This was not at all what she'd planned. She'd envisioned an employee, like the men who worked for her at the restaurant, receiving orders, nod ding knowledgeably and proceeding to play the roles she assigned. She knew instinctively that there would be none of that with this man. If he agreed to play her husband, he would be the one supplying the script. She would be re acting, not directing. Was she crazy enough to take a chance at it?
Before she could answer that question, the door burst open and Mason was back, flushed and swaggering, as though he'd conquered the town while he was out.
"Chile, here we come," he called out. Then he noticed Ross and a frown darkened his face. "Hello. Who is this?"
"My gargoyle," she said promptly. "What do you think of him?"
Mason was stunned. "You're kidding. The guy from the agency?" He came in and looked Ross up and down as though he were a store mannequin. "He looks okay to me."
Charity had a feeling that fate was closing in. "Do you think Aunt Doris will go for this?" She gestured toward Ross.
Mason nodded, impressed. "Yeah. He fits my descrip tion perfectly." He snapped his fingers. "Book him."
Charity sighed. "He doesn't speak French," she mur mured, putting off the inevitable.
"I'll learn," Ross murmured back, smiling like the Cheshire Cat.
She dropped her gaze, unwilling to risk the buzzing glow again. "I guess you'll do," she muttered almost regretfully.
"Sure he'll do," Mason claimed, throwing out his arms in a grand gesture. "I'll feel ever so much more comfort able about leaving you with this man than with the gar goyle I was expecting." He stuck out his hand. "Mason Ames, Charity's brother," he said as they shook. "I guess we're related now, too."
"Must be." Ross returned the greeting. "I'm Ross Ca.. .Bennington." Suddenly he realized that he still hadn't told Charity the whole truth-that he had come not to help her out, but to talk her into joining his consortium. He had to do it right away. To delay would only make things worse when he finally did tell her.
He turned toward her, his mouth open, ready to launch into a complete explanation, but the look in her eyes stopped him. She was gazing up at him, her eyes wide, searching.
Can I trust you? her gaze seemed to be asking. Are you really what you seem to be? Will you treat me well?
He swallowed and frowned. Not yet, he thought. First things first.
He would become irreplaceable as her pre tend husband, and when her gratitude was in full flower, then he would tell her.