Heath understood. "Tell me we're not sharing our feelings, Mary Lou."

"Fuck you."

"Shut up and watch the game."

Bodie relaxed into the chair. Initially he'd been attracted by Portia's beauty, then by her sheer gall. She had as much grit and determination as any teammate he'd ever played with, and those were qualities he respected. But when they made love, he saw another woman, one who was insecure, generous, and full of heart, and he couldn't get past thinking that this softer, unguarded woman was the real Portia Powers. Still, what kind of idiot fell for someone who needed so badly to be fixed?

As a kid, he used to bring home injured animals and try to nurse them back to health. Apparently he was still doing it.

Chapter Nineteen

Annabelle had trouble finding a parking spot for Sherman, but she was only two minutes late for the meeting Heath had scheduled, which hardly justified the censorious look from his Evil Receptionist. ESPN played on the television screen in the lobby, phones rang in the background, and one of Heath's interns struggled to change a printer cartridge in the equipment closet. The office door on her left had been closed the first time she was here, but now it stood open, and she saw Bodie with his feet propped on a desk and a telephone pressed to his ear. He waved as she passed. She opened the door to Heath's office and heard a throaty female voice.

"… and I'm very optimistic about her. She's incredibly beautiful." Portia Powers sat in one of two chairs positioned in front of Heath's desk. His voice mail message hadn't mentioned this would be a threesome.

Just looking at the Dragon Lady made Annabelle feel dowdy. Summer fashion was supposed to be all about color, but maybe Annabelle had gotten a little carried away with her melon-colored blouse, lemon yellow skirt, and the drop earrings set with tiny lime green stones she'd found at TJ Maxx. At least her hair looked decent. Now that it was longer, she'd been able to use a big barrel curling iron, then finger-comb the results into a casual tousle.

Portia was all cool elegance in pewter silk. Against her dusky hair, the effect was dazzling. Small, petal pink earrings provided a subtle touch of color against her porcelain skin, and a Kate Spade handbag in the same pink shade sat on the floor at her side. She hadn't made the mistake of going into pink overkill with her shoes, which were stylish black mules.

Or one of them was.

Annabelle stared at her competitor's feet. At first glance, the shoes looked the same. They both had open toes and low heels, but one was a black mule and the other a navy sling-back. What was that about?

Annabelle drew her eyes away and slipped her sunglasses in her purse. "Sorry I'm late. Sherman didn't like any of the parking spots I showed him."

"Sherman is Annabelle's car," Heath explained as he rose from behind the desk and gestured to the chair next to Portia's. "Have a seat. I don't believe you and Portia have met in person."

"As a matter of fact we have," Portia replied smoothly.

Through the long wall of windows behind his desk, Annabelle spotted a sailboat skimming over Lake Michigan in the distance. She wished she were on it.

"We've been at this since spring," Heath said, "and now football season is starting. I think both of you know that I'd hoped to be further along."

"I understand." Portia's smooth confidence belied her mismatched shoes. "We all hoped this would be easier. But you're an extremely discriminating man, and you deserve an extraordinary woman."

Suck up, Annabelle thought. Still, when it came to Heath, Annabelle didn't exactly deserve high marks for professionalism, and she could do a lot worse than follow Portia's example.

Portia shifted slightly in her chair, which cast her face into a harsher light. She wasn't as young as Annabelle had thought when they'd met, and her expertly applied makeup couldn't camouflage the dark circles under her eyes. Too much nightlife or something more serious?

Heath set his hip on the corner of the desk. "Portia, you found Keri Winters for me, and even though that didn't work out, you were on the right path. But you've sent too many candidates who aren't in the ballpark."

Portia didn't make the mistake of getting defensive. "You're right. I should have eliminated more of them, but every woman I've chosen has been so special, and I hate second-guessing my most discriminating clients. I'll be more careful from now on."

The Dragon Lady was good. Annabelle had to give her that.

Heath turned his attention to Annabelle. No one could have imagined that he'd fallen asleep in her attic bedroom two nights ago, or that once, in a pretty cottage by the side of a Michigan lake, they'd made love. "Annabelle, you've done a better job screening, and you've introduced me to a lot of also-rans, but you haven't produced a single winner."

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say a word, he cut her off. "Gwen doesn't count."

Unlike Portia, Annabelle thrived on being defensive. "Gwen was almost perfect."

"As long as we overlook her husband and that inconvenient pregnancy."

Portia sat straighter in her chair. Annabelle crossed her hands primly in her lap. "You have to admit she was exactly what you're looking for."

"Yeah, bigamy's my life's dream, all right."

"You cornered me," she replied. "And, let's be honest. Once she got to know you, she'd have dumped you. You're way too high maintenance."

Portia's eyes had widened like butterfly wings. She studied Annabelle more closely. Then she got a little twitchy. She uncrossed the legs she'd crossed, crossed them again. Her top foot-the one in the navy sling-back-began tapping away.

"I'm sure Annabelle has learned by now to be more careful with her background checks."

Annabelle pretended surprise. "I was supposed to check Heath's background?"

"Not Heath's background," Portia retorted. "The women!"

Heath fought a smile. "Annabelle is baiting you. I've learned it's best to ignore her."

Now Portia looked genuinely rattled. Annabelle almost felt sorry for her as she watched the navy sling-back move faster and faster.

Heath, in the meantime, made a sprint for the goal line. "Here's the way it's going to be, ladies. I made a mistake by not signing contracts with a shorter term, but it's a mistake I'm correcting right now. You each have one shot left. That's it."

The sling-back froze. "When you say one shot…"

"One introduction each," Heath said firmly.

Portia twisted in her chair, knocking the Kate Spade handbag over with her heel. "That's not realistic."

"Work with it."

"Are you sure you really want to get married?" Annabelle said. "Because, if you do, maybe you should think about the possibility-more than a possibility, in my judgment, but I'm trying to be diplomatic… Have you thought about the possibility that you're the one who's sabotaging this process, not us?"

Portia shot her a warning look. "Sabotage is a strong word. I'm sure what Annabelle means to say is that-"

"What Annabelle means to say"-she rose from her chair- "is that we introduced you to some terrific women, but you only gave one of them a chance. The wrong one-again, only my opinion. We're not magicians, Heath. We have to work with flesh-and-blood human beings, not some fantasy woman you've conjured in your mind."

Portia plastered a phony smile on her face and rushed to save the sinking ship. "I hear what you're saying, Heath. You're not satisfied with the service you've been getting from Power

Matches. You want us to vet the candidates more carefully, and that's certainly a reasonable request. I can't speak for Miss Granger, but I promise that I'll proceed more conservatively from now on."

"Very conservatively," he said. "You have one introduction. The same goes for you, Annabelle. After that, I'm calling it quits."

Portia's plastic smile melted at the edges. "But your contract runs into October. It's only mid-August."

"Save your breath," Annabelle said. "Heath wants an excuse to fire us. He doesn't believe in failure, and if he fires us, he can transfer the blame."

"Fire us?" Portia looked sick.

"It'll be a new experience for you," Annabelle said glumly. "Fortunately for me, I've had practice."

Portia pulled herself back together. "I know this has been frustrating, but it's frustrating for everyone who goes through the process. You deserve results, and you'll get them, but only with a little patience."

"I've been patient for months," he said. "That's long enough."

Annabelle looked into his proud stubborn face and couldn't keep silent. "Are you going to take ownership for any part of the problem?"

He met her gaze dead-on. "Absolutely. That's what I'm doing right now. I told you I was looking for someone extraordinary, and if I'd thought it would be easy to find her, I'd have done it myself." He rose from the corner of the desk. "Take as long as you need to come up with your last introduction. And believe me, nobody hopes that one of you gets it right more than I do."

He made his way to the door, then stood back to let them out, his head outlined against the sign for the Beau Vista Trailer Park hanging on the wall behind him.

Annabelle retrieved her purse and gave him her most dignified nod, but she was fuming as she left his office, definitely in no mood to share an elevator with Portia, so she moved quickly through the lobby to the elevator bank.

As it turned out, she had no need to rush.

Portia slowed her steps as she watched Annabelle disappear. Bodie's office lay just ahead on her right. When she'd walked past it earlier, she'd forced herself not to look in, but she'd known he was there. She could feel him through her skin. Even during that horrible meeting with Heath when she'd most needed to keep her wits, she'd felt him.

All last night she'd lain awake reliving the horrible things he'd said to her. Maybe she could have forgiven the lies he'd told her about his upbringing, but she could never forgive the rest. Who did he think he was to psychoanalyze her? The only thing wrong with her was him. Maybe she'd been a little depressed before she met him, but it hadn't been significant. Last night he'd made her feel like a failure, and she wouldn't let anyone do that to her.

Her hands were trembling as she stopped inside his office door. He was on the phone, his massive frame tilted back in his chair. As he spotted her, his face broke into a smile, and he dropped his feet to the floor.

"Let me call you back, Jimmie… Yeah, sounds good. We'll get together." He set the phone aside and rose. "Hey, babe… Are you still talking to me?"

His silly, hopeful grin made her falter. Instead of looking dangerous, he looked like a kid who'd spotted a new bike sitting on his front porch. She turned away to compose herself and came face-to-face with a wall of memorabilia. She took in a pair of framed magazine covers, some team pictures from his playing days, newspaper clippings. But it was a black-and-white photo that caught her attention. The photographer had captured Bodie with his helmet tilted back on his head, chin strap dangling, a scrap of turf caught in the corner of his face mask. His eyes shone with triumph, and his radiant grin owned the world. She bit her lip and made herself turn back to confront him. "I'm breaking it off, Bodie."

He came around the side of the desk, his smile fading. "Don't do this, sweetheart."

"You couldn't have been more wrong about me." She forced herself to say the words that would keep her safe. "I love my life. I have money and a beautiful home, a successful business. I have friends-good, dear friends." Her voice caught. "I love my life. Every part of it. Except the part that involves you."

"Don't, babe." He reached toward her with one of his gentle, meat hook hands, not touching her, a gesture of entreaty. "You're a fighter," he said softly. "Have the guts to fight for us."

She steeled herself against the pain. "It was a fling, Bodie. An amusement. Now it's over."

Her lips had begun to tremble, just like a child's, and she didn't wait for him to respond. She turned away… left his office… rode numbly down to the street in the elevator. Two pretty young things passed her as she stepped outside. One of them pointed toward her feet, and the other laughed.

Portia brushed past them, blinking back tears, suffocating. A red double-decker tour bus crawled by, the guide quoting Carl Sandburg in a booming, overly dramatic voice that felt like fingernails scraping the chalkboard of her skin.