LITMIR.BIZ

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fine,” Maggie told her friend. “He’s great, actually. He’s changed an awful lot, Ange.”

      She snorted. “Don’t count on it. With Matt, you never know what’s reality and what’s just an elaborate song and dance. My guess is right now he’s taken on the role of the prodigal son. He’s probably imitating his dear departed father, dressing like a businessman and saying things like, ‘Let’s do lunch.”’

      “No,” Maggie said. “He’s not. I don’t know exactly what happened, but he went through some very tough times over the past few years. He’s different now. You’d probably have trouble recognizing him.”

      “Now that I refuse to believe,” Angie said. “Hey, tell me what happened with that jungle guy from the club. You meet him yet?”

      “Um,” Maggie said cautiously. “Yes, I did.”

      “And…?”

      “And… I don’t know.” She couldn’t tell Angie that her fantasy man and Matt were one and the same. She just couldn’t.

      “Is he human?”

      “Extremely human,” Maggie said. “Totally, absolutely human. Incredibly human.”

      “Uh-oh.” Angie laughed. “You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?”

      “It’s terrible,” Maggie admitted, pulling her feet off the desk. “I may never recover.”

      “That’s the way I felt when I first met Fred. Obviously you don’t have a choice. You’ve got to marry the guy.”

      Maggie closed her eyes. “I don’t think so. Angie, look, I’ve got to go. I’ve got to go down to the courthouse this morning, and there’s a ton and a half of paper sitting in the office waiting to be read. I’ll call you again soon, okay?”

      “Mags, where are you staying?” Angie said. “You told me you moved out, but you didn’t say where you’re living now.”

      “I’m staying with a friend,” Maggie told her, feeling doubly dishonest. “I’ve got to run. See you, okay? Bye!”

      She hung up the phone and put her head down on the desk.

      She should have told Angie the whole truth, but she couldn’t deal with the thirty-minute lecture on the evil of Matthew Stone that would have been sure to follow.

      Maybe she wouldn’t ever have to tell Angie. Maybe her feelings for Matt would conveniently vanish. But her own words came back to her. I may never recover.

      She had to smile, thinking of Angie’s solution. Marry the guy. Ange would be horrified to know that she’d even inadvertently advised her best friend to aim for marriage with Matthew Stone.

      Angie would be even more horrified to find out that Mrs. Stanton thought Maggie and Matt were already married.

      Married. To Matt.

      She’d have a better chance of winning the lottery. Matt simply wasn’t the marrying kind.

      He was however, the hot sex in the hot tub kind.

      She had to stop thinking about that.

      The clock on the wall said six forty-five. She was too wired to go back to sleep. She might as well get to work.

      On her way through the kitchen, she put on the tea kettle and searched the cabinets for the tin of tea bags. Hoping against hope, she opened the refrigerator, looking for a lemon.

      There were five in the lower drawer.

      That was odd. Fresh fruit and vegetables filled the refrigerator. She’d been here for two days now, and she hadn’t noticed anyone delivering groceries. And Lord knows she hadn’t had time to pick anything up. Yet the refrigerator was packed with food—

      “Hey, you’re up early.” Matt came into the kitchen. His skin was slick with perspiration and his shorts and T-shirt were soaked through. He was still breathing hard, as if he’d just finished some strenuous exercise.

      “So are you,” she managed to say.

      Matt wiped a bead of sweat that trickled down his face as he looked at her. She was backlit by the light from the refrigerator, and her nightgown had become diaphanous. Her hair was still messy from sleep, and without makeup, her face looked fresh and young. But her body was all woman.

      She had no idea of the show she was putting on for him. And wasn’t that a shame. At first glance, he’d dared to hope that she was purposely trying to drive him crazy, that maybe she wanted him to pick her up and carry her into the nearest bedroom and make love to her.

      God knows that was what he wanted to do.

      “I didn’t expect you to be up so early,” she said, clutching a lemon to her chest.

      Yeah, no kidding. She didn’t move, so he reached past her into the open fridge for the orange juice. He drank directly from the plastic container. “I was out running,” he told her. “I try to do five miles a day, but sometimes I miss.”

      “You’ve already run five miles this morning?” The tea kettle began to howl, and she closed the refrigerator door—too bad—and carried her lemon to the stove. She took the kettle off the burner, then turned to look at Matt skeptically. “Sometimes I think aliens have invaded your body. The Matt I know had to be dragged out of bed every morning to make it to school on time. I remember when noon on a Saturday was unbearably early for you.”

      “It’s not a Saturday,” Matt pointed out, finishing off the juice.

      Maggie shook her head as she filled her mug with steaming water. “What time did you get up?”

      “Four-thirty,” Matt told her. “Usually I don’t wake up till six o’clock, but for some reason I’ve been having more trouble than usual sleeping.”

      And guess what—or rather who—that reason is?

      She didn’t meet his eyes, because she knew.

      “So far this morning,” he told her, “I’ve memorized the first ten pages of my dialogue for the show, and I’ve gone grocery shopping.”

      “Grocery shopping this early?”

      “The Stop and Shop is open twenty-four hours.” He shrugged. “Sometimes if I can’t sleep, I’ll go over at three a. m.” He smiled. “No crowds, you know.”

      “If you write out a list, I’ll get the groceries next time we need them,” Maggie volunteered.

      But Matt shook his head. “No, that’s okay. I like to do it.”

      She took her mug of tea and headed for the door. “Aliens have definitely invaded your body.”

      * * *

      The Yankee Potato Chip factory was a huge brick building on the other side of town, surrounded by a parking area that was almost entirely filled with the employees’ cars.

      Maggie flipped through her file as Matt pulled up in front of a parking spot marked President near the main door.

      “I don’t know if I can do this,” he said.

      “Of course you can.” She glanced up from the papers. “You own this company. You’re perfectly within your rights to inspect—”

      “No, I mean, I don’t know if I can park here.”

      Maggie looked at the parking spot, then at Matt.

      “I mean, that word president,” he said. “It implies a certain dignity, a certain knowledge. Maybe I should have them paint over it with Ignorant Son.”

      Maggie laughed. “I can think of better ways to use the money.”

      “So can I.”

      Inside the plant, the

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