His Bride by Design. Teresa Hill

laughed, trying to imagine anyone working for him and having a secret tabloid addiction.

      “I know. It’s ridiculous, but there it is. I guess we all have our secret … weaknesses.”

      Chloe wanted to hide. Was he talking about her? Did he know that he might be her most guilty secret of all? That her heart still did that crazy little jittery dance just seeing him again? And she was perfectly clearheaded today. She had no excuses.

      “So, anyway,” he said, “Marcy says the photo of us seems to have stopped the worst of … you know? The stuff about you being cursed in love and your dresses being cursed.”

      Okay, this was getting worse by the minute. “Well, I appreciate that. That the photograph did that. Thank you.”

      He nodded, still looking uncomfortable.

      What did he have to be uncomfortable about? His life seemed to be going along just fine, no scandals, no business on the verge of collapse, no humiliation.

      “So … remember that silly … magazine list I made back when we were together?”

      She frowned. “Up-and-Coming Young Businessmen of Manhattan?”

      “No, the bachelor list.”

      “The Single Woman’s Guide to Bachelor Hunting in New York?” He’d been outraged by the whole thing, and soon she’d hated it, too. All those women, so pretty, so polished, with money and breeding, seemingly so much more suited to a romance with him than she ever would be.

      “Yeah. That.” He looked like it truly pained him. “It’s coming out again any day now, and … I’m afraid I’m going to be on it again.”

      “Oh.” Of course he was. He was likely even more successful now than he had been before and still single, as far as she knew.

      “So I’m probably going to have some photographers hounding me for a few weeks, like they did the last time.”