The Millionaire Claims His Wife

Annie stared blindly at the newspaper. What was it with men? And with women, for that matter? Didn’t they learn? How much grief did it take before you finally figured out that men were just no...

Her breath caught.

Was that a photo of Chase? It certainly was. It was Chase, all right, smiling at the camera and looking pleased with himself and with the world, and why shouldn’t he? Standing right beside him, looking gorgeous and as perfect as a paper doll, was Janet Pendleton.

Annie’s eyes filled with tears, although she couldn’t imagine why. Chase certainly didn’t mean anything to her.

“Damn you,” she said, in a quavering whisper.

The man beside her stiffened.

“Were you speaking to me, madam?”

She looked up. The guy was looking at her as if she’d just escaped from the asylum.

Annie blinked back her tears.

“You’re a man, aren’t you?” she said.

Then she crumpled the newspaper, dumped it on the floor, rose from her seat and made her way through the train, to the door.

* * *

It was raining in Stratham, too.

Well, why not? The perfect ending to a perfect day, Annie thought grimly, as she made her way through the parking lot to her car. It didn’t even pay to run, not when she was wet through and through. What could another soaking possibly matter?

By the time she pulled into her driveway, she was shivering, sniffing, and as close to feeling sorry for herself as she’d ever come. A hot shower and getting into her old terry-cloth robe and a pair of slippers helped. Supper seemed like a good idea, too, but banging open cabinet doors and peering into the fridge didn’t spur any creative juices. Finally she gave up, took a diet meal from the freezer and popped it into the microwave.

She was just putting it on the kitchen counter when the doorbell rang.

Annie looked at the clock. It was after seven. Who’d be dropping by at this hour? Unless it was Dawn. A smile lit her face. Dawn and Nick lived only half an hour away and sometimes they dropped in for a quick visit. Everything was fine on that front, thank goodness. Dawn had returned from her honeymoon glowing with happiness, and she’d taken the news that her parents’ supposed reconciliation had failed in her stride.

“I’m so sorry. Mom,” she’d said, hugging Annie, “but at least you guys tried.”

But the visitor at the door wasn’t Dawn. It was Deborah Kent, standing in the rain, clutching an enormous box from Angie’s Pizza Palace.

“Well?” Deb demanded. “Do I get asked in, or do I have to sit in my car and pig out on all ninety billion calories of an Angie’s Deluxe without any help?”

Annie’s bleak mood lifted a little. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you suffer such a fate?” she said, taking the box from Deb’s hands. “Come on in.”

“The kind who ignores repeated phone calls,” Deb grumbled as she peeled off her raincoat. “This thing is soaked. You want me to hang it in the laundry room, or what?”

“Just drape it over the back of that chair,” Annie said as she headed for the kitchen.

“It’ll drip on the floor.”

“Trust me, Deb. The floor won’t mind. Come and make yourself comfortable while I grab a couple of plates and some napkins.”

Deb’s eyebrows lifted when she saw the sad little box that had just come out of the microwave oven.

“I see I interrupted an evening of gourmet dining,” she said, moving the thing aside with a manicured fingertip.

“Mmm.” Annie took two diet Cokes out of the refrigerator and put them on the counter. “You can’t imagine what a sacrifice it’s going to be to eat a slice of Angie’s Deluxe instead.”

“A slice?” Deb opened the box, dug out a huge triangle of pizza and deposited it on Annie’s plate. “A half of an Angie’s Deluxe, is what I’m figuring on.” She dug in again and lifted out a piece for herself. “So what’s new in your life, anyway?”

“Oh, nothing much.” Annie hitched a hip onto a stool. “How’ve you been?”

“And well you might ask,” Deb said indignantly. “For someone’s who’s supposed to be my best amiga, you sure haven’t paid much attention to me lately. Don’t you ever return phone calls?”

“Of course I do. I’ve just been busy, that’s all. Mmm, this pizza is to die for. And to think I was going to make a meal out of two hundred calories of fat-free, flavor-free yuck. So what if I’ll have to give up eating for the rest of the week? This is definitely worth the sacrifice.”

“Don’t try and pull my leg, Annie Cooper. I can tell a fib from the truth.”