“Mom, I really—”

“It’s just for the weekend,” Marie said hurriedly. “And Teresa says that he’s really a nice boy. He just fell in with bad company and—”

Boy? Bad company? Livvy shuddered. It seemed that the closer she got to thirty the less exacting Marie’s requirements in a prospective son-in-law were becoming, but it really sounded as if this one had been dredged up from the bottom of the barrel, literally.

“No,” Livvy said, breaking into Marie’s obviously rehearsed recitation. “Absolutely not.”

To Livvy’s horror, her mother burst into tears. “It’s just for the weekend,” Marie sobbed. “What’s one weekend, and it’ll at least prove to everyone that you can get a date. Please, dear, do it for me?”

“I can’t because...because I’ve already asked someone home for the party.” Livvy blurted out the first excuse that came to mind.

“What?” Marie’s tears miraculously disappeared. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Because he hasn’t accepted yet,” Livvy improvised. “He said he’d let me know if he can clear his calendar.”

“He sounds very important,” Marie said approvingly. “I can’t believe that after years of my telling you to grab one of those executives in New York, you’ve actually done it. What does he do, dear?”

“He’s in advertising like me,” Livvy mumbled.

“But what if he can’t come?” Marie worried. “Maybe we ought to hold the one I found in reserve just in case.”

“No!”

“But—”

“I can’t date anyone else, Mom.” Livvy groped for a reason that sounded plausible. She could hardly tell her mother that she felt disloyal dating other men because she was fixated on a man who viewed marriage as a specialized form of indentured servitude. Somehow it seemed the final irony that after avoiding marriage for years while she got her career firmly launched, she had finally fallen in love with, and wanted to marry, a man who seemed to want no part of the institution. From various comments he’d made, it was clear Conal didn’t intend to let any woman occupy a meaningful role in his life.

Deciding that if she were going to take up lying, she might as well go for the big time, Livvy closed her eyes and announced, “He’s asked me to marry him, and I haven’t decided whether I want to or not.”

“Marry!”

Livvy winced at the ecstatic sound in Marie’s voice. Her mother hadn’t sounded that happy since her sister Fern had given birth to her only grandchild. Her mother was going to be very let down when Livvy arrived for the party by herself and told her that she’d refused her imaginary suitor.

“Listen, Mom, I’ve got to run. I’ve got a million and one things that need to be done.”

“Of course, dear. I can hardly wait to meet your Prince Charming.”

“Prince Charming doesn’t exist. He’s just a man. Bye.” Livvy hurriedly hung up before Marie asked any more questions, such as the name of her mythical suitor.

Livvy took another sip of the tepid coffee, feeling like an ungrateful daughter. But a determined, ungrateful daughter. Not even to please her mother was she willing to spend the weekend trying to fend off the neighbor’s husband’s second cousin’s boy. Who had “just fallen in with bad company.” Livvy shuddered. Besides, with any luck at all Marie would be so busy with all the visiting relatives that she wouldn’t have time to focus too much on Livvy’s failure to produce a fianc'e.

The sudden ringing of the phone startled her, and Livvy jumped, spilling coffee down the front of her cream silk blouse. She frowned at the dark, spreading patch in exasperation. That was all the afternoon needed to complete it. A stain on her brand-new blouse.

The phone rang again, and Livvy picked it up. She identified herself and then wished she hadn’t when she recognized the voice of Walt Larson, a client who had hired their advertising agency to design a campaign to promote his building supply company.

“You were wrong, Miss Farrell,” Larson announced gleefully.

Firmly walling her annoyance behind the practical demands of keeping the customer happy, Livvy forced a laugh. “It would hardly be the first time, Mr. Larson. But what exactly are you referring to?”

“I checked, and it isn’t against the law to have a bigbreasted woman in a tiny bikini in a television ad.”

“It’s against the law of good taste!” Livvy’s resolve slipped slightly. “Mr. Larson, you sell building supplies for the do-it-yourselfer. What do scantily clad women have to do with that?”

“Sex sells!” he insisted. “You’re supposed to be the advertising expert. You should know that.”

Livvy gritted her teeth, counted to ten and then said, “That is a gross oversimplification.”

“Now you listen to me, Miss Farrell....” Livvy turned at the sound of a sharp knock on her door. Before she could respond, it was pushed open. Larson’s hectoring voice faded to a minor annoyance in the background, as Conal’s large body filled her vision. Eagerly her eyes skimmed over his face. His dark eyes gleamed with suppressed excitement, sending a wave of anticipation through her.