The Marriage Campaign. Michele Dunaway
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make.”
TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS? Mark froze. The amount of money didn’t shock or faze him; his father was extremely generous, and Herb had been a college fraternity brother. Everyone knew how deep those bonds could run. And two thousand dollars was chump change for the wealthy Smith family.
Lisa took a step back. “If that’s too much…” she was saying, her concentration fully on the check that was getting away and the problem she had to solve. He found her actions and conundrum slightly irritating.
Eight years had changed her, and at this moment Mark wasn’t sure he liked this older and wiser version standing before him. Lisa used to be the one who’d give her shirt right off her back to help her friends. She was the kind who’d take in every stray animal she ran across.
She’d been the one he’d wanted until, instead of meeting him, she’d disappeared into the night without a goodbye. Heck, kissing her in the hallway had made him feel like a superhero. Her disappearance had been a slap in the face.
As for this Lisa…The hardened political dynamo standing in front of him was concerned only about her event and his check. He glanced at her hand—surely she should be married by now.
But no, her ring finger was bare.
“Mark, are you okay? As I indicated earlier, I can find someone else if two thousand is too much money.”
“The money’s fine,” he said crisply, poise regained. His gaze roved over her. She was still beautiful. He’d been attracted to her ever since their first meeting years ago, when she’d first become Joann’s roommate their freshman year.
And Mark was a firm believer in taking the opportunities that fate granted. He’d seen Lisa twice now in one day. She’d run out on him long ago, but she couldn’t run this time. She needed something from him, and he wanted an explanation.
He peered closer, studying the way her blue eyes flickered and the dimple to the left of her mouth twitched. She probably wasn’t even aware of that unconscious movement. So she wasn’t as composed as she thought, which was good.
He shifted his weight and narrowed his gaze at her. “You know, Lisa, I would have thought you’d be married.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Divorced?”
“No.” Her voice was frostier now, like the chilly air to which they’d both been exposed this morning. Her posture tensed as she struggled to be polite instead of defensive. Right now she probably wanted to tell him to go to hell, but that two-thousand-dollar check was too important. He felt like Rhett Butler having the upper hand with Scarlett O’Hara.
Lisa Meyer, the woman who was going to change the world one politician at a time, would play by his rules tonight. “I’ll help you, but under one condition,” he said.
“What?” she eyed him suspiciously.
Mark reached out and grabbed her left hand. Her skin was smooth in his grasp, and her blue eyes widened and her mouth dropped open into a little O shape that he decided he liked. She had kissable lips. But then, she always had. Her mouth had been the first thing he’d noticed about her, back when they’d both been eighteen. And that kiss that night…
“We definitely have to catch up,” Mark said, shoving his libido aside as he began his offensive. “My parents will want to hear everything about you, especially since Herb is an old friend. And Joann won’t believe that we ran into each other like this.”
“That’s all?” Lisa stared.
“Well, no,” Mark began, his tone foreshadowing the condition he was about to insist on.
“Lisa.” A harsh male voice cut sharply through the conversation like a butcher knife. “What exactly are you doing?”
The moment the older man stepped fully into the hotel meeting room, Mark observed an immediate reaction in Lisa. She jerked her hand from his as the man closed the door behind him and stared through wire-rim glasses down his pointed nose. He had to be in his early forties, but somehow he seemed so much older.
When he spoke again, his voice was clipped. “Lisa, job. Herb trusts you. Tonight is extremely important and—”
“I’m Mark Smith,” Mark interrupted, his eyes narrowing at the man’s public chastisement. Speaking of politically incorrect behavior, did the man not see Mark’s name tag? “I’m Larry Smith’s son. You are…?”
“Bradley Wayne. I supervise Herb’s campaign.”
“He’s the campaign manager,” Lisa corrected, her tone brutally polite. “I’m the fund-raiser. Together we’ve partnered to get Herb elected.”
Bravo, Mark thought. He’d never known Lisa to be a wimp, which is why it bugged him so much she’d just disappeared that night.
Bradley’s lips frowned displeasure. “And, partner, I need for you to pull your weight. I’d expect this type of behavior from marriage-obsessed Andrea but not from you.”
Lisa crossed her arms and ramrodded her back. “We were discussing his donation check.”
“Which is why you were holding hands.” Bradley’s reply held just a trace of sarcasm.
Mark stared, his business acumen assessing the man in a nanosecond. Given the undercurrents, there was something more here than met the eye. Had Lisa been interested in the guy once? Surely not, Mark decided.
While Bradley Wayne might be an attractive man on the surface, with his perfect hair and manicured nails, he was the type of guy dominated by only one agenda—his own. Men could spot the worst type of their gender immediately, and Mark considered himself an expert after fending off the sharks only out to purchase and subsequently gut his family’s company. Mark inserted himself back into the conversation.
“Actually, Bradley, you’re right. We were holding hands. Lisa was explaining my role in pass-the-hat and we haven’t seen each other in years. Way too long.”
“His sister is my best friend,” Lisa added quickly. She gazed at Mark. “And long enough.”
Ah, the gauntlet, Mark thought. Lisa was mad at him. But for what? He’d shown up in the ballroom to meet her and she’d been gone.
“Well, if you are such old friends, then everything is perfectly acceptable. Lisa, you know I always have your best interests at heart,” Bradley said, his voice too smooth for Mark’s liking.
“Mr. Smith, I’m sorry I arrived at any unnecessary conclusions,” Bradley continued pleasantly, coming across to Mark as one of those disinterested customer-service representatives working at a call center. “My reaction and words were unprofessional and I apologize. My only explanation is that Lisa is my protégée. I’ve been training her these past two years. Now that’s she’s branched out on her own, I want to see her succeed. Tonight is the first major event in St. Louis whose success rests solely on her shoulders, and I want to make certain nothing goes wrong.”
Bradley reached over and drew Lisa aside. “How about I take over explaining the pass-the-hat event to Mr. Smith? That way you can take care of things outside.”
“That sounds fine.” Lisa moved toward the door.
Mark frowned. No way. She was not going to walk away from him again. Not when she owed him an explanation at the very least. “Lisa, wait.”
She stopped, turned, and Mark focused his attention on Bradley. The man shifted his weight under Mark’s scrutiny. “Bradley—I hope you don’t mind if I call you that—I find myself respectfully disagreeing with this current situation. I’d like to suggest that Lisa explains what I’m to do, since this is her event. It should be her call.”
“I am the campaign manager,” Bradley offered with a patronizing smile that didn’t reach his narrowing eyes. “Herb promoted Lisa upon my advice. Lisa, Mr. and Mrs. Auble have asked to meet Herb, so be sure