The Husband Sweepstake. Leigh Michaels

could. It slammed against the office door and flopped onto the carpet.

      The door opened a crack, and Kelly peeked warily through the opening. “Does that mean I shouldn’t clip this one for your scrapbook?”

      Erika said grimly, “Remind me to send the Sentinel’s editors a gift next Christmas. A new sledgehammer—because at this rate they’ll have worn out the one they’re using now.”

      “Yeah, I thought that line about Denby’s perfumes stinking was a little low,” Kelly agreed. She picked up the paper and smoothed the ruffled pages. “There are a couple of his scents which really aren’t bad at all.”

      Erika tried to bite back a grin. “Well, no wonder their source wanted to remain nameless, saying things like that. It was probably Denby’s mother. Honestly, Kelly, what did I ever do to annoy the tabloids so much?”

      “You seriously don’t know?” Kelly perched on the arm of a chair. “Think about it, Erika. A supposedly brainless blond makeup model takes over her father’s business and—instead of falling flat on her gorgeous face—makes more of a success of it than he ever did. That’s what you did to annoy them. You didn’t stay in the slot they’d picked for you.”

      “Well, wouldn’t you think they’d give it up by now? It’s two years since I broke that engagement, and since my father died.”

      “And every time a new Ladylove ad comes out, your picture reminds them of how wrong they were. Enjoy it, Erika. It’s a measurement of your success.”

      “Sort of like being named the Chamber of Commerce’s Man of the Year? I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Erika picked up her pen. “By the way, Kelly, about that banquet Saturday night—have either you or the Sentinel decided who I’m going with?”

      “They haven’t said.” Kelly maintained a deadpan expression. “And I thought it should be your choice.”

      “That’s reassuring. Which good cause am I supporting?”

      “Adult literacy, I believe.”

      “Literacy? I wish I understood how my eating rubbery chicken and listening to a speaker drone on all evening is supposed to help the cause of reading. Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just stay home and take a book to bed instead?”

      By the time Erika paid off her cab in front of the apartment complex, Stephen was on the sidewalk to greet her. “Just the person I wanted to see,” she said, handing him the blue-and-silver dress bag she was carrying.

      “Welcome home, Ms. Forrester,” he said as he ushered her into the lobby. “I was sorry to miss you when you arrived last night. There’s fresh espresso in my office, if you’d like a cup.”

      “You’re a love, Stephen.” She sank into the guest’s chair in his office—an extra-comfortable wing-back covered in a heathery tweed—and put her feet up on the small matching footstool, watching as he hung her dress bag next to an identical one on a hat stand beside the door. “This is wonderful. What happened to your assistant? Did you send him home for the night, or has he already quit?”

      “Why would he quit?” Stephen looked puzzled.

      Erika shrugged. “It seemed to me this morning that he was already a bit tired of the residents’ oddities, so I’d be amazed if he stuck with it for long.”

      Stephen’s gaze shifted a bit. “Oh, I think Amos will be around for a while,” he said vaguely. “He just has a little different philosophy of the job than I do, that’s all.”

      Understatement of the year, Erika thought.

      “What can I do for you, Ms. Forrester?”

      “I need advice,” Erika said crisply. “Break out your little black address book and tell me which of your friends would like to go to a banquet with me on Saturday. Hear an inspiring speaker—”

      Stephen shook his head. “I’m running out of friends who will fall for that one.”

      “There are benefits,” Erika began.

      From behind her, a pleasant voice asked, “A woman like you needs an escort service?”

      Erika almost dropped the cup Stephen had just handed her. She twisted around to see Amos, who was lounging against the door with his arms folded across his chest.

      Stephen sighed. “Amos, you can’t just talk to the residents like—”

      “I’m off duty.” Amos strolled in and perched on the corner of the desk.

      He certainly looked it, Erika thought. The dark suit and ascot were gone, replaced with faded jeans and a lightweight sweater with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. His shoulders looked even broader, and the blue of his sweater made his eyes seem brighter.

      “I’ve tried to explain,” Stephen said wearily, “that on this job you’re never off duty.”

      “Speak for yourself, Stephen. No wonder you’re always tired. I want to hear why Ms. Forrester needs help finding a date. To say nothing of being curious about what she means by benefits.”

      It was obviously too late to pretend she’d been joking. Anyway, Erika asked herself, why should it bother her if Amos darling thought she couldn’t attract a man without help? She looked him in the eye. “I don’t know why you’ve got this chip on your shoulder, but if it’s just me you have a problem with, I promise not to bother you anymore. In fact, I’ll simply ignore you altogether. If you can convince enough of the residents to share my feelings, you’ll have a pretty easy job of it—for however long it lasts. Now if you’ll go away, Amos darling, and let me talk to Stephen in private—”

      He didn’t move. “Next time you want to talk to Stephen in private, shut the door. Half the building could have heard you, so why object because I happened to walk by?”

      Stephen cleared his throat. “All right, let’s get back to the point. What kind of a banquet is it and who will be there? If there are connections to be made, then maybe—”

      “It’s for adult literacy. So your friend can hang out with authors and publishers and readers and agents and—”

      Stephen was smiling.

      “You’ve thought of someone? Stephen, you’re an angel.”

      Amos slid off the desk. “Now that you have the problem solved, I’ll be—”

      “It sounds right down Amos’s alley,” Stephen said.

      Erika stared at him. “This is no time for a joke.”

      “I was serious. Amos is writing a book. That’s why he’s here.”

      Erika tipped her head to one side and inspected Amos. She thought she saw irritation flicker in his eyes.

      Well, that makes two of us who are annoyed at being fixed up with each other. “Why he’s here?” she repeated. “I don’t know what you mean.”

      It was Amos who answered. “There are certain advantages to the position. Living quarters supplied, no commuting to work, flexible hours. As long as I take care of the residents’ needs, I can do what I like with the rest of my time. Namely, write.”

      “And if you can persuade the residents not to ask you for anything, you’ll do even better. No, Stephen, I couldn’t live with myself if I dragged a genius away from the Great American Novel to attend a boring dinner.” Erika pushed herself up from the chair. “And I’m sure the genius agrees.”

      “Now that would depend on the benefits you were talking about,” Amos murmured. “Exactly what do they include?”

      In your dreams, Amos darling. Erika looked at the twin dress bags hanging on the hat rack. “Which one of these is mine, Stephen? I lost track when you hung them up.”

      “Let me guess,” Amos said. “You brought home a white