Made-To-Order Wife. Judith Mcwilliams

of woman. Women who, in her opinion, were probably worth a whole lot more than the fortune hunters after him now.

      She leaned back in the seat as the young man who’d been tending bar brought them their drinks, gave them a harried smile and hurried back to the bar.

      Jessie sipped the excellent white wine and then asked, “What about religion?”

      Max eyed her narrowly. “You can’t be a religious fanatic, because you’re drinking alcohol.”

      “My religious beliefs are irrelevant. Yours aren’t. Do you have any religious requirements in a wife?”

      Max thought about it for a moment and then said, “No specific requirements, but children need the stability of going to church on Sunday.”

      “No, children need the stability to being taken to church on Sunday,” Jessie corrected him. “What’s more, if you’re going to join a church, you’d better be prepared to live up to the teaching of whatever denomination you choose, because nothing will mess kids up quicker than being exposed to hypocrisy.”

      Max blinked at her acerbic tone. “That caveat sounds very personal. What happened? Did your parents let you down?”

       “No,” Jessie said, telling herself that it wasn’t exactly a lie. Her mother’s behavior had been absolutely predictable. She’d make promise after promise. Big promises such as she’d quit drinking, and little promises such as she’d come to Jessie’s school’s open house. And her mother had broken every one of them. Without fail.

      To Jessie’s relief the waitress arrived with their salads, distracting Max. She was going to have to be careful to keep a tight rein on her responses, she realized. Max was a very astute man. She didn’t want him curious about her background. If he were to find out just how bad it was, he might decide she wasn’t the right person for the job of steering him through the tricky shoals of his courtship. A feeling of panic swelled in her at the thought of Max firing her. But only because she really wanted the bonus he’d promised, she assured herself. To say nothing of the fact that she was looking forward to making some very useful business contacts. The social circles Max was going to take her into should be teeming with potential clients.

      As Jessie ate, she surreptitiously watched Max. To her relief, he had perfect table manners. She wouldn’t have to teach him the basics like she tended to have to do with a lot of the new college hires in her workshops.

      “What’s the verdict?” Max asked as he set his napkin down.

      “Verdict?” Jessie repeated.

      “You’ve been watching me like a hawk through the entire meal. Did I pass muster?”

      “Yes.” Jessie saw no reason to lie about what she’d been doing. “Have you attended many formal dinners?”

      “No. I avoid them like the plague.”

      “Then you probably haven’t been exposed to things like fish forks and the like. We’ll go over fancy place settings and exotic silverware to make sure you have them down pat before you get in too deep with the country-club set.”

      “We,” he corrected. “Don’t forget, you’re coming along as my on-scene consultant.”

      Jessie felt an odd mixture of anticipation and foreboding swirl through her. “I haven’t forgotten,” she said.

      “Do you want dessert?” he asked.

      “No, thanks. We don’t have time. Since one of the things I stress to the kids is the absolute necessity of being on time for a job, it would hardly look good if I were to show up late.”

      “All right.” Max pulled his pager out of his pocket, pushed the button and then gestured toward the waitress, who was keeping them under surveillance.

      The woman arrived at their table so fast it was a wonder she didn’t leave skid marks on the floor, Jessie thought acidly.

      “May I have the check?” Max asked her.

      “Certainly, Mr. Sheridan.” With a sultry smile the woman handed him a small leather folder containing the bill and left.

      Max opened it, looked it over and then dropped several bills on it.

      Jessie’s eyes narrowed as she noticed the white piece of paper on the side opposite the bill. It appeared to have a name and phone number written on it. The waitress’s? A flash of rage sizzled through Jessie. How dare that blasted woman try to pick up Max while he was with another woman?

      “Coming?” Max said as he got to his feet, trying not to let his annoyance show at the way Jessie kept retreating into her thoughts.

      Jessie hurriedly got to her feet and followed him out of the restaurant, inordinately glad that he had left the paper with the waitress’s name and number on the table.

      Fred and the Mercedes were double-parked at the curb, and Jessie quickly climbed into the backseat.

       “Evening, Fred,” she greeted the taciturn driver.

      “Evening, Ms.,” he said absently as his eyes continuously swept the area around the car.

      “I feel like someone should yell lights, camera, action,” she muttered.

      “Fred takes security very seriously,” Max said.

      “Damn right I do,” Fred said flatly as he pulled out into traffic. “Where to?”

      “Jessie?”

      Jessie gave him the address of the youth club.

      “Not the best neighborhood,” Fred said in obvious disapproval.

      “Not the worst, either,” Jessie said.

      “We’ll be fine, Fred,” Max said. “Don’t worry.”

      Jessie shot a quick look at Max out of the corner of her eye, her gaze lingering on the firm line of his lips, and longing welled through her.

      Max might be fine, but she was beginning to have serious doubts about herself.