Marry Me, Kate. Judy Christenberry

catering firm?” the man opposite her asked in surprise. “I hate to mention such mundane things, but catering is a tough business, with a low profit margin. And even more important, it requires good cooking skills.”

      Did he think she was an idiot? “Of course it does. But since I trained in Paris, I think my cooking will be adequate.”

      “Paris, France?”

      The surprise on his face was offensive. “No, Paris, Texas! Really, Mr. Hardison, must you insult my intelligence? Of course, Paris, France. I worked there as sous-chef of Maxim’s for the past three years.”

      “Maxim’s?” he repeated. “But I ate there last November.”

      “And you haven’t died from ptomaine poisoning yet? Amazing.” She had to remind herself not to be sarcastic. Pop always warned her about her sharp tongue, but the man was driving her crazy.

      “I didn’t mean—the food was good. But you don’t look like you—I mean, your appearance—I’m surprised.” He finished with red cheeks, but his gaze had roved her face and body and it didn’t take much interpretation to understand his meaning.

      “So you think only ugly women learn to cook?”

      “No, of course not, but—let’s see those figures.”

      Though his resorting to business to get him out of his difficulties was amusing, she didn’t bother to smile. Too much was at stake. But it didn’t keep her from appreciating that she had him at a disadvantage.

      “All right, here’s what I’m hoping to do.”

      She forgot the earlier events of the evening, her disgust with her companion, the despair that had filled her as they’d driven back to the diner. Inside, the flickering hope that had driven her to William Hardison in the first place flamed high as she described her plan to restore the diner to its former glory.

      Or to more than its former glory since she wasn’t sure it had ever been a smart establishment. Her plans included a large expansion of the kitchen to enable her to mass produce hors d’oeuvres and meals for the catering. And, since the man had agreed to listen, she threw in the apartment she planned to add on for herself.

      “You want to live here?” His glance around the diner wasn’t admiring.

      “I already live here. I’d like to have nicer accommodations.”

      His gaze whipped back to hers. “Where?”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “Where do you live?”

      “There’s a room behind the kitchen.”

      “I want to see it.”

      Her eyebrows raised. She had no intention of showing him her bedroom. She wasn’t ashamed of it, exactly, but it wasn’t a showplace, either. Just a room with a small bed, some space for her to store her clothes and a lot of boxes holding some of her belongings and those of her father. It was none of his business.

      “No, that’s not necessary.”

      “I think it is.”

      “But, you see, Mr. Hardison,” she said with a glacial smile, “I don’t much care what you think about my living quarters. I only care about your business acumen, in regard to my plans.”

      “I think you have about as much chance of being successful as the Royals do of making the playoffs.”

      Her confidence took a nosedive. The Royals, the local pro baseball team, were halfway through their season with a .348 percent win record.

      She stiffened her back and raised her chin. “I see. Well, thank you for listening.” She started to slide out of the booth, hoping she could escape before her eyes allowed the tears filling them to overrun down her cheeks.

      “But I will give you the money,” he said as he took hold of her arm.

      She froze. Surely she had not heard correctly. He’d just said she had almost no chance to make her plan work. Then in the next breath he’d offered her the money?

      Collecting herself, she asked sedately, as if her heart were not thumping like a drum, “On what terms?”

      The smile on his lips should’ve warned her. But she was thinking percent, payments, length of loan, escrow. He wasn’t.

      “My terms are that you marry me.”

      Chapter Three

      She gasped, drawing in a deep breath as she pulled herself together. Finally, when she had control once more, she said coldly, “I believe I mentioned earlier that I’m not for sale, Mr. Hardison.”

      With a frown, he said, “You misunderstand me, Miss O’Connor. I don’t mean a real marriage. And I do not have any...designs on your body. The marriage would be one of convenience—for both of us—and would only last one year. There would be a prenuptial agreement spelling out the terms with a generous reward to you should I break any of them.”

      Will watched her as she tried to understand his words. Admittedly his proposition was unusual. And if she couldn’t read his mind, perhaps even acceptable. He’d almost choked as he’d promised he had no interest in touching her, loving her. Physically. Of course, he had no interest in any emotional commitment.

      He’d learned about that mistake from watching his father’s life.

      But physically, the lady was a turn-on that would be hard to resist. But he would. Drawing a deep breath himself, he waited for her reaction.

      “I don’t understand.”

      “You met my mother this evening.”

      “Yes. And I don’t appreciate what you did.”

      “What did I do? I introduced you. The only thing I did wrong was announce our engagement before I spoke to you, but I said those words to protect you. My mother can be quite vicious to people she doesn’t consider...suitable.”

      “To protect me,” she said, her gaze narrowing as she studied him.

      Feeling like a first-grader who had lied to his teacher, he tried to keep his features smooth and unconcerned. “Yes.”

      “And your reason for the proposal? Another attempt to protect me?”

      Her sarcasm shattered his pretense and his cheeks flushed. “Not exactly.”

      “Then explain.”

      He’d figured she would demand details. Carefully selecting the version he wanted to reveal, he said, “My mother is...an ambitious woman. She’s been trying to force me into an advantageous marriage for several years.”

      “And you’re not grown-up enough to say no?”

      Her scornful look angered him. “Yes, I can say no. And have, repeatedly. That doesn’t stop her from disrupting my life with her efforts.”

      She frowned but said nothing.

      “I want some peace. I’m starting a new project that is going to take a lot of my concentration and greatly expand my holdings, and I want her to leave me alone.”

      “And you can’t find anyone willing to marry you without making them a financial offer?” Kate quizzed him. “What’s wrong with you?”

      “There’s nothing wrong with me,” he snapped back, burned by her condemnation. “Just because I don’t want—I’m not interested in marriage.”

      Suddenly her big hazel eyes grew even larger and she leaned forward, whispering, “You’re gay?”

      Exasperation made him slump against the plastic seat as he shook his head. “No, I’m not. Damn it, woman, why can’t you just accept what I’m telling you?”

      “Because