His Bride by Design

Chloe summoned up every bit of courage and confidence she had and put a smile on her face as he slowly walked up to her. Hands stuffed into his pockets, he stood and smiled, just looking at her for a moment.

“Feeling better today, I hope?” he said finally.

She nodded, thinking she really didn’t have to speak just yet.

“Good. I was worried about you. You were kind of out of it last night.”

“Oh … well … the whole thing was pretty surreal.” The mob attack, seeing him again, having him lift her into his arms, carry her up the stairs, put her gently on her bed, kiss her so sweetly, let her fall asleep in his arms ….

“I imagine it must have been,” he agreed. “I mean, how many people get attacked by angry brides?”

“Even for me, that’s weird.” She’d always been a different sort of girl, and he knew it, even seemed to enjoy it at times.

“So, things are better today?” he asked. “No mad brides so far?”

“Not this morning.”

“Good. I was hoping some good would come of us making the cover of one of the tabloids.”

Chloe winced. “I am so sorry about that. I know how much you hate that sort of thing.”

He shrugged as if it meant nothing at all to him, when she knew it did. He was a man who liked his privacy, liked peace and quiet in order to be able to concentrate on what he truly enjoyed—his work. He was as much of a workaholic as she was. It had been one thing that worked for them—that devotion and understanding of ambition and long hours.

“I was afraid they were going to hurt you,” he said. “And I would never stand by and let someone hurt you, Chloe.”

She looked him in the eye then, surprised and terribly pleased.

“I mean…” He shrugged once again and smiled. “I wouldn’t just stand by and watch anyone get attacked like that.”

“Of course. I knew that. I knew … what you meant,” she lied. So all it had been was good manners and being in the right place at the right time?

“So,” he said finally. “Marcy says you and I are all over the internet gossip sites today. They liked the photo of us.”

“Marcy?” He had a girlfriend looking up everything she could find about him and Chloe on the net?

“My assistant. Brilliant woman. Wharton grad. Well-organized, efficient, careful. She just has a bad habit, embarrassing, really. She loves the tabloids. Please don’t tell her I told you so. She’d be horrified that anyone knew.”

Chloe laughed, trying to imagine anyone working for him and having a secret tabloid addiction.

“I know. It’s ridiculous, but there it is. I guess we all have our secret … weaknesses.”

Chloe wanted to hide. Was he talking about her? Did he know that he might be her most guilty secret of all? That her heart still did that crazy little jittery dance just seeing him again? And she was perfectly clearheaded today. She had no excuses.

“So, anyway,” he said, “Marcy says the photo of us seems to have stopped the worst of … you know? The stuff about you being cursed in love and your dresses being cursed.”

Okay, this was getting worse by the minute. “Well, I appreciate that. That the photograph did that. Thank you.”

He nodded, still looking uncomfortable.

What did he have to be uncomfortable about? His life seemed to be going along just fine, no scandals, no business on the verge of collapse, no humiliation.

“So … remember that silly … magazine list I made back when we were together?”

She frowned. “Up-and-Coming Young Businessmen of Manhattan?”

“No, the bachelor list.”

“The Single Woman’s Guide to Bachelor Hunting in New York?” He’d been outraged by the whole thing, and soon she’d hated it, too. All those women, so pretty, so polished, with money and breeding, seemingly so much more suited to a romance with him than she ever would be.

“Yeah. That.” He looked like it truly pained him. “It’s coming out again any day now, and … I’m afraid I’m going to be on it again.”

“Oh.” Of course he was. He was likely even more successful now than he had been before and still single, as far as she knew.

“So I’m probably going to have some photographers hounding me for a few weeks, like they did the last time.”

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