The Marriage Campaign. Michele Dunaway

proposals to read and he was falling behind.

      “You’re going to be late for the fund-raising dinner,” his secretary prodded gently, her expression a tad concerned that Mark hadn’t clued in yet.

      “Oh—” Mark bit off the expletive that threatened.

      The dinner! He hated political events. Whereas his father loved politics and once toyed with running for state senate, Mark avoided anything to do with politics like the plague. Like a good citizen, he voted, but that was about it. He’d wiggled out of half a dozen dinners his father had invited him to attend over the years, and finally his father had stopped asking.

      But as the new president of Smith Manufacturing—an interim position until the company was sold—Mark knew his responsibilities. He’d fulfill them, as he’d been raised to do and always had—just as he’d done by attending the funeral of one of his father’s business associates this morning. This time Mark’s mother was sick, and even though the doctor said it was only a spring virus, Mark’s dad had felt it best to stay home with her. The conversation this morning had been quick.

      Mark stood and grabbed his leather trench coat.

      The drive from Chesterfield to the Millennium Hotel wouldn’t take but twenty-five minutes, tops. As he accelerated the Porsche onto Highway 40, he glanced at the dashboard.

      He’d only be about five minutes late, if at all. The wind blew, beating against the Porsche as the car crept over the posted speed limit. The day seemed as if it belonged more in January than in April, and Mark resented for a moment having to attend. Although, what else did he have to do? His relationship with Alanna was over; he’d broken it off last week. She’d become too clingy, too simpering, as was still evident in her repeated phone calls to his office. Three months of dating did not constitute a relationship. His secretary, Carla, was a saint for putting up with the nonsense.

      As for Mark, when a man came within reach of hitting thirty, his thoughts did turn to marriage. He wanted his own Mrs. Right, whoever she might be. Definitely not Alanna. Nor any of the other women he’d dated over the past few years. He’d rather be a bachelor than make “death do us part” vows with the wrong woman.

      Maybe that’s why he seemed to run through girlfriends like water. Dating was like shopping. When a guy went to the store, he found what he wanted and bought it. If not, he left. Mark wasn’t a big believer in wasting time. Wrong woman—nice to meet you, but goodbye.

      However, he admitted he was ready to settle down, which was why he was out there searching. His fraternal twin sister Joann had three kids already, and Mark had none. He liked kids and wanted a houseful, but only after marrying the right woman. If he found her. When he did, he wouldn’t let her go.

      Mark lifted his foot off the accelerator, slowing the expensive sports car to only five miles above the speed limit. Just six more miles and he’d be there, amongst the people jockeying for position, for political favors, for a slice of power that, in the end, was meaningless. Mark shivered despite the climate-controlled air. Joann’s friend Lisa had always loved politics.

      Lisa. Mark frowned. Joann had attended the University of Missouri and become best friends with her three Rho Sigma Gamma pledge sisters. Nicknamed the Roses, all four had been inseparable until graduation. After that, life had gotten in the way. Oh, they kept in close touch and still maintained confidences, but seeing one another was hard to do when you lived in different towns and had different obligations.

      That girl at the funeral today had reminded Mark of Lisa. Same blond hair, same overall build. Attractive. But he hadn’t seen Lisa since Joann’s wedding eight years ago, when Lisa had disappeared and stood him up. His best friend Caleb’s girlfriend had gotten sick, and Mark had walked her outside to get some air. By the time he’d found Caleb and passed off the sick girlfriend, it had been well past the time Mark was to meet Lisa. She hadn’t waited, and after a fruitless search, Mark had gone to bed alone.

      And since Lisa had been from Warrensburg, on the other side of the state, he doubted that had been her freezing at the cemetery. For a second he wondered if she was married and made a mental note to ask Joann.

      Mark whipped the car onto the Broadway exit ramp. Almost there. Mark braked and shook off the melancholy. Duty called.

      “LET’S HOPE THERE WILL be some single men here tonight.”

      Upon hearing Andrea Bentrup’s announcement, Lisa looked heavenward, studied the pattern on the hotel ballroom ceiling and mentally counted to ten. Unlike her twenty-two-year-old area assistant whom she’d been working with for the past week, Lisa had been around the political block a dozen more times than the wide-eyed, idealistic, nonstop romantic standing in front of her. Love and politics did not mix. Ever.

      Lisa plastered on a businesslike expression and faced Andrea. Hiring her hadn’t been Lisa’s idea last November; Herb had traded political favors with Andrea’s father, a very influential party member. Except for her rabid wishes to settle down and marry, Andrea did a decent job. She was a natural social butterfly who easily made everyone comfortable.

      “Well, Andrea, you’re free to hope, but don’t hold your breath. Political fund-raisers aren’t the place to find single men. Besides, our job isn’t about finding a husband but helping Herb win the election.”

      Andrea’s skin turned the color of her hair, a light shade of red. “Oh, please don’t think I’m saying that I don’t want to help Herb win the election. But at least some of these guys have to be going stag and, darn it, I don’t want to work all my life.”

      “No one does. It’s called retirement,” Lisa said flatly.

      “I’m only doing this job until I settle down,” Andrea proclaimed. She wobbled a little on the two-inch heels she’d worn to bring her almost to Lisa’s five-eight height. Lisa had to admit that Andrea was cute, which hopefully for some man made up for her singular desire to be wed.

      “Just make sure you have all the place cards in the correct spots,” Lisa said as she turned her attention back to her own tasks. She’d been idealistic once—leave college, find the right job, find the right man and live happily ever after. The day of graduation she’d toasted to her future, sharing a bottle of champagne with her three best friends in the world. They’d held their glasses high, proclaimed they weren’t going to settle for anything until they had the proverbial brass ring tight in their grasps.

      But life wasn’t perfect. Brass rings tarnished.

      Tori, the computer-science major in the group, had been ready to make Microsoft worry. She’d joined an upstart St. Louis–based computer company called Wright Solutions, where she’d fallen into a rut.

      Cecile Duletsky had been determined to be Norman Lear, Sidney Sheldon or Aaron Spelling and develop television shows. She’d made it as far as working behind the scenes on a talk show.

      And Joann, the woman with the promising television news anchor job ahead of her? Less than three months after graduation she’d learned that she was pregnant, married her college sweetheart and become a stay-at-home mom of three with a diploma that collected dust. Lisa had her suspicions that, while Joann was happy, she still had some regrets.

      As for Lisa, she finally had the right job but hadn’t found the right man. Oh, she’d thought she had, until he’d broken it off and subsequently married. Politics was all about alliances, and Lisa had learned that particular lesson the hard way a little over a year ago.

      And Bradley Wayne was still her boss. Although she’d branched out and formed her own company, until Herb’s campaign was over, she reported to Bradley.

      She surveyed the ballroom again, her radar not sensing any current doom on the horizon. The fact that Professionals for Business Growth had endorsed Herb was excellent. While Herb was a shoo-in for winning the party primary in August, he then would have to defeat Anson Farmer. Even though Herb was ahead in the popularity polls, most analysts predicted that November’s gubernatorial election would be close.

      But when Herb did win in November, he would become her