Wife For A Week Part 1

WIFE FOR A WEEK.

Carla Ca.s.sidy.

To Angela Ulrich, the "daughter"

who likes to borrow my clothes!

Stay true and strong, because I love you.

CARLA Ca.s.sIDY.

is an award-winning author who has written thirty-five books for Silhouette. In 1995 she won Best Silhouette Romance of 1995 from Romantic Times Magazine for her Silhouette Romance novel Anything for Danny. In 1998 she also won a Career Achievement Award for Best Innovative Series from Romantic Times Magazine.

Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. She's looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

Chapter One.

"I need a wife."

Angela Samuels stared at her boss, wondering if perhaps she'd misunderstood his words. Maybe he'd told her to "get a life." Heaven knows she could use one, but no, that couldn't have been what he said. Hank Riverton of Riverton Advertising Enterprises had never paid enough attention to her to know whether she had a life or not.

"I beg your pardon?" she finally said as she tightened her grip on her memo pad and pencil.

Hank Riverton leaned forward, his dark blue eyes studying her...a.s.sessing her. She felt the warmth of a blush stain her cheeks as his gaze traveled the length of her, starting at her head where she knew her long brown curly hair had probably partially escaped the clasp at the nape of her neck, down to the tip of her sensible, but ugly black shoes.

He nodded, as if satisfied with what he saw. "You'll do just fine. Of course it will only be a temporary, pretend kind of thing. One week. That's all I need from you."

"Mr. Riverton, I really don't know what you're talking about," she exclaimed.

He frowned, the gesture doing nothing to detract from his attractiveness. "Didn't we talk about this before? About Brody Robinson and his wife's marriage encounter retreat?"

Angela shook her head. Hank sighed and raked a hand through his thick dark hair. "I thought I mentioned something about this yesterday."

Again Angela shook her head. "Not to me." There was no way she would have forgotten a conversation where the topic was her becoming her boss's temporary wife.

"You know Brody Robinson?"

"Of Brody's Biscuits," Angela replied. Robinson was the largest account Hank's firm handled. Brody was a colorful pseudocowboy who'd made a fortune by packaging his grandmother's biscuit recipe in a ready-to-heat-and-eat format.

"He recently bought a ranch out in Mustang, Montana, and my *wife' and I have been invited to go. When I landed the account last year, Brody got the idea that I was married."

Angela looked at him in surprise. Hank Riverton was the most unmarried man Angela had ever met. "How on earth did he get that impression?" she asked.

Hank cast her a slightly sheepish grin. "He just a.s.sumed I was married by the way I was talking and I didn't do anything to correct the a.s.sumption." The smile fell away and he frowned once again. "h.e.l.l, Angela, you know Brody. We won the biscuit account with an ad campaign based on family, home and good old-fashioned values. Brody is the most conservative man I know and he a.s.sumes I'm a kindred spirit."

Angela swallowed a burst of laughter. Hank Riverton, conservative? Hardly! Especially when it came to his personal life and relationships. She had a feeling his bedroom probably had a revolving door installed for convenience's sake. "What's this marriage encounter thing?" she asked.

Hank leaned back in his chair. "Brody's wife is a psychologist who specializes in saving marriages. She's developed a week-long program geared to deepening commitment and intimacy between married people." He said "commitment" and "intimacy" as if they were both four-letter words. "Anyway, Brody thought it would be a terrific gift to give me and my *wife' a week at his ranch in Mustang, where his wife conducts these seminars. So, next Monday afternoon I'll be in Mustang, and if I'm without a wife, I'm fairly certain there's a strong possibility that Brody will pull his account."

"What about Sheila?" Angela replied, referring to Hank's latest love of his life.

He stared at her in disbelief. "Think about it, Angela," he said dryly. "Does Sheila really come across as wife material?"

No. The flaming redhead with the dynamite figure she revealed more than covered definitely didn't give the impression of wifely attributes.

Rather Angela thought the s.e.xy woman probably made men think of hot nights and steamy, illicit s.e.x. Definitely mistress material rather than the substance of a wife.

"You, on the other hand, are perfect," Hank continued. Angela didn't know whether to feel complimented or insulted. "Look, it's just a week. It will be like a vacation." He leaned forward once again, his dark eyes holding a bewitching appeal.

Angela wondered if it was the same kind of look he gave when he was attempting to bed a woman. It was the first time she'd ever had those s.e.xy eyes completely trained on her, and warmth started at her toes and slowly worked to suffuse her entire body.

"I just don't think this is a good idea," she murmured, gripping her memo pad against her chest. "What if I say something wrong? Jeopardize the account?" she hedged. "The whole idea is crazy."

"You're right," he agreed easily. "The whole idea is crazy, but I've got to do it and I need you in order to pull it off. One week," he hesitated, then added, "and I'll give yon a bonus of a thousand dollars."

Angela widened her eyes at the incentive. What she couldn't do with a thousand dollars. Her mother needed a new air-conditioning unit and her brother, Brian, always needed extra money for school. And if she intended to hunt for a new job, the money would afford her a little time to decide exactly what she wanted to do.

"Fifteen hundred," Hank said. "For a week that will be more vacation than work."

"Okay," Angela reluctantly agreed, knowing it was probably a mistake, but unable to turn down a windfall that would ease her family's financial situation at least for a little while.

"Terrific!" Hank stood, a smile of relief curving his lips. "Why don't you take the rest of the afternoon off, go home and write up a sort of dossier on yourself. Bring it to work in the morning and that will give me all weekend to study it I'll write up the same for you. By Monday we need to know enough about each other so we can give the impression that we've been married for some time."

Angela knew she was dismissed when he sat down and opened a manila folder. She left his office and walked out to the reception area where her own desk awaited her.

Although she had been working for Hank Riverton for the past two years, she wasn't sure she intended to keep the job much longer. When he had first interviewed her for the job, he'd explained to her that her position would include the duties of a personal a.s.sistant as well as that of secretary.

Angela had been thrilled to get the job in the oneman office and at first hadn't minded running his personal errands, buying his aunt and his father their birthday presents and picking up his dry cleaning. She hoped that eventually she'd work up to her dream of copywriting, of actually being a part of the creative process involved in advertising.

In the initial interview Hank had mentioned the possibility of advancement and knowing the Riverton Advertising Agency's reputation in the business, she was thrilled with the opportunity to learn from him.

So far she'd learned he liked his shirts starched heavy and his sandwiches without mayo. She'd discovered his average dating time for any one woman was about three weeks and he always sent flowers when he dumped them. Although she felt she'd learned much in the past two years, she'd had no way of putting her knowledge to use. She felt stymied and wasted and wanted more from her job.

She quickly cleared off the top of her desk, but paused at the large picture of her boss that graced the wall opposite her.

Hank Riverton. At the age of thirty-three he was already highly successful in the advertising business despite his relative youth and the fact the he worked neither on the east coast or the west, but instead out of Great Falls, Montana.

He was a hunk, no question about it. His dark hair was thick and wavy, his eyes midnight-blue. His chiseled features not only radiated attractiveness, but intelligence as well.

For the first couple of months she'd worked for him, Angela had entertained a ma.s.sive crush on him. She'd been tongue-tied in his presence, her heart had quickened when he was near and she'd suffered erotic dreams about him nearly every night.

The crush had waned, leaving behind an admiration for his business sense, but the knowledge that he was certainly not the kind of man she'd want to fall in love with. She admired his business ac.u.men, but wasn't even sure she liked him very much.

With a deep sigh, she grabbed her purse and left the office. As she drove home, the reality of what she'd just agreed to set in.

Wife for a week. Hank Riverton's wife for a week. Rolling down the window, she breathed deeply of the warm, late summer air and fought the impulse to turn the car around and tell Mr. Riverton that she wouldn't be a party to the lie he intended to perpetrate.

What's more, she wanted to tell him that she was tired of being a gofer for a man who rarely acknowledged her existence as a real, living, breathing person.

The idea of pretending to be his wife for a week was total lunacy. The idea of collecting fifteen hundred dollars for the moment of insanity was frighteningly comforting.

It isn't fair to perpetuate a lie, take money for doing it, then quit the job, a little voice whispered in her head. Do the week, take the money, then run, a louder voice exclaimed.

Angela decided to listen to the big-mouth. After all, the lie was relatively harmless and the money had been offered as a bonus.

After the week was up if she decided to quit the job, she'd give Hank Riverton the required two weeks' notice. She owed him nothing beyond that.

As she turned into the driveway of her mother's small house, she wondered how to explain the trip to her mom. A business trip, that's all she had to say.

She didn't have to mention the little part about pretending to be Hank's wife. She knew her mother wouldn't approve of such a deception. Besides, Angela was twenty-eight years old...old enough to have a few secrets from her mother.

As she got out of the car, her mind quickly jumped to the next problem at hand. What did one pack for a week of "pretend wife" at a Montana ranch?

"Yes, Brody. We're really looking forward to it," Hank said into the receiver. "We're driving in and planning on arriving around noon tomorrow."

"Great, great!" Brody Robinson's deep voice boomed across the line. "You'll love Mustang and I guarantee you and the Mrs. will come away from here feeling like newlyweds."

"Angela and I can't wait," Hank replied.

"Angela?" Brody paused a moment. "I thought your wife's name was Marie."

Hank felt the blood leave his head. Of course, at the time he'd landed the Robinson account he'd been dating Marie. "Angela Marie," he improvised. "I call her by both names."

"Must get d.a.m.n confusing," Brody replied. "Oh well, I don't care what you call her as long as you bring her along. We've invited two other couples to join you. Should be a great week."

After a bit more small talk, the two men said goodbye. Hank leaned back on the sofa and drew a deep breath. He hated the deception he was about to pull, but he'd talked himself in a corner and didn't know any other way to get out.

He picked up the dossier Angela had given him on Friday. He hadn't had time to look at it until this moment, which gave him less than twenty-four hours to learn what he could about her.

Funny, she'd been working for him for almost two years and he didn't know anything about her personal life. Of course, he'd had no reason to care until now. She was highly efficient, nearly invisible as she accomplished all the tasks that made his business and personal life run smoothly.

He frowned, surprised to discover he couldn't bring a clear picture of her into his mind. He wasn't sure if her eyes were blue or brown, although he did recall that her hair was a nondescript brown and usually untidy.

Still, her features remained indistinct and the only other thing he could bring to mind about her was the fact that she always wore black ugly sensible shoes.

At least he wouldn't have to worry about somehow getting carried away in the role playing. His mousy secretary wasn't his type at all and that's what made her so perfect for the part.

With a sigh he got up and crossed the living room. He was not looking forward to the coming week. Seven days in a little cow town learning how to develop deeper intimacy wasn't his idea of a vacation.

Intimacy. What every woman longed for and what every man abhorred. Hank didn't want some woman inside his head, knowing his thoughts, sharing his dreams.

He'd seen what love and intimacy had done to his father. Hank's mother had died when Hank had been five, and for years Hank had watched his father build a dry-cleaning empire through long hours and hard work.

Then, a year ago Harris Riverton had remarried and had been transformed from a sharp businessman to a doddering old fool who loved nothing more than puttering in the garden with his new bride.

No way Hank ever wanted to lose his edge, share his energy, compromise his needs for any woman.

Speaking of women...he looked at his watch and stood. He was supposed to pick up Sheila in fifteen minutes for their customary Sunday night dinner together.

An hour later he and Sheila sat at a table in Sam's Steakhouse, Hank's favorite restaurant. The decor was uninspiring, the ambience unmemorable, but the steaks were huge and cooked to perfection.

As Hank dug into his rare T-bone, Sheila picked at a salad, her dainty features pulled into a frown of petulance. She'd been angry with him ever since he'd told her he'd be gone for the next week on business. She pouted until he'd almost finished his steak.

"Are you sure you can't get back to town in time for the fund-raiser on Friday night?" She finally broke the silence that had lingered between them.

"Sorry, honey. It's impossible. There's no way I can be back in town before next Sunday."

"But you're the boss. Can't you just make somebody else do whatever business it is that has to be done? The c.o.c.ktail party is so important. Everyone who is anyone will be there." Sheila's normally b.u.t.tery-smooth voice became a plaintive whine. "I was so looking forward to it. I bought a gorgeous new dress and I even managed to get a hair appointment with Pierre."

"You can still go to the party without me," Hank said, wondering why he'd never noticed before that Sheila's blue eyes had the cold, hard glare of a woman who liked to get her own way.

"Mustang is only a couple of hours away. You could drive in for the party, then drive back for business early on Sat.u.r.day morning," she pressed, the hardness in her eyes deepening.

Hank set his fork down and shoved his plate aside. "Sheila, I'm sorry, I said I can't make it and I mean it There will always be another fund-raiser, another c.o.c.ktail party."

Sheila took a sip of her wine, her red lipstick staining the rim of the gla.s.s. She set the gla.s.s down then reached across the table for Hank's hand. "What is little Sheila going to do for a whole week without her lover-bear?"

Hank hated it when she talked baby talk and he suddenly realized there was little about Sheila he really liked.

Granted, the woman had a dynamite face and figure, but she was also spoiled and demanding. They had very little in common with each other and he had a feeling Sheila liked him more for his image and the challenge he presented than anything else.

It was time to call an end to the three-week dating frenzy he'd shared with the attractive woman. As the thought crossed his mind, relief flowed through him, confirming that it was definitely time to end it.

He wiped his mouth with his napkin, struggling to find the right words without hurting her feelings or her dignity. "Sheila, you're a nice, beautiful woman and I've really enjoyed the time we've spent together," he began.

"You're kissing me off, aren't you?" Gone was the b.u.t.tery tone as well as the baby talk. Instead her voice radiated anger. "I can't believe this. All my friends warned me about you, Hank Riverton. They told me not to date you. They said that you are a professional heartbreaker."

"Sheila..." Hank winced, but the woman continued.

"You just wait, Hank." She pushed back from the table and stood, looking more beautiful than ever with her ample chest heaving and her blue eyes flashing.

"One of these days you're going to give your heart to some woman. You're going to love her more than anything on earth, and I hope she takes your heart and smashes it to little pieces." With these words she whirled around and stomped away from the table.

Hank fought down a surge of regret as he watched the s.e.xy sway of her backside in retreat. He imagined Sheila was probably a good lover, but he hadn't experienced her expertise in that particular area.

Although she had given him all the right signals nearly every night that they'd gone out, he hadn't responded. He knew Sheila would see lovemaking as a prelude to a wedding band, and that's the last thing Hank wanted. Besides, it was difficult to picture making love to a woman who baby-talked.