committed. I volunteered to work at one of the publisher’s booths—it’s a great way to meet people.” She reached for the telephone.

Startled, Erika saw that though it hadn’t rung, a light was blinking. Line three—her private line. The number she’d given Felix La Croix. Her heartbeat speeded up.

“Ms. Forrester’s office,” Kelly said. “No, Mr. La Croix, this is her personal assistant. I’ll put you straight through.” She pushed the hold button and handed the phone to Erika. “Want me to go away?”

Erika shook her head and cleared her throat. “Hello, Felix. I’m sorry we couldn’t manage lunch the other day. Perhaps sometime this week?”

He didn’t bother to answer. “I was just chased down by a reporter from the Sentinel.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Not surprised, but definitely sorry.

“She seemed to think that you and I have some sort of understanding.”

Erika allowed a smile to creep into her voice. “I was hoping to hear that myself. About the sale, I mean.”

“That’s not the sort of understanding she meant. She hinted that the Sentinel is ready to run a story that we’re planning a wedding.”

That’s even worse than I expected. “So if they do, they’ll embarrass themselves,” she said. “It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve been wrong, and it won’t be the last.”