Her Bachelor Challenge. Cathy Thacker Gillen

damask settee.

      Bridgett noted he was still in the casual clothes he’d had on earlier, with one exception. He’d taken off the shirt he’d torn in the brawl with Gabe and put on a plain blue oxford-cloth dress shirt that looked as though it might have belonged to his dad. He’d left the shirttails out and rolled the sleeves to his elbow. “You changed your shirt,” she said.

      “Had to.” He sat back amiably and propped an ankle on his knee. “Dinner with the folks.”

      Deciding the room was much too cozy with only one lamp burning, Bridgett walked around the room and turned on a few more lights. “How’d that go?”

      Chase’s eyes turned serious as she came back to join him in the small sitting area of her home office. “It was exceptionally quiet. Gabe got called back to the hospital halfway through. Amy was her usual worried self. And Mitch seemed preoccupied—something to do with the family shipping business. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

      “What about your parents?”

      “They were pretty quiet, too. I had the feeling they wanted to spend some time alone, talking about Mom’s situation, I’m sure. They were just going through the motions of a family dinner to reassure us everything would still be okay, despite the very public firing.”

      “Once a parent, always a parent, I suppose.”

      “I guess.” Chase surveyed her midnight-blue silk chiffon sheath, with the handkerchief hem and matching chiffon shawl. He regarded her in a way that reminded her just how well he knew her. “What are you doing out so late on a weeknight, anyway? Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”

      Knowing he was right—normally she would be in bed a lot earlier on a weeknight so she could be up bright and early the next morning to write or meet with the clients she was advising on financial matters—Bridgett sat down in a straight-backed chair opposite from him. “I’m taking a few weeks off before I start my next project,” she said. “And I have no client appointments scheduled for the next week, either.”

      “Good. Glad to hear it.” Chase leaned forward earnestly, hands clasped between his spread knees. “Because I need your help. Professionally speaking.”

      “I’m not writing anything for Modern Man,” she told him flatly.

      “Sure now?” Chase flashed her a sexy grin. “We could use a woman’s perspective on money matters. You wouldn’t even have to write anything. We’d conduct it interview-style. And I’ll put it all together in an article about you and your success.”

      Bridgett knew that where Chase was concerned, nothing was this simple. If he wanted to do something, it was because he knew his readers would benefit in ways specifically aligned with his way of thinking. She had to think for a minute to figure out how Chase would probably spin it. “So you can tell your readers how to get women to do what they want in a financial sense,” Bridgett guessed. While still avoiding marriage like the plague.

      Chase flattened a palm against his rock-solid chest and regarded her with mock hurt. “You sound like you’ve been listening to my critics.”

      “I’ve been reading your magazine,” Bridgett said.

      “And…?”

      “If you really want to know, I think you’re so off base in your assessment of the current battle between the sexes, it’s ridiculous.”

      “Come on, Bridgett.” Chase gave her a look that begged for understanding. “Most of the stuff you’re referring to is meant solely to amuse.”