“If you don’t, Georgette will win me. So you have to do it.”
She bites her lip. “I’m sure you can ask somebody else to do it for you. Vicki, perhaps?”
“Vicki…? Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Last Wednesday? That sudden lunch meeting?”
“Oh. No. Definitely not.” Vicki is fifty-six years old, goes to bed by nine and loves children. I met her to screen her for Justin for a nanny position because he had an emergency meeting in Chicago that day.
“How about Melinda? Or London?”
“No, no, no. None of them will work. They’re all going to want something.”
The look she gives me is dubious. “Like what? The date they won?”
“Like a ring on their finger. Like to become Mrs. Nate Sterling.” I shudder at the very idea of having a missus.
“It could go that way. There are all sorts of possibilities when you’re dating someone.” Her tone is patient, like a kindergarten teacher explaining the way life works to a toddler.
“Hah. In bed, maybe,” I say before I can stop myself. “Commitment strips you of choices. And why settle for one when I don’t have to?” I put my hands on her shoulders. “Evie, listen. You’re the only person who can save me from Georgette. You saw how she was back at the medical center. She won’t just want to marry me; she’ll want suck the marrow out of my bones.”
Evie makes a face. “She can’t be that bad…”
“Oh my God, worse,” I say, desperate to convince her. “She punctured our condoms. When that failed, she faked a pregnancy to trap me into marriage, then ‘miscarried’ when she realized she couldn’t hide the fact that she wasn’t pregnant anymore.” The shit she put my family through was criminal. The only reason Barron hasn’t buried her and her family is because her parents are nice people and apologized profusely. And she was crazy enough to accuse me of dumping her over her “pronounced nasolabial folds.”
“Nasolabial…?” Evie says faintly. She takes a moment, then clears her throat. “Well, even if I wanted to, I can’t help you. You understand that I don’t make enough to go to an auction like Elizabeth’s and bid, right?”
I smile, sensing a victory. It’s cute how she worries about such an inconsequential aspect. I pull back, dropping my hands from her shoulders. “Bid to your heart’s content. Better yet, bid as high as possible so I’m not embarrassed. I’ll take care of the cost.”
She presses her lips together. Oh, right! She said she doesn’t make enough. That must’ve been one of those famous female hints. “And you’ll get a pay raise and a bonus for helping me out.”
That earns me a frown. Does she want a company car? If so, I can arrange—
“I really don’t have anything to wear to an event that fancy,” she says.
Ah, she wants an expense account. “Not a problem. Buy yourself a new dress and send me the bill.”
Her frown only deepens, which is definitely not the reaction I was expecting. I think for a moment, then snap my fingers. Of course a woman can’t simply buy a new dress. “And get matching shoes, purses, clutches, jewelry and whatever else you need to complete the look.” Magnanimity is a cardinal virtue.
“That’s very generous…”
Hah. I have her now.
“…but I’m afraid I can’t do it. I’m sorry, Mr. Sterling.”
“Why not?” What more does this woman want? A new watch, maybe…?
“It really does go beyond my job description. And what would people think if I were to bid on you?”
“People? People? Why would either one of us care about that?” The only thing she should care is what I think! She works for me, not for “people.”
She continues, “You’re better off finding a friend to do it. There must be at least one female friend who can help you out.”
“But I don’t have—” I say, then inwardly wince at how bad that sounds. “I mean, all my female friends are married or engaged. I can’t ask them.”
“Hmm. Well, there’s always Craigslist. If you want, I’ll put up an ad there for you.”
What the hell? I said I wanted to be saved, not have another sociopath after me! The Internet is full of psychos!