Melanie nodded as if she’d expected the response. “I’d read that you were a workaholic.”
“Just proves the media gets it right once in a while.”
“Haven’t you ever heard that all work and no play makes one dull?”
He shrugged. “I never really cared.”
She studied him curiously. “What kind of image do you see yourself projecting as a candidate?”
Richard paused as he was about to put the potatoes into the oven. He hadn’t yet given the matter much thought. He should have. Instead, he’d based his decision to run for office on the expected progression of his life carefully planned out by his father, probably while Richard was still in diapers.
“I want people to know I’m honest,” he began, considering his reply thoughtfully. “I want them to believe that I’ll work hard and that I’ll care about their problems, about the issues that matter to them.”
“That’s good,” she said. “But did you go to public school?”
“No.”
“Have you ever had to struggle for money, been out of work?”
“No.”
“Ever been denied a place to live because of the color of your skin?”
He flushed slightly. “No.”
“Do you have good medical insurance?”
“Of course. So do my employees.”
“Ever had to go without a prescription because you couldn’t afford it?”
“No.” He saw where she was going, and it grated on his nerves.
“Then what makes you think they’ll believe you can relate to their problems?” she asked.
“Look, I can’t help that I’ve led a life of privilege, but I can care about people who haven’t. I can be innovative about ways to solve their problems. I know a lot about business. Some of those principles can be applied to government as well,” he said, barely able to disguise his irritation. “Look, I don’t get this. If you think I’m such a lousy candidate, why do you want to work for me?”
She grinned. “So I can show you how to be a good candidate, maybe even a great one.”
He shook his head at her audacity. “Confident, aren’t you?”
“No more so than you are. You believe in yourself. I believe in myself. That could be the beginning of a great team.”
“Or a disaster waiting to happen,” he said, not convinced. “Two egos butting heads at every turn.”
“Maybe, but if we remember that we both have the same goal, I’m pretty sure that will get us through any rough patches.”
Richard considered her theory as he heated the fancy grill that was part of the restaurant-caliber stove he’d had installed once he’d taken up gourmet cooking to relax. He tossed on the steaks. “How do you want it?” he asked.
Melanie stared at him, looking puzzled. “Want what?”
He grinned. “Your steak.”
“Well-done,” she said at once.
“I should have guessed.”
“I suppose you eat yours raw,” she muttered.
“Rare,” he corrected.
“Same thing. It’s all very macho.”
“I suppose you think I should give up beef or something to appease the vegetarian voters.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There must be a zillion very popular steak houses in the Washington area. There’s your constituency.”
“I like to think I can relate to people who prefer lobster, too.”
She laughed and shook her head. “My work is so cut out for me.”
“You don’t have the job,” he reminded her.
She stepped up beside him and snagged a slice of red pepper from the pan of vegetables he was sautéing. Then she grinned. “I will,” she said with total confidence.
Richard got that same odd sensation in the pit of his stomach, the one he used to get right before a roller coaster crested the top of the tracks and pitched down in a mad burst of speed. He looked at Melanie as she licked a trace of olive oil from the tip of her finger and felt that same mix of excitement and fear.
He hadn’t been in waters this deep and dangerous in years. Maybe never.
Damn Destiny. She’d known exactly what she was doing by pushing this woman into his life, and it didn’t have a bloody thing to do with getting him elected to office or polishing the image of Carlton Industries around the globe. Melanie was to be the key player in Destiny’s latest skirmish to marry him off.
Well, he didn’t have to take the bait. He could keep his hormones under control and his hands to himself. No problem. At least, as long as Melanie stopped looking at him with those big, vulnerable brown eyes. Those eyes made him want to give her whatever she wanted, made him want to take whatever he wanted.
Yep, those eyes were trouble. Too bad she wasn’t one of those sophisticated women who wore sunglasses night and day as part of their fashion statement. Then he might have a shot at sticking to his resolve.
As it was, he was probably doomed.
Chapter Three
Though he’d stopped scowling after his second glass of wine, Richard didn’t seem as if he was being won over, Melanie concluded reluctantly. He was being civil, not friendly. And he definitely wasn’t leaving her much of an opening to start pitching her PR plan. Drastic measures were called for. Destiny had seemed certain that food was the answer, so Melanie had added a touch of her own to the meal.
“I stopped and picked up ice cream for the pie,” she told him, hoping she’d guessed right that a man who loved cherry pie would prefer it à la mode.
He actually smiled for the first time—a totally unguarded reaction, for once. Just as Melanie had remembered, the effect was devastating. The smile made his blue eyes sparkle and emphasized that there really were laugh lines at the corners. It also eased the tension in his square jaw.
“Acting against Destiny’s warnings, no doubt,” he said. “She probably has the cardiologist on standby as it is.”
Melanie grinned back at him. “I have his name and number in my purse,” she joked, then added more truthfully, “along with cooking instructions and directions to this place. Destiny left very little to chance.”
He seemed uncertain whether to take her seriously. “Not that I would put it past her, but she didn’t actually give you the name of a doctor, did she?”
Melanie laughed. “Okay, no, but she does seem to be concerned that your particular nutritional habits combined with your workaholic tendencies will land you in an early grave. Do you ever relax?”
“Sure,” he said at once. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Melanie gestured toward the computer that he’d been glancing at longingly ever since her arrival. “Unless you’re on there doing your Christmas shopping, I don’t think this qualifies.”
He regarded her with a vaguely puzzled expression. “When is Christmas?”
“Less than three weeks.”
He nodded, then reached for the pocket computer he’d tossed on the counter earlier, and made a note.