Worth the Risk: A Contemporary Romance Bundle Read online

  Her unspoken advice, Don't screw this up, vibrated through the phone's tiny earpiece. She knew as well as he did how much he needed this job. Better, actually, since he still had outstanding debt for some of the LoveMatch training classes he'd taken.

  "Client's name?" Hal managed to dig through his gym bag and find his notepad and a pen. It even had ink in it.

  She told him, along with the physical description and some background information. "She's not exactly looking for Romeo, Hal."

  He could have guessed that. "I'll be there."

  "Hal?"

  "What time is it?"

  "It's--" Hal checked his wrist and realized his watch was missing. There was no clock in the locker room either.

  "Never mind, honey." Muriel's sigh was huge, even through the tiny speaker. "You're at the gym? Check your bag."

  It was right there. "My watch says 11:30."

  Another sigh. "Honey, it's 12:17."

  Punctuality was one of LoveMatch's requirements in its employees. "Thanks, Muriel."

  "Hal, did you ever think that this might not be the career for you?"

  He had thought that, many times, but then some job always came through and the resulting paycheck made it all worthwhile. "I need the money."

  "I know you do, sweetheart." Muriel made kissy noises into the phone. "Don't forget, and don't be late. And for Heaven's sake, make sure your socks match!"

  "I'm not a complete schlub," Hal complained, though reflexively he'd noted her suggestion in the margin of his notepad. Check socks.

  "You're a sweet boy," Muriel said, as though that would make him feel better. "And, Hal, this one's a freebie."

  He groaned. "Muriel--"

  She tutted into the phone. "No complaints! After what happened the last time--"

  "All right." She didn't have to say any more. Hal's last date had been a true comedy of errors--without the comedy. He was lucky the client hadn't sought legal action instead of demanding a refund.

  Muriel said goodbye, and Hal clicked off the phone. He looked at the name he'd written down. Laila Alster. It was a pretty name, but he had no illusions about the face that went with it. Gorgeous women, as a rule, just didn't contact LoveMatch, and most women who did use the service chose guys who looked like Rick.

  Hal took a minute to adjust his watch to the proper time, realizing as he did so that he was going to be late for his Healing Touch class. He let out a strangled curse. Could the day get any worse? Shoving his stuff into gym bag, he left the gym without bothering to shower. He couldn't be late for class. Again.

  The gym door opened out into a side alley right next to the LoveMatch offices. Narrow and dim on the best days, today the small street was even more difficult to navigate because of the construction going on at the far end. Grateful he hadn't taken off his sneakers, Hal slung his bag over his shoulder and set off at a sprint down the debris-littered concrete. If he ran fast enough he'd be able to get to class on time--

  All at once, Hal's feet were moving, but the rest of him was not. As the ground came up to meet him, he had only one thought.

  I'm not going to make it class today.

  The man sitting in front of her with the bleeding nose and swollen cheek looked so forlorn, Laila couldn't help feeling sorry for him. Also, annoyed. Because of him, she was going to be late getting back from lunch. The collision had also put a runner in her last pair of taupe tights, scuffed her brand new shoes and left her knee scraped and bleeding.

  "I'm so sorry." He took the twisted tissues out of his left nostril, but immediately stuck them back in when the blood began flowing again. "I'm really sorry."

  "It's all right," Laila said. What was one supposed to do in situations like this anyway? She felt bad just leaving the guy sitting on the curb, but she really was late. "We both should've been more careful."

  "You don't understand," said the man morosely. His voice, perhaps because of the tissues in his nose, was deep and throaty. He held up a pair of glasses, the frames twisted from the collision, then tossed them down. "Stuff like this happens to me all the time. I'm a walking disaster."

  "I'm sure it's not that bad," Laila said, already checking her watch. "It could've happened to anyone."

  "Is your knee all right? I'll pay for your dry cleaning if you want."

  Of her ruined tights? Of her knee? The rest of her was fine, except for the shoes, which needed a good polishing. "No, that's okay. Really. Listen, I have to run--"

  "Sure, sure," said the man letting his head droop. "I'm so sorry."

  "Really, don't worry about it," Laila said sympathetically. Under other circumstances she'd be livid, but this guy was just so sincere she couldn't find it in herself to stay mad. "No harm done."

  To her alarm, the man's head kept drooping and drooping. Instead of staying upright in his seat at the curb, he fell forward. Crunch. Right onto the sidewalk.

  With a shriek, Laila rolled him over. His face had gone a sickly shade of greenish white and his eyes were fluttering.

  "Blood," he muttered in a garbled tone. "Can't. Stand. Blood!"

  Laila reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out her water bottle. Popping the screwtop, she squirted the entire contents of the nearly full bottle right in the man's face. With a choking gasp, he sat straight up, water streaming down his cheeks. The tissue in his nose disintegrated, sending a fresh stream of blood to paint his upper lip. His cheeks were pink, though, instead of the ghastly green, and he didn't look like he was going to faint again.

  "I'm sorry!" he cried.

  "Shut up," Laila said smartly. "Here."

  She reached again into her voluminous bag and pulled out a travel package of baby wipes. Having a dozen nieces and nephews had taught her the importance of always carrying wipes. She gave them to the poor soul in front of her.

  "Thank you," said the man quietly. "I can't tell you how embarrassed I am."

  "You are a real mess."

  Cleaned up, he wasn't bad looking, even with the ridiculous remains of the twist of tissue in his nose. His thick, wheat-colored hair would benefit from a more stylish cut, but he had strong, large features, including a wide mouth that might look nice with a smile on it. She could see that his eyes, now they weren't rolling back in his head, were light. Blue...or maybe green. He was almost, but not quite handsome, and he looked somehow familiar.

  "Do I know you?" she asked.

  "I sure hope not," the man replied.

  Impulsively, she held out her hand. He took it in his own, engulfing her fingers with his own much larger ones. His handshake was firm, if a little damp from the wipes. He stood, and she saw that he was very tall. She had to tilt her head just to meet his eyes.

  "I'm--" she began, but the wailing siren and flashing lights of a police car cut off her introduction.

  The car skidded to a stop just beyond the construction site, and two uniformed officers leapt out. To Laila's shock, each held a gun, aimed right at them.

  If Hal hadn't been staring so hard at the lovely face of the woman he'd knocked over, he might have seen the cop car sooner. As it was, until the police officers shouted at him to put his hands up and step away from the woman, he'd just been lost in her lovely eyes. Mesmerized, he followed the movement of her hand as it brushed her dark, shoulder-length hair away from her face.

  "Move it, buddy!" The first cop, a tall, graying man with a football player's build, stepped forward and motioned with his gun.

  Maybe it was the knock on the head, but Hal couldn't figure out why they were shouting at him. The second, much younger officer, got even more aggressive.

  "Move away from the woman! Now!"

  The woman shifted her deep brown eyes away from Hal's to stare at the officers. "I think they mean you."

  Hal turned, hands up. "This must be a misunderstanding--"

  "Are you all right, ma'am?" The older cop crossed to them, looking Hal over warily before putting his gun away. "We got a report of an attack in progress here. A witness in the office bu
ilding over there said she saw this man knock you down and assault you. She thought he might be drunk."

  If only the ground would open and swallow him up. Hal had been humiliated so many times in his life he thought he'd gotten used to it by now, but this was worse than anything he'd ever been through. The dried crust of blood itched on his upper lip, and both his knees and palms throbbed with scrapes from when he'd hit the pavement. He wouldn't blame the woman for having him hauled away in handcuffs.

  Instead, she just smiled and shook her head. "It was completely an accident, officer. No harm, no foul."

  Her sports terminology seemed to put the officer at ease. The younger of the two policemen seemed disappointed to be putting away his weapon. Hal was relieved.

  "Are you sure, ma'am?" The older cop looked Hal up and down with a bemused expression. "Then again, he does look worse off than you. Maybe the witness saw you attacking him."

  They all laughed heartily at that, even Hal. His chuckle came out through gritted teeth. The woman quickly explained the collision. She nicely omitted the part where Hal almost passed out at the sight of his own blood.

  "If you're sure you're all right," the older cop said with a tilt of his head toward the woman.

  "Fine, fine," she assured them. She checked her watch, a gesture Hal had seen her make several times over the past few minutes.

  Time! What time is it? His gaze flew to his own wrist, but the fall had shattered his cheap watch's face. Whatever time it was, he was sure he was late.

  The policemen had already gone back to their car and driven away, leaving Hal and the woman to stand awkwardly on the sidewalk. She gave him a weird, little smile, and Hal realized he was staring.

  "I'm--"

  The woman said pleasantly, "Like I said, no harm done. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've really got to run."

  She checked her watch and a shadow of annoyance passed over her face. She muttered something under her breath that sounded like "Late again," while shaking her head. She tucked her water bottle and the baby wipes back in her purse. With a little wave at Hal, she set off down the alley again with a purposeful stride.

  "Hope the rest of your day goes a lot better," she called over her shoulder.

  "Thanks," Hal said. "It can't possibly get much worse."

  He watched her move out of his range of vision, which wasn't far since his glasses were in a crumpled, shattered heap on the concrete. As she became nothing more than a blur, he willed her to turn back just once so he could see her pretty features one last time. She didn't oblige him, her walk never faltering, and when she turned the corner, Hal let out a sigh that seemed to come all the way from his toes.

  Why couldn't he meet an attractive woman like that without making an utter ass of himself? Gathering his gym bag, he thought about trying to call her, offer to take her to dinner as a way to make up for knocking her over.

  A great idea, he thought, if only I'd learned her name.

  Chapter 2

  "I'd like a slice of the chocolate cake and a pot of tea. Two cups, please," Laila told the girl behind the counter. "And that popcorn smells too good to resist. A small bag."

  Laila found a table and started eating. The clock on the wall opposite her said ten to eight. She'd made the appointment for seven-thirty. Ms. Whitehead had assured her the escorts were all extremely punctual. Except, it seemed, for Hal.

  It wasn't too late to cancel. She could just pay for her food to go and walk away before he even showed up. Bubbe and Zayde's anniversary week wouldn't start until next weekend. She had plenty of time to think up some excuse as to why her phantom fiancé was absent from yet another Alster family gathering.

  The problem was that she was running out of excuses. Last Thanksgiving had seen her in the Bahamas with her college roommate, Kasey Arlin. Hanukkah had been too far away from Christmas last year for her company's annual break to coincide, and New Year's had been spent with her brother Elijah's family. Their tiny house barely confined Eli and Sarah's rambunctious four kids, so dragging a boyfriend along would have been out of the question, even if she'd really had one to drag.

  Now it was already October again, with another round of expected family gatherings looming and no real reason not to show up with her alleged boyfriend in tow.

  "Bring him, bubbeleh, for the week," Bubbe Esther had told her every time they spoke on the phone. "What...he's so busy he can't meet his future grandmother-in-law?"

  It wasn't that Laila didn't want a boyfriend. In theory, having a companion was a great idea. But when it came right down to it, Laila didn't have the patience or desire to give herself to anyone the way Ian had forced her to give herself to him. It frightened her to take that risk again, though she knew it unlikely she'd end up with a man as manipulative and demanding as Ian Soloman. Still, she hadn't been able to do more than share a single date with any one man in the three years since Ian's death.

  It drove her family crazy, and they never ceased pestering her about her love life. Finally, in desperation, Laila had promised her grandmother that she would arrive at the Poconos resort with a man. Once Bubbe got on the phone with Laila's mother, the news spread like wild-fire through the family. They were all expecting to meet him.

  If she showed up without him--suffice to say they'd never leave her alone about her love life again. No, the simplest thing, she'd decided was to bring "her man" along and stage a spectacular break up. That would buy her some time. Then when someday, finally, she really did have a boyfriend to bring home, they'd all be so relieved they wouldn't bother picking him apart.

  She checked the clock again. Eight o'clock. If he wasn't here in fifteen minutes, she'd take it as a sign from above that she wasn't meant to have a LoveMatch.

  She finally caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. He stood in the Coffeehouse's corner doorway, his glasses steamed from stepping from the chilly October air into the heated room. His head swayed side to side, looking for her.

  Something about him seemed so familiar. His stance, the way he combed his hair, the way his hands tugged nervously at his jacket zipper. There was more to it than merely having seen his picture, but Laila couldn't quite figure out what it was.

  He took off his glasses to rub them with the tail of his shirt. Recognition startled her into knocking over her teacup. It was the man from yesterday. The one who'd knocked her over in the alley.

  "Oh, no," she muttered. It was useless to hope it wasn't him because, when he slipped his glasses back on his nose, his face matched the photo in Ms. Whitehead's binder.

  As the tea dripped off the table and her earthenware mug clattered loudly on the floor, the sound caught Hal's attention. She saw him take another quick glance around the room, then head straight toward her. Mopping up the spilled drink with a pile of napkins, Laila kept her head down.

  "Uh--Miss Alster?"

  She took a deep breath and wiped her fingers with the soggy napkin. "Yes. And you must be--"

  "Harold--Hal." He slid into the chair across from her and kicked her cup halfway across the room as he did so. "Uh--sorry."

  "I can get another one." How long was it going to take him to recognize her?

  He shrugged off his jacket and settled himself on the red vinyl seat, nervously clearing his throat. "I apologize for being late. " He stopped abruptly, as though someone had clapped a hand across his mouth. "You!"

  "I could say the same thing," Laila remarked. She held out her hand for him to shake.

  He reached across the table to take her proffered hand. His sleeve dipped into the remnants of chocolate icing. When he let go of Laila's hand and returned his arm to his side, the mess slopped onto his formerly white oxford shirt.

  "You just got--oh, boy." Laila handed another wad of napkins to the oblivious Hal, who hadn't even noticed the stain on his shirt or sleeve. "Hal, you are a real mess, aren't you?"

  "I am, I am," he answered ruefully. He took the napkins from her and succeeded in smearing the glop on his shirt even further. With
a heavy sigh, he threw the pile of soiled paper on the table. "It's no use. I should just go."

  "No!" Laila surprised herself by saying. Despite his clumsiness, his obvious awkwardness, she wanted him to stay. She was desperate.

  "No?"

  "No," she said firmly. She handed him the glass of water she hadn't planned on drinking and a handful of fresh napkins. "Use this. It might help."

  Laila suddenly didn't know what else to say. She barely dated, much less hired men to pretend to be in love with her. Something about the situation made her normal confidence disappear until she felt as awkward as Hal looked.

  "Do you come here often?" The line would have been a cliché out of anyone else's mouth. From Hal it merely rang with straightforward interest.

  "Sometimes," Laila replied. "I love tea."

  He looked at the pot. "It gives me indigestion."

  "Oh."

  Now they simply stared at each other, the dim lighting painting both of them with shadows. Hadn't Ms. Whitehead said that all LoveMatch's escorts were masters in the art of conversation? Laila was beginning to see why Ms. Whitehead had given her this night for free.

  "Miss Alster--"

  "Call me Laila."

  He smiled. He did have a nice smile, just as she'd earlier thought.

  "Laila. Ms. Whitehead said you were looking for an escort to take you on vacation?"

  "Not exactly." Laila toyed with her unused fork. "My grandparents are having the family get together for a week at a resort in the Poconos to celebrate their sixtieth wedding anniversary."

  "Great!" Hal said enthusiastically.

  She eyed him over her squashed cake. "They think I'm engaged."

  "And you want me to pretend to be your fiancé."

  No matter what else he was, he wasn't dumb. "Yes. I'm the only child left in my family who isn't married."

  "What about your parents?" He interrupted, taking out a small notepad and pen from his pocket.

  "My dad passed away two years ago, but Mom is still in good health. The party is for my dad's folks." Bemused, she watched him write that down.