Fringe Benefits, page 1
“Damn, I wish you weren’t married.”
Spencer had been teasing, but the minute he said the words, he wanted to swallow them. Jane’s hand flew to her mouth in surprise. She looked at the ring on her hand as if she’d never seen it before.
He grabbed his suit jacket off the back of the chair and slipped it on. “I should be going. Thanks for dinner, Jane. And don’t work any more tonight.”
“But the sales meeting’s tomorrow. I wanted to have the new proposal finished.”
“Relax. Whenever you finish it, drop it by my receptionist’s desk. You don’t even have to see the big bad wolf.”
“I don’t…”
“Avoid me? You do. And your instincts are right on.”
“They are?” She sounded as though she wanted him to prove her wrong.
“Oh, yes.” Unable to stop himself, he moved closer. Reaching out, he gently ran a finger down her arm. “You know what I’d do right now if you weren’t a married woman, don’t you?”
Dear Reader,
I know a lot of people who’ve met their partners through work. It makes sense. You spend a lot of time with your co-workers and love can sometimes result. Or not. I once knew a woman who was so tired of being hit on at her workplace that she bought herself a wedding ring, stuck it on her finger and told everyone she was married.
I thought this idea could be a fun one to explore in a romance. And it was.
Jane Stanford, my heroine, is both a feminist and a romantic. When she starts falling for her boss, those two sides of her nature go to war. And as for the hero, Spencer Tate, he respects women and marriage vows but he soon realizes there is something very strange about Jane’s husband….
The course of true love never does run smooth, but the ride can be a lot of fun. I enjoyed getting to know Jane and Spencer. I hope you will, too. As always, I love to hear from readers. You can find me on the Web at http://www.nancywarren.net or write to me at: Nancy Warren, P.O. Box 37035, North Vancouver, B.C. Canada V7N 4M0.
Happy reading,
Nancy Warren
Books by Nancy Warren
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
838—FLASHBACK
915—HOT OFF THE PRESS
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
19—LIVE A LITTLE!
47—WHISPER
57—BREATHLESS
85—BY THE BOOK
HARLEQUIN DUETS
78—SHOTGUN NANNY
97—A HICKEY FOR HARRIET
A CRADLE FOR CAROLINE
FRINGE BENEFITS
Nancy Warren
For Lois and Roy Reynolds.
Thanks for all your support and encouragement, and for sharing your son with me.
And, as always, for Rick.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
1
JANE STANFORD got married on Friday. She celebrated by taking her best friend Alicia Margolin out to dinner.
Jane watched in amusement as Alicia drooled over the chalkboard specials. They were at the chicest new seafood restaurant in Vancouver’s trendy Yaletown.
“I’m starving. I heard this place is fabulous, but Chuck’s too cheap to bring me here,” Alicia complained, gazing at the black ceiling hung with industrial steel lighting, the leather-covered walls, terra-cotta-tile floor and polished cedar tables as though committing them to memory. “Wait till I tell him you treated me to dinner here. Are we celebrating that you don’t have to work with me anymore?”
Jane smiled mischievously. “We’re celebrating all right, but not that.”
Alicia’s eyes widened. “You got a new job?”
“Not yet.” Jane’s stomach dropped and her appetite deserted her. She wasn’t here to dwell on the past, she reminded herself. She was taking steps to ensure a successful future.
As though she were a magician, Jane flourished her left hand in front of Alicia’s face. On the fourth finger glowed a thick gold band inset with diamonds.
Alicia gaped.
“I got married.”
“Whaaat?” The restaurant’s noise level dropped as curious heads turned to stare at the shrieking Alicia. Lowering her voice to a frantic whisper, she demanded, “When? Why didn’t I know anything about it? How could you not invite me? I’m your best friend? And…” Alicia stopped for a breath and then a puzzled expression spread across her face. “Who the hell is he?”
Jane decided to answer the last, and most important question, first. “He’s the best husband in the world.” She leaned back, swirling wine in her glass as she contemplated the utter perfection of her spouse. “He never leaves the toilet seat up or drops dirty clothes around the house. He doesn’t drink, gamble or smoke.” She glanced at Alicia and couldn’t help adding, “He encourages me to buy anything I want.”
“Come on.” Alicia snorted. “No such guy exists.”
Jane smiled in pure bliss. “Exactly.”
“What do you mean, ‘exactly’?”
“I got the idea after I got fired,” Jane began.
“Look, honey, you got a rotten break. Your self-esteem’s taken a beating. But if you married that guy Owen who spends all his time with fish guts—”
“He’s a marine biologist and no, I didn’t marry Owen. I didn’t really marry anyone. I’m pretending to be married.”
Alicia waited in barely suppressed impatience as the waiter arrived with their food. She hardly glanced at her plate and waved away an offer of fresh-ground pepper. When he’d moved on she said, “Have you lost your mind?”
“No, I haven’t.” Jane felt the bitterness rise in her throat. “I’m sick of being hassled by jerks like Phil Johnson just because I’m single and travel a lot on business. Men like Phil consider getting me into bed as a personal challenge. I’ve tried assertiveness training, self-defense for women—which is how Johnson got the black eye—I dress like a nun—”
“It’s your looks,” Alicia interrupted. “You could be a nun and it wouldn’t stop guys from falling for you.” She bit into a prawn. “If I wasn’t your best friend, I’d hate you.”
“Married women don’t get hassled all the time. You don’t.”
“On second thought, I do hate you.”
“Having a husband means I don’t have to make up a bunch of lame excuses when I’m not interested in a guy. This way, I get all the benefits of being married without having a man underfoot all the time. So, what do you think?”
“I think it’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard,” Alicia said bluntly. “What about the wedding night?”
Jane raised her chin. “This is it.”
Alicia’s lips curved in a smug grin. “There’s one benefit to being married you seem to forget.”
“If you mean sex, I can have as much fun watching an old movie on TV, without having to deal with snoring in my ear afterward.”
Her friend’s black curls danced as she shook her head. “What happens when you meet a man who makes your toes curl?”
“I’ll go to a podiatrist and get them fixed.”
“It’s obvious you’ve never been in love.” Alicia’s hand flitted across the table to touch Jane’s. “Don’t do it. There are still good men out there.”
Why did married people always act as if she was deficient? Of course, there were good men out there. There were also faithful basset hounds and talking parrots. She didn’t want any of them.
“I don’t want love. I want a career. I want to be taken seriously and allowed to go as far as I can. Between mother trying to marry me to the ‘right people’ and all the men I’ve met in my life, I figure if I was going to fall in love, I would have by now.”
“Can’t you see? You’re overreacting to getting fired. I still think you should sue for sexual harassment.”
Jane sighed, pushing away her half-eaten salmon. “I already talked to my lawyer. Punching Johnson wasn’t too smart. It’s called battery or assault or something. If I sue for sexual harassment, he’ll claim I beat him up. You know what a weasel he is. And besides, nobody saw him grab my breast in the elevator, but lots of people saw me hit him.”
Alicia chuckled. “He came flying out of that elevator as if somebody’d shot him, blood pouring out his nose. I’ll treasure that memory forever.” She sobered quickly. “It’s not fair you got fired.”
“No. It isn’t.” She still felt sick at how easily that pervert had sabotaged her career, and at how ready their boss—their male boss—had been to ignore her side of the story. It wasn’t fair. She’d worked so hard, played by the rules—but they were men’s rules. Well, from now on she had a man on her team. Her fictitious husband. “As far as I’m concerned, the playing field just got more even.”
Alicia stared at her as though seriously considering her idea for the first time this evening. Jane felt a stirring of hope that her best friend would support her, until she saw her shake her head. “It might work if you weren’t the worst liar on the planet.”
“I never lie.”
“Exactly. For a salesperson, you are so honest it’s embarrassing.” Her friend chuckled. “Remember when you were supposed to keep my surprise birthday party a secret?”
“I never told a soul.”
The chuckle turned into a snort. “Hon, your face broadcast the news every time you tried to tell me a whopper. Believe me, you are not cut out to live a double life.”
“But this isn’t like lying.” Well, she supposed it was in a way. “It’s only a little white lie. No one can possibly get hurt because of it. And the benefits far outweigh the obstacles.” She thought about how much her career had suffered because she was single and was more determined than ever to go through with her plan.
“No. My mind’s made up.” She tapped her new ring against the wineglass and raised it in a mock toast. “To Mr. Stanford.”
Alicia didn’t raise her glass. A small frown marred her usually smiling face. “Johnson’s taking credit for the Marsden Holt deal.”
The wineglass came back down. “I know. I worked my butt off for that deal. They’d just promised to buy the new inventory system when Johnson started pawing me in the elevator to ‘celebrate.”’
“Ooh, he makes me so mad. I can’t believe he’s getting away with it.” Alicia stabbed another prawn so viciously it split in half.
“Maybe he won’t.”
Her friend paused, the half prawn nearly to her mouth, and glanced up hopefully.
“I have an interview at Datatracker on Monday.”
“Datatracker? I read a feature about the president, Spencer Tate. He’s one of those dot-com guys who managed to keep some of his millions and stay afloat. And honey, he’s cu-ute. Bill Gates’s brain and Harrison Ford’s looks. Harrison Ford when he was a lot younger, that is.”
“Really? Star Wars young?” Jane asked, intrigued in spite of herself.
Alicia pondered. “More like Working Girl young. I’m telling you, leave the ring at home.”
“He’s probably married. Anyway, the only thing worse than sleeping with a married man would be sleeping with my boss. Weren’t you listening? I’m serious about my work. Sleeping with the boss is career suicide.”
“Couldn’t you—”
“All I want him checking out is my résumé. In the last couple of years, Datatracker has become our—I mean your—sharpest competitor.” She tapped her neatly manicured nails on the tabletop. “I don’t think I’m a vengeful woman, but I’ll enjoy being Johnson’s competition.”
“Well I hope you steal all our clients,” her loyal friend exclaimed. “Then come headhunting for me.”
“I haven’t even had an interview yet, although I’ve crossed paths with a few Datatracker sales people.” She shrugged. “I want to get a feel for the place, see if I fit in. I can’t afford to make another mistake.”
Alicia nodded. “Check out their sexual-harassment policy.”
As they were leaving, a guy in a business suit reached in front of Jane to open the restaurant door for them. She turned back with a smile of thanks. There were two men, and they had the out-of-town look to them. She knew it well.
The one holding the door blinked at her. His companion sidled closer. “Hey, how would you ladies like to—”
Jane stuck her left hand in the air letting the light catch the cold gleam of diamonds. “We’re married,” she said curtly.
“Sure.” The spokesman backed off, bumping into his friend. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
As they walked out of the restaurant, Jane whispered to Alicia, “Still think it’s the dumbest idea you’ve ever heard?”
Jane didn’t. In fact, she thought the imaginary Mr. Stanford was one of her more brilliant ideas. He was her ticket to the future.
JANE TWISTED the unfamiliar ring, hoping it would bring her luck as well as insurance against creeps. When the young Asian woman called out, “Ms. Stanford?” she rose and got ready to do what she did best: sell something. This time, it was herself.
“Please come this way.”
The woman led her through a maze of cubicles where intense-looking computer types pecked at keyboards or drew intricate diagrams on white boards. Most of them looked like extras from one of those nerd movies.
A short hallway later she was ushered into the president’s office.
She blinked in surprise at the chaotic atmosphere of Spencer Tate’s office. She was equally surprised by the tall, dark-haired man who rose from behind the cluttered desk. He was younger than she had expected—mid-thirties she guessed as he stepped forward and extended his hand, the handshake warm and firm.
“Spencer,” he introduced himself informally. She was surprised at what a mellow voice he had for a man who was known to be a hard-driving workaholic.
Then he smiled and surprised her even more. Boyish charm Jane thought. He oozed it. He had a look that made you want to forgive him anything, ’cause he was just so darn cute, he probably didn’t mean it. She bet he got away with murder.
Jane returned the smile. “Jane Stanford.”
Spencer Tate gestured to a gray leather armchair and, instead of moving back behind his desk, picked up a file folder and sat in the matching armchair beside Jane. So he wasn’t into intimidation by furniture, Jane mused. Good.
While he settled himself and flicked through the folder, Jane studied him surreptitiously. The first thing she noticed was that he needed a haircut. His brown hair trailed over his ears and the back of his collar. His tie needed straightening. His shirt was rumpled and it was coming untucked from his pants.
His body was in great shape, though. Which was more than she could say for his desk, a definite fire hazard with papers littered everywhere and three computers humming at once. The huge whiteboard behind his desk was covered with incomprehensible scribbles that would have done Einstein proud. He looked a lot more like one of the eggheads in Research and Development, where Jane knew he’d started his career, than the CEO of one of the fastest-growing high-tech firms in the country.
While they hadn’t exactly thrived during the dotcom bust, Datatracker hadn’t gone under either. She wondered how much the man in front of her was responsible for that small miracle.
He cleared his throat before raising assessing brown eyes to hers. They weren’t the eyes of a boy or an eccentric scientist. They were all grown up, giving Jane the impression that the naughty-boy exterior hid a steel-trap mind.
“I’m surprised you left Graham’s. It’s a good firm.”
Jane had expected this question. She and her lawyer had agreed that her reputation was the most important thing to salvage from her last job. Each party had signed an agreement not to disparage the other. She had a glowing letter of recommendation from Charles Graham. In return, she had promised to reveal nothing derogatory about her former employer.
“It’s a very good firm.” Jane parroted her rehearsed answer. “I just felt I needed a change.”
He stared at her keenly for a moment, but she wasn’t going to be rattled into saying more than she’d planned. He nodded. His gaze dropped back to the pages in front of him. “You have an impressive sales record.”
“Thank you. I like to work hard.”
He grinned at that, and Jane felt his charm waft over her like a warm tropical breeze. “You’ll fit in here, then. I’m a workaholic. My assistant, Yumi, complains all the time but works harder than I do. Despite the workload, we’re a pretty loose outfit and work on a principle of trust. But as I said, there’s a lot of stress, deadlines, late nights at the office…. Can you work in that kind of environment?”
Jane was puzzled until she realized he was looking at her shiny new wedding ring. “I enjoy what I do, Mr. Tate. I take my job very seriously.”
“It’s Spencer,” he said. “Look, your personal life is none of my business. I just want to be clear about things. To be blunt, this company has already wrecked my own marriage. I don’t want to see anybody else’s go down because of it.”
Jane leaned forward. “Believe me, this job won’t wreck my marriage.”
“I assume you know there will be a lot of traveling.” He glanced up, and she noticed how rich a brown his eyes were—and they twinkled. Espresso on a sunny day, she thought dreamily.
In the two years she’d been in this industry she’d heard a lot about Spencer Tate. People used epithets such as wily, brilliant, driven, and creative to describe him. They’d forgotten to mention the one that struck her now—the guy was gorgeous.
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