How To Succeed At Love. Susan Connell

      “Jade, you have your own personal assistant now,” Neal said, as he reached across to shake Spencer’s hand, “I am impressed.”

      And you’re lying, too, little brother. She could tell by the look in Neal’s eyes that his incredibly intelligent mind was in overdrive, trying to figure out what she was doing with Spencer.

      She wondered that herself. In her haste to avoid public embarrassment, she hadn’t considered that Spencer Madison was all wrong to play her assistant. While she had shown up in her business suit, he was standing beside her in a leather bomber jacket, jeans that molded to everything and two-days’ worth of beard stubble that would have appeared contrived under the best circumstances. She swallowed slowly. She was already regretting her hasty decision.

      “Smile,” someone shouted.

      And Spencer did just that. His grin was genuine, his attitude—pleased-to-be-here—and his white teeth the envy of any politician. Down-to-earth yet dazzling, Jade couldn’t take her eyes from him. No one else could, either.

      “You’re not smiling,” he said without moving his lips.

      He was right. She’d been too busy staring at his born-to-break-hearts smile. Not her heart, of course, she thought as she turned away from him to smile at the camera. A second later her gaze strayed back to him as he gave a thumbs-up to the crowd.

      They whooped their approval.

      She gave him a light kick on the ankle. Honestly, what some people wouldn’t do for a free meal.

      “All right.” Spencer clapped his hands together once then turned to Neal. “She should probably get home and rest.”

      “Rough day?” Neal asked, pocketing his tape recorder.

      “Rough,” Spencer agreed. “We worked right up until it was time to catch our train.”

      We? Our? Would this madness ever end? The two men reached for the luggage as she turned on her heel and started toward the parking lot. The band followed them, blasting out “Moon River” this time.

      Jade’s heart was already sinking when she spotted the hand-lettered sign attached to Neal’s car. Welcome Home, Congressional Aide Jade Macleod. Climbing in the back seat, she quickly slammed the door.

      True, Spencer Madison had done what she’d asked. He also proved he could think quickly on his feet. But did he have to look so damned pleased with himself while he did it? Well, he could eat worms for dinner for all she cared. And he could eat them alone. Reaching for the door lock, she jammed down the button. At that same moment the front car doors opened.

      “Hey, sis, I’ll head out to the house first to drop you off,” Neal said, as he and his photographer climbed in. “Then I’ve got to get Casey and me back to the paper so I can have a look at these photos.”

      Before Jade could respond, the back door opposite hers opened. “Moon River” was blaring into the car’s interior as Spencer Madison got in. His surprise entry had her lurching forward and reaching for her brother’s shoulder.

      Without missing a beat, Neal continued. “Spencer said he was going to be staying over at the Maxwell, but I told him living in a hotel was crazy when we have all that room at the house. When he told me you two are working on that special project together, I said it only makes sense that you both should be near each other.”

      Jade’s mouth dropped open as she turned to glare at Spencer. “What project?” she mouthed silently.

      “That’s okay,” Spence said in a perfectly audible voice. “I haven’t mentioned the nature of Representative Bloomfield’s project.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “It’s still secret.”

      Secret project? There was no secret project, she wanted to shout. But she couldn’t now that Casey was sitting in the front seat next to Neal. The fewer people that knew about this catastrophe, the better.

      She slumped back in her seat as Neal tooted his horn then waved off the high school band that was circling the car. “Moon River” suddenly ended as the band members scattered out of the way.

      “Their particular interpretation needs a tad more work,” Neal said as he started the car. Spencer and Casey agreed, as he turned on the radio and drove off. Channel surfing, he quickly landed on a station playing reggae music. “Yesss.” He turned up the volume. “Now that’s music.”

      Jade checked her watch then inched closer to her door.

      Without hesitation, Spencer stretched his arm over the back of her seat and leaned in close to her ear. “How’d I do?” he asked, his leg casually pressing against hers.

      “Let’s put it this way. No matter what my brother promised, you’re not moving in with us. And you can forget about dinner,” she whispered, giving his knee a hearty shove. Hard muscle and bone bounced back against her own. “Get off me!” she seethed, thumping him harder this time.

      Neal took that moment to glance in the rearview mirror. “Settle down back there, you kids,” he said, in his best imitation of their father’s voice. “Or, I swear, I’m turning this car around and we’re all going home.”

      Coming off the seat, Jade grabbed onto her brother’s headrest and opened her mouth to speak. Casey took that moment to snap off a few more photos, momentarily blinding her with the flash.

      “Thought I’d finish the roll,” she heard the girl say.

      “Uh, uh,” Neal said, waving his finger in the air between the spots of light. “You’d better save that voice, sis. Mom and Dad are at the house waiting to hear all about how you’re straightening out those naughty politicians on Capitol Hill.”

      Sinking back in her seat, she gave a whimper that was lost to everyone but Spencer in the reggae din. If they only knew how naughty.

      “Don’t worry,” Spencer said, patting her shoulder. “I can get you through that, too.”

      Two

      “One night,” Jade said as she paced inside the west-wing bedroom, her fingers firmly pressed to her temples. “I can manage this for one night. All I have to do is come up with a logical explanation for getting rid of you tomorrow. Early.” She motioned emphatically with both hands. “Very early.

      “In the meantime, you’re going to have to do exactly as I say. You’re not to go downstairs without me. You’re not to speak to anyone without me. And—”

      “Nice place,” Spencer said, cutting her off with enough over-the-top enthusiasm to let her know he was not talking about the Hotel Maxwell.

      Pointedly ignoring him, she went on. “And if I can figure out a good excuse for you to eat dinner up here, you’re going to—”

      She froze in her tracks when he let loose with a long, spirited whistle. “What is it now?”

      “Did you do that?” he asked, as he removed his wallet and tossed it on the bedside table.

      Her annoyance was building with each heartbeat. If Spencer Madison was running for the Most Aggravating Person of the Year Award, she’d vote twice for him. She took a labored breath then let it out through her nose. “Did I do what?”

      Shaking his head with genuine appreciation, he stared up at the hand-painted bluebirds and pink ribbons on the ceiling. “The mural.”

      “And what if I did?”

      “It’s damn good.”

      “Oh.” She squinted upward and then at him. “You really think so?”

      “Absolutely. The gold on the ribbons and the clouds in the background give it a kind of surrealistic feel. ”When did you paint it?”

      “The summer I turned sixteen.” Recalling that carefree period in her life, she laughed softly. “I was heavily influenced