"Go ahead and laugh, but it's not funny to me. I've lost some great clients because of this."

"I'd be lying if I didn't tell you it's nice having you at my mercy for a change."

"Don't enjoy it too much. I'm trusting you not to screw this up."

She was afraid she already had. She should have been up front with him about today's affair, but she always got pigheaded when workaholics started ordering her around, another legacy from her childhood.

The tires clattered on a narrow wooden bridge. They rounded a bend, and an old stone farmhouse came into sight. Build in the 1880s, the Calebow property was a rustic gem in an area of affluent suburban sprawl. Dan had bought the house in his bachelor days, and as their family had grown, he and Phoebe had added wings, raised the roof, and expanded the grounds. The end result was a charming ramble of a house perfect for a family with four growing children.

Heath parked in the drive next to Molly's SUV, which had Tigger sunshades suction-cupped to the glass. He shifted his weight and tucked his keys in the hip pocket of his khaki slacks. He wore them with a designer polo and another of his TAG Heuer watches, this one with a brown crocodile strap. Annabelle felt a little underdressed in gray knit drawstring shorts, aqua tank top, and J. Crew flip-flops.

She saw the exact moment when he spotted the multitude of pink balloons tied to the spindled railing that surrounded the old-fashioned front porch.

He turned to her slowly, a python uncoiling for the strike. "Exactly what kind of party is this?"

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and tried to look adorable. "Uh, funny you should ask…"

His grim green eyes belatedly reminded Annabelle that he had no sense of humor when it came to business. Not that she'd exactly forgotten it.

"No bullshit, Annabelle. Tell me right now what's going on."

He'd trample her if she tried to stage a retreat, so she attempted a chipper sort of savoir faire. "Relax and enjoy yourself. It'll be fun." She didn't sound convincing, but before he could crush the life out of her, Molly appeared on the front porch with Pippi at her side. Both of them sported glittery pink tiaras, Pippi's accessorized with a strawberry pink princess gown, Molly's with bright yellow capris and a Daphne the Bunny T-shirt. Heath's already grim expression grew even more forbidding.

Molly looked startled, then laughed as she spotted Heath. He shot Annabelle a life-threatening glare, plastered a smile on his face for Molly, and stepped out of the car. Annabelle grabbed her tote and followed. Unfortunately, the knot that had begun to form in her stomach came right along with her.

"Heath? I don't believe it," Molly said. "I couldn't even talk Kevin into helping out today."

"Is that so?" he replied slowly. "Annabelle invited me."

Molly gave her a thumbs-up. "Cool."

Annabelle forced a smile.

Heath walked toward Molly, projecting an air of amusement Annabelle knew he didn't feel. "Annabelle neglected, however, to tell me exactly what she was inviting me to."

"Oops." Molly's eyes sparkled.

"I would have if you'd asked." Annabelle's words sounded lame even to herself, and he ignored her.

Molly leaned down to her daughter. "Pippi, tell Mr. Heath about our party."

The three-year-old's tiara wobbled as she jumped and gave an ear-splitting shriek. "Princess party!"

"Ya don't say," Heath drawled. Slowly, he turned to face Annabelle. She pretended to examine the climbing rose next to the front porch.

"It was Julie and Tess's idea," Molly said. "Annabelle volunteered to help out."

Annabelle thought about explaining that Julie and Tess were the Calebows' oldest children, fifteen-year-old twins, then realized Heath wouldn't need an explanation. He'd have made it his business to know all about Dan and Phoebe's four children: the twins, twelve-year-old Hannah, and nine-year-old Andrew. He probably knew their favorite foods and when they'd had their last dental checkups.

"The twins are volunteering at a summer day care center that serves low-income families," Molly went on. "They work with the four- and five-year-old girls, supervising activities to jump-start them in math and science. They wanted to throw a party just for fun."

"Princess party!" Pippi shrieked again, hopping up and down.

"I can't tell you how glad I am you're here," Molly said. "Tess and Julie woke up with fevers this morning, so we've been a little frantic. Hannah's going to help, but she gets emotionally involved, so she's not entirely reliable. I tried to call Kevin and beg him to reconsider, but he and Dan have taken the boys somewhere and they're not picking up. Wait till they hear who saved them."

"My pleasure." Heath projected such sincerity that Annabelle would have believed him if she hadn't known better. No wonder he was so good at what he did.

They heard the sound of an engine and saw a yellow minibus approaching. Molly turned to the door. "Hannah, the girls are here!"

Seconds later, twelve-year-old Hannah Calebow emerged. Thin and awkward, she resembled her Aunt Molly more than her mother, Phoebe. Her light brown hair, expressive eyes and slightly asymmetrical features bore the promise of something more interesting than conventional prettiness when she grew older, although at this point it was hard to tell exactly what. "Hi, Annabelle," she said as she came forward.

Annabelle returned the greeting, and Molly introduced Heath as the minibus stopped in front of the house. "Annabelle, why don't you and Heath help Phoebe in the backyard while Hannah and I get the girls unloaded?"

"Maybe you should be a little careful around Mom," Hannah said in a soft, anxious-to-please voice. "She's in a bad mood because Andrew got into the cake this morning."

"It just keeps getting better and better," Heath muttered. And then he headed for the flagstone path that led around the side of the house. He walked so quickly that Annabelle had to trot to catch up with him.

"I guess I should apologize," she said. "I'm afraid I might have let my-"

"Not one word," he said on a single ominous note. "You screwed me over, and we don't have a thing to say to each other."

She hurried to his side. "I wasn't trying to screw you over. I thought-"

"Save your breath. You wanted me to look stupid."

She hoped that wasn't true but suspected it might be. Not stupid, exactly. Just not so together. "You're totally overreacting."

That was when the Python struck.

"You're fired."

She stumbled on one of the flagstones. There was no emotion in his voice, no expression of regret for good times and shared laughs, only a stony declaration.

"You can't mean that."

"Oh, I mean it, all right."

"It's a kids' party! It's no big deal."

He walked away without another word.

She stood chilled and silent in the shadow of an old elm. She'd done it again. Once more, she'd let her impulsiveness lead her into disaster. She knew him well enough by now to understand how much he hated being put at a disadvantage. How could she have believed he'd find this amusing? Maybe she hadn't. Maybe the person she'd really intended to sabotage was herself.

Her mother was right. It couldn't be entirely coincidental that everything Annabelle attached herself to failed. Did she believe she didn't deserve success? Was that why all her ventures ended in disaster?

She leaned against the trunk of the elm and tried not to cry.

Chapter Nine

Heath was furious. He didn't like looking foolish under any circumstances, but especially not in front of Phoebe Calebow. Yet here he was, completely out of his element. If the party had involved teenagers, he'd have been fine. He liked teenagers. He knew how to talk to them. But little kids-little female kids-were a mystery to him.

His anger against Annabelle grew. She thought putting one over on him was funny, but nothing involving Phoebe amused him. Where business was concerned, he didn't play games. Annabelle knew that, but she'd decided to test him, and he'd had to cut her off at the knees. He wouldn't let it bother him, either. Sentiment and second-guessing were for losers.

He focused on the Calebows' backyard with its swimming pool, climbing trees, and open stretch of well-used yard, all of it designed for a large family. This afternoon, pink filmy crap hung from the trees, around the flagstone patio, and over the jungle gym. It also festooned tiny tables where pink balloons bobbed in the breeze above the back of each small chair. Glittery dresses like the one Pippi Tucker wore spilled from pink cardboard cartons, and a battered pink wagon held a pile of plastic slippers. Fake pink jewels decorated a throne-shaped chair sitting in the middle of the patio. Only the green dragon pniata dangling from the branch of a maple tree had escaped the pink plague.

He'd always been comfortable in his body, but now he felt awkward and out of place. He glanced toward the swimming pool and experienced a flicker of hope. In a pool, he'd be right at home. Unfortunately, the iron gate was padlocked. Apparently Molly and Phoebe had decided supervising so many little kids around water was too dangerous, but he'd have supervised the damn kids. He liked danger. If he'd gotten lucky, one of the little buggers would have gone under for a while, and he could have saved her from drowning. That would have caught Phoebe's attention.

The Stars' owner stood behind the farthest of the little tables, setting out some kind of cardboard whoogees. Like everybody else, she had one of those frickin' pink crowns on her head, and he regarded her with a profound sense of personal insult. Team owners should wear Stetsons or go bareheaded. No other options.

Phoebe chose that moment to look up. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she dropped one of the cardboard whoogees. "Heath?"

"Hey, Phoebe."

"Well. And isn't this special?" She snatched up the- whatever-the-hell they were. "As much as I'd love to climb into the trenches with you for another round of mud wrestling, I'm a little busy now."

"Annabelle thought you could use some help."

"And you're it? I don't think so."

He arranged his mouth in his most disarming smile. "I'll admit I'm a little out of my element, but if you point me in the right direction, I'll give it my best."

Instead of charming her, he'd made her suspicious, and her face assumed its customary distrustful expression. Before she could interrogate him, however, an army of little girls charged around the corner. Some of them held hands, others walked by themselves. They came in different shapes, different colors, and one of them was crying.

"New places can be scary," he heard Hannah say, "but everybody here is very, very nice. And if you get really scared, come and tell me. I'll take you for a walk. Also, if you need to go to the potty, I'll show you where it is. Our doggie is all locked up so she can't jump on anybody. And if you see a bee, tell one of the grown-ups."

This must be what Molly had meant when she'd said that Hannah got emotionally involved.

Molly stepped toward the pink cardboard boxes. "Every princess needs a beautiful gown, and here are yours." A few of the bolder girls rushed forward.

Phoebe thrust the whoogees in his hand. "Put one of these at each place. And you'd better not charge me for it." She hurried away to help.

Annabelle was nowhere to be seen. He'd come down on her hard, and he wasn't surprised that she needed time to recover. He ignored an unpleasant twinge in his gut. She'd brought this on herself when she'd crossed the line. He studied the whoogees, pink cardboard starbursts glued to the ends of wooden dowels. His mood grew gloomier. They must be magic wands. What the hell did magic wands have to do with helping girls learn math and science? He'd been good at both. He could have helped them with math and science. Weren't these girls supposed to be building skills? Screw magic wands. He'd have handed out some fucking calculators.

He tossed the wands on the table and looked around for Annabelle, but she still hadn't appeared, which was starting to bother him. Even though he'd needed to sack her, he didn't want to destroy her. High-pitched screams emerged from the gown boxes. Although the girls looked like an army, there were only fifteen or so of them. Something brushed his leg, and he gazed down into the face of Pippi Tucker. The theme from Jaws raced through his head.

The three-year-old's gown was the color of Pepto-Bismol, her eyes green gumballs of innocence. Only the rakish tilt of the pink tiara in her blond curls hinted at a desperado's heart. She held out a tiara she was clutching in her grubby little fist. "You gotta wear a crown."