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marrying him, so the question was moot. "Tell me something, Nick," she said, "you mentioned that you'd had weeks to think about this. How could that be? You only told me about the magazine assignment a week ago."
    He hesitated, then said, "The magazine assignment was a device."
    "A device! What do you mean?"
    "I mean," he interrupted smoothly, "that I wanted to spend time with you and I didn't want to raise anyone's suspicions—not yours, and certainly not any of my other employees. I had to think of a way I could do that and the assignment was what I came up with."
    Claire jumped to her feet. "I don't believe this. I simply don't believe it! You lied to me! Not five minutes ago you were offering me honesty, and all this time you've been lying to me!" She knew her face was red, but she didn't care. She was suddenly so furious she felt like slapping him. She felt like a fool. Now everything made sense. No wonder she'd had misgivings from the very first. She'd been right to question his motives. But she'd never dreamed of anything like this.
    He stood, too. "I'm sorry you're angry. I really don't blame you, but you have to understand how difficult it is for someone in my position. If I so much as look at a woman, the gossip columnists have a field day. I didn't want that to happen, mainly for your sake. I couldn't be sure this would work out and if I dated you in the ordinary way, then suddenly stopped seeing you, I knew it would put you in an awkward position, both personally and professionally. I didn't think that would be fair to you."
    "Fair to me! You think lying was fair to me?"
    "It was the lesser of two evils."
    He refused to admit he was in the wrong. She couldn't believe it. The whole time she'd been diligently working and trying to come up with an original idea for the article, he'd been examining her much as he would a piece of horseflesh. Why, the whole thing was degrading. Disgusting. Not only had she been professionally duped, he now thought he could buy her. He had insulted every aspect of her as a woman and as a professional, and he didn't even realize he'd done anything wrong. The man was an insensitive clod.
    She gritted her teeth and glared at him. "Well, it's too bad you wasted so much time because I'm not the least bit interested in your
proposition.
I'm not for sale!"
    "Claire, please—"
    "Forget it, Mr. Callahan. You'll have to buy a wife somewhere else." She whirled around and stalked toward the door.
    "Think about it, Claire," he called after her. "After you've had a chance to calm down—"
    Furious, she yanked open the door and flung herself out, slamming it behind her, cutting off his sentence. She marched down the hall toward the elevators, seething inside. Oh. If she wasn't a lady she'd . . . she'd . . . she'd kick him!
    She punched the down button. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst right out of her chest. She was so furious. She felt so stupid, so gullible. What a conceited, arrogant . . . she couldn't think of enough names to call him.
    Her fury lasted until she reached the safety of her suite. Then suddenly, like air whooshing out of a balloon, it was gone, and she felt hurt and confused. Tears burned behind her eyelids—tears because for one, stupid moment she'd almost believed that Nick was as attracted to her as she was to him.
    Oh, you're such a fool.
Too tired to fight her feelings any longer, she threw herself across the bed and gave way to her tears.
     
    * * *
     
    Nick stared out the sitting room window. His view was the intersection of two of the busiest streets in the Quarter, but he hardly noticed them.
    Had he made a mistake in being so blunt with Claire? Should he have eased into his proposition gently, given her more time, pretended a romantic involvement? Why did women, no matter how sensible they seemed, always want romance? Didn't they realize that romance belonged in books and movies and songs, but not in real life?
    No, he'd been right to be honest.