There was nothing—absolutely nothing—in life that brought Pendleton greater joy than rolling his car to a stop on the cobbled court in front of Cherrywood with Kit McClellan at his side. Not even that interlude on the dance floor the two of them shared in Veranda Bay, which, at the time, he found more enjoyable than he liked to admit. But it had taken them four days to get from there to here, and the sparkle of that moment had tarnished a looong time ago.

Kit McClellan, he had learned the hard way, was not a trustworthy woman.

For some reason, after dropping her back at her bungalow at the Veranda Bay Resort, he felt compelled to hang around, just to be sure she didn’t try anything funny. Like, oh, say… escaping, for instance. And imagine his lack of surprise when, less than thirty minutes later, she slipped out the door with suitcase in hand.

What ensued was a bout of island-hopping unlike anything Pendleton had ever experienced, culminating in a rather unforgettable—as much as he wished he could forget it—incident at the airport in San Juan, where Kit almost managed to give him the slip. Looking back, he supposed it really wasn’t anything too major. She just kind of shoved him from behind, yelled to a gaggle of security guards that he was carrying narcotics, then took off running at breakneck speed in the opposite direction.

At the time, however, Pendleton had been a little hacked off. But once he explained the situation to the guards—no easy feat, considering the fact that he barely knew what was going on himself—and once he was strip-searched and interrogated for more than an hour by the Puerto Rican authorities; everything was fine. Well, sort of fine. There was that compulsive need for a shower he still hadn’t quite shaken.

Luckily for him, he noted the terminal toward which Kit was running before they slapped the handcuffs on him. Unluckily for him, it emptied out into a half-dozen gates, any of which could have been her final destination. He had to resort to his dubious masculine wiles and his questionable good looks to cajole a terminal operator to search the manifests for a name. Thanks to the warning he received from the other Hensley’s VPs, not for the name Katherine Atherton McClellan, either.

Ultimately, Pendleton and the employee performing the search—a charming young woman named Rafaela, to whom he owed a night of dinner and dancing the next time he found himself in San Juan—decided the person traveling first class under the moniker Anne O’Cleves was, more than likely, the object of his pursuit. And how fortuitous that the plane had a three-hour layover before flying off to St. Maarten, so it was still on the ground.

It wasn’t pretty removing Kit from that plane. And now here he sat with the queen herself, in front of her palace, wanting to chop off Her Majesty’s head.

“We’re home, Your Highness,” he stated unnecessarily. “Now get the hell out of my car.”

She uttered a soft sigh. “Gee, Pendleton. Keep being so nice to me, and you’re going to turn my head.”

“Get out of my car,” he repeated, surprised at how even he managed to keep his voice.

She eyed him thoughtfully for a moment. “You’re still steamed about the San Juan thing, aren’t you?”

Somehow, he refrained from comment.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m really sorry. It was just a joke. I had no idea they’d actually strip-search you.”

“Get out. Now.”

“Aren’t you going to walk me to the door?”

“No.”

“Daddy’s going to be disappointed if you don’t carry me in thrown over your shoulder, kicking and screaming.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Pendleton. It’ll be fun.”

“No.”

“Novak carried me in that way.”

“No.”

She sighed heavily again and settled back into her seat, clearly not going anywhere.

“Miss McClellan, I have better things to do with my time than be a plaything for you and your father. You’ll excuse me if I reiterate. Get…out …of …my …car.”

She folded her arms over her midsection. “Daddy won’t be pleased. And you won’t have a car for me to get out of if you lose your job. The repo guys will come and take it back to Status Symbols-R-Us. Then where will you be?”

He studied her intently, inhaled a deep breath, and counted to ten. Then, when he realized he was still furious, he went on to twenty. Then thirty. Then fifty. Ultimately, he decided he would pass out from oxygen deprivation before he would ever be able to feel anything but outrage at Kit. Right now, he only wanted to be rid of her. Whatever it took to achieve that, Pendleton would do.

“I’ll take you in,” he said through gritted teeth. “But I’m not hauling you over my shoulder.

“Party pooper.”

He unbuckled his seat belt with a vicious snap, then opened his door and unfolded himself from inside the tiny car. Cautiously, he strode around the front, his eyes never straying from Kit McClellan. Still playing the role of entitled heiress—as if she were entitled to anything more than a swift kick in the pants—she waited patiently for him to complete his circuit and halt by the passenger-side door. Then she gazed through the window with a smile befitting the most despotic royalty, clearly expecting him to do her the honor of opening the door.

Rolling his eyes, Pendleton reached for the handle, only to find the door locked. In response to his inability to open the door, Kit’s smile only grew broader. Then she leaned over his seat and pushed down the lock on the driver’s side door, as well.

Okay. That did it. No more.

Pendleton didn’t know how he was going to explain it to the insurance company—and frankly, at the moment, he didn’t care—but he curled his fingers closed tight above the canvas roof of the convertible, and, with one clean effort, drove his fist right through the fabric. The expression on Kit’s face when he did was more than worth whatever rate hike he would have to endure in his premiums as a result. Then he gripped the canvas with rigid fingers and rent a Kit-sized hole right through it.

“N-now h-how are you going to f-fix that?” she asked, masking her fear very nicely. Well, except for that nasty stammer and the terror gleaming in her eyes.

He inhaled deeply, feeling his chest swell with manly ability. “I’ll do what any other man in my situation would do.”

“Which is?”

“Duct tape.”

“Oh.”

“Now then,” he continued, proud of his ability to maintain a thin veneer of civility. “Either you can get out of my car the traditional way…” He gazed down at her through the gaping tear. “Or I can reach in and drag you out. Your choice, Miss McClellan. Which will it be?”

She lifted a hand to her neck, then reluctantly unlocked the door. Pendleton jerked it open before she could change her mind, and stood aside for her to exit. The moment she cleared the door, however, he roped his arm around her waist, lifted her from the cobbled driveway, and tossed her, kicking and screaming, over his shoulder. Fine. They’d do it her way. For some reason, he suddenly liked the idea.

He carried her up the walkway and lifted the door knocker for three quick raps, then waited with one arm looped around her legs and the other hand cupped over her fanny, until Mrs. Mason answered the door. To her credit, the housekeeper only arched one snowy eyebrow in response to the scene that greeted her. Then she stepped aside to allow them entry, with the quietly offered announcement that Mr. McClellan, Sr. wasn’t home, but that Mr. McClellan, Jr. was entertaining a guest in the dining room.

With Kit still howling and pounding on his back with both fists, Pendleton made his way to the dining room. He found McClellan, Jr. seated at the head of the big table, a delicate-looking blonde to his right. Without ceremony, he proceeded forward, dumped Kit into the chair she occupied that ill-fated night at dinner, and turned to his host.

“McClellan,” he greeted the other man with a brief nod.

His host stood, buttoned his jacket, and nodded back. “Pendleton.”

“You’ll forgive me if I tell you that I can’t stay.”

“No problem. Thanks for bringing Kit home.”

“My pleasure.”

“Oh, I sincerely doubt that.”

Since the observation required no further comment, Pendleton turned to Kit and bowed with all the chivalry of an evil overlord. “Miss McClellan,” he said. “It was a memorable occasion.”

Kit was slumped into her chair, but now turned her attention to the table, obviously looking for something in particular. “What? No wine?” she finally asked her brother. “What kind of host are you, Holt? Sheesh.”

“Good night, Miss McClellan,” Pendleton concluded before turning his back on the lot of them.

A quick reminder spun him back around again, however, this time to focus on Kit’s brother. “McClellan,” he said, “do you have any duct tape?”

The other man shrugged. “Of course.”

“Mind if borrow a couple of feet?”

“Not at all.”

McClellan, Jr. summoned Mrs. Mason to retrieve a roll of duct tape from the kitchen, then, when she returned, he tossed it to Pendleton. Pendleton muttered his thanks and, still ignoring Kit, began to make his exit once again.

“’Night, Pendleton!” she called after him cheerfully. “Thanks for saving the last dance for me!”

He stiffened at the reminder, but didn’t acknowledge her farewell. This time, he remembered quite well how to leave the McClellan house. He only wished he could rid himself of the household as easily.

He dreamed that night about Kit. About riotous music, squawking birds, palm trees, oceans, and marimbas. And hurricanes. Lots and lots of hurricanes. Amid the swirling scenes of turmoil pounding at his unconscious brain, there erupted a single oasis of serenity: He dreamed about lying naked on the beach with Kit McClellan, limbs entwined, mouths joined, bodies slick with salt water.

Pendleton rolled over in bed with a groan. He was still half-asleep, and caught up in the strangeness of the dream, when something halted his progress. Something warm. Something soft. Something that, when he reached over to drape an arm around it for further investigation, murmured a quiet, satisfied sound. His eyes still closed, he moved his hand leisurely down the length of it, only to have it stretch languidly and twine its bare legs with his.

Curves. That was what registered first. The revelation was quickly followed by another, however, the realization that those curves were moving closer. Slowly, it dawned on him that he wasn’t alone in his bed. So he opened one eye experimentally, and, in the scarce morning light that filtered through the curtains, he saw a rather pronounced lump beneath the covers beside him. A lump with dark blond curls that peeked out from beneath the blanket. A lump that mumbled something incoherently before turning its back to him again.

Ignoring for a moment the fact that he slept in the buff, Pendleton pushed himself up on one elbow to get a closer look at his companion. Of course, he knew who it was without seeing her face, but something inside him was still clinging steadfastly enough to denial that he reached a hand out toward her. He meant to touch the blanket, to tug it and the sheet back just enough to see if it really was Kit McClellan and not some other blond, madcap heiress who had invaded his bed. But instead of the blanket, his fingers wandered to her hair, skimming lightly over the silky tresses before winding a single dark gold ringlet around his thumb.

That was when Kit began to stir with more purpose, rolling back to face him again. It was she, not he, who pushed the blanket down past her shoulders, and when she did, Pendleton saw that he wasn’t the only one who slept in the buff.

“Miss McClellan,” he said, his voice a rough whisper. “What are you doing in my bed?”

She shoved a fistful of hair out of her eyes and smiled sleepily. “Well, good morning to you, too, Pendleton. Brrr,” she added with a shiver. “It’s freezing in here. You need to get yourself a couple of cats. Or a woman.”

“Thank you, but I feel the need for neither. What are you doing in my bed?” he repeated. “How did you get here?”

“I drove, silly,” she murmured sleepily. “Your address is in Daddy’s Rolodex. I had a little trouble finding a parking place out front, though, so I had to double park. I didn’t realize one of your neighbors was a Louisville Metro police officer.”

Pendleton sighed. “That would be my next door neighbor. Captain Nichols.”

“Oooh. Do you think he’ll get mad when he realizes he’s boxed in by a Mercedes S-class?”

“I have no idea. Those guys that hang out across the street in Central Park might notice, though. The Gang o’ Car Thieves, I think is what they call themselves.”

Kit sighed dramatically. “My car keys are in my purse by the back door. Would you mind terribly moving it for me? There’s a good boy.”

He ignored her question and posed one of his own instead. “What I meant by ‘How did you get here?’ wasn’t an inquiry into what manner of transportation brought you to my doorstep. What I want to know is how you got past that doorstep and into my house. My bed.”

She yawned like a bored cat. “Oh, that. Funny thing about old houses. The locks are generally sooo easy to pick.”

“You broke into my house?” he asked, surprised at how calm he managed to keep his voice, not to mention himself.

She wrinkled her nose a bit. “Mmm…I prefer to think of it as illegal entry.”

“Interesting distinction. And exactly where did you learn this particular trade? Glenview doesn’t seem the kind of environment where such skills are passed down from one generation to the next.”

“You might be surprised,” she murmured. She yawned again, lustily this time, and scrubbed her hands through her hair. “All right. If you must know, when I was seventeen, I dated a guy who was something of a lovable rogue. Until Holt and Mick had him arrested. He was still a lovable rogue after that,” she hastened to clarify, “but his presence behind bars did put something of a damper on our relationship.” She shrugged her—quite naked—shoulders philosophically. “I guess I should be grateful he was nailed for something he actually did, and not because they trumped up some charge of armed robbery against him.”

Pendleton only gazed at her in silence for a moment. “You dated a guy who committed armed robbery?”

She made a face. “Of course not. I said that would have been the charge my brothers had trumped up against him. Actually, Turk—”

“Turk? His name was really Turk?”

“—just ran numbers. He only served six months.” She shrugged again, less philosophically this time. “But he didn’t want to see me anymore after he got out. Go figure. In spite of that, our short time together was one of my more productive relationships. It lasted four whole weeks.”

Pendleton told himself that the only reason his righteous outrage toward her seemed to be fading some was because he was half-asleep and she was totally naked. Surely once they were up and at ’em, he’d be offended to full capacity once again.

“All right,” he conceded softly, “now that we have established how you got in here, I suppose the next item on our agenda would be why you got in here.”

She smiled sweetly. “I thought I might move in with you for a while.”

She thought she might move in with him for a while. That was a good one. Pendleton almost laughed. She sighed with much contentment, then continued, “Cherrywood is just so… I don’t know…overdone. It’s so big, you can get lost in that place. I could really use a change of scenery. And since you and hit it off so well down in the Caribbean, I thought it might be fun for us to be roomies.”

She thought it might be fun for them to be roomies. That was another good one. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to break a rib laughing so hard.

“Miss McClellan,” he began.

“Gee, Pendleton. You might as well call me Kit. After all, we have slept together.”

“We have not—”

“Yes, we have. And Daddy’s absolutely delighted about it, let me tell you.”

Well, that certainly brought him wide awake. “Excuse me?”

“I said Daddy’s absolutely delighted about us sleeping together. He came home last night just as I was leaving with my bags, and I told him all about us.”

He chuckled anxiously. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no.”

Kit giggled contentedly. “Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”

“Miss McClellan—”

“Kit.”

“Miss McClellan, I don’t think you realize what you’re saying.”

“Actually, Pendleton, it’s you who doesn’t realize what I’m saying. There’s so much more underlying this conversation than meets the ear. You can’t possibly imagine.”

“Try me.”

“Nah. If you knew what I was talking about, all the fun would go right out of it.”

“Miss McClellan—”

“Kit,” she insisted. “Come on, Pendleton. You said my name out loud once already without any trouble at all. What’s the problem?”

What’s the problem? he echoed to himself. The problem was that he’d said her name out loud once already without any trouble at all. But instead of explaining that to her, he replied, “There’s a little something we need to address here. Immediately, in fact.”

“Only one little something? That’s a surprise.”

“I, um,” he continued, “I sleep naked.”

She smiled sweetly again. Uh-oh. “I know.”

“How do you know?”

“I peeked.”

“When did you peek?”

“Last night, when I crawled into bed beside you.”

“So it was dark?”

“I had a flashlight.”

“Ah.”

“Well, I’d never been in your house before,” she said, “so I had no idea where the furniture was, and I didn’t want to trip over anything. Imagine my surprise to discover there is no furniture. You’re going to have to ask Daddy for a raise.”

“Miss McClellan—”

“Kit.”

“The reason there’s no furniture isn’t because I don’t have the funds to buy it, but because I haven’t had the time to shop for it and…” He hesitated, wondering just how one went about dealing with this sort of thing. “I’m naked,” he finally reiterated.

“So? I’m naked, too.”

That was a fact of which he really wished she hadn’t reminded him. “Which is something else we need to talk about,” he said.

“Okay,” she agreed, way too easily. “Let’s talk about it. In fact, let’s go ahead and talk about all the things we need to talk about.” She extracted her hands from beneath the covers and ticked off the facts on her fingers as she enumerated them. “Let’s see now. You’re naked—that’s one thing. I’m naked—that’s two things. We’re in bed together, we’ve slept together, and I can’t wait to see what happens when Daddy tells the boys all about it—that’s three more things. Oh, wait, another thing—you’re going to make my family so happy, Pendleton. And you can’t possibly know how important that is to me. I don’t know how I’m ever going to be able to properly thank you.”

Thinking he should probably just roll belly-up and surrender, he continued heedlessly, “You could start by getting out of my bed.”

“Okay.” She gripped the covers again, clearly ready to throw them back and reveal herself in all her naked glory.

“Wait!” he cried, squeezing his eyes shut. “Not yet.”

“Hey, Pendleton, no time like the present.”

“Stop,” he commanded her. “Just…stop.”

He opened one eye experimentally and was delighted to see that she had done as he requested for a change. She was still in his bed, and still covered up. But she was also still naked. As was he. Wasn’t this just a wonderful way to wake up in the morning?

“What time do you have to be at work?” she asked.

“Not until eight. What time is it?”

Kit reached over to the nightstand on her side of the bed and retrieved her watch, then squinted at it in the dimly lit room. “It’s seven forty-five.”

It took a moment for that to register. “What?”

She tossed her watch back onto the nightstand and reached her arms high above her head with a contented groan. As she relaxed the stretch, she told him, “I guess I forgot to tell you I turned off your alarm when I came to bed last night. Frankly, those things annoy the heck out of me. I like to wake up gradually, by my own internal alarm clock. And it never goes off until after ten. Not unless some guy running his fingers through my hair wakes me up first.”

“I was not running my fingers through your hair,” he said, more to beat back the panic threatening to overtake him at being so late for work than to actually deny what even he had to admit was a valid argument.

“Well, at any rate, you’d better hurry if you have any hope of getting to work before nine,” Kit pointed out as she snuggled back down into the covers and closed her eyes. “Boy,” she added in a sleepy murmur, “it must be a drag to be a working stiff.”

In spite of running inexcusably late for work, Pendleton could only lie there for a moment on his side and watch Kit McClellan in utter disbelief as she slipped effortlessly back into a nice, steady slumber. Only a person with no conscience could possibly fall asleep that quickly. Of course, his realization of that only compounded his discomfort.

He shook his head slowly, silently. What on earth was he supposed to do with her?

Unfortunately, way too many ideas popped into his head in response to that question, few of them in any way polite. Or legal. For now, he was just going to have to worry about it later. Because he had only fifteen minutes to shave, shower, dress, and make the seven-minute drive to work. So, keeping an eye trained carefully on the woman sleeping in his bed, he threw back the covers and swung his feet to the floor. Then, because he knew better than to trust her, he picked up his pillow and, as he stood, placed it strategically over his lower torso before he began backing toward the bedroom door.

He was as quiet as he could possibly be as he eased shut the door behind him. In spite of that, he wasn sure, but he thought he heard Kit mumble something in her sleep just before the latch clicked. Although he tried to tell himself her remark must have been some incoherent observation about a half-forgotten dream, he couldn’t help but think instead that it sounded a whole lot like, “Nice tushie, Pendleton.”

And that, even more than being egregiously late for work, was what made him dash for the bathroom.

“You’ve made me a very happy man, Pendleton.”

Pendleton clenched his hands into fists behind his back and willed his employer to spontaneously combust. Holt McClellan, Sr. sat on the business side of a massive mahogany desk, the worn leather chair beneath him creaking under his weight as he leaned back with much satisfaction. On the dark-paneled wall behind him, stuffed in various poses of literally glassy-eyed terror, was a disturbingly large collection of hunting trophies. But what really bothered Pendleton the most—aside from the obvious fact that his boss enjoyed killing things—was that each of the prizes had been wrested from completely passive animals like deer, raccoons and large-mouth bass. You’d think the least McClellan, Sr. could do was go after something that had big, pointy teeth and razor-sharp claws. Even things out a bit, for God’s sake.

“Yepper,” the CEO continued happily, scattering Pendleton’s thoughts. “Very, very, happy”.

“I assume, sir, that would be because of my report on priority enhancement to promote productivity,” Pendleton stated, feigning ignorance. “I’m glad you approve. I—”

“Screw the report,” McClellan, Sr. interrupted with a smile. “You’re sleeping with my daughter. I see great things in your future, Pendleton. Great things indeed.”

Pendleton swallowed hard, torn between denying the allegation, even though it was technically true, and ruining his boss’s good mood, or conceding that he had, in fact, shared more than just a mattress with his employer’s daughter, and thereby perpetuating a lie, to keep the man very, very happy.

Ultimately, the decision was taken out of his hands when McClellan, Sr. asked, “So, when are you going to marry her?”

That, at least, was a question to which Pendleton definitely knew the answer. With all the vigor and insistence he could muster, he stated quite forcibly, “Sir?”

“Marry her,” his employer repeated. “When’s the wedding? She’s quite a catch, you know.”

Pendleton swallowed hard. “A catch, sir?”

The CEO waved a hand impatiently through the air. “Well, all right. Maybe not a catch. But you do have to admit that she’s one of a kind.”

Finally, an observation with which Pendleton could unequivocally agree. “Oh, yes, sir. I will admit that. Your daughter is nothing if not unique.”

The moment Pendleton had arrived at work, Beatrice told him Mr. McClellan, Sr. was demanding his presence in his office. Naturally, he’d assumed his employer commanded this performance because he wanted a rundown of Pendleton’s Pirates of the Caribbean adventure with the old man’s daughter. The last thing he’d expected upon walking into his boss’s office was for McClellan, Sr. to slap him soundly on the back and say with heartfelt delight, “Welcome back, son!”

But that was precisely what his boss had done. And nothing in Pendleton’s entire life had terrified him more than those words. Or at least, that last word. Son. The way McClellan, Sr. had voiced that word…

All Pendleton could do was remember Kit’s assertion at dinner that night in Veranda Bay, that he was currently at the top of the McClellan’s man du jour list. That list of eligible bachelors who might be gullible enough, greedy enough or misguided enough to marry the madcap McClellan heiress, thereby securing the family fortune for the family.

When it appeared that his employer was going to say nothing more, Pendleton ventured, “May I speak frankly, sir?”

“By all means.”

With some trepidation, he began, “Although your daughter is certainly a lovely person...”

McClellan’s eyebrows arrowed downward in concern. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that, Pendleton.”

“Uh…”he tried again. “It’s just that, um…”

“Ye-es?” his boss asked, stringing the single syllable out over several time zones.

“Well, sir, although I think Miss McClellan is, um…”

“Is what?”

“Is a, uh…”

With his free hand, McClellan, Sr. made a slow, gyrating motion, a silent indication that Pendleton should just please, for the love of God, get on with it.

“Well, she has a great personality, sir,” he said lamely.

McClellan, Sr. frowned. “Uh-oh.”

The softly uttered observation halted Pendleton’s thoughts faster than an electrode to the groin would have. “Uh-oh, sir?”

Instead of elaborating, McClellan, Sr. eyed Pendleton malignantly and asked, “Pendleton, how badly do you need this job?”

Oooh, low blow. “Pretty badly, sir.”

“And can you think of any other corporation in the country that will pay you the salary you’re currently earning in the position you hold?”

Oooh, another one below the belt. McClellan, Sr. sure did fight dirty. “No, sir, I can’t think of another corporation in the country that will pay me what Hensley’s does. And if I haven’t said so already, sir, it’s a very generous package, one that—”

“That’s what I thought.” McClellan, Sr. nodded, triumphantly if Pendleton wasn’t mistaken. “Now then. You were saying? About my lovely daughter and her great personality?”

Pendleton sighed. He was really beginning to hate his new job, despite its generous benefits and pay. “I was saying, sir, that your daughter is lovely.”

“And?”

“And she has a great personality.”

“And?”

“And I find her company to be very…”

“Yes?”

Demoralizing. Uncomfortable. Maddening. Icky. “Delightful,” he muttered, and somehow he managed not to choke on the word.

McClellan, Sr. couldn’t contain his glee. “I knew the two of you would hit it off. The minute I laid eyes on you, Pendleton, I knew you were the man for Kit.”

Oh, God. “Sir?”

“Yes, son?”

Oh, please, no. Not son. Anything but that. “About my report? On priority enhancement to promote productivity?”

“We’ll talk about it at tomorrow’s meeting. Anything else?”

Well, except for that small matter of your daughter having infested my home and, aside from spraying her with some nasty pesticide that might potentially harm the environment, I have no idea how to remove her…

“Nothing, sir.”

“Excellent.”

He prepared to leave, thinking his boss would dismiss him with his usual, cursory “Now get out,” but instead, McClellan, Sr. rose from his chair and moved to the front of his desk. Out of nowhere, he said, “Did you know I once paid a man a quarter of a million dollars to not marry my daughter?”

Pendleton blinked three times, as if a too-bright flash had gone off right in front of his eyes. This really wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with his boss. It had been bad enough having it with the boss’s daughter. In spite of that, he was helpless to say anything but, “Now that you mention it, I believe Miss McClellan did say something about that over dinner in Veranda Bay.”

McClellan, Sr. nodded. “Then I assume she also told you why it’s essential that she be married within two months’ time, too, didn’t she? Something about one hundred million dollars?”

Pendleton pretended to search his memory for the recollection. “Seems to me she said it was ninety-nine-point-four million,” he said.

His employer growled impatiently. “Whatever.”

“Yes, she did mention that, as well.”

McClellan, Sr. nodded. “The man I paid to not marry Kit was a prick, Pendleton. She deserved better. She deserved someone like you.”

Oh, he really didn’t like the sound of that.

“And now,” his employer continued, “here you are.” For a long time, McClellan, Sr. only studied him in silence, as if he were trying to gauge the full measure of the man. Then, evidently having made a decision, he went on, “Seeing as I once paid a man that much money to leave my daughter when my family’s fortunewasn’t at stake, can you imagine how grateful I’d be to the man who married Kit now, thereby keeping the family fortune where it belongs—in the hands of the family?”

Pendleton swallowed hard in an effort to dispel the bitter taste that rose from the back of his throat at hearing his employer’s offer. The fingers curled behind his back fisted tighter as he realized he’d never wanted to hit anyone as badly as he wanted to slug McClellan, Sr. at that moment. The man didn’t deserve ninety-nine-point-four cents, let alone millions. To barter one’s daughter like so much furniture made the man worse than a common pimp.

As if he hadn’t already said too much, McClellan, Sr. added, “I can be a very generous man, Pendleton. Think about it.”

As if he’d be able to do anything but think about it. Naturally, Pendleton had no intention of lowering himself to McClellan, Sr.’s distasteful pandering. But he was too outraged at the moment to trust anything he might say aloud, so he only nodded dispassionately and said nothing. Hey, what was there to say? His employer was a slimy, heartless creep, and Pendleton was too much of a gentleman to call him on it. Either that, or Pendleton was too much of a spineless, simpering suck-up to call him on it. Whatever.

“I’m glad we understand each other,” McClellan, Sr. said with a slimy, heartless smile.

Pendleton responded with a spineless, simpering one of his own. “Yes, .sir. We do indeed understand each other.”You creep.

“Fine. Now remember what I said. And get out.”

Unable to follow that last order fast enough, Pendleton pivoted on his heel and hurried out of his employer’s office. As he went, he tried not to panic in the knowledge that it was barely nine A.M., and already his house had been overtaken by Kit McClellan and his morals compromised by her father. Call him an alarmist, but it seemed like the day wasn’t starting off well at all.

He could handle the McClellans, he assured himself as he made his way back to his office. There was no way McClellan, Sr. could expect him to marry Kit and save the family fortune, with or without a bonus for his trouble. This wasn’t medieval England, where fathers did that kind of thing, in spite of McClellan, Sr.’s obviously antiquated thinking on the matter.

And Kit couldn’t possibly be serious about being his roomie, Pendleton told himself further. Surely, it was just her unique sense of humor and simple boredom with her life—and not a chemical imbalance in her brain—that made her do the things she did. Surely, she would tire of wreaking havoc in his life soon, and then she’d move on. Surely everything would come to rights soon.

Unfortunately, Pendleton felt sure about none of those things. Except for maybe one. He could handle Kit McClellan. Surely.