Leigh Michaels - The Husband Sweepstake

“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 silk blouse, I presume?”

Erika was puzzled. “Yes, as a matter of fact, though that’s not all I bought. How do you know—?”

“Because Stephen insisted that since the dry cleaner’s deliveryman refused responsibility for your white silk blouse, you must have a new one immediately. So he sent me trekking all the way down to midtown to pick it up this afternoon.”

“So I have two brand-new white silk blouses? That’s hilarious.”

“Very amusing,” Amos said politely. “I suppose you’d like me to take the extra back tomorrow.”

“It would seem to be the logical move. Actually, I’d prefer it if you’d trade it for a different shade, something like teal or periwinkle…”

“How about wine-red? That would be dead easy—I could just finish the job you did on the original.”

“On second thought, just take the blouse back. Don’t bother to get another. It would be very foolish of me to assume that you know your colors, so I might end up with something in flame-orange or fluorescent green.” She picked up a bag in each hand, weighed them and hung the lighter one back on the hat stand. “It was very thoughtful of you to anticipate my needs, Stephen.” She started toward the elevator, bag in hand.

A low voice stopped her in midstride just a few paces from the office door. “You’re quite wrong, Stephen,” she heard Amos say. “That woman doesn’t need a manager looking after her. What she needs is a keeper.”

The members’ lounge at the Civic Club was never noisy or crowded, but on Wednesday as the lunch hour neared, the room was as full as Erika had ever seen it. She toyed with a glass of sherry and tried to force down the butterflies in her stomach while she waited for her guest to arrive.

You don’t have any idea what you’re doing, whispered a voice in the back of her mind.