The Trophy Wife

“He did? I mean, I’m glad.”

He held her immobile with his eyes. “And I was thinking that it might be good for him to meet someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” She was breathless again. Had she no backbone whatsoever?

“Someone with a strong will, a drive to succeed, a sense of humor and a forgiving spirit.”

Evidently not.

She nearly melted into a heap at his feet. Entirely too caught up in her own emotions, she had to remind herself that she was no longer a whimsical girl of nine, or even nineteen. She was a woman, strong and independent.

He looked at her for a long time. Next, he looked beyond her into her foyer where a candle burned and a tabletop fountain gurgled.

“I would be honored if you would invite me in.”

The word honored was nearly her undoing. It was so old-fashioned, it left her wondering if chivalry was really dead, after all. Thinking “once burned,” she took control of her wayward thoughts and said, “You’ve apologized and I’ve accepted. What else is there to say?”

She could tell this wasn’t easy for him. Groveling never was. She might have let him off the hook, but then she remembered his little quip comparing her to a spoiled cat. And he’d called her bossy.

It wouldn’t hurt to let him squirm.

“I’ve changed my mind, Amber.”

“Oh? About what, pray tell?”

“About your offer.”

As it often did this time of day, a heavy fog had rolled in, producing a perfect excuse for her shiver. “And what offer was that?” She didn’t know what to blame for the way her voice had dropped in volume.

“Your offer to act as my fiancée at a dinner party this weekend. That is, if the offer still stands.” He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of voices from a middle-aged couple walking their Great Dane. “May I come in?”

So, he’d changed his mind about that. She waved at her neighbors, then looked up at Tripp again. She wondered if he’d changed his mind about her, as well. But one thing at a time. She stepped aside, and opened the door all the way.

Tripp walked past Amber. Hesitating in a spacious foyer, he tried to affect an ease he didn’t feel. He hadn’t been at all certain she would accept his apology. He sure as hell didn’t assume that her offer was still good.

“Why don’t we sit down?”

Why? Because sitting down meant he had to try even harder to appear relaxed. “After you.”

He followed her into a small living room dominated by overstuffed furniture and framed artwork done almost entirely in pastels. A dozen candles burned on a low table. A small fountain gurgled nearby. “Did I interrupt something?”

She shrugged. “I was meditating.”

At least that explained her appearance. Her hair was in a loose knot on top of her head, flyaway, golden-blond tendrils cascading around her ears and neck. Other than the plain silver ring on her second toe, her feet were bare. Her baggy knit shorts hung below her waist, the front dipping lower than the back. Her top was a sleeveless tank made out of a stretchy fabric that clung to her breasts and bared her midriff. It wasn’t as revealing as the bikini she’d been wearing yesterday. It had no business being even more stimulating.

“Smell that?” she said.

For lack of a better plan, he inhaled.

And she said, “It’s a blend of lavender, chamomile and rose essential oils. It’s called aromatherapy and is supposed to be soothing.”

“Did it work?”

“I was getting there. Perhaps you should try it.”

He took a quick, sharp breath. So much for trying to appear unaffected.

He could tell she was trying not to smile as she gestured toward an overstuffed, ruffled sofa, indicating that he could take a seat. “Or would you rather stand?”

It was as if she knew him. He shrugged. They both remained standing.

She meandered to the other side of the room. “So you’ve reconsidered my offer to act as your fiancée at that dinner party.”

“Yes.”

“I thought you said lies are like dogs.”

“They are.”

“But?”

“Coop claims playacting and lying are two entirely different things.”

“I see. You said Coop read you the riot act because you turned my offer down. Is that why you reconsidered? Because Coop made you see reason?”

“Coop has nothing to do with this. I thought about what you said. About pitying me.”

“I shouldn’t have said that. It was my temper talking. I’m sorry.”

“I had it coming. But I don’t want your pity.”

“What do you want?”

She must have walked closer when he wasn’t looking, because he could see her eyes, round in the dimly lit room, the pupils so large only a narrow circle of green surrounded them. Like pools of appeal, they invited him in. He was in the process of taking his second step when it occurred to him that she wasn’t the one who had moved closer.

He needed to loosen his tie. And he wasn’t wearing a tie. He settled for clearing his throat. “It isn’t about what I want. It’s about what I need.”

“What do you need, Tripp?”

His gaze strayed to her mouth, his throat convulsing on a swallow. He had to clear it again in order to say, “I need that position in Santa Rosa.”

“Why?”

“Santa Rosa is a city of more than a hundred thousand people. It’s a wealthy area; the practice is a private one with new, modern, state-of-the-art equipment. The facility is only a thirty-minute drive from San Francisco and caters to the wealthy. My salary would more than triple. I need the money and the prestige.”

She looked him in the eye and said, “You don’t strike me as the type who cares about prestige.”

He told himself he had no business feeling complimented. “It isn’t for me. It’s for a clinic I’ve set up to aid the poor. Right now, it’s operating on a shoestring. I want to expand it in this area. Eventually I plan to open a dozen more up and down the California coast. It’s going to take donations, and backers with deep pockets.”