Marriage by Mistake

gave the card a good, long stare. Then she looked up to give Kelly an even longer stare. "That's his personal card," she finally said, sounding suspicious.
    "His—?" Kelly blinked. "You mean...it's real?"
    Confusion now tinged the receptionist's earlier suspicion. "Of course."
    Of course. Kelly drew her hand back to look at the card, herself. It was real. It was real . That meant— Her breath rushed into her lungs. Her head jerked up. "Then he's here."
    "Excuse me?"
    "He's here." Heat immediately flooded Kelly's veins. He was there . She'd found him. Broad smile, gleaming eyes, aura of sincerity and acceptance. Handsome. Oh, handsome as all get out. Something inside her convulsed with an emotion that felt a lot like longing.
    Kelly instantly pulled herself back from that brink. Not longing. None of his sincerity stuff had been real. He hadn't loved her. He'd left her. "I see, the card is—ahem. What I mean is, could you tell me where to find him, please?" Kelly did her best to disguise her riotous emotions behind another polite smile.
    The receptionist tapped the end of her pen on her desktop. "Well, since you have his personal card..." She turned to glance at a computer monitor looming at her side. "According to this, Mr. Singleton is in a conference right now."
    " Mr . Singleton? Is in a conference ?"
    "That's right." The receptionist turned back to Kelly, stone-faced.
    Kelly looked back at her—and laughed. Apparently Dean was a close enough relative he'd been put in a job that rated a 'Mr.' from the company receptionist, but had to pay for it by sitting through a business conference. She could just see him, lounging in the back of the room and folding paper airplanes. Oh, it was a sad fact that despite the many choices of men available to a dancer in a glamorous Las Vegas production, Kelly always managed to pick the goof-offs, the dead-beats, and the lying bums.
    The receptionist glanced back at her computer. "The conference is supposed to last all day, but there will be a break for lunch."
    "Lunch!" Kelly's eyes went wide.
    The receptionist regarded Kelly thoughtfully. "You do have Mr. Singleton's personal card, so I suppose it would be all right if you waited."
    Kelly gaped at the woman. She was supposed to wait for Dean, the scum-sucking slug, until lunch ? The horrible part was that she could feel the 'good girl' part of herself starting to agree to this delay. She didn't like to make trouble. Why not wait?
    And then Kelly remembered Dean had used the very same word yesterday, right before he'd left her.
    Wait .
    Pressure built behind Kelly's forehead. The memory was painfully clear. Wait , Dean had said, while strolling with a smile toward her front door. He would only be gone for a minute, to pick up donuts and coffee. Be right back, he had said.
    And Kelly had believed him. Of course she had. She'd loved him.
    And now she was supposed to wait? In the wake of her deep pain over the betrayal roared a powerful combination of anger and fear. If she sat back, obliged—waited—for a man who'd done that , what would it make her?
    Kelly looked straight at the receptionist. "I'm not waiting."
    "What?"
    Before she could chicken out, Kelly sidled around the marble counter.
    "Now, just a minute," squeaked the receptionist, rising from her seat.
    But Kelly was already stalking down one of the polished halls. Reason told her it could take a while to track Dean down in this big office building. Common sense screamed she was stepping out of bounds, but she couldn't stop now. She was determined to retrieve her self-respect.
    "This way?" Kelly twirled to face the receptionist, who was scuttling after her down the hall. "You might as well tell me, honey, or I'll be opening every door in the place."
    "Now, really, you can't—"
    "Oh, can't I?" For once in her life, Kelly would . Heart pounding, she twirled forward again, groped for the first closed door she saw, and whipped it open.
    She found a glossy wood table and a dozen black leather chairs—all empty.
    "Wait—" the receptionist squealed.
    There was that word again. The worst part was Kelly had waited. She'd waited amid the tousled bed sheets, a stupid smile on her face, expecting to see Dean come back through the door. She'd waited long after it had become clear he'd gone farther than the corner donut joint. She'd waited until she'd had to admit she'd done it again, let herself get used. Even despite the extraordinary precaution she'd taken. Even so!
    But this