Marriage by Mistake

market and of the position in which that placed Felicia caused all sorts of conflicting and unpleasant emotions to churn in Troy's gut.
    The more time that passed, the more difficult this apology was going to be.
    He picked up the phone, about to call Felicia right then and there, about to demand she not put him off again, when he realized it was well after midnight. Cursing under his breath, he set the phone back down. He took a pace across the brown-gold carpet.
    Perhaps it was just as well he couldn't call her. He needed to think. He needed to plan and strategize and come up with a guaranteed way to get Felicia to have this lunch date with him. Troy expelled a disgusted breath. Yes, he had to think.
    Felicia had a way of forcing him to do that.
    ~~~
    After a miserable weekend in Atlanta, Dean returned to Boston on Monday morning knowing exactly what had to be done. He went straight from the airport to his office.
    "Get Myers on the phone, would you?" he asked Mrs. Barnes as soon as he walked through the door.
    "Myers?" Mrs. Barnes looked up from her computer. "Your attorney?"
    "That's right. See if you can set up an appointment for today."
    "Yes of course, Mr. Singleton."
    Ah, Dean thought, a woman who listened and did what she was told. So...refreshing. He continued through to his office, feeling good enough to whistle. The solution was so easy he didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before.
    Money. Everybody had his—or her—price. Dean chuckled. He wouldn't be falling down on his responsibility. Not if Kelly took it. That would mean she was accepting compensation, money for breach of promise. He'd be clear.
    For the first time in countless days, Dean sat behind his desk, ready to work.
    Mrs. Barnes buzzed. Dean pressed on the intercom. "Yes?"
    "Would twelve-thirty do?" Mrs. Barnes asked. "Mr. Myers is completely booked, but will take off lunch since it's you."
    Dean smiled hard enough to hurt. "Twelve-thirty is fine. Tell him I'll bring lunch."
    "Very good, sir."
    Dean released the intercom button and leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. This was so damnably simple. By one o'clock, one-thirty at the latest, all his problems would be solved. He'd have Myers draw up a cash settlement, something not even Kelly could refuse. Yes, she would take the money.
    And she'd be out of his life.
    No more sighings over opera, no more fishing with bare hands. No more scary, out-of-this-universe kisses. Sanity. Whistling for real now, Dean separated his hands and bent over the papers on his desk.
    Three hours of steady work later, Dean checked his watch. His eyebrows jumped, and he smiled. Three solid hours. Yes, he had been ready to get back to business. He straightened the papers on his desk and reached for his jacket. Mrs. Barnes buzzed.
    Dean grimaced. Had Myers thought they were supposed to meet here? He pressed the intercom. "Tell him I don't have lunch yet."
    Mrs. Barnes ignored that. "Your wife is here," she said.
    Dean froze, his finger on the intercom. No. He hadn't heard that. He hadn't had a chance to meet with Myers yet. He—he didn't have the information necessary to strike a deal.
    "Mr. Singleton?" Mrs. Barnes said.
    Dean realized he was going to have to do something. He straightened, took a deep breath, and depressed the intercom button again. "My wife?" He did his best to sound casual. "Why, send her on in." As if there was anything else he could do. God.
    One second later, the door of his office opened. Kelly sauntered in.
    Every cell in Dean's body jumped to electrical awareness. It was almost painful. Almost.
    "Well, hey," Kelly said, smiling.
    Dean swallowed. He should have instructed Mrs. Barnes to make her wait, not that time would have dulled her effect. Her smile alone—It could warm the North pole. And then there was what she was wearing, one of those knit tops with spaghetti-thin straps, the kind that show a woman's bra straps. Only Kelly wasn't showing any bra straps.
    "Hope I'm not interrupting anything." Kelly sashayed in the direction of his desk. Her skirt was short. Very short.
    Dean was glad he was standing behind the desk, and that the desk was piled sufficiently high with papers. It wouldn't do for her to notice his immediate, and purely physical, reaction.
    He cleared his throat. "No, you're not interrupting anything at all." Except a meeting to get rid of you . He raised his eyebrows. "What can I do for you?"
    Her eyes laughed at him. "Oh. So polite. So helpful ." On the