Trust Me

about?”
    “The expenses for the reception, Mr. Stark. The total is there at the bottom of the invoice. If you would just take a moment to make out the check, I’ll be on my way. I’m sure you’d rather be alone at this unhappy time.”
    Stark scowled at the invoice. “What is this? Six thousand dollars? For a wedding reception that got canceled?”
    “You only owe six thousand because I’ve already deducted the deposit that was paid at the time the contract was signed and the second payment which was made last month when the supplies were ordered.”
    “I don’t remember giving you two previous payments.”
    “Miss Bedford said you gave instructions for her to collect whatever she needed from your accounting department. Someone at Stark Security Systems cut the first two checks. I’ve already cashed them.”
    “Damn. Things are out of control here. Give me one good reason why I should pay you another six grand.”
    It was clear to Desdemona that she finally had his full attention. The light of battle glinted in his eyes. It did not bode well.
    “Because I’ve got a business contract that says you owe me another six thousand dollars,” she said bluntly. “Look, Mr. Stark, I’m sincerely sorry about what happened this afternoon. I know what a traumatic event this must have been for you.”
    “Do you?”
    “I can certainly imagine how upsetting it would be to be left at the altar.”
    “You get used to it.”
    She stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”
    “I said you get used to it.” Stark pulled the invoice closer and studied it with a gimlet gaze. “Second time it’s happened to me. I’m a pro at being left at the altar.”
    Desdemona was horrified. “You’ve been through this before?”
    “Two years ago. Her name was Lindsay Mills. Married a doctor instead.”
    “Good grief,” Desdemona said faintly. “I hadn’t realized.”
    “It’s not something I bring up a lot in the course of casual conversation.”
    “I can understand that.”
    “She left a note, too. It said that I was emotionally frozen and obsessively fixated on the subject of trust and loyalty.” Stark’s teeth appeared briefly in a humorless smile. “She had a degree in psychology.”
    Desdemona shivered. Stark’s eyes were colder than the walk-in freezer in the Right Touch kitchen. “You asked her to sign a prenuptial agreement, too?”
    “Of course. She agreed to sign it on our wedding day. But she failed to show up at the altar. Sent a damned note instead. Said she had to marry for love.”
    “I see.”
    “A mutual acquaintance told me that she filed for divorce from the doctor six months ago.”
    “I see.”
    “Apparently she fell for a tennis pro.”
    “It happens.”
    “So much for a marriage based on love,” Stark said with grim satisfaction.
    “I don’t think one should generalize,” Desdemona said cautiously.
    “The way I figure it, I got lucky,” Stark said.
    “Perhaps.”
    “At least I didn’t get stuck with the tab for the reception that time.” Stark picked up a pen and started going item by item down the invoice.
    Desdemona breathed a small sigh of relief. He was at last examining the bill. That was at least one step closer to getting a check out of him.
    Privately she thought she understood exactly why Pamela Bedford and Lindsay Mills had lost their nerve on the eve of marriage. It would take courage to marry Sam Stark.
    His name suited him all too well. There was a hard, elemental quality about him that would give any intelligent woman pause.
    The medieval knight image applied to his features as well as his build. His hair was nearly black, overlong, and brushed straight back from his high forehead. The broad, flat planes of his face and jaw looked as though they had been fashioned to wear a steel helm. His brilliant green eyes glowed with the power of very old gemstones. A prowling, predatory intelligence burned in those eyes.
    All in all, there was a stern, unyielding, utterly relentless quality about Sam Stark. It was the sort of quality one might have valued in a knight a few hundred years earlier but that was unexpected and deeply disturbing in a modern-day male.
    Desdemona told herself that she was profoundly grateful to know that as soon as she got her check from him, Stark would cease to be her problem.
    On the other hand, she had never met anyone who had been abandoned at the altar, let alone abandoned twice.
    “Two pounds of tapenade?” Stark glared at Desdemona.