Leigh Michaels - The Takeover Bid

Erika turned to stare at Wyatt. “Partner? You’re a partner in this operation? You’ve actually got money in it?” She smiled. “No wonder you said you didn’t exactly work here. I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s not what it looks like, since you’re involved, Wyatt.”

Wyatt said, “I’m sure we could do something, partner—since it’s for such a good cause.”

Melanie glared at him. “And what do you have in mind—partner?”

“How about the Model T the guys are working on?”

Melanie gasped. “That’s sold. You can’t just give it away.”

“How about giving it away for an evening?”

“If a musty old rattletrap is the best you can do—” Erika turned up her nose.

“I mean the use of a genuine antique car, restored to perfection, for an evening. If not the Model T, then perhaps this Cadillac.” He patted the fender.

“Are you out of your mind?” Melanie’s voice was low and almost hoarse. “Loaning out a car? I don’t even let people test-drive these things without someone riding along. You can’t take the chance of putting this car into the hands of a hot-rodder. It’ll do a hundred and thirty on a straightaway—”

Wyatt cut across her. “A chauffeured antique car for an evening. And we’ll throw in…let’s say…dinner at Felicity’s.”

Melanie was sputtering. Between the red hair and the sparks she was putting off, she looked like a firecracker that was about to explode.

“We’ll get back to you with the details, Erika,” Wyatt said. “But in the meantime—you can count on us for dinner for two at Felicity’s, with chauffeur service.”

Erika smiled at him. “Make it a really nice car,” she murmured, “and I’ll bid on the package myself.”

She drifted out, and a couple of minutes later the Mercedes spun gravel in the parking lot.

Wyatt leaned against the Cadillac’s fender, folded his arms across his chest, and waited.

“Well, it’s obvious those leather pants of hers got to you,” Melanie said.

“What? Oh, come on. It’s a good cause.”

“Maybe. But dinner at Felicity’s? I thought you were going to look over the books. Surely you realize there is no money anywhere in the budget for dinner at Felicity’s.”

“I’ll toss it in as my contribution to the cause.”

“But why?”

“Just think of the attention it’ll get when one of our cars pulls up in front of Felicity’s. It’ll cause quite a buzz. In fact, we should make a point of regularly getting the cars off the lot and out where they can be seen.”

“I do,” Melanie said. “I drive a different one every day.”

“Where?” he asked shrewdly. “Back and forth to work? To the grocery store and the dry cleaner’s?”

He’d got her, and it was clear that she knew it. “Not the dry cleaner’s,” she admitted, “because if a piece of clothing isn’t washable, I don’t buy it. Fine—it’s your idea, you take care of it. Just think hard about which car you choose. Since Erika doesn’t seem to be enthusiastic about vintage Cadillacs, you might try one of the Corvettes. Be careful, though—the transmissions can be tricky on those if you’re not used to a stick shift.”

“Oh, I’m not going to be driving it.”

“I beg your pardon? I thought you understood I’m not about to loan—”

“Since you’re so sensitive about who gets behind the wheel of your cars, and I’m the one who’s providing dinner—”

He saw the instant she realized she’d been conned. “Oh, no.”

“Then it’s only fair that you be the chauffeur,” Wyatt said gently. “As you said yourself, we’re partners. Right?”

HE’D boxed her in very neatly, Melanie had to admit. Though in a way she’d almost done it to herself, without much effort at all on Wyatt’s part.

She’d had no intention of making a donation to Erika’s cause, because she simply couldn’t afford it. At least, she couldn’t afford to give on the scale that Erika would find acceptable—and if Melanie offered anything less, Erika would probably have turned up her aristocratic little nose, refused, and then said something even more condescending than the remarks she’d already made. Melanie was still gritting her teeth over that crack about selling extremely-used cars.

Still, even if it had meant listening to Erika oozing false sympathy over Melanie’s terrible financial condition, she should have just told the truth instead of dodging the question. Erika’s fake pity would have lasted five minutes at the top end, and then she’d have stopped wasting her time with Melanie and moved on to the next potential donor.

But instead Melanie had made an excuse, and it was going to cost her dearly. I have to consult my partner…

She should have realized that acting as if Wyatt had a say in the matter would make him believe that he really did. Even so, she was still in shock at how he’d taken the idea and run with it—and then dragged her in, despite herself.

Chauffeuring someone around for a night on the town…what fun that was going to be. Especially if it turned out to be Erika Winchester. Melanie wasn’t going to whine about it, though, because that would only encourage him.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “this could be a very interesting dilemma. If I’m driving, a Corvette won’t be big enough because it only holds two passengers. However, Erika will want it to be just the two of you. So that means the Corvette would be perfect after all, except that you don’t want to drive it, so we’re back to needing a seat for the chauffeur…. I’ve got it. I’ll teach you how to handle it, and then you and Erika can have a cozy—”

Wyatt shook his head. “I’m not sure I want to take driving lessons from someone who knows exactly how fast that Cadillac will go on a straightaway.”

“Actually,” Melanie said thoughtfully, “I don’t know. Not firsthand.”

“That’s a relief. Who actually tried it out? Robbie, or one of the other guys?”

“I mean that I don’t know precisely how fast it’ll go, because I’m only guessing. The speedometer was buried and the car was still accelerating when I saw the curve coming and let off the gas.”

“I hope you’re going to tell me this was on a track and not a regular road.”

“If it will make you feel better, I can tell you anything you want to hear.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes.

“For heaven’s sake, of course it was on a track. You don’t think I’m idiot enough to drive that fast on a public highway, do you?”

“I don’t think I should answer that,” Wyatt murmured. “Anyway, let’s worry about all the details when the time comes. Erika may not be the top bidder.”

“You can hope. I suspect she’ll not only win, but she’ll want to spend part of the evening parked in a lovers’ lane. Come to think of it, maybe the Corvette isn’t such a good idea after all.”

“Bucket seats,” Wyatt mused. “Gearshift. I see what you mean.”

“Definitely the Cadillac has more potential as a love nest. In the meantime, I have work to do.” She eyed the narrow space between the car and the wall. Wyatt was occupying a good deal of it, and she would have to squeeze past him to get to the office. It would be easier to go around the car and climb through the back seat—except that would mean figuring out how to get the door open wide enough to get in. How had Robbie gotten out, anyway, with the car’s convertible top up?

“If you’re going to be hanging around here all the time,” she added dryly, “I can find something better for you to do than polish that fender with the seat of your trousers.”

He pushed himself away from the car. “I was just thinking about making a promotional tour.”