The Marriage Campaign

Those brown bedroom eyes widened at the fact it was her, and Lisa forced herself to act aloof, unaffected. She already knew what he saw: a woman in a demure cocktail dress designed to downplay any sexiness, and sensible designer heels that added only an inch to her height. A thin wire headset with an earpiece wove its way through her blond updo, and she’d lowered the mouthpiece toward her collarbone.

She held her own, refusing to deviate from her mission. “You’re here as a stand-in for your father, I believe?”

“Yes,” he replied, his intense gaze roving over her as if imprinting this moment onto his memory. Despite her resolve, she flushed slightly as he finished his appraisal. He frowned suddenly. “I saw you at the funeral this morning, didn’t I?”

She took a breath and admitted, “Yes. My aunt’s cousin.”

“Marvin Albertson,” Mark said, his tone holding a slight edge of something indecipherable.

“Yes.”

His voice dropped. “Well, imagine that. Fate is certainly interesting, isn’t she?”

“Very,” Lisa said, quite aware that the well-dressed women surrounding him wore intrigued expressions as they listened to the odd conversation.

As if she’d tell them the whole story. That Mark Smith, ultimate playboy, made out with her in a hallway during his sister’s wedding reception but then dumped her for someone else. Mark always did run through women like water and he’d proven that Lisa was no exception.

She blinked. She was older and wiser. She met hundreds of people a week and kept copious notes written on the backs of business cards and Rolodex files. Being in town only a week, she hadn’t yet looked up Joann’s parents, Mary Beth and Bud. Lisa curbed her sigh. Even though she’d given Andrea loose rein, Lisa was ultimately responsible for tonight’s dinner. She hadn’t double-checked the guest list, a mistake for which she didn’t have time to berate herself. Not when she had an evening to salvage.

“Mark, while it’s good to see you again, would you mind if we spoke in private for a minute? I’m Herbert Usher’s campaign fund-raiser and I need your help.”

His shoulders lifted in a slight shrug, indicating he’d understood that her crisp, professional tone meant she didn’t want to reminisce. His navy-blue suit moved effortlessly, indicative of its custom tailoring. This man did not buy off the rack.

“I don’t see why not,” Mark agreed. He gestured a manicured hand toward the exit door. “Lead the way. Excuse me,” he said to the ladies.

“Thank you,” Lisa said, ignoring the women’s collective exhales of disappointed curiosity. A prickle, however, ran up her spine as she led him out the ballroom doors. She could feel his gaze glued to her backside. “We have a small office set up in here.”

She began to open the door that led to a smaller meeting room, but his powerful arm extended past hers and pushed the door inward. His proximity provided a whiff of subtle cologne. He smelled divine—whatever designer brand he wore had blended with the smell of his skin to create a musky, sensual scent all his own.

Whoa. She could not allow herself to be affected. The man was a first-class jerk.

“Thank you,” she said politely, stepping past him with an outward composure she’d long mastered and at this moment certainly needed to hide her inner shaking. Mark Smith oozed pheromones or something, for he’d caused her body to react, which hadn’t happened since…well, since that night at Joann’s wedding. Her only solace was that no one had seen the kiss, and she’d never told a soul of her humiliating moment.

Lisa wasn’t one of those people who liked to air her stupidity and failures like dirty laundry.

She maintained her poise, making certain he didn’t notice anything out of whack as the door closed behind them. “I appreciate your coming with me.”

“You’re welcome,” Mark said. His eyes narrowed. “No hug for a long-lost friend?”

“I’d rather we keep this professional,” Lisa said. She made sure the headset was muted so she wasn’t broadcasting the conversation to Andrea or Bradley.

“Have it your way,” Mark said, his momentary cheeky grin fading. “What was it you wished to discuss?”

Although his tone never changed, his voice was low and naturally husky, and she concentrated on the challenging task ahead. “Let me be direct. Your father planned to start what we call ‘Pass the Hat,’ which is the donation part of the evening. It’s fun and expected, but the first check has to come from someone enthusiastic about the campaign.”

“That person was to be my father.”

She nodded, optimistic he understood. “Exactly. Herb can’t stand up at the podium and solicit. While he can make phone calls and ask a person directly, to make a blanket request for money during a fund-raising dinner is still considered extremely tacky and in poor taste.”

His brows knit closer together as he contemplated this. “My father didn’t tell me anything about starting a hat pass when we talked.”

Something about his cautious tone put her on the immediate defensive. He could not back out!

“He also didn’t tell Herb he wasn’t coming,” Lisa inserted smoothly. “Anyway, we were depending on him for tonight’s campaign jolt.”

He took a deep breath, his broad chest expanding and contracting. “My father must have forgotten. You knew he had a heart attack, didn’t you?”

“Joann mentioned it,” Lisa said, “but she also said he was recovering well.”

“He’s fine, except that he’s pretty much retired and on doctor’s orders not to do anything too strenuous as he builds up his strength. Anyway, my mother came down with a cold, and he’s home all worried about her.”

“Is she okay?”

“It’s just a spring virus. But Dad canceled everything. I attended the funeral in his place. Even my standing in for him here was just decided this morning.”

Poor Bud. Lisa had always loved Joann’s parents. But this conversation wasn’t getting her anywhere and she checked her mounting frustration. If Mark wasn’t going to help, she had a problem to solve and no more seconds to waste with a man who’d already destroyed her illusions once. “I do understand. I’m sure I can find someone else if you’re uncomfortable stepping into his shoes.”

“I’m never uncomfortable in my father’s shoes.”

His sharp and direct retort surprised her, and Lisa’s eyes widened. She’d barely processed his reaction before the door opened and Andrea entered the meeting room. She smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have your name tag ready, Mr. Smith,” Andrea said, handing him the computer-generated “Hello, my name is” sticker. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to tell me.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Andrea said.

He gave Andrea a cheeky smile, one that Lisa knew worked wonders on women. It had once worked on her. And his grin had the desired effect on Andrea, for she shot Lisa a wistful look as she exited. Lisa kept her lips in a straight line.

“How much was my father going to give?” Mark asked suddenly, his deep voice penetrating her jumbled thoughts. “If he was going to pass the hat, I’m sure you know the exact amount and even had a nice little speech all scripted for him. Now, if you will explain this process to me, I’m sure we can come to some solution that is agreeable to both of us.”

“That would be preferred,” Lisa admitted as she regained her footing. She never lost her balance in the political arena. There was no reason disequilibrium should be happening now, especially with this man.

He smiled at her, but only in a patronizing way designed to establish that the situation was totally under his firm control. “Of course a solution would be preferred,” Mark said. “I’m first and foremost a businessman. I can handle a curve. You’ve certainly given me those before.”

She had? What was he talking about? She didn’t have time for this nonsense or digs into her character that she didn’t understand. “Your father was going to donate two thousand dollars, the maximum donation he could make.”

TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS? Mark froze. The amount of money didn’t shock or faze him; his father was extremely generous, and Herb had been a college fraternity brother. Everyone knew how deep those bonds could run. And two thousand dollars was chump change for the wealthy Smith family.

Lisa took a step back. “If that’s too much…” she was saying, her concentration fully on the check that was getting away and the problem she had to solve. He found her actions and conundrum slightly irritating.

Eight years had changed her, and at this moment Mark wasn’t sure he liked this older and wiser version standing before him. Lisa used to be the one who’d give her shirt right off her back to help her friends. She was the kind who’d take in every stray animal she ran across.

She’d been the one he’d wanted until, instead of meeting him, she’d disappeared into the night without a goodbye. Heck, kissing her in the hallway had made him feel like a superhero. Her disappearance had been a slap in the face.

As for this Lisa…The hardened political dynamo standing in front of him was concerned only about her event and his check. He glanced at her hand—surely she should be married by now.

But no, her ring finger was bare.