He ran the five-dollar bill through his fingers, laid it on the desk blotter. "She might be satisfied with bad-mouthing you and the shop and using her influence to have her friends boycott. And since she does have a wide range of acquaintances, a boycott will likely sting."

"We'll get over that." Calmer, she pushed her hands through her hair. She'd come to apologize, and intended to do it right. "I'm sorry. I know the whole thing was—is—embarrassing for you and your family."

He braced his elbows on the desk, his brow on his fists. "She came shrieking across the court. I'd just hit a line drive, barely missed beaning her. Cameras rolling, and there I am trying to look my sixth-generational-hotelier best, the athletic yet intelligent, the world-traveled yet dedicated, the dashing yet concerned heir to the Templeton name."

"You'd be good at that," Margo murmured, hoping to placate him.

He didn't even look at her. "Suddenly I've got my arms full of this half-naked, spitting, swearing, clawing mass who's screaming that my sister, her lesbian companion, and my whore attacked her." He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to relieve some pressure. "I figured out right away who my sister was. Though I didn't appreciate the term, I deduced you must be my whore. The lesbian companion might have stumped me, but for process of elimination." He lifted his head. "I was tempted to belt her, but I was too busy trying to keep her from ripping off my face."

"It's such a nice face, too." Hoping to soothe, she walked around the desk and sat on his lap. "I'm sorry she took it out on you."

"She scratched me." He turned his head to show her the trio of angry welts on the side of his throat. Dutifully, Margo kissed them. "What am I going to do with you?" he said wearily and rested his cheek on her head. Then he chuckled. "How the hell did you stuff her into one of those skinny lockers?''

"It wasn't easy, but it was fun."

He narrowed his eyes. "You're never going to do it again, no matter what the provocation—unless you sedate her first."

"Deal." Since the crisis seemed to have passed, she slipped a hand under his shirt, stroked it over his chest, watched his brow lift. "I've been waxed and polished. If you're interested."

"Well, just so the day isn't a complete loss." He picked her up and carried her to the bed.

Chapter Sixteen

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It didn't take long for the fallout. Sales and traffic fell off sharply during the following week. Sharply enough to have Margo's stomach jittering as she wrote out checks for the monthly bills. Oh, there were still plenty of tourists and walkins, but a great many of the ladies who lunch, the very clientele Pretenses required in order to move the high-end merchandise, were giving the shop a wide berth.