“Whoa,” he said, raising his hands. “It's just a family picnic. I'm in a bind and I really need a date.”
“And I really need the money I'll earn at the mall,” she said sincerely.
And you scare me to death.
He leaned against his desk and drummed his index finger against his chin. “How about a business proposition?”
“What do you have in mind?” Ellie ventured cautiously.
“How much money will you make drawing at Underground?”
Ellie averaged her earnings from the last few times she'd worked there and added twenty percent. “About two hundred fifty dollars.”
Mark whistled. “Two fifty? Okay, I'll give you three hundred to go to the picnic with me.”
“Why?” Ellie asked, suddenly suspicious. “You could probably get a date just by picking up the phone.”
“How good an actress are you?” he asked, smiling.
“I made a pretty convincing artichoke in my fifth-grade play. Why?”
“Because,” Mark said, now grinning broadly, “I want you to be the epitome of my mother's worst nightmare.”
Hurt speared through Ellie. “Excuse me?”
He stood up and walked toward her. “Don't take this wrong. But if we could convince my mom you're my new girlfriend and that we're completely wrong for each other, she might ease up a little and realize my being a bachelor isn't so bad, after all. Come on, it'll be fun.”
Ellie balked. “I'm not sure if I'm flattered or insulted.”
Mark took a step toward her with his arms extended. “You said yourself I'm not your type. Think about it. We seem to get along okayâ”
Ellie snorted.
“Sort of, plus, I need a date with no strings attached, and you need the money,” he finished triumphantly.
Ellie frowned. “I'm not for sale.”
“Three hundred fifty.”
“Shall I bring baked beans or potato salad?”
Â
“UNBELIEVABLE! This man is actually paying you to go out with him?” Manny exclaimed, counting the bills Ellie handed him. “Do you realize two out of the three times you've seen this man, he's handed you a fistful of cash?”
“Oh, for heaven's sake, Manny, you make it sound sordid,” Ellie said. “It's a simple business arrangement, that's all.”
“Sure. And I guess you're naive enough to think this man is going to shell out money like this and be satisfied with a peck on the cheek at the end of the day?”
Ellie frowned. It hadn't occurred to her that Mark would expect anything other than a convincing performance.
“Ellie,” Manny continued in her silence, “you already think this man and several other strangers you've encountered are affected by those pills you're taking. Did you ever think it might be dangerous if the pheromones push someone to, you know, take liberties with you?”
“I can take care of myself, Manny,” Ellie countered, then she softened. “But I appreciate the concern.”
Her roommate touched her arm, his face serious. “I want to meet this guy, to check him out and see if he's safe, okay?”
“You just want to check him out, period.” Ellie poked a finger in his side, lightening the mood. “I told you, he's not your type.”
Later, when she picked up the developed film from the photo shoot with Mark, Manny's warning of Mark's physical interest resurfaced to send Ellie's heart pounding. She flipped through dozens of photos of his handsome face, and groaned. Not only was the man good-looking, but photogenic, too.
Her breathing became shallow when she came to the photo of Mark shirtless, arms crossed, his eyes haughty from tricking her. Recalling their light, fussy banter, Ellie realized uneasily she could get used to his company. But the memory of the deal they'd struck sobered her immediately. He needed someone his mother would object to, and he'd chosen her for the part. How much clearer could he have made it that he would never be interested in her romantically?
4
“S
PARE SOME CHANGE, buddy?” The ragged man's dead tone and tired eyes told Mark he fully expected to take no for an answer.
Mark hesitated outside Ellie's building, then withdrew a five-dollar bill from his wallet and placed it in the man's trembling hand. The man thanked him profusely, then trotted down the street. He wasn't in the habit of giving handouts, but he'd felt a stir when he'd looked into the man's lost eyes. Mark shook his head sadly, His old man had given away and loaned out enough money to save an entire generation. And look where it had gotten Rudy Blackwell.
Mark shook off the somber thoughts of his father and looked around the neat, trendy area. Panhandlers knew Little Five Points inhabitants were liberals, for the most part, with a social conscience and lots of spare change to back it up. Mark knew this because he'd rented an apartment not far from Ellie's building before he'd signed a hefty mortgage and moved north to Dunwoody.
At only eleven-thirty, the sun already hung high and scorching. He pulled a finger around the collar of his golf shirt and felt relieved he'd worn khaki shorts. He'd arrived at Ellie's a few minutes early, but his mother wanted to get to the picnic shelter at Stone Mountain before anyone else so she could prevent relatives from setting green-bean salad next to strawberry pie, or some similar unforgivable act. He chuckled, thinking about Ellie Sutherland and Gloria Blackwell mixing for an entire day. He couldn't imagine the surprises Ellie had in store. This might be the most fun he'd ever had at a family gathering. And it would very likely get his marriage-happy mother off his back.
As he climbed the steps to her second-floor apartment, Mark tried to ignore the anticipation he felt at seeing her again. Many times during the previous sleepless night he'd reminded himself she'd managed to extort a good chunk of cash from him in the one week he'd known her. She was just like the others, he told himself. So why had he tripped twice in his haste to get to her door?
He knocked twice before he heard footsteps approaching. When the door swung open, a tall, handsome blond man stood before him with a questioning look on his face.
“Excuse me,” Mark said abruptly. “I must have the wrong apartment.”
The man extended his hand in a firm grip. “You must be Mark,” he said. “Ellie's almost ready. I'm Manny, Ellie's roommate. Come in.”
Mark blinked. A ridiculous stab of jealousy jolted through him. Ellie hadn't mentioned she lived with a manâa very good-looking man, to boot. He followed her roommate through a shallow entryway and halted to stand on the black-and-white kitchen floor, grimacing at the screeching voice that reached his ears. Ellie stood at the stove with headphones on, her back to them, stirring a fragrant concoction in a saucepan and belting out a horrid rendition of Patsy Cline's “Crazy.”
Manny turned to him and shrugged apologetically. “It's country this week, next weekâwho knows?” He walked over and tapped Ellie on the shoulder. She jumped several inches, her hand to her chest, and the shrieking stopped. She saw Mark and smiled, tearing off the headphones.
“Hi,” she said, picking up a towel to wipe her hands.
“Hi, yourself,” he said, annoyed at the rush of pleasure he felt. “Is that your contribution to the potluck?” he asked, pointing to the gooey liquid in the pan.
Ellie laughed and reached around to untie her frilly cotton apron. A vintage garment, he suspected, noting the pleasantly faded fabric. “That,” she said, nodding to the pan, “is twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“What?”
“I'm entering a homemade-perfume contest. The entry fee is one hundred dollars, which I'm working off today.” She smiled at him impishly. “Top prize is twenty-five thousand, and I want it.”
Intrigued, Mark walked over to the pot and sniffed. A sultry blend of musk, fruit and flowers assailed his nostrils. “Hmm,” he said, nodding. “Very nice. I've never smelled anything like it. A woman's fragrance, I assume?”
“Of course.”
“What's in it?”
“Oh, this and that. Chamomile, marjoram and juniper for relaxation, ylang-ylang as an aphrodiâ” She stopped and cleared her throat loudly. “Plus vanilla, and a little cocoa.”
“It's colorful,” he said, noting the muddy brown hue.
“I haven't worked out all the kinks yet, but my idea is to launch a whole line of perfume products based on foods.”
“Pizza perfume?” he asked, teasing.
She smiled. “More like orange marmalade or peach pie.” When she pulled the apron over her head, Mark inhaled sharply at the sight of her in a full-skirted, floral minidress and flat cloth tennis shoes. No bra either, which was not unbecoming. She looked all of sixteen. He swallowed. “What do you call the perfume?”
“I've decided to call it Irresistible You.”
Bull's-eye.
Mark nodded. “Very appropriate.”
She turned off the flame and said, “I see you've met Manny. Let me grab a couple of things and we'll go.” She swept by him in a cloud of homemade fragrance, the pom-poms on her socks bouncing up and down as she strode away.
Mark watched her, then turned when he felt Manny watching him. As the man waved him toward a purple-and-gold velour chair in the tiny living room, Mark again wondered about his relationship to Ellie. They were both blond, perhaps he was her brother. “Are you related to Ellie?” he asked when they were seated.
“No,” Manny said, tapping a cigarette from a pack and rolling it between his fingers. “Ellie and I go way back.”
His tone implied intimacy, and Mark didn't really want to delve further.
“She's a great gal,” Manny continued. He lit the cigarette, inhaled deeply and turned his head to release a stream of white smoke from his mouth. His voice and bearing suggested a challenge.
Mark nodded his agreement, but said nothing. His nose itched ferociously, and he ran a knuckle over it.
“She has men falling all over her.”
It seemed like a strange thing for her roommate to say, but Mark smiled amicably. A savage sneeze seized him, and he dragged a handkerchief from his back pocket. Wiping at watery eyes, he sniffed. “I can see why,” he finally managed to say.
“Is the smoke bothering you?” Manny asked, cupping his hand over the cigarette.
Mark shook his head. “Smoke never bothers me.” On cue, he sneezed into the handkerchief three times, each more powerful than the last. “I don't know what's wrong.” Mark felt a sudden soft weight land in his lap, and he looked down into the green eyes of a very hairy orange cat. One inhale solved the mystery as Mark dissolved into a sneezing fit, which did nothing to spook the arrogant feline.
“Allergic, huh?” Manny said, stubbing out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “Come, Esmerelda.” He removed the feline from Mark's knee and disappeared down the same hallway Ellie had taken.
By the time he returned, minus the cat, Mark felt much better.
“Sorry about that,” Manny said unconvincingly. “Ellie loves the puss.” When he sat down, Manny leaned forward in his chair. “Do you find yourself drawn to her?” he asked.
Mark frowned and drew his shoulders back a couple of inches. “Who?”
“Ellie,” Manny said.
“Drawn?”
“Yeah, you know.” Manny toyed with another cigarette, but didn't light it. “Like
compelled
to be around her?”
Mark glanced from side to side.
Is this guy for real?
“I don't know if I'd use that word exactly,” Mark said slowly, “but she does seem to have an effect on me.”
Manny's sandy eyebrows shot up and he leaned back, nodding and contemplating. Mark glanced toward the hall. “Ellie?” he called, standing.
To his relief, she appeared with a huge canvas bag over her shoulder. A floppy denim hat nearly hid her cropped wavy hair and made her appear even younger. She smiled and shaved off another couple of years.
“Just how old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty-nine,” she said cheerfully. “Did I go overboard?” she asked, looking down at her outfit. Silver earrings brushed the tops of her shoulders. “Your mom will hate it, won't she?” Concern pulled down the corners of her eyes and mouth.
Mark grinned. “Yes.”
Ellie grinned, too. “Then let's go.” She leaned forward to study his face, undoubtedly red from the sneezing. “Sorry about Esmerelda. She's a hairy thing, isn't she?”
He waved off the incident and reached for her bulging bag, then playfully buckled under its weight. “Let me guessâyou brought books to read, didn't you?”
Ellie laughed. “No, just a few necessities for a picnic.” She picked up a small bottle from the kitchen counter, shook two pink tablets into her palm and filled a glass with water from the tap.
“Headache?” Mark asked, suddenly concerned.
“Hmm?” Ellie asked. Apprehension crossed her face, then disappeared. “These are just, um...vitamins.” She stuck the bottle into the weighted canvas bag. “I have to take them throughout the day,” she explained. “Woman stuff,” she added in a whisper.
Mark had figured as much and nodded curtly, and he hoped, sympathetically.
When Ellie pulled a huge chocolate layer cake from the fridge, he shot her a questioning look. The last thing he needed was for his mom to think he'd snared a domestic dream.
“Well, I can't go completely empty-handed,” she said defensively,
“Okay,” Mark relented. “But it'd better not taste too good.” For a few seconds, he experienced misgivings. What if she did hit it off with his family? If they pestered him to bring her around again, his plan would backfire in his face.
“So TELL ME, what kind of woman does your mother expect you to marry?” Ellie hoped setting the stage for her performance would soothe her jangled nerves.
Mark pursed his lips and glanced back at the road in front of him. He looked relaxed and athletic in his casual clothes. The muscles in his legs bunched when he shifted gears, sending shocks of awareness through Ellie's body.
“Someone demure and domestic, I suppose. Like her.” He smiled wryly. “She thinks I need someone to be a hostess in my home and help me entertain to further my career.”
“And you don't?” she asked.
“No,” he said flatly.
“Why not?” she persisted.
He sighed. “Because I've seen too many of my friends get rooked into marriage only to find themselves digging out from under a divorce settlement within a couple of years. I worked my tail off to get where I am. I have no intention of starting over.”
Ellie sat still, heat burning her neck and cheeks. Mark was convinced that women were fortune seekers. And she'd given him ammunition by lowering his bank account by more than four hundred dollars since she'd met him a week ago. “So,” she said, trying to cover her embarrassment, “you've never been married?”
“Nope.” Then he shot her a worried glance. “Have you?”
“No,” she said quickly, not that it mattered to him anyway.
“Who's Manny?”
For a split second, Ellie felt pleased he even cared, but his concentration on the road and casual tone indicated he was just making conversation. “Just an old friend,” she said and Mark nodded lazily, clearly uninterested. Her heart sank. “Is your mother a widow?”
“Yes,” Mark said, frowning slightly. “Dad died three years ago.”
“I'm sorry,” Ellie said. “Were you close to him?”
“As close as you can be to someone with whom you have nothing in common.”
Ellie felt a stirring of kinship. “My father was never around when I was growing up, either.”
Mark's low laugh held no humor. “Mine was always around. Couldn't seem to keep a job. He was a great man, but a lousy provider.”
“Where do you live?” Ellie asked, searching for firmer ground.
She thought she saw his lips tighten. “Dunwoody,” he said.
He didn't have to add “in a big, expensive home.” The one word said it all. “Do you have a large yard?” Ellie asked.
Mark glanced at her sideways. “I suppose so.”
“Trees?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What kinds of plants and flowers?”
Mark shrugged. “The usual stuffâazaleas, forsythia, a few bulb flowers and lots of ground cover. I might build a gazebo this fall.”
“That sounds nice,” Ellie said, and meant it. Room for a large herb garden was the only thing she yearned for that apartment living couldn't give her.
“I like it,” Mark said, his voice tight.