The Bride and the Bargain. Allison Leigh
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to Marissa and he knew she could have a dossier on his desk within twenty-four hours that would tell him everything he ever wanted—and didn’t want—to know about Amelia White and her sister, presumably Daphne Mason.
He drummed his fingers on the desktop. Turned to his computer and ran a search on both women’s names, coming up with a plethora of useless matches from nuns to rock singers.
He pulled out his cell phone and hit J.T.’s number, only receiving his brother’s voice mail in response. He disconnected without leaving a message.
What would he have said?
He’d put off toeing Harry’s line for so damn long, that he had them all in danger of losing everything they’d ever worked for.
The phone vibrated in his palm. “Figured you were playing newlywed with your bride,” he answered.
“I beg your pardon?”
The voice was female. Smooth. Lilting.
Definitely not J.T.
“Amelia.” There was no baby crying in the background this time. No television that he could hear. No other voices at all—childish or adult. “Sorry about that. I thought you were my brother.”
“Oh. Well, I—”
“I didn’t mean to scare you off earlier. About dinner.”
“You didn’t.”
She was a poor liar. He could hear it in her voice. And now that she’d called, he was going to make darn sure not to take another misstep. “Okay. What can I do for you?”
She hesitated so long he wasn’t sure she was going to answer. And then, when she did answer, it was in one heck of a rush. “Wecouldmeetforcoffee.”
Fortunately, he was a native Seattleite. Coffee flowed in his veins, and he understood any sentence containing that magic word just fine. “Sure. Sounds good.” Better than good, if his lightening mood was any indication. “You said you’re new to the area. Do you have a place in mind?” He’d prefer to name the place so that he could pick the setting and be assured that nobody would blow his cover. But he was treading carefully—an act that did not come naturally to him.
She named a coffeehouse that he’d never heard of, though, taking the decision out of his hands. “It’s near the running park,” she told him. “The, um, the day after tomorrow? Around seven? In the morning, I mean,” she added hurriedly.
He didn’t have to guess hard to tell that she was not in the habit of asking men to meet her. Not when she was practically tripping over her words in the process. “Perfect.”
She hesitated again. “Really? You won’t be running at that hour or something?”
He didn’t bother reminding her that it had been well before 7:00 a.m. when he’d tripped over her on the running path. Nor did he have to look at his calendar to know that two days from now, he had a breakfast meeting at five, followed by departmental meetings starting at exactly seven. “Really,” he assured her. “Seven is ideal.”
In this instance, everyone else would have to work their schedules around his.
“Okay then. I’ll…I’ll see you then. Matt.”
He looked out the window again, seeing his reflection and the faint smile playing around his lips. “I’m looking forward to it. Amelia.”
The fact that the words were true wasn’t something he was going to delve into too deeply.
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