Abby Gaines – Her So-Called Fiancé (страница 8)

Sabrina’s mind raced. “Er…was that all Richard said?”

“What else might he have said?” Jake asked silkily.

She took a slug of wine. “Did he mention my, uh, relationship with you?”

“Relationship?” Jake frowned. “No.” Then, just as Sabrina relaxed, he snapped, “Unless you mean our engagement!”

Sabrina took a step backward. “I can explain.”

“Tell it to my campaign manager,” he said grimly. “I’ve spent the past half hour convincing an ecstatic Susan there’s no engagement. I think she finally accepted it, but your explanation as to how the confusion arose would help.”

Hmm, some backpedaling required with Susan Warrington tomorrow, Sabrina feared. “Susan will be pleased to hear,” she said, “that I’m willing to support you publicly in the race for governor.”

He stilled. “Is this in exchange for me supporting your school?” His hand went to his back pocket, as if he might write a check this instant.

“That…and more.” She finished the glass of wine. “You have to be my fiancé. Not my real fiancé,” she hastened to add. “And not forever. Just until I’m settled in my new job.”

Something dawned in his eyes, and it wasn’t gratitude. “The new job you got all by yourself, the one that proves you’re finally grown-up and independent?”

She swallowed, and wished someone would hurry up and invent the self-replenishing wineglass. “There’s been a glitch. A temporary one. My recent media exposure damaged my credibility as a spokesperson for the trust.”

He snorted. “The Miss U.S.A. garbage?”

“The trust—the directors—said I lack gravitas.”

“Well, you do.”

“Thank you so much,” she hissed, seeing a chance to reclaim the moral high ground. For good measure, she let her lower lip quiver, a tactic she’d been known to employ in her younger days, but one she wouldn’t have resorted to now in anything but the direst emergency.

The quivering bypassed Jake. “Sabrina, you’ve never been serious in your life.” He paused. “Except when you were learning to walk again. You were damn serious about that.”

“That’s how I feel about this job,” she said urgently. “It’s that important. All I need to convince these people I’m more than a pretty face is you as my fiancé—”

“Let’s get this straight,” he interrupted. “You actually told this Richard Ainsley we’re engaged? It’s not some wrong conclusion he jumped to?”

This was it. She closed her eyes, and jumped. “Yes.”

She peeked through her lashes as he flung a wild glance around the room. When he turned back, his eyebrows were a dark, angry slash. “But it’s a lie. A crazy lie.”

“I only told Richard. And the other members of the Trust’s board. I said it’s a secret, but obviously—”

“You lied.”

Did he have to keep stating the obvious? Several people were looking at them. Sabrina leaned into Jake, trying to signal the need for discretion.

“Think about it, Jake, this could be good for both of us. Getting engaged is far better than my endorsement of your campaign. You said yourself I’m more popular than ever thanks to my legs.”

“You would marry me to get this job,” he said, dazed.

“Technically, no. But it will appear that we’re getting married.”

He clutched his head. “You’re sabotaging my campaign.”

“I’m saving your campaign. In the past few weeks, the newspapers have speculated that you’re having an affair with a married woman, that you’re dating a coed, that you’re secretly engaged to the daughter of a former Indian prime minister.”

“None of that’s true,” he snapped.

“Now people will know for sure.”

There was a charged silence while he absorbed her logic.

“All you have to do is say yes to my proposal.” Bad choice of words; Sabrina winced. “Proposition,” she amended.

He rubbed his temples. “This is the kind of idea only you could come up with. Breaking up with you was like breaking out of Fairyland.”

Her eyes smarted, but she said airily, “And I’ll bet you miss the magic.”

He held her gaze, staring her down for several long seconds. Long enough for Sabrina to regroup. She grabbed his arm, determined to make her point before he stormed out and denounced her to Richard Ainsley. “I’m sure you have interns hitting on you all the time—” she swallowed her pride “—just like I used to.”

He scowled as he looked down at her hand on his arm. “I hit on you.” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe he’d been so lacking in discrimination. “What’s it to you if I encounter the occasional pushy intern?”

She stored away his admission that he’d pursued her, and the precious shred of dignity it afforded. “An engagement will protect you from the single women who could wreck your campaign by misreading something you say or do.”

“And all I have to do is change my education policy for the sake of your job,” he said calmly. He’d never sounded more dangerous.

Sabrina lifted her empty wineglass to her lips, a fragile barrier. “It’s not a change,” she said. “It’s a detail. You put special-needs education on the agenda, I’ll do the rest.”

“You’re overlooking one small fact,” he said. “Namely, you’re the last woman on earth I would marry.”

Ouch! Sabrina pressed a hand to her chest, stared at him. Desperation demanded she get over the insult. “Jake, your campaign is all about educational opportunities for everyone. You’re deeply committed to young people and their learning, I saw it on your Web site.”

“You visited my Web site?” Beneath his anger she discerned satisfaction that the last woman on earth that he would marry was interested enough to check him out online.

“By accident,” she said. “I was running a Google search for jerks.”

Before he could stop himself, Jake barked a laugh. Naturally, Sabrina pounced on the brief cessation of hostilities. “Supporting my school isn’t a big stretch, Jake.” She turned cajoling, the way she used to when they were dating. Using that voice, she’d talked him into drinking the vile blue cocktail she favored at the time. And skinny-dipping in the pool at the governor’s mansion.

Silly things. Games. Nothing like this.

“You’re insane,” he said.

Or was he? Because much as he tried to fight it, she was starting to make sense. It was difficult to campaign as a bachelor—there was always the risk that a kiss on the cheek, an inadvertent touch, would be taken the wrong way. Susan often said her job would be easier if he had a girlfriend.

“Why does it have to be an engagement?” he asked. “Why can’t we tell people we’re dating?”

Her eyes widened, brightened. But when she spoke she was calm, pragmatic. Qualities Jake admired. Qualities about as far from Sabrina’s nature as Mars was from Venus.

“We’ve been there, done that, five years ago,” she said. “To be taken seriously, we need a commitment this time around. Anyway, I’ve already said we’re engaged.”

He tried to corral more arguments, but they eluded him.

“I’ll let you think about it.” She turned her back on him to study one of the paintings on the wall just beyond the cordon.

The square canvas was painted almost entirely black, with a thin gold line down the middle. Jake read the caption over her shoulder: Inside The Elevator During a Power Cut.

Sabrina started to giggle; there was an edge of hysteria to it.

“This picture sums up how I feel,” Jake said grimly.

“In the dark?” Her voice wobbled.

“Trapped.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “This isn’t funny, Sabrina.” Because no matter that she was letting him think about it, he didn’t have a choice. She’d told people they were engaged, there was no way such juicy news wouldn’t spread, even if she rescinded it. The press would be onto it; Jake would have to publicly contradict a woman often described as “Georgia’s darling.” More damage to his reputation, his campaign.

She must have read his thoughts. “It’s really not that complicated. We’ll say we’re engaged, my appointment will be confirmed, then I’ll endorse your campaign and attend a few events with you. As many as you want. Jake, this is exactly what you wanted, only…different.”

Sabrina, the ultimate optimist—it must have taken a lunatic sense of optimism to persevere the way she had after the accident.

“This is the only way you’ll get my support,” she said.

The only way he could win.

“If you win the primary,” she continued, “I’ll stick with the engagement until the election in November.”

Hell, it was bad enough pretending to be her fiancé for the six weeks until the primary. November was seven months away. “Why should I trust you, when you’ve never stuck with anything else?”

“Because this time,” she said, “I’m claiming dumping rights.”

“You’re claiming what?”