How To Succeed At Love. Susan Connell

He raised a brow.

      Reaching to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, she studied him carefully. He’d been sending her mixed signals since the first time he’d brushed against her. What he meant, what he wanted and who he was were as unknown to her as her own future. No way was she going to tell him that she’d just been fired when she couldn’t bring herself to admit it to anyone else. Not even her own family. There was only one thing to do. Since she was the world’s worst liar, she’d have to offer him an altered version of the lesser of two evil truths.

      “My boyfriend was supposed to have come on this trip, but we had this disagreement... this big, and... well, personal disagreement. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time, I know, yet I still found it necessary to break up with him.” She was starting to ramble, but she always did that when she lied.

      Spencer’s face contorted to a sympathetic frown. Too sympathetic. But there was no going back now, so she went on, effusing her explanation with a whine worthy enough to win an Academy Award. “I really can’t explain why I panicked this afternoon. Probably the stress of the breakup. I mean, it wasn’t easy after all the time I put into the relationship, and when he—”

      “Bull.”

      “Bull?” One hand shot to her hip and the other snapped toward him with the efficiency and speed of a karate chop. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “That means, I don’t believe you.”

      “You think this trip isn’t embarrassing for me? My parents have been hounding me to bring Richard for a visit. And at the last minute he’s a no-show. Believe me,” she said, pointing a thumb over her shoulder and toward the door, “they haven’t started their main interrogation session yet.

      “And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m facing having to attend my high school reunion alone. Not that it means anything to you, but I, the girl voted Most Likely to Succeed, am not looking forward to dancing with myself at that affair.”

      “That’s what’s got you coming off your spool?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

      “Why you insufferable, obnoxious, sanctimonious, know-it-all, you don’t know anything about me.”

      “Hold on, hold on,” Spencer said, raising his hands in surrender. “You’re right. I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but maybe that can work to your advantage.”

      She reached for the doorknob.

      “Jade, please. Hear me out,” Spencer said, working to gain her trust with the most concerned tone he could muster. A journalistic strategem he’d practiced for the better part of seven years. He took a few steps toward her. “We both know there’s a lot more to this than what you’ve told me. Whatever it is, you’re going to feel a lot better once you talk about it.”

      She looked cautiously over her shoulder at him. He took it as his cue to continue.

      “You know, sometimes a stranger can be a better listener than a friend or a family member. With a stranger, there’s no history, no expectations, no emotional connection to the person or the problem.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he arched a brow. “If you’re ready to talk, I’m willing to listen.”

      Spence watched as she stared at the lush weeping fig tree by the balcony doors for a long moment, then blew a puff of air through her lips. She was coming around. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It was all he could do not to reach for his tape recorder.

      “Okay. I’ll tell you the truth, but you’re not to go blabbing this.”

      He made a zipping motion across his lips.

      “Richard left me.”

      This little gem was a far cry from what he’d expected: an admission that she’d been fired from her Capitol Hill job, an angry burst of information on Representative Sylvia Bloomfield and maybe even a confession of her own involvement in the travel fraud he was investigating.

      He stroked his stubbly beard and smiled to himself. He was an optimistic man; he’d try again later about her job. In the meantime, and not that he gave a rat’s aorta, but just how important was this damn boyfriend to her? With that red hair, those big blue eyes and that gorgeous body, Jade Macleod went way beyond pretty and well into the realm of beautiful. What kind of a fool would walk out on her?

      “You sound more ticked off than hurt.”

      “I can assure you, I am hurt. In fact, I—I’m devastated. Humiliated.” She blinked several times, trying, he guessed, to produce a tear or two. When that didn’t work, she pressed her lips together and looked away. “I think it’s made me a little crazy.”

      He liked the way she held herself together. He liked the way she fell apart, too. But when she tried to lie, he had to bite back a smile. Wringing her hands, Jade chattered on about her broken heart as her beautiful blue-eyed gaze darted around the room. So much wasted energy. He could think of better ways to channel it.

      Resisting the urge to adjust his inseam, Spence pinched the bridge of his nose instead. Enough of this sentimental, sexy, screwball nonsense. What the hell was he thinking about? He was here for one thing. Information for a no-nonsense, hard-facts exposé on Jade Macleod’s ex-boss. Let the games begin, he thought as he held up his hand for her to stop.

      “Clear up a point for me, will you?” he asked as he walked over and handed her his handkerchief. “You said your parents have never met Richard.”

      Sniffing, she eyed him suspiciously. “That’s right.”

      “Well, wouldn’t it have made more sense if you’d asked me to pretend to be him instead of your assistant?”

      She stared at him blankly.

      “It’s none of my business, but he must not have been very good in the—”

      She leveled a finger and a warning look at him. “Watch it.”

      “Hey, all I’m saying is, if you’re not bothering to replace him, there must not have been much of a relationship to replace.”

      “There’s more to a relationship than...well... that,” she said as her face reddened. “Besides, I only needed you to pretend at the train station. Things were never supposed to go this far.” Raising the handkerchief, she turned away to blow her nose.

      “Whatever. It just sounds to me as if you’re more interested in what people think of your career than your love life. Am I right?”

      Balling the handkerchief, she shoved it back in his hand. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

      “Hmm?” He stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket.

      “This psychological ploy to get me to talk about myself so you’ll have something to chew on for that novel. What’s the matter, Spence? Suffering from the proverbial writer’s block? Are you a little weak on plot? Short on characterization? Is there fizzle where there should be zing?”

      He didn’t bother hiding his smile as he backed away. “Is there fizzle where there should be zing?” Picking up his suitcase, he placed it on the bed again. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find out. Oh, by the way. Dinner with your family tonight doesn’t count. You still owe me one.”

      “It certainly does count. I have no intention of being seen with you in public. The fewer people I have to explain you to, the better,” she said, reaching behind her for the doorknob and twisting it open. “What’s that smile for?”

      “In case you’ve forgotten, we’ve already been seen in public. And what are you going to say when people read about us in their newspapers?”

      “Do I look worried?”

      She did, but considering the daggers he was already dodging, he decided not to answer.

      “Well, I’m not.” She was rubbing her temples again.