Mistress to the Magnate: Money Man's Fiancée Negotiation. Michelle Celmer

I keep seeing these fast-food ads and every time they show a burger my mouth starts to water. I’ll worry about being health conscious when I’m out of the hospital.” Which was a completely backward way of looking at it, she realized, but she didn’t even care. Eating like a rabbit wouldn’t build her strength and get her the heck out of here.

      “A burger and fries it is then,” he said, and he was still hiding whatever it was he was holding behind his back.

      “So, are you going to show me what you’ve got there, or make me guess?” she asked.

      “You mean this?” he asked, his smile widening as he pulled a laptop from behind him.

      “Is that mine?” she asked and he nodded. “I thought it was password protected. Did you talk to the guys at work already?”

      He set it in her lap. “I didn’t have to. I made a few educated guesses and figured it out for myself.”

      She squealed with excitement. “Oh, my gosh! You’re my hero!”

      He regarded her quizzically, as if she had just said something totally off the wall.

      “What?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

      “Sorry. I just never imagined you as the kind of a woman who would have a hero. You’re far too self-sufficient.”

      “Well, I do now,” she said with a smile. “And it’s you.”

      She opened the laptop and pressed the button to boot it up, relieved that at least she recalled how. When the password screen popped up, she looked to Ash.

      “Type in one, one, nineteen, seventy-five.”

      “What is it?”

      “My birthday.”

      I guess it made sense that she would use her fiancé’s birthday as a password. Unless she didn’t want him getting into her files, which obviously wasn’t an issue. She typed the digits in and the system screen popped up. “It worked!”

      “You remember how to use it?”

      She nodded. Like so many other things, navigating the computer just seemed to come naturally. She only hoped that the information it contained would spark other memories. Personal memories.

      “I’m going to head down to the gift store and see if they have a Wall Street Journal,” Ash said, and Melody nodded, only half listening as she began opening files on her desktop. “If they don’t, I might try to find one at the party store around the block.”

      “‘Kay,” she said. “Take your time.”

      She started with her e-mail, thinking saved messages would hold the most information, but there weren’t many. And of the dozen or so, most were from Ash. It seemed a little strange, especially being in school, that she didn’t have more, but it was always possible she kept them on an off-site server for safekeeping. Especially if they were for her supposed research, and were of a high security nature.

      Or maybe her imagination was getting the best of her again.

      She opened her calendar next, going back for several months, and found nothing but her school schedule, a few theater and party dates with Ash, and of course her research trip, which according to this should have ended a few days after her accident. She also found a recent appointment with a wedding planner that they had missed, and realized that not only were they engaged, but apparently they had already set a date. One they would probably be forced to postpone now.

      She quit out of her calendar and opened her photo file, but either she kept her pictures online or on a disk, or she wasn’t a very sentimental person, because there were very few. Shots of herself and Ash, mostly. None of friends or fellow students. And none of family, which was no surprise since she didn’t have any.

      She did have a vast music library, and while she liked the various songs she sampled, she didn’t relate them to any specific memories or events.

      She went through file after file, but not a single thing, not even her school papers, looked familiar to her. She tried to be logical about it. She had barely been out of her coma for four days and the doctor had said it would take time. Logically she knew this, and she was trying to heed his advice. Emotionally though, she felt like putting her fist through the nearest wall.

      “I hope you’re not doing schoolwork already!” the nurse said as she walked in to check Melody’s IV. Which was kind of a ridiculous notion, since not only would Melody not have a clue what work had been assigned, but even if she did, she wouldn’t have any idea how to do it. She didn’t remember anything about the law. But she had to cut the nurse some slack. It probably wasn’t often she dealt with amnesia patients.

      “I’m just looking at photos and things,” Melody told her. “I was hoping I would remember something.”

      “That’s a great idea! How’s it going?”

      “Nothing so far.”

      She hung a fresh IV bag and tossed the empty one in the trash by the sink. “Dr. Nelson would like to see you up and moving around today. But only with assistance,” she added sternly.

      Melody wouldn’t dare try it alone. When she’d taken her shower earlier the nurse had to help her, and she had to shower sitting down. Her legs felt like limp spaghetti noodles and she was so dizzy she was having trouble staying upright.

      “We could take a few practice steps right now,” the nurse suggested, a not-so-subtle nudge, but Melody wasn’t quite ready to put her computer aside.

      “Could we maybe do it after lunch?” she asked.

      “All right, but don’t put it off too long. You need to rebuild your strength.”

      Melody knew that better than everyone else. And though walking might still be a challenge, she could feel herself improving by leaps and bounds. She gave most of the credit to Ash.

      He’d given her something to fight for.

Five

      After the nurse left, Melody went back to the photo file on her computer and opened a few of herself and Ash. When she looked at herself, it was still a bit like looking at a stranger. It was her, but not exactly her.

      Her clothes were obviously expensive and quite form-fitting. The healthy eating must have paid off because she was very trim and fit—although now, after being in the coma, she looked a little gaunt. She seemed to like to show off her cleavage, which admittedly she had a fair amount of. She peeked under her hospital gown at her breasts and decided that she must own some pretty amazing push-up bras.

      In the photos her hair was always fixed in a sleek and chic style that she couldn’t help thinking must have taken ages in front of the bathroom mirror to perfect. So unlike the casual, wavy locks she was sporting now. Also, she wore a considerable amount of makeup and it was always flawlessly applied. She looked very well put together.

      Just the thought of the time it must have taken to get ready each morning left her feeling exhausted. Maybe, when she was up and around again, she would feel differently. Although she couldn’t help thinking she looked a bit … vain. But she was sure these photos represented only a small segment of her life. Who didn’t like to look good for pictures? And she couldn’t deny that she and Ash made one heck of a good-looking couple.

      How would he feel if she didn’t go back to being that perfectly put together woman? Would he be disappointed? Or did he love her for the woman inside?

      The latter, she hoped. If not, would he be here by her side while she healed?

      “Still at it?” the man in question said, and she looked up to find him standing at the foot of the bed. Ash was holding a newspaper in one hand and a brown paper sack in the other.

      “You’re