Barbara Dunlop: Dan All Over Again: Dan All Over Again / The Mountie Steals A Wife

“Your nose has nothing to do with your overall appeal, Roger.”

“Then you’ll go out with me?”

She nearly choked. “I mean, it’s…more than your nose.”

He bounced up and down on his lifts, squeaking each time. “I’ve got one of those stretching machines that’s going to make me taller. I’ve already gained a fraction of an inch.”

“And lost a pound of common sense. It’s not your height, either.” It was probably one of his curls that had gained him the fraction. “It’s…” She glanced down over his plaid shirt, his Looney Tunes plaid tie, and bright green pants. In addition to bouncing up and down, he was jingling his keys in his pocket. “I’m not here to assess you, Roger. I’m here to ask for the account back.”

He raised his eyebrows. “We could discuss it over dinner. I discovered that the electrical device I purchased to stop my receding hairline roasts a great hot dog.”

“Weenie.”

“I don’t think we need to argue over the term for a hot dog. So, are we on?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Er, no, thank you.” Interesting, though, that the weenie liked weenies. “Just hand over the account and I won’t have to hurt you.”

He shrank back at those words and inched around her. “Don’t hurt me! I bruise easily!” And with a squeak, squeak, squeak, he was gone.

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to chase him down. Not in these heels, anyway. Maybe the old Cassie would have done that, whipped off her heels and gone after him in full-tilt mode. But that’s not what the (a) dignified (b) sensible and (c) responsible Cassie was going to do. Even if her body was leaning toward that attack. Her narrowed eyes focused on her boss’s door. She pushed up her jacket sleeves and knocked.

“Cassie.” Mr. Nicholson’s smile quickly faded. “Uh-oh, you’re upset. You know how I am about confrontation.”

She had plastered her most calm expression on her face. “How could you tell I was upset?”

“You’re crunching those Lifesaver things, same way you did when you had to swap offices with the new guy. In fact, throughout the whole move. But you were real good about it, giving up your corner office with the great view and without a fight, and I appreciate that. You’re a team player, Cassie, and that’s going to get you places. So I know you’ll understand about the Lure ’Em In Tackle Company.”

Loud crunching echoed in her ears, and she swallowed the sharp pieces with a grimace. “You’re letting Roger steal my account.”

Mr. Nicholson lifted his fat hands before running them through what was left of his hair. “Now, now, he didn’t steal it. He was standing by the receptionist’s desk when the call came in. You weren’t available, so he talked to them. Turns out he’s quite the little fisherman.”

“The client asked for me!”

“They’re looking for someone to design an ad campaign for their lures. Fishing lures.” As though she couldn’t have possibly made the connection. “Now, what do you know about fishing?”

It used to capture her ex-husband Dan’s attention more than she could. Where had that come from? “I could learn. That’s what I always do, make my lists and research every aspect of the company and its products. How hard could fishing lures be to understand?”

His deep chuckle rubbed on her nerves. “Now, I’m not saying a woman can’t know about fishing. It’s got nothing to do with gender and everything to do with having the product here.” He fisted his hand to his chest. “Like me and Cheesecake Galore. You’re not a fishing type of girl. You’re banks and florists. Roger said he knows fishing inside and out, so he’s the likely candidate. The next new account that’s suitable for you, it’s yours. If you’ll look past your pride, you’ll see that we’re all here to service our customers the best we can. We’re a team. Be a gentleman, Cassie, and step aside so Roger can win this new client over to Nicholson.”

Her shoulders bunched up as she realized how often she’d stepped aside gracefully. “It’s kind of hard to step aside when you’ve just been stepped on.”

“HE’S GOING TO LET that loser keep the account?” Pam asked when Cassie relayed the conversation.

“Yep. Because, hey, what do I know about fishing?”

“What do you know about fishing?”

“You throw something in the water, the fish grabs it and you wrestle it in and try not to get so excited that you rear back and knock your husband right out of the boat in front of all his buddies.” Cassie’s face flushed. “Never mind that.” She tapped her jaw with her forefinger, her mind searching. “I’ve been a pushover for too long. He doesn’t know how much of a quitter I’m not. I’m mean, how much I’m not a quitter. I mean—you know what I mean.”

“Scarily enough, I do. Between your lists and charts and goals, you’re the most determined person I know.”

“Yeah, (a) determined not to be like my mother, and (b) I’m certainly no gentleman.” To prove it, she rifled through the receptionist’s desk and snagged a key. “And (c) I’m tired of being a rung on the ladder that everyone else uses on their way up.”

“You’re so cute when you’re angry,” Pam said with a grin. “Even when you’re pulverizing butter rums. So what are you going to do, insist that Mr. Nicholson let you present a campaign, too?”

“Hah! And let him pat my head and tell me how ungentlemanly that would be?” Cassie gave her a slow smile. “I’m simply going to walk into the presentation and show them my stuff.”

“What if he fires you on the spot?”

“He won’t.”

“Uh-oh. This is starting to sound—dare I say it?—impulsive.”

Cassie stopped. “This isn’t impulsive. No, not at all. It’s going to be a well-planned attack in the name of all that’s fair and good in the world. And I’m going to be honest about it. You know I can’t stand dishonest people.” She slid the key into Roger’s doorknob.

Pam whispered, “Wouldn’t breaking into Roger’s office fall slightly under that category?”

“Of course not. I have a key. No breaking anything.”

“Cassie, what if someone catches you and you’re arrested? We’re arrested? We’ll be in the Police Beat section of the paper. We could be shot by a trigger-happy cop who’s out to prove himself!”

“We won’t.” Cassie opened the door. The office smelled like Roger’s last splash of cheap aftershave. “When I chose a career in marketing, I decided this was something I was going to stick with, follow through on.” She flicked on the light.

Pam took up a lookout position near the door. “You’re thinking about your ex-marriage, aren’t you?”

“Of course not. I’m thinking of that cross-stitch thingee I started five years ago. It sits in my wicker basket and reminds me of all the puzzles, paintings and hook rug kits I didn’t finish. Every Sunday, I put three stitches in the thing. At least I’m making progress. Oh, stop looking at me with that I-know-you-better-than-you-do smirk of yours. Okay, yes, I am thinking about my ex-marriage. You don’t know how scary it was for me to realize I’d become my mother. She’s hopped into and out of so many marriages, I’m surprised she isn’t perpetually dizzy. As a matter of fact, she is, God love her.”

“You’re nothing like your mother.”

“Not now, but I was then. I was suddenly married to a gorgeous stranger. The first blush of excitement turned into the reality of bills, routines and the mention of babies, and I panicked. Probably the same way Mom did in her seven marriages. I wasn’t ready, I ran away and…I hurt Dan.” She was sure the thickness in her throat was the result of eating too many butter rums. “I swore I would never start something I cared about and not finish it.” She consulted the small, leather-bound notepad she wore on a chain around her neck. “I have $12,420 to save before I can escape this place and start my own company. In 1.4 years, I should be able to bring you aboard. This is what being sensible does to a person: (a) concrete goals and (b) no broken hearts.”