The Bargain
Authors: Christine S. Feldman
Christine S. Feldman, author of
Coming Home
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
Copyright © 2013 by Christine S. Feldman
ISBN 10: 1-4405-6905-3
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6905-0
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6906-1
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6906-7
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 123rf.com
To my wonderful, one-of-a-kind husband; my family; and my friends:
Thanks for your support!
And Mom, Melanie, and Jill … thanks for being my beta readers!
Chapter One
It was like living in the story of Beauty and the Beast, Shannon decided, something many women probably would think had great potential for romance and happy-ever-after love. Too bad she was cast in the role of the beast.
Sitting cross-legged on the faded floral quilt her grandmother made many years ago, Shannon turned another well-worn page in her high school yearbook and took a cautious sip of her morning coffee, wincing at the heat of it and then blowing on the rest in an effort to spare her mouth from third-degree burns. Somewhere downstairs in her living room was an invitation for her ten-year high school reunion that had recently come in the mail. Its arrival brought a lot of memories to mind, most of which she would rather forget, but there were a few highlights that had driven her to dig out her old yearbooks. The one on her lap was from her senior year.
There weren’t very many pictures of her in this particular book beyond the requisite senior picture, which was probably not such a bad thing. She frowned down at the image taken nearly ten years ago. The smile was tight-lipped, hiding the braces from the unforgiving camera.
Ah, well. At least in black and white it wasn’t so obvious that her hair looked like an exploding fireball of color. She wasn’t interested in her own picture anyway.
Turning the page quickly, she found the face she wanted.
Andrew Kingston.
She traced her fingers over his features. He went by Drew now. Either way suited him, but he thought Drew made him more approachable to his constituents somehow, more boy-next-door. Maybe he was right. What did she really know about politics anyway?
Drew had been class president. Politics was in his blood, and he was good at it, too. The kind of politician who would get things done and keep his promises. She brought the cup to her mouth for another sip of coffee as she contemplated his classically handsome features. And who knew, maybe one day — “Ow!”
Coffee was still too hot. Shannon fanned her open mouth and said a bad word.
Her shaggy mongrel, Bo, cocked an ear at her and gave her a disapproving look.
“Well, it’s hot!”
He gave her another look as if to say
duh
before yawning hugely and rolling over on the bed to allow her better access to his belly.
“Subtle,” Shannon said, but she obliged him and scratched his stomach with one hand while turning her attention back to Drew’s picture. She didn’t know why she tortured herself like this. He barely noticed her then, and he barely noticed her now. About the only thing that had changed was now her teeth were straighter, thanks to the hateful braces.
She flipped a few pages back to a place she had turned to so many times before that the pages naturally fell open to it now. A candid picture, students lolling around a grassy knoll of picnic tables at lunchtime, arms around each other’s shoulders in a pose for the camera. And right in the center? Drew, of course. Close-cropped hair, broad shoulders, and an even broader grin. A couple of girls on either side smiled adoringly at him instead of at the camera.
There were lots of pictures with Drew in them. And in every picture, he was surrounded by friends — and usually girls. There were plenty of girls carrying a torch for him in high school, and Shannon had been one of them.
“Still am,” she murmured ruefully, closing the yearbook. It would have been so much easier to get over him and move on if he were a jerk, but unfortunately he was not. He was kind, intelligent, and as handsome as ever. And so she was basically screwed, because in ten years, give or take, he had never seen her as anything more than “good old Shannon,” and it was doubtful he ever would. She could probably show up to work naked, and he would still hand her papers to file without so much as batting an eye. For a moment Shannon let herself indulge in a fantasy in which she showed up to Drew’s office wearing something red, revealing, and
highly
inappropriate for work. A smile played on her lips.
Then she glanced at the clock on her nightstand and scrambled off the bed to pull a pair of sensible slacks out from her closet.
Minutes later, she sprinted down the stairs with coffee cup in hand, neatly sidestepping an assortment of tools she neglected to put away last night before dragging her tired body to bed. No matter. She’d need them again tonight to finish the tiling in the kitchen, so really she was just saving herself time this way.
Shannon finished the coffee, fed Bo, and pulled her hair back into its usual braid without needing to look in the mirror to check her handiwork. Grabbing a stack of folders and a breakfast bar, she swung her purse over her shoulder and hurried out the front door.
It was coming along despite what the naysayers told her in the beginning, she thought with some satisfaction as she paused by the side of her truck long enough to give the old house a quick appraisal. Most of the work she had done on the place so far was on the inside to make it more habitable, but the porch was no longer falling apart and the crumbling front steps were no longer a safety hazard. She was better with tools than she was with plants, but maybe she would venture to add a couple baskets of flowers for some color.
It was nothing fancy, but it was hers.
And it was secluded, she thought, starting up the engine and pulling out of the long, graveled driveway. Peaceful. Granted, the extra minutes it took to drive back inside the city limits were a pain — especially when she was on the verge of running late like today — but she loved the quiet solitude that surrounded her place.
Her place. She still had trouble believing it sometimes. Shannon Mahoney, homeowner. Sure, Drew Kingston was still virtually oblivious to her as a woman, but she had come a long way since high school. Now if only she could get him to see it.
Spring weather was turning nicely into summer, and the drive into the city was pleasant. Or it would have been if she took the time to notice it. Her speedometer edged past the posted speed limit when she glanced at her watch, and she forced herself to slow down. Better late than ticketed for speeding, she reminded herself through gritted teeth. With the money she poured into the house lately, she could barely afford gas let alone a ticket. Still, it was with great relief that she turned into the parking lot and saw Drew’s sedan was not yet in its spot. Right, she told herself with an inward eye roll, because men are so turned on by punctuality.
Oh, well.
She had not, however, beaten Clarissa into work. The woman was twice Shannon’s age and still perky enough for both of them. “Morning, Shan!” she said with a cheery wave as she glanced up from her desk in the main office.
“Morning.”
The older blonde gave Shannon a once-over and clucked disapprovingly. “Beige, beige, and more beige. Don’t you own anything else, honey?”
“Sure. Tan.”
“Not funny. There’s a nice figure lurking somewhere under those boring old clothes of yours. You only get to be young once, Shannon. You ought to be making the most of it.”
“I’m doing just fine.”
Clarissa raised one eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
She thought her cheeks might be turning pink, not a good color combination with her hair. “You know what? I think I hear Drew’s phone ringing.”
“Liar.”
Shrugging unapologetically, Shannon beat a hasty retreat and unlocked the door that led to her desk and to Drew’s office. It was only a temporary reprieve, she knew. Clarissa’s youngest child had gone off to college last fall, and apparently she thought Shannon was as good a means as any to combat empty nest syndrome. It did no good to remind her that Shannon already had parents, thank you very much. They were off enjoying what they liked to call early retirement in Florida — it sounded better than “sitting around unemployed” — and Clarissa clearly felt that such long-distance parenting didn’t count. She might be right.
Shannon flipped the lights on and dropped her armload of files on her desk, careful not to let any of their papers spill out. There was a week’s worth of work invested in the top one alone, and time was too scarce around here to risk having to redo any of it unnecessarily. Not that she minded the work. She began humming under her breath as she opened the door to Drew’s small office and positioned the window blinds to let in the morning sun the way she knew he liked it. She was good at organizing things and being efficient, and she appreciated the steady paycheck. Winding up as assistant to councilman Drew Kingston had been an unexpected bonus.
Bonus? Delight would be a better word.
Drew had not actually been the one to hire her; that honor went to his predecessor. The day newly elected Drew Kingston walked through the door in his perfect suit and matching tie, Shannon decided maybe, just maybe, miracles did occasionally happen to ordinary folks like her.
Sunlight splayed through the blinds and landed on a thin sheaf of official papers on Drew’s desktop. She glanced at them in passing. The youth center. Shannon knew those papers backward and forward by now. Drew probably did, too. Was he having second thoughts? She pictured him sitting alone in his office the night before, reviewing everything and wondering if he was really ready to do this. It was his brainchild, but maybe the cost was too personal not to reconsider it at least a little bit. He might be her dream man, but he was still only human, after all.
Returning to her own desk, Shannon tore open the wrapper of her breakfast bar as she glanced at the clock. Budget meeting at ten o’clock, she thought as she took a bite and then opened up the calendar on her computer. The upcoming charity auction … Then there was that zoning issue for him to look at before next Thursday. Anticipating his request, she had already begun to delve into that for him.
The phone rang, interrupting her train of thought. She choked down the bite of dried fruit and granola mixture, trying not to make a face. She really ought to start eating a real breakfast. “Drew Kingston’s office,” she said with a voice raspy from granola that hadn’t quite made it down her throat yet. “How may I help — ”
“I want to talk to Drew. Now.”
Great, she thought sourly. One of those. Nothing like beginning the day with a surly citizen. “Mr. Kingston is not available at the moment. I could take a message, if you like.”
There was a humorless laugh on the other end. “Right. What is that, code for ‘he’s screening calls’?”
“It means he’s not available.” Her tone was cool. Even a city councilman got his share of angry callers, and Shannon had no qualms about keeping them at bay.
“Bull. He’s hiding in his office, isn’t he?”
Her voice got even cooler. “Mr. Kingston
doesn’t
hide.”