The Corporate Marriage Campaign. Leigh Michaels

there’s a cozy thought for you. What happened with the mugger?”

      “Well, I didn’t marry him,” Trey said calmly.

      “So we can assume it’s not quite the same feeling after all? Good. You were going to tell me when the wedding’s going to be.”

      “Since I don’t plan to put the event on my calendar, I don’t see why we have to set an actual date.”

      “You are a skittish one, aren’t you? Because people will ask when the wedding is, that’s why—and if you don’t have an answer, they’ll think it’s odd. And then they’ll expect to be invited—when it comes up to the time when the invitations should go out, they’ll be hurt if they don’t receive one. It won’t occur to them to think that no one else has been invited, either.”

      “I hadn’t thought about it quite that way.”

      “Well, of course you hadn’t. Since you’re planning to wrap up this ad campaign right at Christmas, let’s set the date for Christmas Eve.”

      Trey frowned. “Wouldn’t that look suspicious? I mean, right on the holiday?”

      “It’s a great excuse for keeping the whole thing small. We can say that we’re inviting just a few people and having the ceremony at a time when the few relatives I have will be home for the holidays.”

      “Will they be? Your relatives, I mean—home for the holidays.”

      “Probably not, but it’s still a good explanation for why we’re not sending hundreds of invitations.”

      Trey shook his head. “I don’t know. Society’s apt to ask what we’re hiding—especially after the big splash all the way through the engagement.”

      “After sharing all of that with the public, we’ll tell them we deserve a little privacy. Besides, the fewer invitations you actually send, the fewer people you’ll have to notify when you call it off at the last minute. Why invite the world and then have to phone them all to cancel? Why draw attention to the fact that you’re not carrying through with your plans?”

      “We could just set the date for sometime next year, and not bother with invitations at all.”

      “And exactly what would be the point of the ad campaign if it just trickles off with a vague promise of a wedding to be held some indefinite time in the distant future?”

      Trey rubbed his jaw. “You’re saying the campaign needs a climactic moment, so to speak.”

      “All ad campaigns do. At the least, you don’t want it to have an anticlimactic moment.”

      “All right, you’ve convinced me. Christmas Eve it is. I suppose that does make everything easier. Holly and red velvet for the bridesmaids—”

      “That would be such a cliché,” Darcy said. “Every woman in the city would see that one coming. I hope your ad department people are more creative than you are.”

      “Thanks,” Trey said.

      “But then they must be,” Darcy said kindly, “because they’ve kept the stores in business for a hundred years. Right? How many stores do you have?”

      But she didn’t seem to be listening for an answer. She looked past him just as he opened his mouth to reply, and he watched her eyes widen. The sense of danger trickled down his spine again. It was odd that he hadn’t thought of his grandmother’s old saying in years, only to find himself contemplating it twice within a few minutes. So what was it this time?

      “What’s up?” he asked. “Has your pal Joe finally consumed enough liquid courage to challenge me?”

      “He’s not my pal, he’s Dave’s.”

      Trey looked over his shoulder. Three paces from the table, Joe stopped almost in midstep. For a moment an internal war showed on his face, and then he turned on his heel and shuffled away.

      “Very impressive,” Darcy said. “Cowing him like that without uttering a word.”

      “Oh, you should see them run when I’m wearing a tie.” He kept his voice dry. “If I actually pull the knot loose to get ready for action, you can hardly get out of their way, they scamper so fast.”

      She nodded. “You should have told me that making you give up your necktie was about the same as taking a cop’s gun away from him. Look, I’ve pretty much lost my appetite, and as long as we’ve got the important things settled—”

      “You’d like to get back to that will you were struggling with.”

      She sighed. “Something like that.”

      At the door of the cottage, he held out a hand for her key, but Darcy ignored him and unlocked the door herself. “I’ll meet you at the store in the morning, then,” she said.

      It was so plainly a dismissal that Trey had to smile. What did she expect, that he’d try to force his way in and stay the night just so he just could take her to work with him the next morning?

      He wondered idly whether seducing her would be worth the trouble. Probably not, he decided. This woman was dangerous enough without taking her to bed and giving her all sorts of new ideas.

      “I do need to come inside to get my tie and return Dave’s jacket,” he pointed out smoothly.

      “Oh. Of course.” She didn’t seem eager to stand aside to allow him in, but she wasn’t in a hurry to turn the lights on, either. If she had been any other woman, he would have interpreted that as a hint, because kisses stolen in the dark seemed to be so much more romantic to the female of the species. But then Darcy didn’t fit the mold in a lot of ways.

      He considered kissing her good-night just to prove he could, and concluded that she was likely to haul off and slug him. In that case, by morning he and Caroline would be a matched set, and the ad campaign would be right back in the soup. No, stealing a kiss would make no sense whatsoever.

      And he should have himself committed for even thinking about doing anything more than that—though the simple truth didn’t do much to stop him from considering all the possibilities.

      He quietly got his suit coat from where he’d left it in Dave’s office, draped his tie around his neck once more and paused at the door. “You’ll be all right here alone?”