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Authors: Stephanie Bond
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the carefree Science Club guy she'd shot the breeze with
on the way to her apartment. Here was the real Greg Healey, and he was the kind of person she loathed—powerful and greedy.
She lowered herself into the chair, positioning herself on the edge farthest from him. The meeting couldn't end soon enough as
far as she was concerned.
But there were more speakers: a few private citizens who wanted to voice their opinions, and two politicians who simply
wanted to get their name and face in front of potential voters. At the end, the president called for a fifteen-minute recess so the
members might confer. Lana's nerves jumped with the knowledge that her life as she knew it could be over in mere minutes. Oh
sure, she might have six months to clear out. But the loans—holy Chapter 11, she'd have to return to the corporate world just to
make a dent in her debts.
Before she could worry about what, if anything, to say to Greg Healey during the recess, Alex and her other friends gathered
around, showering her with accolades while shooting barbed glances over her shoulder at the enemy. His energy prickled the
skin on her back.
"I have to leave," Alex murmured, her eyes brimming with questions. "But call me tomorrow and tell me what the devil is
going on."
"If I figure it out myself," she whispered back. As Alex slipped away, the council members filed back in, and the president
banged for quiet.
"The members have considered the arguments presented this evening. A formal vote will take place the second week of
January, but the council is not convinced that this proposal has been properly investigated. We will reconvene two days before
the vote for final arguments on both sides. In the meantime, the council charges Mr. Healey and Ms. Martina to work together to
come up with a compromise that will benefit both parties."
"But—" Lana said.
"But—" Greg said.
The banging gavel interrupted their protests. "Meeting adjourned."
8
LANA WAS STRUCK SPEECHLESS . Work with Greg Healey to come up with a compromise? Her mind reeled with the
new development, her consolation being that he looked as displeased as she, his handsome face caught somewhere between
bewilderment and mortification.
A week ago she hadn't known this man existed, yet in the space of a few days their paths had intersected at rather bizarre
crosshairs. She'd read about these kinds of coincidences, something about the inevitability of two souls crossing that were
destined to meet from the beginning of time. Her fingertips tingled. Did he feel it, this… mystique that reverberated between
them?
He leaned in close, and she held her breath.
"Did you set me up?" he demanded.
She gaped. "Excuse me?"
"I don't believe in coincidence."
So this was the real Greg Healey—condescending, arrogant. suspicious. Lana crossed her arms over her stained sweatshirt.
"Haven't you heard, Mr. Healey—it's a small, small world. Or are you always this paranoid?"
The man's ears twitched.
She smirked. "Listen, about the other day—"
"Stop," he cut in, causing her to blink. "If you mention what happened the other day to anyone, I'll slap a civil suit on you for
assault."
Maybe it was the fact that she knew he cooked a mean omelette, or that she knew he liked astronomy, or that he'd told her she
was the most desirable woman he'd ever met—but this man did not scare her. In fact, she realized she had this puffed-up Richie
Rich right where she wanted him: off balance. A warm, fuzzy feeling of feminine power infused her chest.
"Oh, please sue me. Then I can tell the court how I had to defend myself with a bottle of hair spray from an unwelcome
advance."
His expression was incredulous. "You invited me back to your apartment! You even talked about money, for heaven's sake."
"The only thing I charge for, Mr. Healey, is coffee."
"Really? Does 'four hundred a month' ring a bell?"
She shook her head and snorted softly. "Like I was trying to tell you earlier, there
on the way to her apartment. Here was the real Greg Healey, and he was the kind of person she loathed—powerful and greedy.
She lowered herself into the chair, positioning herself on the edge farthest from him. The meeting couldn't end soon enough as
far as she was concerned.
But there were more speakers: a few private citizens who wanted to voice their opinions, and two politicians who simply
wanted to get their name and face in front of potential voters. At the end, the president called for a fifteen-minute recess so the
members might confer. Lana's nerves jumped with the knowledge that her life as she knew it could be over in mere minutes. Oh
sure, she might have six months to clear out. But the loans—holy Chapter 11, she'd have to return to the corporate world just to
make a dent in her debts.
Before she could worry about what, if anything, to say to Greg Healey during the recess, Alex and her other friends gathered
around, showering her with accolades while shooting barbed glances over her shoulder at the enemy. His energy prickled the
skin on her back.
"I have to leave," Alex murmured, her eyes brimming with questions. "But call me tomorrow and tell me what the devil is
going on."
"If I figure it out myself," she whispered back. As Alex slipped away, the council members filed back in, and the president
banged for quiet.
"The members have considered the arguments presented this evening. A formal vote will take place the second week of
January, but the council is not convinced that this proposal has been properly investigated. We will reconvene two days before
the vote for final arguments on both sides. In the meantime, the council charges Mr. Healey and Ms. Martina to work together to
come up with a compromise that will benefit both parties."
"But—" Lana said.
"But—" Greg said.
The banging gavel interrupted their protests. "Meeting adjourned."
8
LANA WAS STRUCK SPEECHLESS . Work with Greg Healey to come up with a compromise? Her mind reeled with the
new development, her consolation being that he looked as displeased as she, his handsome face caught somewhere between
bewilderment and mortification.
A week ago she hadn't known this man existed, yet in the space of a few days their paths had intersected at rather bizarre
crosshairs. She'd read about these kinds of coincidences, something about the inevitability of two souls crossing that were
destined to meet from the beginning of time. Her fingertips tingled. Did he feel it, this… mystique that reverberated between
them?
He leaned in close, and she held her breath.
"Did you set me up?" he demanded.
She gaped. "Excuse me?"
"I don't believe in coincidence."
So this was the real Greg Healey—condescending, arrogant. suspicious. Lana crossed her arms over her stained sweatshirt.
"Haven't you heard, Mr. Healey—it's a small, small world. Or are you always this paranoid?"
The man's ears twitched.
She smirked. "Listen, about the other day—"
"Stop," he cut in, causing her to blink. "If you mention what happened the other day to anyone, I'll slap a civil suit on you for
assault."
Maybe it was the fact that she knew he cooked a mean omelette, or that she knew he liked astronomy, or that he'd told her she
was the most desirable woman he'd ever met—but this man did not scare her. In fact, she realized she had this puffed-up Richie
Rich right where she wanted him: off balance. A warm, fuzzy feeling of feminine power infused her chest.
"Oh, please sue me. Then I can tell the court how I had to defend myself with a bottle of hair spray from an unwelcome
advance."
His expression was incredulous. "You invited me back to your apartment! You even talked about money, for heaven's sake."
"The only thing I charge for, Mr. Healey, is coffee."
"Really? Does 'four hundred a month' ring a bell?"
She shook her head and snorted softly. "Like I was trying to tell you earlier, there
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